#the specific moments and feelings are so clear in my memory which is very odd considering every year of high school has blurred together

[fruggo]

fruggo come back the children miss you

ohgg this tugged me🥺

i wish i’d actually announced a hiatus or inactive blog or something instead of just disappearing?? that kinda sucked of me

im absolutely gobsmacked there’s anyone who still remembers me (probably from old fics resurfacing, but my point still stands) and i sincerely apologize for anyone i left hanging (LITERALLY announced i was gonna be active again and then proceeded to Not)

sometimes i come back and read my old fics here and i miss dbd so much, it’s just that i haven’t played in so, so long; i’ve missed so much and haven’t even bothered to keep up with new characters and stuff. i’d love to at some point, but unfortunately i’m a bit occupied at the moment—im in my senior year of hs now with exams coming up and a 15 page paper to write (the entire rough draft is due monday and ive written none of it😁)

anyways. this sweet little ask surprised me so much. i miss my children too😞

i’d love to come back at some point to write for dbd again <3

[joocomics]

lights off: part two (18+)

read part one here

pairing: oh seungmin x fem!reader

genre: smut, slice of life wc: 4.8k

summary: a silly accident in the cafeteria brings you and seungmin together causing the memory of your one night stand to return after both of you spent weeks trying to forget about it

contains: sub!reader, college fuckboy!o.de, protected sex, dirty talk, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral sex (f!rec)

a/n: big thank you to my 🚀 anon for inspiring me to write this! more specifically with this ask about the hoodie <3

song rec: the boy is mine - ariana grande

“Are you good?”

You wince from the sudden voice startling you out of nowhere.

It’s Oh Seungmin. The realisation he just caught you scrubbing your white shirt like crazy as if it will make the stain disappear, in the middle of the cafeteria, brings you even bigger chills - chills of embarrassment; of frustration, anger even. From all people that could’ve walked by your table at this moment, why him?

You look down at your lap, composing yourself the best you can in order to answer calmly.

“I spilled coffee all over my shirt and now I will walk around like a stained loser the whole day. Yes, I’m fine.”

However, you sound far from fine, and Seungmin can’t help but smile amused at your frustrated scrunched lips.

He quickly changes his expression back to normal before you notice the grin, and drops his backpack on the chair across from you.

You’re too busy preparing all the dirty tissues for the trash so you miss the moment when he takes off his jacket, and his hoodie next. He holds it in his hands until you decide to look up at him.

“Here, put this on.”

His hands rub against his chest to prevent his white tee from creases, and you stare at him for a moment while he’s not paying attention.

After you stand up to put on the clothing a deja vu which you’re definitely not prepared for washes over you. You look at the front of the hoodie realising by the letters that it’s the same one he gave you the day you worked on your group project during Christmas break.

When you were at his place for the very first time, and when the power went off… and one thing led to another.

The memories make your head spin.

“I have to stop stealing your hoodie like this.” You attempt a joke, but you’re unsure if it is a successful one.

“Actually,” Seungmin’s voice comes out contemplative as he checks you out, but suddenly turns cheeky, “I think you wear it better.”

You shift your gaze at him just when somebody tries to walk past both of you. Seungmin takes a step closer in order to make space so the guy can continue his way which cuts the distance between you and him drastically. The cafeteria becomes crowded around this hour of the day.

Your eyes meet and you feel your stomach swirl from too many emotions clashing together. The familiar warmth and scent of the hoodie, the memories it holds from your time together during the heavy storm, the sudden closeness of your bodies. The new way he looks at you.

You step back, clearing your throat.

“Me and the other fifty girls you say this to.”

Seungmin laughs dryly, looking away in the distance.

“Anyways, I will return it soon.” Your fingers unintentionally tug at the sleeves. It’s like you create new habits every time you wear it. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs his jacket from the chair, hanging it over his arm. “You can keep it, looks good on you.”

You don’t know what more to say; if you should even say anything at all.

You haven’t seen each other after you had sex; not properly like a date, just in class. Not that you’re expecting one. Everyone knows Seungmin doesn’t date. You’re not a fool to think you’re going to be his first exception. But you haven’t even texted each other about anything that doesn’t revolve around your shared classes, and you start to find it odd.

A part of you expected him to ask you to come over at his place again, but he hasn’t done that yet. You keep overthinking it, which you shouldn’t, but you do regardless - mostly because you want to know the reason why. Didn’t he enjoy it? Was it bad, boring? It didn’t seem like it was, at least to you. You’re aware there are many girls who are more exciting, better, but still… why is he treating you differently than the rest? Isn’t that what fuckboys do? Messing around with as many girls as they can?

Maybe it’s better this way. You don’t need the trouble and the gossip that come inevitably with his reputation anyway.

“I have to go to class, but I hope to see you again soon.” Seungmin speaks and his brown eyes search for yours just like they did last time he was with you. “Not for the hoodie.”

Your lips curve in a shy smile and he turns around, heading towards the door. Just before he exits, a girl you’ve never seen before appears from somewhere, holding a drink in hand. She taps him on the shoulder, and he greets her with one of his popular charming smiles. They exchange a few words before walking out of the cafeteria together. You can’t read lips, but you have a slight idea of what they might have said to each other.

On Friday the only interaction you have with Seungmin during your shared class is a few stolen glances.

Since the group projects ended everyone is back to sitting on their usual seats, including you and him - you’re still on the second row meanwhile he returned to sit way back like he’s always preferred.

When the professor ends the lecture and the class is dismissed, you leave right away without looking in his direction, because you have a lunch date with your friend that you don’t want to be late for, but also because you don’t expect anything to be different today.

Except something changes.

As you wait for your order to arrive your phone lights up with a notification and you see his name appear on your screen.

13:21 [Oh Seungmin] I almost didn’t recognise you without my hoodie

13:21 [Y/N] I only wear it for emergencies

13:21 [Oh Seungmin] Haha

13:22 [Oh Seungmin] You look pretty in your outfit today

13:22 [Oh Seungmin] But I miss seeing my hoodie on your body already

13:23 [Y/N] Thank you :)

13:23 [Y/N] I will give it back to you soon

13:23 [Y/N] Today I forgot to take it with me, I was in a hurry

13:24 [Oh Seungmin] Will I see you wearing it one last time?

You’re not sure what to reply.

Your brain suddenly freezes and your thumbs hover over the keyboard not knowing which letters to press. The more seconds pass, the more you feel stupid for taking time to respond.

13:26 [Oh Seungmin] Or I can at least get a picture for saving you the embarrassment of walking around with a stained shirt 😉

16:55 [Y/N sends attachment]

17:00 [Oh Seungmin] You turn me on so fuckin’ bad

“It’s been a while. Thought you’ve decided to keep it for yourself.”

“I’m just busy with work and finals, but today I have some free time.” You explain then glance down at the porcelain cup between your palms. “One girl already accused me of stealing her boyfriend’s clothes so I would prefer to give it back to you as soon as possible.”

Seungmin takes a sip of his drink, not looking away from your ironic smile as you eventually shift your gaze somewhere behind his shoulder.

“Just say you wanted to see me.” His lips curl playfully when you immediately lock eyes with him after hearing his words. “You don’t have to make up stories.”

“I’m not lying. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.”

He leans back in his chair, tapping with the tip of his fingers on the table.

“Hm, I don’t.” He admits after releasing a sigh, pretending to care that he’s having a hard time figuring out which girl could it be. “You know I don’t date.” He states and you nod.

You can’t help but feel like he uses the good opportunity to say this just as a reminder to you.

You chat for a while when he eventually leans closer looking directly into your eyes. He loves the glow your cheeks earn every time he succeeds to hold eye contact with you for more than one second.

“Do you want to come over?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

He repeats the word firmly, almost like a command, but you know he’s not that type of person. He just seems to be in need of something. More of your presence.

“I can’t wait any longer, Y/N.” Seungmin’s gaze lowers on your lips and he sees you swallow as a reaction to his confession.

He observes your features closely, feeling his skin run hot from the images they remind him of - when you let him kiss you everywhere he wanted that day.

He really tried not to think about what happened, about you, and he still is.

But he’s failing.

Every time he hooks up with another girl he realises that he’s not fulfilled as he used to be after she’s gone. His mind goes straight back to you reminding him how much better it could be.

The crazy part is that last time he invited a girl over his brain didn’t even wait for her to leave, it started distracting him in the middle of sex while he was inside her. With every new image of you that appeared in his head the girl underneath him became more and more unsatisfying; boring. She overreacted with her moans; the way she pulled his hair irritated him. He continued to notice little things like that until he flipped her over, shut his eyes and blocked out all the noise in order to focus on his thoughts about you so he can cum as soon as possible.

That’s when he realised it’s no use for him to keep denying it - he needs to feel you again. His body craves it.

It’s frustrating, because you’re not the type of girl who guys like him deserve. He knows you’re thinking he’s just like the rest, and you’re right.

But the desire is bigger than him.

“What are you waiting for?” You ask; your voice is low, because you’re flustered to show your neediness, but loud enough for Seungmin to hear it and smirk.

Walking into this living room again feels almost like a dream.

Seungmin doesn’t give you any time to look around and see if anything has changed since you were last here, because he immediately pins you against the wall.

He doesn’t want to waste a second more, and his lips smash against yours. They manage to move with gentleness despite his impatience that almost hypnotises you.

Your knees already go weak; it’s just one longer lasting kiss, but his mouth feels so good, experienced and soft. He pulls back as his hands roam around your hips area, then leans in back again.

This time the kiss is different; eager and rough. It quickly forces a muffled moan from your throat which makes Seungmin’s hands instantly react by gripping your ass.

Something switched on in him, and the situation starts to unfold much faster.

He swiftly picks you up without breaking the ongoing kiss and you hang arms over his shoulders while he walks towards the kitchen countertop. It’s the nearest surface he can place you on.

In a matter of seconds the shirt you were wearing flies to the ground with your bra getting your bare skin covered in goosebumps. Shivers go down your spine as Seungmin’s soft lips press against the side of your neck, nibbling on your flesh so hungrily you know you’re going to go home with a purple mark. His hands cup your boobs, massaging both of them as his tongue rubs against you, provoking sighs of bliss from your mouth.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you…” Seungmin speaks out for the first time since you got here. Kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. “About what happened between us.”

His mouth moves to your collarbone, then even lower, making you lean backwards. Your elbows touch the cold counter.

“Did I make you feel good, sweetheart?” He gives your nipple an open mouthed kiss and your lips part from the nice thrill.

“God—“ You moan as he sucks on it while holding your boob in his hand; he repeats the same thing one more time before circling around the nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah… you did...”

He’s never cared about what girls think of the way he performs in bed. Nobody fucks me like you do. You’re the best I’ve ever had. It feels different with you. Those are things he’s heard many times before, because for some reason they think it’s something he needs to hear, but he doesn’t; he just needs to get laid.

“Has someone ever fucked you like that before?”

You start to sense the wetness between your thighs; the quick way it builds up while he speaks makes you feel a bit embarrassed, but more than that - greedy.

“You already know the answer to that.”

Your fingers reach for his belt and the boldness of it surprises both of you.

Seungmin smiles seductively after shooting a look at your hands that are now busy with undoing it eagerly.

“I want to hear you say it.”

His jeans are now unzipped and you take a peek at his slightly revealed boxers. The temptation to sneak your hand and palm his boner lingers in your mind.

Seungmin’s hands rest on your thighs as he tries to analyse your facial expressions one after another.

“No,” you admit the obvious. By overcoming your nerves you guide one hand to his crotch, inviting your fingers. “Nobody has ever fucked me like you before.”

You both look at each other as you slowly palm his clothed erection. Feeling how hard he is excites you so much to the point you shamelessly bite your lip without even realising it.

“You want it?” He asks and the change in his voice is so clear.

You squeeze him lightly and nod in response at the same time.

“Needy.” Seungmin notes, but what he actually means is that he likes how this new confidence looks on you.

He gets rid of his pants, but leaves his underwear on, wanting to see you deal with it yourself.

You tug the clothing down and his erection enters your vision. Wrapping your hand around him makes Seungmin’s head drop back on the instant before he humms from the feeling of your tightening grip.

This is the first time you do something on your own for his pleasure and your heart starts racing from excitement.

You twist your fist in a nice steady pace and not long after his forehead touches yours as you spread the precum from his flushed tip along the stiff length.

His body melts with each stroke you make, succumbing more and more to your touch.

You listen to his heavy breaths and as a reaction your hand increases the pace. You start stroking him quicker and the fact he takes just one second to moan from the new speed pleases you like nothing before has.

“Fuck…” He breathes out quickly, not opening his eyes. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” you mewl and Seungmin releases a small airy chuckle before biting his lower lip. “Should I keep going?” Your hand slows down as you wait for an answer, and the thrill of it causes his smirk to fade. “Do you want more?”

Seungmin’s mind turns more foggy which makes it difficult for him to comprehend why these questions make his skin feel so hot; why do they sound so charming when you speak them out and look down at his dick.

Your eyes focus with anticipation on his parted lips that are seconds away from kissing you. He ends up not saying anything, because the fact he cannot stand the distance from your faces already proves enough.

He lets his dominant tongue dart in your mouth until the words escape him on their own.

“I want all of you,” he murmurs as you exhale into his mouth. The continuous gliding of your hand around him makes his stomach clench underneath his clothes, and suddenly he pulls back so you can get off the counter.

Once you remove the rest of your clothes, Seungmin takes you to the bedroom and watches you lay down on his bed. His gaze trails down your naked figure, and so does yours as he strips.

You don’t try to hide it anymore.

His hands travel up your thighs and the sides of your hips as he makes his way down your body. His tongue drags along your stomach before a few kisses under your belly button make you moan softly.

He would’ve enjoyed teasing you through your wet underwear if only he wasn’t so impatient right now. He quickly removes your pair of panties and dives into your pussy; something that crosses his mind too often when he sits on his couch.

The sudden contact makes you gasp, because it’s completely different in comparison to the gentle, slow touch of his lips from last time. You can feel his desire in the new way his mouth moves, pressing further into you; stimulating you fully to the point you already start to squirm.

“Oh, fuck—“ you bury fingers into his hair and hiss while tugging on a few strands the moment his soft lips suck on your clit. “Fuck, Seungmin…” His name slips weakly from your mouth that you can’t keep closed from too much panting.

One of his long fingers enters you smoothly and just as easy gets swallowed by your tight walls on the instant, which makes the sensation even better. You feel him push it back and forth in addition to his tongue that plays with your clit for a moment till he goes back to making out with your slick folds.

You’re not going to last long; the knot in your warm core begins to pulse.

“You just keep getting sweeter, baby.”

You whine as your lower body jerks up from the motions of his tongue; from his compliments that force your arousal to grow bigger. Your moans multiple once you realise it feels even more amazing when you sway your hips in circles, rubbing yourself against his dripping mouth.

“Seungmin… f-fuck, I’m so close—”

“Good, baby,” his soothing voice speaks again as he adjusts, “I want you to cum on my mouth again, okay?”

Seungmin’s arms hug your thighs, keeping them in control, and his flat tongue resumes to devouring your slit which gets you closer to your peak rapidly. You’ve spent many hours reminiscing of the unbelievable orgasm he gave you the day the power went off, but even all of that time of you replaying the moment over and over again couldn’t have prepared you for the wave that shoots right through you at this very second.

His strong grip prevents your legs from closing as Seungmin works his tongue on your sensitive spot, waiting for the thrill to cool down in your trembling body; your whimpers gradually fade in the air too.

“Good girl,” he places a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

You open your unfocused eyes just when he’s about to push back his middle finger, but along with his index one. You didn’t expect it so soon, but your pool of arousal welcomes them; it drips and fills the room with lewd squelching noise as he thrusts deeply a few times so you can hear yourself.

He doesn’t even have the ability to say something about this, he’s in awe as he pulls them out in a teasing speed, observing you clench desperately for more.

His sticky fingers grab a condom, then reach for your face as he settles between your legs, his knees dip in the mattress as he gets comfortable.

You part your lips excitedly, because you wanted to do this the moment he emptied you.

“Yeah, suck them, gorgeous.”

Seeing you get drunk on your own essence makes the lust in Seungmin’s heavy gaze glow brighter which results into you not wanting to look away. You taste his glistening digits with your lips closed around them before he tells you to spit in his palm.

Your saliva coats the protection, and at once, you feel the overwhelming feeling of Seungmin’s cock inside it, making you extra wide and warm. The light sweet pain comes through as he slides it in all the way, but goes away quickly when he begins to glide back and forth, letting out a deep groan from the immediate pleasure.

“Holy shit,” he cusses under his breath as he bottoms out, observing you take him with ease.

The delightful sense of relief starts to flow through your veins as his hips pick up the pace, growing the arousing rush in your core too.

Smacking sound from skin on skin echoes in the silent room, overpowering your quiet soft whimpers, because of the fast way Seungmin forces his body into moving quicker.

“God, you’re still so tight…”

He forgot how tight you actually feel, how drenched you become, and how easily you turn fucked out underneath him; or is he just too turned on and everything just seems much more intense than before?

His skin begins to sweat as his lower region simultaneously warms up from the amazing feeling that your connected bodies form. The heat grows rapidly, and he almost loses control, but pulls out in time.

Some of his hair falls into his vision as his fist cautiously strokes his cock that throbs so close to cumming.

You both pant aroused when he turns both your legs to one side, keeping them bent as he slides back into you.

This new angle turns your soft sounds into clear moaning with the way his tip pokes at your cervix even better.

“Do you realise how fuckin’ good you feel around me?” He catches your lightheaded gaze, but you can’t maintain the eye contact for long, because everything takes too much effort for you right now. “How hot you look when you take it…”

Your fingers grip the sheets as Seungmin continues his steady pace while holding onto your hip. He can feel your walls wrapping him more tightly and that provokes him into going for rushed stronger thrusts.

It’s like you pulse harder with every word he says.

“Squeezing me so well…” he mutters, roaming his hand over your ass. He spreads your cheeks, digging his fingertips into your flesh, and as he’s squishing you, his face becomes scrunched with desperation you haven’t seen on him before; on any guy you’ve been with really. “Fuck—“

“You can c-cum,” you speak up as your voice slightly shakes, “I’m close too…”

There’s a pleading note not only in your tone, but also in your dazed eyes that look up at him as the slamming of his body against yours becomes sloppier. He wants to last some more, but your clenching overwhelms him so much… despite it slowing him down, he still gathers all of his energy to keep up the intense strength of his thrusts.

“I can—“

“Please, p-please,” you cut him off, but immediately after you go silent, grasping his arm instead. Your nails leave an accidental scratch on his skin from the rushed movement, but you can’t help it; you lose all sense of control, and Seungmin a moment after you.

The last thing he sees before throwing his head back is the way your eyes roll back from the sensation hitting its final peak. His jaw falls open the minute he shoots his cum into the condom meanwhile his throat lets out a long deep groan.

The thrill flowing in his veins is striking; as if he finally gets a piece of something he’s been waiting for forever. For a while he just stays there, gliding slowly through your sensitive walls to get both of you back to reality before guiding your legs apart again.

As you try to catch your breath Seungmin leans forward, prepping on his two hands. Your lips are centimetres apart and it brings a flush to your face; it feels different when you’re this close without any clothes on, after you both came, and now you’re just holding onto him, keeping him warm inside you.

You kiss him back, placing your hands on his wide shoulders.

A muffled whine escapes your lips when he pushes himself into you deeply after pulling out almost all the way. The sound of your repressed sound brings a certain delight to his core, and he already wants to hear it again so he guides the fingers of his one hand down to your clit and puts some pressure with gentle circles.

The feeling of the slight overstimulation is not any less exciting for both of you.

Seungmin repeats the same move with his hips. You whimper into his mouth in sync with each sloppy thrust, causing his mind to turn foggy; the wet noise from your arousal becomes more clear as the seconds pass by, they almost echo into his head, making him dizzy. All he can think about is the two of you cumming again, having you chant his name and nothing else.

“Fuck—“ he pants after braking the kiss, leaving your lips puffy and reddish. “Fuck, I can’t s-stop…”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t stop, keep going.”

Seungmin groans just from the tempting sound of your encouragement then hides his face in the crook of your neck. Even the way your fingers dip into his hair adds to his new wave of arousal.

After swiftly adjusting your hips higher he resumes the motions of his cock, but much quicker. He’s not teasing you slowly, anymore, he’s now eagerly aiming for your sweet spot to force another orgasm as soon as possible.

The stimulating effect starts seeping through your bodies, creating a burning knot in your tummies.

“Fuck, I needed this…” He says in one breath as his lips brush against your warm skin. The sounds of pleasure he makes start to flow more frequently; the intense groans noticeably evolve into whines that stick to your neck as he goes on. “Needed you s-so bad.”

“Then why did you wait?” You decide to ask for your surprise. Perhaps, you may regret this later, but for now, you’re not able to think straight. “Why now?”

Seungmin shifts to quickly take your wrists and pin them above your head. Your eyes widen a bit before you search for an answer in his darkened gaze, because you have a feeling that he’s not going to give you one.

His cock slows down the pace, and you already know there’s a possibility of you having to beg him to speed up soon, because you can’t put up with this.

“Haven’t I fucked you enough?” The corners of his lips curl up cunningly. “How are you still able to ask questions?”

You start to rock your hips as your heavy eyelids start to shut.

He chuckles at your needy actions, but then his own body betrays him by not being able to resist you at all.

He groans frustratedly after he begins to pound against you with full force. His hands grip your wrists in place while your legs stay wide open letting him chase your highs.

Every thrust Seungmin makes gives results exactly where you need it as if he somehow knows all your weak points already, and thanks to your crying voice in the bedroom, he can sense that too.

“Gonna m-make me c-cum… fuck, baby—“

You’re not able to tell if Seungmin says anything else. It’s like your mind melts the moment the warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach snaps. You tighten intensely around him, squeezing him hard as he throbs ready to release the pressure.

And that’s what he does after you let out another chain of wails while convulsing under his weight. You’re shaking, but he successfully tightens his grips despite his own body being overwhelmed by the ecstatic explosion of emotions too.

After slowly pulling out and removing the condom Seungmin collapses next to you and you both listen to each other trying to catch your breaths.

“I tried not to think about what happened.” He suddenly breaks the silence. “I tried to forget about you.”

You know the feeling; you tried to do the same thing, however, it still brings an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach from hearing him actually say it.

You’re about to comment when he tilts his head in your direction.

“But I realised that I don’t want that.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask quietly, unsure where this is going.

He moves his gaze from you towards the ceiling. It makes it easier to say it this way.

“I want to ask you out.”

Your lips part in surprise.

You notice that he keeps crossing his fingers, moving them around on top of his chest. Is he nervous?

You look up at the ceiling too, not able to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“… out on a date,” he feels the need to add, still avoiding your eyes which brings an amused smile to your face.

It’s obvious he lacks experience when it comes to this.

“Okay, Oh Seungmin.” You speak up at once. “I will go on a date with you.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you think the Horcrux in Harry is “sentient” the way the rusty or locket were

I assume you meant the diary there and not rusty, and honestly, my knee-jerk reaction was that I don't think so. Like, not to the same level of sentience, but it should have some sentience. So I collected some of the passages in the books that I could think of off the top of my head that could be read as the Horcrux in Harry being sentient:

Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

(PS, 43)

Basically, the whole memory of the night James and Lily died I think is the Horcrux's memory and not Harry's. Considering Harry was a year and a half old and shouldn't really remember anything, especially as he can't see Thestrals (which he would have if he saw and processed their deaths, which he has to actually remember their deaths to do).

It happened in a fraction of a second: In the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said “three,” Harry looked up at him — they were very close together — and Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry’s face. At once, Harry’s scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again — and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, that he would like nothing better than to strike — to bite — to sink his fangs into the man before him —

(OotP, 474)

Harry feels emotions that aren't his own since Voldemort's resurrection quite often, but usually, these are the main Voldemort's emotions, not the Horcrux's. This above scene is one I feel the hatred is coming from the Horcrux. Because Voldemort isn't there, he isn't feeling especially angry at Dumbledore at that moment, but Harry feels that anger rises towards Dumbledore, specifically, the desire to strike Dumbledore down because that's what the Hurcrux wants.

The other thing I sometimes circle back to when thinking about how sentient the Horcrux in Harry's scar is, are the passages when he resists the Imperius Curse in GoF:

And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody’s voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk . . . jump onto the desk. . . . Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring. Jump onto the desk. . . . Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice. Jump onto the desk. . . . No, I don’t think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more firmly . . . no, I don’t really want to. . . . Jump! NOW!

(GoF, 231)

And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. . . . Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming . . . just answer no . . . say no . . . just answer no. . . . I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won’t answer. . . . Just answer no. . . . I won’t do it, I won’t say it. . . . Just answer no. . . . “I WON’T!”

(GoF, 661)

The reason it always struck me as odd is that usually, Harry doesn't think this way. Usually, he just has his thoughts, not a conversation with a small voice in his head. And the voice sounds off, not like Hary usually does.

There are other times he thinks like this, though, like when he learns Ron was chosen as Prefect over him:

Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry’s head. Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn’t fight Quirrell with me. They didn’t take on Riddle and the basilisk. They didn’t get rid of all those dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren’t in that graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned. . . . And the same feeling of ill usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I’ve definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I’ve done more than either of them! But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn’t choose prefects because they’ve got themselves into a load of dangerous situations. . . . Maybe he chooses them for other reasons. . . . Ron must have something you don’t. . . .

(OotP, 166-167)

This passage of Harry arguing with "himself" over his jealousy over the prefect position sounds like it could be the Horcrux. It's so similar to how the diary and the locket tried to manipulate anyone they could. The fact that the voice at the end gives up the pretense of saying "I" and "me" when referring to Harry and just goes with "you". I don't think it was JKR's intention but because Harry only thinks this way in very specific scenes I always found it a bit jarring when it appears. The description of a little voice at the back of his head, not that different from how Harry described the Sorting Hat talking to him could definitely be read as the Horcrux speaking to him.

But if so, why would the Horcrux help Harry against Voldemort? Simple, the Horcrux doesn't want to die. It isn't really sentient enough to influence Harry, most of these scenes are a bit of a reach, but he is sentient enough to know it wants to live and to spew a bit of hate towards Dumbledore and Harry's friends. Because if Harry's alone, he's likely to be weaker to the Horcrux taking over.

The conclusion is that the Horcrux in Harry's scar might be more sentient than I ever gave it credit for. Obviously, these scenes might be just Harry with an odd thinking pattern JKR wrote awkwardly, but, it feels strange to me at least. Strange enough that I consider it being the Horcrux a viable explanation.

[glassprism]

This may be an odd question, but do you think the Phantom is as “powerful” as he really claims or is it more psychological? Like physical do you think Raoul is as strong as he is? For example if he actually dod keep his hands at the level of his eyes and avoiding the lasso, Do you see him being able to (to put it bluntly) knock the phantom out or subdue him to escape or get him arrested? I like to think if the Phantom didnt “turn nice” and let them go they could have still won somehow..

P.S. I may have asked this on a couple pages to get different opinions I hope that is ok

I think there are a bunch of related but also separate questions, so I'll just tackle each one.

First, is the Phantom as powerful as he claims? Well, in my memory, I don't think the Phantom actually claims to really be that powerful at all. He claims to be the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Music, all of that, and at specific moments he will make a threat, albeit a nebulous one ("...a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" "Remember, there are worse things than a shattered chandelier!"). But the occasions where he does make some powerful claims are pretty limited, in my opinion, and usually happen only when he's around Christine.

And that makes sense when you think about what he is: he is just a man, though a very intelligent and manipulative one, hiding within an opera house. Much of his power relies on using subterfuge and trickery and veiled threats - so yes, psychological, not physical. His power lies in his mystery and people not knowing what to expect from him. Because at the end of the day, no, he isn't as powerful as to take on an entire opera house; were they to realize this and turn on him, he has nothing against sheer numbers. And in fact we see this at the end: once his spell has broken and the mob is in his home, his only choice is to flee; he cannot fight all of them - though he still relies on one last trick to do so.

I suppose that also answers your second question: is he as strong as Raoul? Again, we don't really know, except perhaps in non-replicas or restagings where the two engage in fist or sword fights, but in those, and I'd argue in the replica as well, I'd say the answer is no; the Phantom is pretty soundly defeated in them. And yeah, part of that feels like plot armor - Raoul basically can't be defeated because he's needed in the final scenes - but I would also argue that the Phantom is well aware of this, which again, is why he relies on tricks like the fireball - or sneaking up on Raoul and trapping him in the lasso (or a cage if you're Vegas).

And that leads to your last statement. I know it's not a question, but I want to address it as one: could Raoul and / or Christine have escaped if the Phantom hadn't redeemed himself? I wanted to talk about it mainly because the statement implies that if the Phantom did not resort to physical strength or psychological tricks, the pair could figure out a way to get away from him, but I think that discounts one last but very important factor: the Phantom's emotional hold on Christine, which then extends to Raoul. Because I think the show makes it very clear that Christine holds very conflicting feelings on the Phantom, going from fear to pity to compassion, and a great deal of her journey is resolving all of those.

So I think the question of whether the two could escape is very up in the air (and thus ripe for fanfic fuel). Christine might resist the Phantom all the way, in which case she and Raoul might "win" over the Phantom. But what if that doesn't happen? What if she resists initially but starts to succumb to her sympathetic feelings for him? What if she strikes a deal and goes along with the Phantom out of a combination of wanting to save Raoul and feeling sorry for the Phantom? What if she genuinely starts to fall for the Phantom? Because if any the latter options occur, this potentially puts Raoul in a bind, because doing anything to the Phantom could lead to hurting Christine in some shape or form. It might not even be what she wants anymore, escaping the Phantom.

So yeah, that's my thoughts on the whole thing.

[crydentialzz]

PART 2 HERE hi hii hello!! twiddlefinger has been rolling around in my nbrain like marblses soo have my take on the disease :3 - oh also if u like this consider taking a peek at my fan species i made for the nuggets of the max design pro universe here - idrk what warnings specifically would fit this since this is more like a breakdown of the virus itself, but just be warned there are itty bitty mentions of blood. lmk some suggestions for the warnings tho, would b very helpful ^w^ - (i based this off of being a opposite (kindof) to hanahaki disease since they r both emotion related and hanahaki is probably one of the most popular forms of "illness-due-to-feelings" which i thought was cool. oh also b aware that this is all copy-pasted from a doc i wrote up at infrequent times at night when motivation was high. i went through the entire thing and made sure it was coherent, but i doubt i caught all of it so apologies in advance for any parts that may be weirdly written or phrased, feel free to ask questions to clear stuff up. if u guys like it ill probably post more. this in parts since its so long, this 1 is the introduction and first 2 stages of the illness. aaaaanyways enjoy!!!!)

Inquies cupidinem or it's nickname “Twiddlefinger” is a parasitic disease that hijacks the dopamine system in the brain that activates when in love, causing an intense obsessive drive to keep their partner with them by any means.

Instead of illness being borne of unrequited feelings / love, Inquies cupidinem is from requited feelings and its connections to obsession, greed and or desire for a partner (these all vary in intensity). It can also be created from requited yet repressed feelings yet to be expressed to an established partner (or partners), or even from an intense fear of their partner leaving.

The disease manifests itself as a type of parasite, often located in the Jugular Vein or hidden in the arteries and veins in the lungs, and appear as black, oily growths. Its placement in veins and blood vessels is due to the disease hiding in blood cells to travel around the body and infect their host fully.

Stage 1 The disease will start out small. Little things like a temporary sore throat, cough, lower / higher body temperature, and will last a few days (3-5 days). Slowly as the illness grows, the host’s physical appearance may begin to change in a variety of ways, most notably being thinning fur around a certain region or fur patterns changing color to become muddier / darker; for those with dark fur this will be the opposite, patterns will become lighter in color / washed out. This begins about 2-5 weeks into having the previous infrequent symptoms, mental health is stable, but the patient may experience moments of memory loss, fuzziness / brain fog or deja-vu. The infected may also start to have odd behavior around their partner such as stealing / hoarding items owned by their partner or asking excessive questions about things their partner likes (these actions all act towards getting closer to their lover which temporarily satiates any need for their partner the patient may experience early on). Stage 2

Thus begins the second stage in which the internal decay rapidly increases. The body is stuck in an internal fight, the physical constantly decaying and losing mass while the infection wants to keep growing, increasing mass and keeping the body alive with its growth and amplification of muscles (this overall leads to odd looking body variations, oftentimes looking somewhat muscular and dangerously thin at the same time). The host will get strong instincts / urges to keep their partner close, even escalating into violent overreactions when said partner interacts with others. This is controllable for the most part, but the feelings will only grow stronger the longer they are unaddressed or ignored. The sickness increases, now comparable to an elevated high fever; constant shaking, occasional dry heaving / throwing up large amounts of infected blood, high irritability and intense muscle spasms most commonly occurring in the hands and fingers (the brain will send signals to grab their partner and keep them close, think something similar to alien hand syndrome but a little more controllable as this command can be averted with other stimuli). In terms of physical symptoms, the thinning fur will have targeted one area at this point, covering it in the oily substance of the infection. The muscle and tissue underneath may begin to rot away as well, leaving exposed bone (if it doesnt rot immediately, it at least is very loose, barely connected to the host and has high chances of simply tearing away if injured or touched too much). This stage is usually where contact with the patient will be limited as, against their instinct and drive to be around their partner, they will most likely try and lock themselves away from the public in fear of harming loved ones, or depending on the patient's situation will spend less time around family / their partner often opting to cover the area temporarily and distract themself. At this point mentally, brain fog has increased; the patient will find it difficult to get their mind off of their partner as they slowly grow more obsessive, even revealing some OCD symptoms (notably “Pure-O”, “Real Events OCD” and “Relationship OCD” mix). Symptoms such as repetitive rituals, replaying events over and over / flashbacks, intense overwhelming feelings of shame / guilt / fear / embarrassment, worrying that actions have caused others harm, thinking they dont deserve their partner (or idolizing / putting their partner on a pedestal), and much more. The infected will also often experience Hyperthyroidism + Polyphagia symptoms as the obsession grows from just a want to a physical (carnal) need. This will occur directly after or in the middle of the 2-5 week time-frame for the second stage is up as the disease quickens its spread.

[t4t4t]

Eddie and Collie got into this long fight that started at the grocery store and continued as we got home and when we got home, Collie took a big escalation in the store of saying she needs to leave because like, we told her to focus, and she started yelling at Eddie in the store that she speaks whenever she feels like it, whenever any thought happens, she has this little phraseology she loves repeating whenever anyone tells her to shut up in any way -- whenever a thought strikes, something something. Idk, I hate my memory. But like I just walked away and tried to focus on what we needed to leave.

But it was Eddie's food card, we didn't have any left. But like, we gave them food from our stamps, she would be welcome to it if she didn't make him / us feel unsafe. She complained about having no food in the car when she left and was sitting in it alone...

But like it spiralled into Eddie hitting her in the stomach and face and then Collie gave him a nosebleed back.

Part of the fight was Eddie very nonseriously threatening to call the cops in the car when Collie wouldn't give him back his keys when he asked after she was done driving. She was already talking in the store that she wanted to leave so like, that's not the most surprising response, but it's odd Collie held onto them pettily and like baited him like, what are you gonna do if I don't. So he said the thing about the cops but like of course he doesn't want cops coming by, we heavily don't want them anywhere near this household.

Collie used the moment to bring up all her negative feelings about Eddie jokingly using the words tranny, faggot, and retarded (to some extent he mostly uses this in reference to himself but sometimes jokingly for others but openly acknowledged that he would have stopped if she had said anything about it) but she never brought any of this up to him until last night. She did bring up to me that she wanted to talk about it eventually a while ago but it never happened until then I guess. But it's not healthy for her to bottle up her feelings and then try to instrumentalize these things as like, you should take my side in things that you did these things to me, which like, is not at all how clear communication works.

Eddie said things like "let's go faggots" and "I wanna cuddle with my trannies" collectively a few times but he never individually addressed Collie a faggot -- last night Collie kept saying that he should apologize for specifically calling her that, which is a misleading way to say it. She never brought up her negative feelings about this until yesterday, with something like "you're lucky you didn't decked in the face for calling a trans woman faggot" and it's like. What a confusing and manipulative way to frame that.

But and so Eddie was getting annoyed with her and if she planned on leaving / was getting ready to leave and was shouting at him he deserved to get beat up (for intra community camaderie she took in the most bad faith she possibly could) -- I wasn't in the room when the physical fight happened because I was using the opportunity to steal my phone back from her pencil case bag, because she took it out of my back pocket when I was fixing the display of Eddie and Alina's stuffies that she made a mess of grabbing the stuffies she had put up in the display, and was saying if I planned on staying I couldn't keep the phone. But I quickly noticed the opportunity and kept it safe on me until she left....

She took my books, she took my castration painting, she took my notebooks, she took flour and pasta sauce she can't even use.

We've been using my card and Alina's card for a lot of stuff so like, I'm in the negative and there's 300 dollars in Collie's account that like. Long story but basically super shitty, like 1/3 of it might be donations, but the rest is money we've been collecting doing stuff together, we've been communally pooling money for literally 3 whole weeks now, but now she just ran away with that. Eddie will get unemployment money in a few days, Alina still feels sick. We wanted to get antibiotics for her yesterday but all this argument was a multiple hour affair

I hid in the bathroom with my phone after I got it, then she asked to use the bathroom so I left but she didn't lunge at me for it then. Then she grabbed all the boxes from the living room, which had much of my notebooks and books and the painting. She took the Casio that Emma gave us, I thought I understood it as mine... she left her organelle m.

She's been texting me for hours last night and hours this morning. She hates that I didn't leave with her even as she calls me an abuser and a sexual assaulter. But she took my things. But she's wondering if I want to be part of her family and is saying I shouldn't be here if I want to be part of her family.

She took pins from the DSA trans clothing swap that I was never able to show yall :--( "Death before detransition", "dyke" in a metal font, the "No one way works" Diane di Prima quote. I got earrings she took because I never had the time to take it out of her pencil bag. I guess I should have tried when I took the phone but I was thinking that was the most important and I needed to get back to the bathroom ASAP.

She went dancing with Eddie the night before, and not even an hour prior to the grocery store scene/argument we were at the clothing swap. Eddie and I got more than she did, I wonder if that made her at all upset. Some of the stuff I got might fit her better than me but I never got a chance to talk about it... :(

She said she's going to throw her necklace of the three that we got that was three necklaces in one package of the three piece heart with magnets from Claire's in the river.

Why does nothing last.

Eddie is telling me it's highly unlikely she'll hurt herself or stop wanting to be with me if she's continuing to text me as she is, if she really wanted not to be with me she would have blocked me. He's saying I should give her a few days to calm down and not even respond much. I'm not sure what to think

[angeygirl]

(Kicks down inbox door)

Can you do Elizabeth and William having a tea party? Or do I need to come back with a better writing prompt??

Gladly :D

[This is a semi-good timeline, William's downfall isn't imminent, but Mrs. Afton has died and he's struggling to keep things together on his own]

--------------------

William Afton found himself slumped on the couch after work. It’s not that today had been a particularly hard day, or that last night had been a particular late night, but one can only take so many hard days and late nights without feeling a blow to one’s sanity. He was tired, sure, but more so because of bad news and not specifically because of effort on his part.

Business hadn’t been very good, animatronics had been breaking down for seemingly no reason. One of the pizza ovens catching on fire didn't help. With employee morale suffering it was up to him to keep his chin up and show everyone that things would turn around soon. There didn’t seem to be anyone to tell him the same.

He watched the afternoon sunlight play on the wall. It was odd to be home so early, but frankly he had run out of reasons to stay late. He could have helped Henry with repairs but after being scolded by customers over errors that had not been his fault, he just didn’t have it in him. So there he was, slumped back and staring at the wall, a feint wave of nervousness thrumming through him and preventing him from a much needed nap. “A cup of tea would do some good.” He muttered. It was too early for whisky.

A set of little footsteps scampered into the living room. He didn’t look to see who it was, but the sudden little girl on top of him made herself quite clear.

“Daddy!” Elizabeth called. “Daddy I finished cleaning my room!”

He straightened, or tried to, at least. “Did you now?” The request had been less about the necessity, and more about keeping Elizabeth from being underfoot for a few minuets while he tried to stop his head from spinning.

The girl stopped trying to strangle him and sat next him, beaming. Her smile faded when she saw his face. “Are you ok? Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, sunshine.” He tried to force a smile for her.

“You look sad.”

He dropped his head back against the couch. “It’s nothing. Just… just busy.”

Elizabeth looked like she was thinking hard. “Are you busy now?”

“No. If I was busy I wouldn’t be staring at the wall.”

She brightened. “Does that mean you can play with me?”

“That all depends on how long until-” As if to answer before his sentence was finished, the sound of a small boy calling for help sounded down the hall. William heaved a sigh and went to check on Evan. Nothing was wrong, but the little thing was awake and decided he was done with sitting in his crib alone. Michael was spending the afternoon at a friend’s house, but that friend had no interest in the younger sister, and no one wanted to deal with a toddler. William also did not want to deal with a toddler, but he had no choice. While Evan was set up with a bowl of apple slices to keep him busy, Elizabeth looked up at her father hopefully. He only noticed because she had gone several minuets staring at him without breaking attempted eye contact.

He tried to stifle his sigh. “Is something wrong, love?”

“Daddy can you play with me?”

“Play what?”

That wasn’t a ‘no’. Elizabeth darted to her room and came back with her arms full of pink plastic dishware which she began to arrange on the table.

“What’s all this then?”

“We’re having a tea party!”

“You can’t put tea in plastic cups, sunshine. It’ll damage it.”

“It’s not real tea, daddy. It’s pretend tea. Everyone knows that.”

“Funny you suggest a tea party,” he said, crossing his arms in mock concentration. “I could go for a cup myself.” He leaned down to her. “Do you know how to have a real tea party?”

She thought a moment. “You need guests. And… everyone dresses up fancy, and there’s lots of tiny cookies!”

William nodded. A memory he had not fully blocked out drifted into his mind. It was the image of a rose garden in spring. The rest of the yard had gone wild, or died. He didn’t know because he wasn’t permitted to look. The guests were lots of ladies his mother seemed to hate, yet insisted on hosting anyway. He was never allowed in, of course. But he had watched from his window many times. At the time, he was more interested in the frogs and dirt, but no one would want a ‘sick little nuisance’ wandering around anyway. He shook the picture from his head before it had the chance to turn painful.

Despite his little daydream, Elizabeth had continued rambling on about what would make a tea party perfect, and ended with “but we can’t get all that, not right now.”

“Maybe not, but we can do something with what we have.” He got up to root around in the pantry for a secret stash of sweets his own trio of nuisances were not tall enough to see. If he was going to have a tea party, even just to humour a needy 7 year old, he was going to get real snacks out of it. “You can have pretend tea any time. You can only have real tea with me.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled seeing the little tin of cookies. “Where did those come from?”

“Now, now. These are for special occasions.” They weren't, but he didn’t like the idea of having to share. “Can you get the kettle out and fill it up?”

The little girl nodded and scampered to the cupboard. Evan had been nibbling his apple slices and didn’t seem to be paying any attention.

Why was he doing this? Was it only because he wanted an excuse to break open the cookie jar? Maybe. But seeing Elizabeth happy was probably the best thing to happen to him all week. William watched the kettle while Elizabeth kept peppering him with questions.

“Did you do this in England?” She asked.

“Do what?”

“This! People from England like tea but you don’t. Why?”

“Coffee wakes me up better.” He hoped he would not have to explain further. He did.

“Boys don’t like tea parties, do they? Was it different there?”

“Well, boys weren't allowed in. Besides, the kind of tea party you like is very different then back home.” He had not meant to say ‘back home’ but it came out anyway. Was that house his home? Or had he only called it that because it was so much better then what came after? So much better then the basement...

William's thoughts and Elizabeth's questions were cut off by the whistle of the kettle. He opened the latch and reached for the cupboard. “Sunshine, can you get a blanket to sit on? Proper tea parties are usually held in the garden. Well, we don’t really have a garden, but it’s a nice enough day.”

She nodded and obediently went off in search of a blanket. Evan was not done with his apples, but looked up expecting to be taken out of his high chair. William stroked the downy hair. “I won’t be having you wander around with hot water right here.” He said, and set the tea brewing.

“Found one!” Elizabeth called a few minuets later.

“Excellent timing.” The tea was just about done.

They spread the blanket out on the back porch and carefully set out a pair of mugs. Evan was supplied with a sippy cup and some juice. Elizabeth dressed herself up in a plastic tiara, and William put his sparkly work tie back on.

It was nice, he supposed. The weather was clear and Elizabeth was overjoyed to have time with him. Evan was too busy wandering around the back yard and throwing sticks to be paying any attention. Most 3 year olds are not expected to have very good party going manners, according to Elizabeth. This was most clear in the way the little boy toddled up with leaves in his hand to show off.

Sure, business was probably going to suffer until they sorted out the marketing, or until Henry got those glitches in the animatronics ironed out. But for once, William was able to remember he had a life outside of work. Maybe this was important too. He was glad that if Michael had to miss out, it was a ‘dumb girl thing’.

Finding ways to appeal to all of them was getting harder as interests evolved. And, as much as it tugged at his the back of his mind, it just wasn’t possible to give each one of them as much time as they needed. Even now, he wasn’t able to fully focus on Elizabeth, and he suspected she noticed how often he kept glancing around to make sure Evan wasn’t putting dirt in his mouth. All the same, he hoped she appreciated this. When his thoughts wandered back to his negligence, a happy yap, usually accompanied by a poke or playful touch, brought him back to the present.

Evan very nearly did get away with eating a rock if Elizabeth had not darted over to tell him how impolite it was. When the tea was drunk and the sun began to set, William tucked the remaining sweets back in his secret part of the top shelf. Michael came home not too long after.

For reasons William could not explain, he was glad to have all three of them there at supper with him. Somehow all of them together felt... oddly whole. He had been making little effort to do more then keep them all alive in the two years he had been raising them alone. He couldn't do more then that. Not without feeling like he was going to crack and that all that pent up poison would leak out and cause him to do something drastic. But somehow, this little rest sparked some form of affection he had been close to forgetting.

[xtruss]

An Inhaler For The Administration of Chloroform or Ether, Circa 1848. Photograph: World History Archive/Alamy/Guardian Design

Revolution In The Air: How Laughing Gas Changed The World

Since Its Discovery in the 18th Century, Nitrous Oxide Has Gone From Vaudeville Gimmick to Pioneering Anaesthetic to Modern Party Drug

— By Mark Miodownik | Thursday 4 July 2024

1. Dancing Around The Pneumatic Institute

Playing rugby one day, I mistimed a tackle and dislocated one of my fingers. I felt a stab of pain and sat in the mud staring in disbelief at my hand. One of my fingers was now bent at an unnatural angle. My teammates gathered round, grinning. They made it clear that they expected me to snap my finger back into place. Several of them mimed the action and excitedly made the cracking sound they wanted to hear. This was a test of my toughness, one of many that I have failed in my life.

Instead, I took myself to hospital and sat for hours in a blaze of fluorescent lights in the A&E department, feeling self-conscious with my shorts, muddy legs and odd-looking finger. Later that evening, I was shown into a booth and blue paper curtains were drawn around me for privacy. A young male doctor came in. He seemed distracted, but asked a few questions while consulting a clipboard containing my patient info. “Dislocated finger?” he said. I nodded. He put the clipboard down, took the dislocated finger in his hand and then, with no warning, he yanked it violently. There is an absurd moment from this scene that is freeze-framed in my memory. I am screaming in pain and his face is very close to mine. He is red from the effort of trying to pull my finger back into its socket, but he has failed, and instead has managed to pull me out of my seat and right up close to him. We both fall back towards the wall, like two drunks fighting.

Afterwards, calming me down with a cup of tea, he explained that he was sorry, and that he had been trying to catch me off guard in order to snap the finger back into place – a manoeuvre that had always worked in the past, he said. He then fetched a canister of laughing gas, attached to which were a tube and a mask. He fitted the mask over my nose and mouth, and began fiddling with the valves on the canister. He then asked me to take a deep breath. I did so and felt nothing. The doctor fiddled with the valves some more and asked me to have another go. It felt good, very good. I took another deep breath and soon found myself out of my mind and on a golf course, unable to find my ball.

The story of how a gas that creates delusions became a method of standard pain relief begins in industrial Britain. The air in cities and towns was full of coal smoke and the foul smell of human and animal waste. It was widely believed that bad air could cause disease. This was the miasma theory. It seemed like common sense, because where bad smells were most concentrated, there was the most disease. Outbreaks of cholera, Black Death and other contagious diseases were thought to be caused by clouds of miasma carried in the stench. People died in their millions of respiratory diseases such as consumption (tuberculosis). For thousands of years, it affected rich and poor alike, although because it was an airborne infection, the poor – who lived in crowded conditions – contracted it more often.

If air could carry disease, then perhaps gas could cure them, too. So went the reasoning of Thomas Beddoes, who set up the Pneumatic Institution in 1799 in the city of Bristol. The idea was to find specific gases that could cure specific diseases. Beddoes hired a young chemist called Humphry Davy to carry out the research in gas therapy. Davy tried many gases, none of which seemed to be much help – in fact, quite the opposite: when he tried a new gas called carbon monoxide on himself, he almost died.

Undeterred in his zeal to make great discoveries and help humankind, Davy then inhaled another newly discovered gas, nitrous oxide. The gas tasted slightly sweet and had a very strange effect on him. He started dancing round his laboratory “like a madman”, as he noted later. He laughed. He giggled. It was highly inappropriate, given that he was working in a medical institute, but he couldn’t stop.

A Satirical Cartoon Showing a Royal Institution Demonstration of Laughing Gas with Humphry Davy, Circa 1830. Photograph: Alamy

The effects did wear off after an hour. But how miraculous, how strange, he reflected. He tried it again, sometimes with the same ludicrous effects, and sometimes he was taken out of his mind in a more transcendental way. After one session, he wrote “nothing exists but thoughts”. Davy described breathing nitrous oxide as a sublime experience, an experience that was beyond language, although he did try to capture the feeling in his poetry, describing his limbs as “clad with new-born mightiness”.

Davy thought he would try the gas out on the institute’s patients to assess if it had any therapeutic value for curing diseases such as consumption. It didn’t. But it did make them laugh. He himself found it so delightful that he could not resist carrying on experimenting with nitrous oxide at night. Davy found that breathing the gas heightened his senses – he felt he could see and hear more vividly. He invited friends, writers and poets, such as Samuel Taylor Coleridge, to his laboratory to inhale the gas. They breathed it in and fell into fits of laughter, too, singing and dancing. The poet Robert Southey grandly declared that Davy had invented a new type of pleasure, which gave “delightful sensation in every limb – in every part of the body – to the very teeth”. More and more people came to try this remarkable laughing gas, including the radical poet Anna Barbauld. These laughing gas gatherings gave the Pneumatic Institution a revolutionary air.

During all the partying and dancing, Humphry Davy still had the acumen to deduce something scientifically important about laughing gas: it was not just funny and distracting – it could eliminate pain.

2. Hysteria on Demand

Up until this point, surgery and dentistry had been largely carried out without anaesthetic. For most people, this meant living with the agony of toothache until they could stand the pain no more. They would then reluctantly go to a dentist or doctor, who would remove the tooth by kneeling on their chest and tugging it out with a pair of pliers. Similarly, those with the excruciating pain of gallstones often preferred to live with the pain rather than go for surgery to remove them. Alcohol and herbal concoctions containing opium and henbane (psychoactive substances derived from plants) were offered as sedatives, but patients still felt excruciating pain and writhed in agony because these substances didn’t effectively block pain receptors. To carry out surgery or amputations, the patients were tied down, with a piece of wood or leather in their mouth to stop them screaming.

There was also a belief among western surgeons that pain might be important to the success of the surgery. They thought it might be required for nature’s healing powers to be triggered. Thus there was no obvious demand from medical doctors for the development of anaesthetics. So although Davy discovered nitrous oxide to be a fast-acting anaesthetic, the medical profession wasn’t interested.

A self-taught engineer, Samuel Colt, spotted the potential of Davy’s laughing gas. He had an idea for a new type of gun, but needed money to develop it. In 1832, he decided to tour the US performing laughing gas demonstrations on stage. It wasn’t hard for Colt to learn how to make laughing gas. The formula is N₂O, which means it is made of two nitrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. Since the air we breathe is mostly made up of nitrogen (78%) and oxygen (21%) you might expect that laughing gas would occur naturally. But although the oxygen in the air is very reactive, the nitrogen is not. It occurs as a molecule, N2, which is to say two nitrogen atoms chemically bound together into a single molecule. This molecule is very stable and reacts with very few things – not even the oxygen in air.

The method Colt used to produce nitrous oxide was to heat up ammonium nitrate, which decomposes to produce N₂O gas. But he needed to be careful. Heating it too fast causes a different reaction, creating enormous amounts of nitrogen and nitrogen dioxide gas very quickly. When large amounts of gas are produced, it has to go somewhere, and so it expands outwards. This creates a pressure wave, destroying objects in its path and carrying the smashed pieces along with it. In other words, an explosion.

To avoid blowing himself up, Colt carefully heated ammonium nitrate, keeping the temperature below 300C, and collected the gas that was created in a fine silk bag, which gradually expanded into a balloon. In his stage shows, he would invite volunteers on to the stage to inhale the gas, whereupon they would fall into hysterics, sing and dance. The spectacle of a prim middle-aged nurse suddenly bursting into song, or a shy gentleman transforming into a comedian, provided entertainment to the paying audience.

Keeping the spectacle in the realms of good family entertainment was a priority given the dubious reputation of laughing gas, and so Colt pretended to be a doctor. He stopped doing the shows once he had raised enough cash for his real passion, the development of a hand held pistol with a rotating cylinder: the Colt revolver.

3. The Birth of Anaesthesia

In 1844, a dentist called Horace Wells attended a laughing gas show and wondered whether it might work as pain relief during teeth extraction. He tried it on himself while having a wisdom tooth extracted. He giggled while spitting blood, and realised laughing gas really did block pain.

After trying it on more than 10 other patients, he decided to go public, and performed a tooth extraction in Massachusetts general hospital, before a small audience. Unfortunately for Wells, the patient let out a small cry during the procedure, and although afterwards he said he felt very little pain, the conservative medical establishment who had been in attendance pounced on this as proof of frivolous fairground trickery. They dismissed nitrous oxide and ridiculed Wells. He would later fall into addiction, and killed himself in 1848, but he had ignited an interest in anaesthesia.

Two years after his demonstration, another dentist, William Morton, used a different substance to anaesthetise a patient in the same hospital. The gas was a vapour of a mysterious liquid called ether.

Ether is a clear but very powerful liquid. If you sniff a bottle of ether you will immediately feel woozy. Like ethanol, the alcohol in beer and wine, it is made of two carbon atoms, six hydrogen atoms and one oxygen. But the two molecules differ in the way the atoms are bonded together, which has a big impact on their properties. For instance, their boiling points, the temperatures at which they change from liquid into a gas, are very different. The boiling point of ether is 35C, while the boiling point of ethanol is 78C.

A painting symbolising the effects of chloroform on the human body. Photograph: R Cooper/Wellcome Library

Now, 35C is not a high temperature: a glass of ether will boil in front of you on a very hot summer’s day. Although a bottle of pure alcohol will not boil on that same summer’s day, you will be able to smell it, and that means it is still releasing some of its molecules into the air. In fact, as with all liquids, molecules jump into the air and become a gas even before they reach the boiling point: this is called the vapour of a liquid, and is why you can smell liquids – it is the bouquet of wine, the warming aroma from a bowl of soup, a waft of perfume. The lower the boiling point compared with room temperature, the more vapour you get from it, and generally the smellier it is. Ether is very smelly, and no one would describe it as having a pleasant bouquet. It is not dissimilar to the smell of diesel and petrol – to which it is chemically related – and it will knock you out.

If you breathe ether vapour, it goes straight to your lungs, where it infiltrates the bloodstream and causes rapid intoxication in a matter of minutes. As with alcohol, the effect can be pleasant, but there are differences that make the gas useful for anaesthesia. When surgeons gave alcohol to patients being cut open, patients still felt pain, often babbling incoherently and striking out, arms flailing around. Ether’s molecular structure means it affects different pathways in the brain, causing a patient to lose consciousness rapidly and become insensitive to the pain of being cut open. Crucially, they lie still.

Because the boiling point of ether is so low, it can be easily delivered by getting a patient to breathe in the vapour using a vial of the warmed liquid. The trick, of course, is to get the dose of vapour inhalation right. Too much and the patient is poisoned, causing severe side-effects such as breathing difficulties and heart rate abnormalities. Too little and the patient will wake up while being cut open.

Beyond this, the use of ether as an anaesthetic was effective, but not ideal. For a start, like alcohol, it is addictive. So once there was general acceptance of the idea that the benefits of anaesthetics might outweigh the risks, scientists started to explore the vapours of other substances.

4. A Royal Knockout

One of these experimenters was John Simpson, a Scottish obstetrician living in Edinburgh. Every evening, he and two assistants would gather in his sitting room and sniff chemicals to assess their anaesthetic effect. This was a risky thing to do, because the toxicity of these chemicals was completely unknown. On a dark November evening in 1847, they gathered to inhale a sweet-smelling, volatile liquid called chloroform. At first they found it pleasant and were put “into a good humour”, but then they all collapsed.

When they regained consciousness the next morning, Simpson was elated: had he found a new anaesthetic? Not realising he could have killed himself, he next tried it on his niece, who said she felt happy, began singing “I am an angel” and then dropped to the floor unconscious. She survived, and, deeming it safe, Simpson went on to use chloroform in his medical practice, successfully administering it to mothers in labour to ease their pain. It was a miracle he didn’t kill some of them, as getting the dose wrong, as with ether, can be lethal.

A woman in labour taking gas and air to relieve pain. Photograph: Jonathan Littlejohn/Alamy

Other doctors were outraged, but not about the safety issues. The mostly male medical establishment argued that alleviating the pain of childbirth was morally wrong, and that God had ordained that women should suffer while giving birth. The moral issues around pain relief became a hot public debate until Queen Victoria in 1853 was administered chloroform while giving birth to Prince Leopold, after which it received the royal stamp of approval. The queen later wrote to a friend who had also inhaled chloroform for pain relief: “Very glad to hear Minnie is going on so well & had the inestimable blessing of chloroform w. no one can ever be sufficiently grateful for.”

5. Laughing Gas Goes Legit

By the turn of the 20th century, chloroform’s use as a medical anaesthetic was being phased out. It was too toxic, damaging to the liver and kidneys in high doses, but also caused unexpected deaths in surgery by interfering with the rhythm of the heart – the so-called “sudden sniffing death” – which is a dangerous side-effect associated with inhaling many solvents.

This balance between effective pain relief and the risk of side-effects brought laughing gas back into the picture. No, it didn’t knock you out, but yes, it did allow you to experience less pain with fewer side-effects. However, it was unregulated, and the form of administration – a silk or rubber balloon – was not ideal for dentists or medics because balloons are bulky and leak gas over time into the room where they are stored, which, in the case of nitrous oxide, makes everyone giddy. One person who took up the challenge to solve this engineering problem was George Poe, a cousin of the poet and master of the macabre Edgar Allan Poe. He created a factory in New Jersey for the mass manufacturing of nitrous oxide in a liquid form, which he then sold in canisters.

This was a clever choice. Liquids are denser than gases, and so a lot of nitrous oxide could be crammed into a small cylinder. The boiling point of nitrous oxide is –88C, which means that liquid nitrous oxide immediately boils at room temperature. However, pressurising a gas increases its boiling point, allowing it to be kept as a liquid in a pressurised container (such as gas bottles used to store butane for camping). Opening the valve of the canister released the pressure, instantly transforming the liquid into vapour for use in dentists’ practices and hospitals. By 1883, George Poe was supplying 5,000 dentists with medical-grade anaesthetic nitrous oxide in canisters.

Poe was passionate about the power of gases to help people in pain. He patented a respirator as a safe and systematic way of administering gas to a patient. A canister fed gas into brass cylinders and then into a face mask placed over the patient’s nose and mouth. Using this procedure, he claimed it was possible, using pure oxygen, to bring people back from the dead.

Once gases could be compressed cheaply and put in convenient cylinders, they were put to all sorts of unexpected uses throughout the 20th century. For instance, if you add cream to a nitrous oxide gas cylinder, some of the compressed gas dissolves in the fat. If you then open the cylinder, the gas pressure squirts the cream out of the dispenser. As it does this, the gas inside the fat expands rapidly and blows trillions of little bubbles – this instantly whips the cream into a fluffy foam. This delicious messy process was discovered accidentally in the 1930s by a chemistry student who was studying the preservation of dairy cream using compressed gas. He tried other gases too, but nitrous oxide works best for cream because it doesn’t affect the taste. It is also easy and safe to compress into a convenient form called a nitrous oxide whippet, used in commercial kitchens. These look like little bullets that you might load a revolver with, but instead they are designed to fit into a whipped cream gun. Press the trigger and out comes instant and perfect whipped cream: it’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s a kind of magic.

Discarded laughing gas canisters and balloons. Photograph: Corinne Poleij/Getty Images/iStockphoto

The nitrous oxide used in modern hospitals is stored in cylindrical steel bottles. It was one of those that was used by my doctor on the day I dislocated my finger. I breathed in the gas using a respirator mask, like those pioneered by George Poe. These days it is delivered as a mixture of oxygen and nitrous oxide called “gas and air”. If you give birth in hospital, you are very likely to be offered this mixture to relieve the pain. It is a simple and easy to use system, and a much milder painkiller than the epidurals that are the alternative when someone in labour is in extreme agony. This gas really is part of the life support system of modern hospitals.

Young people, in their endless quest for different ways to inhabit their own minds, have rediscovered laughing gas. They buy boxes of whippets online and use them to blow up balloons of nitrous oxide. They then inhale the gas through the necks of the balloons as a recreational drug. I sometimes find tangible evidence of their hilarious, mad, dangerous (illegal in the UK) and life-changing trips. These are clusters of bright silver whippets that shine in the green grass of our local park.

My own nitrous oxide trip occurred that day in hospital during my dislocated-finger episode. I floated completely out of my mind. Hearing a “clack” sound, I mistook it for the sound of a ball being hit, and became puzzled as to why someone was playing golf in the hospital. Returning to consciousness a few seconds (or minutes?) later, I saw the doctor standing in front of me, but there was no sign of his golf clubs. Instead, my finger was back where it should be. I had felt no pain this time. The doctor looked pleased.

On the way home from hospital, and despite my injury, I felt elated. I was sitting on the top deck of a bus. It was a dark night and London’s grimy streets raced by in the orange glow of the sodium street lamps. Every now and again the bus passed a room on the upper floor of a house in which the occupant had not closed their curtains. I saw snapshots of people in their rooms, some sitting in bed reading a book or working on a computer. Then I saw a woman staring out of her window and we locked stares for an instant. I felt as if I was inside her head, momentarily transported into her consciousness, looking out of her window and seeing a young man on the top deck of a doubledecker bus staring at me.

Later I rationally attributed this out-of-body experience to the residual effects of laughing gas inhalation. My subconscious mind hangs on to this memory, returning to it frequently, feeling its strangeness like a tongue exploring the hole left after dental extraction. Once you have experienced moments like this, and had the idea that you have accessed a different realm of consciousness, it is impossible to let go of them.

— This is an edited extract from It’s a Gas: The Magnificent and Elusive Elements That Expand Our World by Mark Miodownik, published by Viking and available at guardianbookshop.com

[starrprincesss]

March 6th 2024

There is a life to be had, not remembered or etched in fleeting memories, but had here in this moment, here, now. When I look back on my life, I can't seem to really remember it, it seems that I was in a haze. But in truth, I wasn't actually there. I was never present. I thought that I was, I thought that I knew what everything meant, that at 18, 19, 20, 21, I had grasped the essence of life, there was nothing more to understand. I'm not sure if I can explain it well, the me not being there, it's fuzzy, I guess when you aren't true to yourself, the remembrance of it isn't clear. Because what are you remembering? Falsehood? I suppose my brain does me a favour in forgetting. When we abandon ourselves, we abandon all forms of life. For so long I thought I was fine, I deemed myself fit to take on the challenges of the world, not recognising that it was in my avoidance of pain and truth that I felt "normal". There is one specific memory from Paris that my heart goes back too in the moments that I need to see and feel my progress. It was the middle of the night, at that time I was with a very sad individual, but his agony was very familiar to me, and oddly out of everyone in my life, he was the only person who I could actually fall asleep with, I slept peacefully and it didn't take much to get me to go to sleep. Which is very rare with me. But just because he was familiar does not mean he was good, especially not good towards me. On a random night in the midst of our codependency, he triggered an odd feeling in me, and as I laid there next to him on the bed, I couldn't stop myself from crying, it came out of nowhere, almost explosively. He picked me up in his arms, and cradling me, rocked us both back and forth. It was like he was used to this, knowing how to comfort someone although he was the one to cause the hurt. Odd how that is, isn't it? To cry in the arms of someone who has hurt you but simultaneously thank them for their comfort, it is an abusers favourite trick. In the midst of my despair he asked me why I was crying, although I usually swallowed my honesty at that time in my life, I instead decided to tell the truth. I blurted out how I didn't deserve to be in Paris, how my parents have worked so hard to give me such a wonderful life, and now my wish come true is present, yet I felt as if I had failed them, that I wasn't worthy to be where I was and what I was doing. I didn't feel like the rightful daughter, because deep down, I knew that the way I was living my life wasn't good, I was headed down a dark path. And although I didn't want to accept it at that point, subconsciously, I knew what was ahead, and I knew what all of this signified. More than anything, I knew the disappointment that would burn in my parent's hearts if they knew what I was doing. So I cried in his arms, how his treatment triggered feelings of unworthiness in my heart, that then pushed out the truth of what had always been burdening me. I had always felt unworthy, undeserving, that I was never good enough, despite all my efforts, despite my intelligence and work, I was unworthy. To tackle those feelings at 20, and figure out where they stem from is like asking a toddler to spell Massachusetts. If you look at your life through a camera lens, you can start to pinpoint where certain things were foreshadowing how a certain year or semester would play out. The lovely thing about life is you never understand things in the moment, it is only when you look back through learned maturity and clarity that you realise the hidden meaning, and the lesson behind it. Look back and discover your hidden secrets, decode life as it has played out, understand it, accept it, and remember it with tenderness, but do not stay there. Do not stay in the past, it will cloud your present, until you wake up one day and realise that you have lived an entire year in a haze, that life sort of passed you by. You are not the past, do not let that be your defining story, there is so much life to live, there is so much to do, to see, to love, to be, let life be now.

[egittae]

Lambert didn’t picture any particular outcome for this. He wasn’t expecting Dimitri to jump in joy eager for a hug- because even if there was happiness in the idea of meeting a family member you lost, by now Lambert understood that the reality of him being dead had, most likely, become the default. Dimitri, as well as Matthias and all his other friends and family had become used to the reality in which he no longer existed as a living, breathing human. They have grieved, mourned, some have moved on, others not quite- and naturally, the possibility of him returning had never been on the table to begin with.

He could understand how meeting a relative that has been gone for so long may feel, in the end, more distressing than joyful. How he might as well have destroyed whatever delicate beginnings of scarred tissue had begin to form over the wound left from his passing, and rubbed salt atop it.

“Though I accept your apology…I believe you have nothing to apologize for. I should have never approached you that day. I was not…myself. I had done little to no progress in regards to my memories, was stressed and frankly not in the best state of mind as a whole thanks to the discovery of my own crest at the time. In the end I made an impulsive choice and dragged you down with me. Your reaction was perfectly reasonable considering the situation.” He looked down at his own hands, one partially covered by a wolf’s paw. “It was cruel of me to do that to you…and it angers me deeply, that I was selfish and thoughtless enough to do that. Forgive me.”

In the end, Lambert was aware of his situation. There was still work to be done, more that he had to do in order to fully gain the boy’s trust- this was not the type of situation that will be fixed in one single conversation. “If it grants you peace, know that I have no desire to disturb your rule, much less to take the throne or to acquire power in any shape or form. If my appearance has been stressful to you…well, one does not have to think too much about what it could cause to the rest of Faerghus. I have no interest in further disturbances.”

Looking down for a moment, he remembered the odd dream he had. Scolded by his own reflection, one that was much more true to who he was meant to be, because of his inactivity. A skinwalker was what it called him- and he had to agree. Up until now he truly was just wearing the face of a dead man. 

But one specific part of the memory stuck to him. 

When life was ripped from your grasp, you didn’t go out in fear, Lambert. It was unfiltered rage. Embrace it.

“However,” Embrace it. “...whoever did this, to me, you and any other who was felled that day…my wish is to find them. And to make them pay.”

Dimitri’s mention of his last words sent a wave of discomfort down his spine. The entire situation surrounding that day was still a series of pieces in his mind, much of it still lost or too vague for him to make out, but the ensemble was clear enough as well as the emotions coloring the ink used to place an endpoint to his story. Rage. Revenge. Grief. Pain. There was regret in becoming more and more aware of how his last words to his son were a call to arms and not an attempt to comfort or one last ‘I love you’, yet at the same time there was no use in focusing over something he couldn’t erase. The damage was done and he needed to work with the path he himself had paved.

“...very well. I will be walking the same path in trying to uncover the truth- but pay attention Dimitri.” His eyes and voice were steady. “In the end of it all, regardless of my dying words, I raised a prince that one day will be king and rule Faerghus into the future it needs and deserves. If you wish to honor my word as well as my death…that should be your priority above all.” The situation however didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to at least correct or at the very least improve some of it. “Do not lose your focus.”

The pause was broken by the excited yelp of a pup, successfully climbing atop a bag of treats and readying its snout to inspect the goods- before it was stopped by Lambert’s hands, at least. “You little imp, trying to conduct a heist in secret.” He placed the puppy down, before scratching its belly with a small smile and looking back at Dimitri. 

It was pretty clear that the conversation wasn’t the most cheerful to him. Lambert understood- he himself felt its weight. 

“My offer still stands, however. If you have any questions that could assure you of my legitimacy, ask away. Unless you wish for me to resort to embarrassing childhood stories? Because I do remember some.” Trying to at least lighten things up, he carefully approached the prince’s face with his hand. Hesitation paused his movements for a moment, but then he gently pinched the tip of his nose between the intermediate phalanges of his index and middle finger. 

“Do not be so sad, Mitya. There-” “-stole your nose! I suggest you come and get it lest I stash it away with our relics! Quicker on those feet, boy!”

Stole your nose. 

It wasn’t someone anyone taught him, he just knew not to use his thumb to pinch because of his crest. 

@blaiddllodi

wolf lord

closed starter for @blaiddllodi (+1 riding)

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Is it just me or does some of the Jamil fanfics on this site make his signature spell a little too overpowered?

Like canonically there are limits to what his spell can do. And I assume it is very much like Jafar's limits.

Even though Jafar could easily manipulate the sultan, the guy was able to snap to his senses a few times on his own or with a trigger. (During book 4, Kalim does the same)

Iirc, when Jafar tries to order the sultan to forced Jasmine to marry him, I think he snapped out of it long enough to make a comment that Jafar is old. Or when he asks the sultan for the diamond ring. The sultan snaps out of it for a moment before Jafar insists that he needs it.

So my belief is that jamil's signature spell fails when he tries to force people to do actions that go against their beliefs (?)

Sorry for rambling, I'm very tired. Have a wonderful day/night

Jamil's power is... Not very well explained.

Like, "mind control" is a trope with such a wide range of possibilities. Like, how far does that control go? How much can be done with it? How long does it last? What are the conditions for it?

Jade technically also uses mind control when he activates Shock the Heart, but his mind control is very specific (makes people tell the truth) and has a very clear limit (it only works the first time ever). Moreover, if the power conflicts with the person's own principles (Kalim's extreme loyalty to Jamil), it won't work properly.

What I gathered from Jamil's power, is that it is like kinda hypnosis (which is what Jafar seems to be using in the movie). Only works with people with less guarded minds, or magically weaker (which is funny because Azul had to take Floyd's unique magic to make sure Jamil wouldn't be able to control him, implying that Jamil's magic is probably stronger than Azul's. I'd love to see Jamil try Snake Charmer on, like, Leona).

It also seems that Jamil can take it back whenever he feels like it? It is odd, because Kalim goes back to normal at the most random moments, and if we go with "breaks when it goes against someone's beliefs", it means Kalim was ok with practically locking people in the dorm and tormenting them for the sake of training. Also, didn't Kalim literally decide to let everyone leave, and then got charmed into taking that back? (Or am I remembering it wrong? Terrible memory, me)

And, again, Kalim was able to ward off Shock the Heart, so it's not like he couldn't do so.

It's also interesting to remember that no one knows Kalim like Jamil does, so if Kalim really wasn't against what was happening, Jamil would absolutely know and use it.

So, TL;DR, Jamil's powers are confusing and it seems nothing but more powerful magic (or cancelling/weakening magic like Floyd's) can break it. And it doesn't seem to have a clear limit other than, y'know, overblot due to magic overuse.

One thing I've seen in fics that I don't get is how people seem to still be conscious while being controlled? That makes no sense. Kalim literally says he's missing some chunks of his memory and his fellow students have to fill him in on what he does when he "has a mood swing". If Jamil mind controlled you, you would not know it. I know it kinda seems so because we see Jamil do it, but that's the game giving us the cue, instead of Yuu actually seeing it.

(a fun thing I noticed is that both Jade and Jamil's unique magic requires the target to look directly at their eyes. Ruggie, meanwhile, doesn't need to do so, probably because he can only control the body and not the mind)

[bush-viper-cutie]

New Student, New Friend

Pairing: Young Snape x french!reader

Word Count: 2,751

Request: #1 “Hi! Can I request a young!Snape x french!reader where the reader's transferred from beauxbatons and isn't fluent in english/has a thick accent? Love your work!!”

#2 “Hi hi! Love your work! Can I request Young Snape x French reader? Sorry if I dont speak well, english is not my first language <3”

Warnings: none

A/N: Hello everyone again! :D I combined both requests because they are pretty similar so enjoy!

Posted: 9/10/21

Masterlist

---

~*~*~ = time skip

(Y/n) = first name

(L/n) = last name

~*~*~

~*~*~ = POV change

---

~*~*~*~*~ *~

There was a strange static in the air this morning, one Severus couldn't quite place. He brushed his long hair back behind his ear and listened in to the hushed whispers of passing classmates.

"...Beauxbaton, can you believe it?"

"Nice to not know someone for a change - "

Beauxbaton? Severus gathered they were talking about a new teacher perhaps? Although it wasn't that odd to get new professors in the middle of the school year. Just last year the Dark Arts professor was promptly replaced when he went mad after a spell backfired on him; In fact, every year there was a new one.

It was strange that the new teacher should be a transfer from another school such as Beauxbaton... Maybe they were fired and no one else wanted them, must be down on their luck. And if that is the case, how very fitting for Hogwarts, home of inadequacy.

Severus, still deep in his bitter thoughts, almost tripped over the shoe that had extended out in front of him. He caught himself and whirled around angrily. "Watch it!" he growled, straightening.

James Potter smirked. "Oh, Snivellus. Didn't see you there.” His Gryffindor friends snickered behind him, bolstering his ego. "I'd get along to class if I were you. Wouldn't want to be late on your first day back."

Severus grit his teeth and did everything he could to not growl his displeasure of being in so close proximity to the pinnacle of mediocrity that was Potter. It had been a week after winter holidays had ended but after another nearly fatal encounter with Black, he’d been forced to stay in the Hospital Wing un-zippering his mouth and a couple of fingers before being allowed back.

The memory of the experience made his knees weak, making keeping his riled demeanor that much harder. He was lucky he'd had the foresight to cover his nose before Black unleashed his hex. It wasn’t a quick run from the lake to the nurse, and he certainly wouldn't have made it with his nostrils zippered together as well.

"Mind your own business, Potter." Severus spat out his name like rotten apples, furrowing his brows in an attempt to seem more threatening however he could not help but notice the hallways getting emptier by the second. He knew better than to get caught alone with Potter.

He laughed and turned to catch up with his friends. Severus watched him go, only relaxing his shoulders after Potter had rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. The hall was empty.

He turned and continued down the corridor when his hearing perked at the scuff of loud footsteps. He whirled around, hand plunging into his robes, but it was too late.

"Levipeds!"

Severus' head snapped back as his feet whipped out from under him. He hung limp in the air, watching his wand roll away on the stone floor. His hair nearly touched the dirty ground.

James laughed. "Welcome back, Snivellus!"

He closed his eyes as his boiling blood rushed to his head. He was hanging upside down in the air, alone in the empty corridor. He couldn't scream for help, he'd just get yelled at for disturbing lessons, and he couldn't reach his wand - as long as his limbs might be, his wand might as well have rolled down into the dungeons. He'd have to hang there until classes were over or one of the portraits decided to help him out for once.

"Eh... Excuse moi?" A quiet voice wrapped in a thick French accent broke the silence.

His eyes flew open and stared straight into the face of a beautiful but completely unfamiliar student. She bent down low to meet his eyes. She must be the mystery person from Beauxbaton, the new student as it turned out.

This was worse, so much worse than being caught by anyone else in the school - except for a very select few. Severus looked around in search of anything that might make this all less embarrassing.

"You need help, no?" Her voice was more confident this time, laced with a hint of friendly amusement.

"Uhh..." He met her eyes and hoped this new student would excuse his red face to be due to all his blood rushing down.

She straightened and pointed behind him. "This is your wand? I'll give to you?" His wand was in his hand with one quick flick of her own.

His eyebrows automatically shot up at her use of nonverbal spells. "Thanks," he tried swallowing but ended up coughing. He covered his mouth and performed the counter-hex, dropping to the floor with a grunt.

She rushed forward, looping her arm through his and helping him up to his feet. She laughed and dusted the dirt off his back while he stood paralyzed.

"Better, no?" she smiled, facing him a foot from his stiff figure. "I'm new seventh-year transfer... And you?"

For a moment his mouth opened but no words flew out, and then all at once words poured out as fast as if under a curse. "I'm - oh - yes you're from Beauxbaton, right? Yeah - er - yes, seventh-year as well."

Her hands flew up and she waved them in front of herself with a laugh. "Slow please!" she laughed again. "One more time?"

Severus gave an awkward laugh that matched hers and nodded. "I'm also a seventh-year."

"Oh!" she held out a paper and pointed down to the class he was late for. "I am so lost! You help me now? Oui?"

She smiled up at him and his heart nearly leaped out of his mouth. He nodded quickly, "Yes - er - oui, I'll help you... Actually, that's my class too..."

"Oh!" Her smile widened, "I need partner for the class! You have one?"

For once Severus thanked his unlucky past self. His time in the hospital wing all week meant everyone would be already partnered up. "No, I don't..." his face flushed red again and he cleared his throat, looking away. "We could be partners?"

"Bon! Lead the way, partner," she motioned for him to lead, keeping a very close pace next to him as they walked. "I am lucky to find you, did not know anyone yet. You are only third person met!"

He gave her a small smile as they walked together, but he knew it wouldn't take long for her to find out his status at the school. Being a new student, he was sure she’d make all the friends she could ever want by the end of the day. Then she'd reconsider her luck after everyone tells her all about her lab partner, 'Snivellus'.

~*~*~

They made it to class late. The professor looked up and frowned, ready to tell them off when Severus' new ‘friend’ spoke up.

"Excuse us, Professor, I am new and got lost."

The professor sighed and waved his hand, giving her a pass. "And I see you're back Mr. Snape. Get to your seats, you'll both be working together - get moving."

The two back seats were empty and Severus was glad to be away from the front for once. His new partner set down her things, and as she bent to pick up her books Severus caught a glimpse of Sirius Black glaring at him from the front, a seat behind where Severus had been sitting the last term. Black had anticipated his return and was obviously annoyed with the change in seating.

"What may I call you, Mr. Snape?" The new student whispered, giving him her full attention despite the lesson continuing.

"S-Severus." He looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. He'd die of embarrassment if they started teasing him in front of her for daring to open his mouth. "And you?"

She smiled. "Severus Snape? That's a beautiful name." She looked back up to make sure their conversation was still private and turned back. She reached up and gripped his tie, pulling him towards her. She leaned and held a hand to his ear, moving her lips inches from his ear. "(Y/n) (L/n)."

Severus’ heart beat faster than it ever had before. The immense drumming in his ears almost made it impossible to hear her whispers. When she released him, he turned to look at her, feeling his face heat up either from proximity or from her warm breath flowing over his face. "(Y/n)... Good to know." He swallowed and realized he had not moved since she had pulled him towards her. He would have felt like an idiot if she wasn’t looking at him so playfully.

"You gonna kiss her, Snivellus?"

Severus pulled back quickly and clenched his jaw at Black.

The professor smacked Sirius' head with a roll of parchment. "Mr. Black, disturb my class again and I'll assign you an essay for every night this week." Severus smirked. "And you, Mr. Snape," the Professor smacked the board, creating a puff of chalk, "- will hand me your notes tomorrow before class - legible notes, might I add."

Severus nodded as the class snickered and turned away from (Y/n). The rest of the lesson went by agonizingly slow. Severus counted the seconds until he could run away to the library, away from taunting eyes. He hated himself for turning so red, but he hated Black even more for making him the fool.

~*~*~

~*~*~

You could tell the boy, 'Mr. Black', had embarrassed Severus greatly. He was hunched over his parchment, focused completely on the professor's words, and never once looking back up at you.

You read the words on the board but soon your eyes ventured down to look at the tall lanky boy currently trying to visibly shrink in his seat. The moment shared between you both still played on your mind. He had beautiful long lashes and deep dark eyes to match. It had been fun to see him so flustered over you, but the guilt of what you'd caused sat heavily on your chest. That boy had noted Severus had been in the perfect position to kiss her, which... did she kind of wish he had?... Just to see - for just a curious taste.

You didn't know what specifically was so alluring about Severus, but you could imagine yourself wrapped in his arms, pulling on his long hair, biting his lips, and hearing that deep voice of his purring for more. Something about him - or maybe everything about him - made you wonder how gentle those hands of his could be.

The bells rang in the distance, marking the end of the lesson. You packed your things and sat waiting for Severus to do the same. He was slow at first and then after a quick flick of his eyes up to you hurried along.

You stood at the same time and motioned for the door, scrambling to translate your thoughts into English. "Lunch now? We can sit together?"

People filed out of the class, which Severus watched closely before turning back to her and answering. "Look, this isn't the only time… I'm not someone to hang out with unless you like hexes and spells to be thrown in your direction."

You could see the hurt in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed, and his down-turned eyes filled with tears that wouldn't fall. Before you could bring yourself to respond, he sighed shakily, giving you pause.

"It's not your fault... I'll show you down and then I suggest you forget about being friends." He pulled open the door and held it open for you without meeting your eyes.

What could you say to him? You stepped out into the corridor, contemplating how to phrase what you were thinking when laughter pulled your focus.

"I see you've met our Snivellus." The stupid boy, Black, came forward talking to you but keeping his attention on Severus. He had long curly hair nearly as long as Severus' and was taller, with proud shoulders held in a loose demeanor that still made him seem important in some way. His eyes shifted to you, "Hope he didn't drip any snot on you while he tried for a kiss."

You scoffed, “You do not understand what you saw. Please leave us alone.”

“Love, maybe you’re not understanding me. For your own safety I insist YOU leave this sniffling slime alone.” Black took a step closer.

Severus pulled out his wand but held it low, at the ready in an instant. "I’m done with your games. Unlike you, you nitwitted tower troll, I have places to be." He finally glanced your way, "Excuse me," and made to leave.

Black blocked his way, laughing at the now pointed wand in Severus’ hand. "Go ahead, I’ll be glad if you finally get expelled for using wands in the corridors. Mine's not even on me."

You eyed the smirk on his face and the tiny shift of his hand towards his trousers pocket. Was that a lie then? Whatever the case, you had enough of this game too. "My friend, Severus, is showing me to lunch. We are going now." You stepped between Severus and Black, giving the taller boy an annoyed look.

"I’m telling you, be careful," Black chuckled. "He might try to kiss you again if you’re too nice."

You paused and stepped back, looking up at Severus, whose eyes were fixed on Black, staring daggers into him. You bit your lip and chuckled the same way Black had, finding a different kind of amusement than him in this situation. "I hope he will."

Severus' head snapped to you, his cheeks slowly going a light shade of pink all over.

Black made a disgusted sound and a show of his fake nausea. “Darling, I don’t think I understood you correctly. Check your dictionary and if that’s not the problem maybe your eyes.”

This boy was really getting on your nerves now. If you’d been back at Beauxbaton you’d’ve already hexed him into a soggy pile of starter yeast, baked him into the perfect Pain au Levain, and chucked him out the tallest tower window. “Move it,” you made sure your French accent coated the word heavily.

Severus’ hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you back. He kept his wand and eyes trained on Black but spoke to you. “Go down to lunch. I’ll stay here to have the chat Black so desperately wants to have with me.” He looked up again, “Let her leave.”

Black smiled, “That’s fine. Been meaning to ask how your winter holiday was after I last saw you.”

You turned to Severus, ready to protest when the door to the classroom opened, cutting Black off. You all stood very still and awkward, hoping to hide the atmospheric hostility that had been created.

The Professor locked the door with a flick of his wand and looked at everyone with concern. "Off to lunch, no need wandering the corridors. Now." He ushered everyone down the stairs, walking close behind in equal silence.

You reached the floor second to last, after Black and then Severus, and pulled on Severus' arm the second your Professor had turned towards the staff room. You kept your hand on him to make sure he didn’t decide to leave before you could talk to him. Before Black could step towards you to continue the ‘conversation’, other Gryffindor students pulled him towards a small crowd gathering across the floor. Whatever it was seemed to be of higher interest and he left with only single backwards glance.

You both watched him go dissolve into the rowdy group and suddenly the air around you shifted. Severus turned instantly, searching your eyes with an intensity you could almost feel. You blushed and slid your hand down his sleeve and lingered on his bare hand. Neither of you said a word but the electricity connecting your eyes and the comfortable silence that enveloped you both spoke volumes. "We could eat together, no?"

His eyes settled on your hand still on his until you let go. "Oui," he whispered with a smile pulling at his lips. “Lunch then.”

As you both walked on, he slowly crept closer with every step, making your shoulders brush against his arm. His pinky tickled the skin on your wrist, making you cough to hide a giggle as you entered the Great Hall. Your eyes flickered up at his and you smiled, seeing a gentle blush and an even gentler smile on his face.

~*~*~*~*~ *~

Masterlist

—-

General taglist:

@setsuna-meiou31

@severuslovebot

@bionic-otp

—–

[supersaiyanjedi14]

SABEZRA WEEK: Day 2 (Nov 15): More Than Friends

*Sabine’s art may be the most expressive thing in the galaxy, but her distractions are for once making her draw blanks.  Tristan thinks he knows a solution, though it involves making an interesting observation…not that Sabine would ever admit it.*

To an offworlder observer, the winters on Krownest were largely indistinguishable from the other seasons, but there were some unique traits.  Thanks to unique fluctuations in the atmosphere, auroras were extraordinarily common during the winter months to the point where it was a rarity to have a colorless night.  It was this factor, in conjunction with her own convenient birthday, that made the winter a favorite time for Sabine Wren.  Growing up, she had been enamored with the dazzling light shows radiating across the sky, her earliest memories including watching them as she bounced on her father’s knee.  From this childhood skygazing came her fascination with color, this early influence reflected in her technicolor specialty.

All this made it especially odd, then, that on this night, with the sky aglow in streams of blue, green and purple, that the young Mandalorian was drawing up blanks.  Ten times now she had sprayed a stream of paint across her bedroom wall, laid unacceptably bare since her departure for the Imperial Academy, and each one had been wiped away as she changed her mind.  The auroras had always given her streams of inspiration for her art, yet now she could not think of anything appropriate.  Sabine supposed she was just distracted.  It had only been a week since Kanan and Ezra had left, and thoughts of all kinds had been bouncing in her head ever since.  Which only made it more ironic that she had taken up the airbrush to clear her mind a little.

But she couldn’t help but wonder.  Were they alright?  How had Hera and Zeb taken the news that she wasn’t coming back?  Had anything happened at the base?  Was Thrawn planning something?  Every time Sabine tried to push her worries out of her mind, the more they seemed to fester.

“Never thought I’d see you with nothing to paint.”

Sabine turned to face the voice behind her.  Tristan was standing in the doorway, the steam of the two mugs in his hands mildly obscuring his gray and yellow breastplate.  The junk worn by the Imperial Supercommandos had been thrown in the incinerator at the earliest opportunity, a waste of perfectly good beskar if ever there was one.  If the comments from everyone around the compound was any indication, being back in his old armor seemed to make Tristan far more at ease than he had been for months, and given his relaxed posture, it wasn’t hard to see their point.

As far as her younger brother’s comment was concerned, Sabine simply rolled her eyes.  “It’s not that I have nothing to paint, I’m just trying to figure out the right way to apply it.”

“In other words,” Tristan replied, “you’re stuck.”

“No, I’m just…”  Sabine stopped herself.  There was no point getting into a childish bickering contest.

Tristan gave a light chuckle.  “Sounds like you need a pick-me-up.”  Entering the room, he handed one of the mugs to Sabine.  She gave the caf a light sniff.

“Cream and tang bark?”

“As if you’d let me live if I gave you anything else.”  The siblings laughed at the remark as they sipped their drinks, looking out into the colorful night.  “So, what’s holding you up?”

Sabine sighed.  “I just have a lot on my mind.  Everything with Saxon, what’s up with Dad, my friends…”  She paused.  No need to get into too much detail.  “I’ve always had my art to get my mind off things, but this time seems so different.”

Tristan shrugged.  “Maybe you could try doing something with your rebel friends.” he suggested.  “They’re not here now, but maybe having a picture here can make them feel closer.”

Sabine gave a light shrug of her own.  “Not very specific.”

“Hey,” Tristan raised his hand, “you’re the artist here.  I’m just giving the outsider perspective.”

Sabine considered her brother’s idea for a moment then raised her mug to her lips again.  “That may work.  Plus, it’d be good practice for painting people.  I don’t think Ezra would appreciate it if I did him in the same style as last time.”

“Oh?  So you’ve already painted your boyfriend?”

Hot caf spewed over the balcony as Sabine sputtered and choked.  Even with the cold night air on her face, she could feel her cheeks burning like Mustafar’s primary.

“Boyf- kah! My boy-? Gagh!” Setting her mug down before more spilled out to join what she just spit out, Sabine thumped her chest twice as she coughed once more.  Once she was back to normal, she wheeled around and glared at Tristan.  “Ezra’s not my boyfriend!”

“He’s not, is he?” Tristan’s mouth turned into an evil grin, realizing he’d struck a nerve.  Sabine knew what was coming, but could do nothing to stop it.  In his best teasing little brother tone, Tristan pressed on.  “then how come you’re so worked up about him?”

“I’m not worked up about him!” Sabine snapped.  “He’s one of my friends.  I miss all of them.”

“So he is a friend.” Tristan was being deliberately obtuse now.

“No duh, osik-head.”

“And he’s a boy.”

“That doesn’t make him my-!“

“Seems like it does.”

“We’re just friends!” Sabine almost shouted, “Nothing more!”  She could feel her face heating up even more from Tristan’s teasing.

The younger Wren wasn’t giving up so easily, however.  “Seems like you’re a little more than friends.”

“We’re not!”

“You did bring him home.”

“He was part of the mission.”

“He seemed keen to make himself look good in front of us.”

“He’s an idiot sometimes.  Talks before he thinks.”

“You always mention them as ‘Ezra and the others’.”

“That doesn't mean-“

“You’ve be working with that specific shade of orange for a while…”

“Tristan, I’m warning you!”

Tristan chuckled louder, raising his hands in mock surrender.  “Okay, okay, I’ll lay off.”  He collected his mug and turned to leave.  “All seriousness, though,” he added, “these guys mean a lot to you.  I can tell.  You’ve always drawn on the world around you for inspiration, maybe try the people in your life, too.”  With that, he left.

Sabine had calmed down a bit, but she was still blushing up a storm.  The nerve of her brother.  What did he know?  She and Ezra were just friends, nothing more.  Sure they had been through a lot together, she had even decorated most of his helmet collection, but that didn’t mean she liked him.  Sure Ezra was friendly and earnest and brave, and even his jokes could be funny once in a while.  And if she was being objective, Sabine guessed she could say he was handsome in a Loth-rat kind of way.  Even the scars on his cheek were a little cute like Loth-cat whiskers-.

“Gah!”

Sabine shook her head, trying to get a grip.  Why in the nine Corellian Hells was she thinking this?  There was no way Ezra was more than a friend, right?  Even if he was, what could they do about it now?  She was here and he and the others were off fighting the Empire.

Or were they?

Sabine looked down at her airbrush, still loaded with the orange paint that matched Ezra’s jacket.  She thought for a moment, then smiled.  Maybe having him- them around in some way might put her mind at ease.  She’d have to smack Tristan for egging her on a bit ago, but she supposed she ought to admit he had a point.  Collecting the brush, she set to work on her newest piece, starting with a certain annoyingly persistent Loth-rat.

[flowerflamestars]

Your response was so thought provoking.

It’s funny how Rhysand describes his mother as sweet and kind then mentions things that she did that directly contradict that (LOL). Giving her ring to the Weaver and going to the camps knowing that some of them might attempt to clip her and her daughters wings show the strength of her character and the love she had for Rhysand as a mother.

I think she had a lot of freedom and agency, which essentially led to her death, because no one was guarding/protecting her, so Rhysand overcompensates to atone for her death by being very protective of Feyre. It was cute at first but it veered into strange territory when he gave Feyre the handmade dresses of his dead mother. When I read that scene I was genuinely so confused - how did his mother know if the dresses would fit Feyre as she never met her - and it slightly creeped me out - his mother is literally dead. I always knew he had Daddy Issues, but Mommy are definitely also in there. The dresses are good keepsakes, but it strikes me as odd that he would give away the House of Wind if it was specially built for his mother. I had no idea that the House of Wind was built specifically for Rhysand’s mother, do you know the book this was written in? His love for her is clearly apparent as he built her the House and let her make her own choices, so I wonder why this mentality kind of skipped over Rhysand’s character?

His behaviour in ACOSF was not out of character per say, but it showed that he controls Feyre in a way that is slightly concerning. I genuinely wonder how he is going to handle Feyre once she goes to the Illyrian camps. You said you cannot see him letting her walk around and I genuinely agree. She cannot walk in Velaris without the company of Inner Circle members, so there is no way she will be freely moving about Windhaven. I wonder how the fandom at large is going to respond to that, simply because it is very clear that controlling Feyre’s agency (even if she is in the Illyrian camps) goes against everything that the book series represents - feminism and a women’s choice.

Thank you! Yeah- I think it's sort of fundamental, the way all the tragedy and death get both flattened and utilized as justification. We don't even know Rhysand's mother's name- she's a saint and a gesture and device, not a person.

As for the House of Wind, I remember it as a throwaway line in acomaf, but I could easily be misremembering! If so, it still feels important that in Rhysand's memories of his family, their primary home is the House. The center of their domestic life is not the grandeur of any number of other palaces or situations- it's a home whose fundamental comfort is his mother's safety/autonomy. Acosf equates the House to a prison, for faeries who can't fly. It's his mother's domain.

It must be said, Feysand has never been the ship for me.

It had it's moments- a hot bad powerful man on his knees, calling the heroine his salvation? Yes.

Basically everything else? I'm not telling anyone what or who to ship- books don't have to be good or pure or portray good people or model flawless behavior.

The problem is, for me personally, that the books are marketed and lauded for being not just good romances- which, I'm sorry, extremely arguable considering the quality of the smut in acosf- but as hugely, definingly feminist.

I think you're completely right to say that Rhysand's actions in acosf aren't out of character. And that's the whole thing for me- Rhysand is a villain.

The core relationship is based on violating Feyre's agency, and no matter how many titles he gives her or how much he loves her, that never changes.

I'm not even going to argue about the whole SA under the mountain thing people really disagree on (I think my opinion can be uh, very easily inferred) but let's take it all the way back. Very beginning: Feyre is slowly dying in her filthy, freezing, conveniently completely private for Plotting cell.

Again, they're ALONE.

She has this horrifically broken arm, which in moments, Rhysand will magically heal to the point of perfection despite the fact that the bone is visible.

He grabs her arm and twists it, to make her agree.

She has no power in this situation, is almost certainly dying of an infection, and he's throwing around his superior might and sheer shittyness what? to frighten her? for fun?

And yes- the eternal he had to play the part.

In private...where it's safe enough to start this plot that will both get them killed. I have thoughts about Rhysand's insistence on acting that I'll get to, but the primary take way is: he hurts her.

And then he convinces her to agree to a bargain that guarantees him a week of her life, every month, until her death.

HE IS HELPING HER IN SECRET, THE BARGAIN IS NOT A ROLE HE IS PLAYING.

So babes, what the actual fuck.

She is, at this point, a human girl who is 1) at his mercy and 2) that he's attracted to and has decided to kidnap.

COOL COOL COOL

Control is a defining aspect from the start. And we're told it's to piss off Tamlin. Or to defeat Amarantha. Or to protect Feyre. Of course, we later learn they're Mates and Rhysand Would Never Ever kidnap her unless she needed/asked for it....but this? in this moment. He doesn't know that.

(I believe this was further retconned as the books went on- first he Knows on the balcony. But THEN we're told about him dreaming about her? And also, possibly, that he recognized her at Calanmai. The books can't seem to decide.)

The thing with all of Rhysand's acting is that...it's not acting. At a certain point, being shitty to people for hundreds of years isn't a smokescreen it's just...being shitty for hundreds of years. The Amarantha situation takes brief precedent to make his actions False for Reasons, but everything else his court publicly does? not so much.

Is part of all this that he never got over the violent deaths of his family? Yes, probably.

But much like how Rhysand's mother is distilled down in memory to these extremely femme, acceptable, not at all subversive when she was probably a badass, traits, so too, does Rhysand flatten Feyre.

I can't even talk about the pregnancy plot without completely boiling over with rage.

I hate it.

HATE.

But from the perspective of talking about Rhysands let's say, vast maternal guilt, there's even more wild, alarming shit to seen.

Because the way he blames himself for his mother and sister's death is directly textual. He admits it, talks about it, it's clear in both some of his softer and some his just. bonkers terrible actions this is the drive.

He'll do anything, not to lose Feyre like he lost them.

Except, you know, believe for even a second that the POSSIBILITY OF A SON ISN'T WORTH MORE THAN HER IMMORTAL LIFE.

Sidenote: this is so silly in all the other stuff, but I've always thought it was crazy they accidentally conceived and immediately decided it was forgone because an maybe evil? possibly apparently psychic? ancient god/monster showed them a specific kid. they're immortal. even with faery fertility issues there's a whole infinity. what the hell.

But anyway.

So, I think there's a difference, between being willing to sacrifice yourself for someone you love and making a death pact to die with them the second they die. Especially if you plan/ believe a primordial being/ entertain the idea of parenthood. Not to mention just...the fact that they're rulers of a country (well, a ruler and a ceremonial ruler, but still) and have no seeming plan???

Rhysand deciding to die is neither surprising or compelling to me, sorry yall. I think the latent urge is kind of...there? I don't know. Him coming back at the end of acowar always felt wrong and his behavior after feels..off.

The issue is that Rhysand's whole defining justification for EVERYTHING he does is that he's protecting Feyre. He's always been 'protecting' Feyre, from making her dance mostly nude down to this moment, where he finds out that their child will certainly kill her, and lying about it.

And he just lets the situation spiral, on and on (and, you know, threatens to MURDER the person who tells Feyre the truth about what is happening TO HER OWN BODY).

A parent (Rhysand) choosing, full knowing, to die for their child? That's something.

Feyre not knowing right up until the end she's going to die, and her death won't even matter because the baby is also going to die- And Rhysand having chosen that, for them both, is a violation beyond belief.

There's no secondary option until Nesta literally creates one out of impossibility, which no one knew she could do.

But all the while, there's Rhysand, talking about their future son with Feyre. Their child, who'll have his eyes. Feyre's never a full partner, arguably, much less a full person, but the damning second she goes from idealized Perfect Mate Second Chance to incubating an heir, that's what matters.

Rhysand has run out of guilt, into something worse.

[onebizarrekai]

ok NOW I have time to talk about the v3 ending for a second and why the popular belief that the audition tapes were real is one of the most baffling things to me. don’t get me wrong, ‘pregame’ has the capacity to be an interesting au if done correctly, and there’s fun to be had with it, but the writing in the game does not actually encourage you to believe in its existence and it’s so odd to me that it’s taken as hard fast canon.

I mean, actually, you technically can check. I think this is the writing deliberately encouraging the player to revisit the prologue and see that the way tsumugi described it happening in the trial is not actually what happened.

number two, they claim that the prologue of the story began after they got their costume changes, which is also obviously not true. it started when they came out of the lockers in their ordinary school uniforms. (seems like tsumugi is indirectly trying to divert attention away from that point that the player has access to, claiming that it is not part of the story.)

shuichi specifically flashbacks to this moment. they go on for like three minutes talking about how everything tsumugi said could’ve been bs.

they literally end on that note of shuichi refusing to believe they auditioned, and very ambiguously too. they didn’t actually give anyone any incentive to believe what happened during the trial–in fact, they encouraged otherwise.

amidst all the ambiguity, the only lead the game really gives you is the one that tells you to replay the prologue to confirm where the characters can’t. the attention drawn to this particular inconsistency between the prologue and the final trial feels very purposeful, not to mention shuichi’s lack of belief towards it. the difference is glaringly apparent. like I said, it draws attention.

of course, they don’t resolve it at all and the whole game ends on a big maybe, but again, the only lead they give the player is revisiting the prologue. they want you to see how it’s inconsistent. the truth is not supposed to be set in stone.

there were a couple other things I wanted to mention.

one, prior to being refitted as ultimates in the prologue, all of the characters remembered being kidnapped. if they had willingly signed up for the killing game, why in the world would they need to be kidnapped? why would all of them seem so confused about what’s happening if they had knowingly auditioned for danganronpa? if they’d already had their memories wiped at that point to prepare them for new memories, why let them remember that they were kidnapped? it seems very convenient for tsumugi that nobody remembers anything from before they transformed into ultimates… but the player does.

even tsumugi’s explanation of the prologue flashback makes very little logical sense. if all of them really were fans of danganronpa in some regard, they would probably know right away that they were going to appear on the show; there wouldn’t be any room for confusion. if tsumugi’s account was even accurate in the slightest, and there was somehow some dialogue that was obstructed from the player during the prologue, it seems infeasible that it would take them so long to realize what was happening because they would have suspected it the moment they woke up in a dark, mysterious school and were asked to gather at the gym.

not to mention, why the heck would they show kaede and kaito’s audition tapes and not maki and himiko’s–y’know–the two other people that were actually there? it’s like this “evidence” was handpicked for the protagonist… oh wait.

two, ever since I noticed the implication that maki is not affected by flashback lights, it puts a whole new perspective on every story she tells in the game and even her placement and purpose in the killing game itself. I feel like this theory speaks for itself, especially when you take into account maki’s story about going to a convention (tsumugi in her natural habitat) to kill a target, and failing.

three, kinda.

all three of their school uniforms in their audition tapes are distinctly inconsistent with their sprites.

after I noticed shuichi’s, I was about to pass this off as another dumb artistic mistake, but then I checked kaede’s and kaito’s and found the same exact thing.

let me point them out if you can’t see them very well: shuichi has 3 buttons on his uniform, not 2, kaede has 1 stripe on her uniform and not 2, and kaito’s buttons are black on his shirt in his sprite and rather ordinary in the audition tape. also, shuichi’s shoes look light brown, even though they kinda match his hair on the sprite. the inside of kaito’s jacket collar is also white on the sprite, while it isn’t in the tape.

… I really wish I could say this is a striking observation and all, and possibly even intended to be proof that the tapes were fake, but also… I’ve made a post about the art inconsistencies in this game before. I failed to notice this one at the time, but v3 is not known for the quality and consistency of its art. a couple of kaede’s prologue cgs show her with two stripes as well. heck, the one of her being kidnapped up there is one of them. when I realized that all three of the audition tapes had inconsistencies with the official character designs, I got my hopes up a little… but we can’t win ‘em all, huh.

anyway, long story short, the epilogue implies one thing: it’s that 1) the prologue is different from how tsumugi explained it, 2) the player has the power to revisit it to confirm this, and 3) the game wants you to revisit it to confirm this, deliberately drawing attention to the incongruity of the two tales. the version of the prologue that the players see is not part of tsumugi’s grand story. last of all… it’s just my own theory about the game itself, but I think tsumugi was full of shit and the players were never supposed to take what she said as the simple truth to begin with, especially due to the narrative encouragement to distrust it.

it’s clear that the game planned for ambiguity and multiple interpretations and reception, thanks to all the ‘maybes’ it ends on… but isn’t it so strange that fans seem more willing to trust tsumugi’s contradictory account rather than the distrust of the main characters that has so much attention drawn to it? nobody knows what’s in the outside world… and that’s the point.

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 3

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

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Never before had you dreaded something more than you dreaded arriving for work the morning following your incident with Keishin. More than anything, you hoped he was thoroughly pissed at you and had left for work early that day so that the two of you wouldn’t have to see each other, but much to your displeasure and horror, when you stepped into the store that morning, he was sitting at the front counter, waiting for you.

How was he not pissed at you after what you had said to him? 

When the sound of the front doors sliding open filled the otherwise silent building, leaving the keys in your hand useless as Keishin had already unlocked the store, you gripped the keys tightly and swallowed hard when he looked up at you. He didn’t say anything at first, maybe because he was waiting to see if you would make the first move, but after last night you were done making first moves when it came to him.

Averting his gaze and dropping your head low, you shoved the keys back into your pocket and headed for the back room to put your stuff away and get this day over with. 

Just as you were about to open the door to the back room, Keishin cleared his throat and you stopped in your tracks, head turning to look at him without thinking about it. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” This was the very first time he had greeted you first, and on top of that, the very first time he had ever used your name. 

You weren’t sure how to respond, confusion and excitement mixing in your body to create an overwhelming concoction. “Good morning,” you mumbled in response before disappearing into the back before he could do anything else out of the ordinary, like God forbid initiate a conversation or something.

You took your sweet time getting ready, delaying heading out to the front of the store as long as possible to give Keishin ample time to leave. After about fifteen minutes or so, you emerged only to find him sitting right where he had been before, newspaper sprawled on the counter and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Shouldn’t you have left by now?” The questioned slipped past your lips before you even had the chance to filter it through your head.

Eyes wide, Keishin was surprised that you had spoken to him almost as much as you were. “We’re expecting a big delivery today, so I’m sticking around,” he answered. “You’ve never handled one by yourself so my mom asked me to show you how it’s done.”

Your heart sank, your stomach twisted, your knees felt weak. So he was going to be here with you all day long? “Perfect,” you groaned, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your tone. “That’s just awesome. Great.”

“Listen, it’s not my idea of an ideal day either, but it is what it is,” he said. “So why don’t we just put last night behind us, chalk it up to exhaustion and the influence of alcohol on my part, and move forward?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, the fact that you couldn’t seem to figure him out thoroughly starting to irritate you. “How are you not angry at me?” you questioned him. “I was . . . horrible last night.”

You had spent the entire night after getting home thinking about the horrendous way you had behaved. The things you had done and said made you feel awful and you couldn’t understand how Keishin wasn’t on the brink of smacking the shit out of you right now.

“It’s fine.” He flashed a smile, trying his best to prove that he wasn’t dwelling on the past. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

Looking around to double check that the two of you were the only ones in the store, you lowered your voice before speaking. “But I put my hands on you. You can really just forget that?” Heat swelled in your cheeks as you recalled the less horrible events that had taken place.

“I touched you too,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but yours was an accident.” You weren’t sure why you were saying all of this stuff; it was almost like you wanted him to be angry at you. Who knows, maybe you did. “I called you a burnout.”

Keishin let out a booming laugh at that. “Take a good long look at me, kid.” He smirked, gesturing to himself. “You really think I’ve never been called worse?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” you breathed out.

Keishin opened his mouth to speak, but before he let a word out, he changed his mind and pressed his lips together. In the meantime, he watched you, the cogs in his head obviously working hard. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” He stood up, walked over to you, and set a hand on your shoulder. “I said it’s fine, so just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, finally giving in. 

“Good. Now, get to work, because this place isn’t going to run itself and I’m only here to help with the delivery, so until then, I’ll be napping on the couch in the back. Wake me up when the truck gets here.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Keishin gave you a pat on the head and disappeared into the back room without another word.

You stood in place for a moment, unsure if the fact that he had forgiven you so easily was a relief or not. You didn’t allow yourself to worry too long about that though, because, like Keishin had said, you had work to do and the store wasn’t going to run itself. And, if your memory served you correctly, you had some sweeping to do in the back corner.

For about two hours, you fell back into your normal workday routine, completely forgetting about the events of the previous night or the fact that Keishin was napping in the back. That was, until you saw the delivery truck pull up in front of the store and remembered you had been given the task of waking the sleeping man. 

Heading into the back, you moved slowly and quietly even though it didn’t matter if you woke Keishin since that was what you were supposed to do anyway. 

“Keishin,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. “The delivery truck is here.”

Of course, he didn’t even budge at that. Nervously, you stepped closer to the couch, unable to ignore the fact that Keishin looked completely different when he was asleep. The usual frown or cocky grin he sported was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t seem as intimidating when his eyes were closed and his breathing was so slow and rhythmic. 

“Keishin.” You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder like he had done to you earlier and shook him slightly. Still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you were unsure what to try next aside from shouting right in his face. If only he had warned you he was a heavy sleeper. 

Deciding to try one last thing before you resorting to screeching, you leaned closer to his ear, planted your hand on his chest—a brief memory of how you had touched him last night flashing in your mind—and shook him once more while you spoke. “Keishin, the delivery truck is here,” you said, not whispering but also not being too loud.

Thankfully, the mixture of shaking him and speaking directly into his ear seemed to finally do the trick and his eyes shot open. Immediately, you jumped back, not wanting him to be weirded out by how close you were to him. 

Eyes travelling up to meet yours, Keishin yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Truck’s here?” he clarified.

“Yeah, it just arrived,” you told him, waiting for him to get up. “You should have told me you were a heavy sleeper. I was about to scream or pour water over you or something.”

Keishin cringed at the thought of that. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t. Next time, just pinch my nose or tickle me or something . . . anything but water.”

“Next time?” you asked. “You plan on taking naps on the couch often?”

“It’s my favourite place to nap. You should try it sometime,” he said before heading for the door. “Come on, let’s get this delivery over with. Try to learn fast so I don’t have to teach you again.”

“I’ll try my best.”

As you had pretty much expected, the delivery had been pretty straight forward. After helping the delivery man unload all of the boxes into the storage room and signing off on the delivery, the most time-consuming and complex part of the process was taking an inventory of the new supplies, which you picked up on pretty quickly. 

Keishin showed you how to mark down the new delivery on the clipboard kept in the storage room and where to input the total count for each item. From there, all you had to do was make sure you had received everything and had the correct number ordered. 

“Pretty easy, right?” He glanced at you out the corner of his eye as the two of you worked together at counting the inventory, keeping an ear open for customers in the process.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem hard. Just time consuming,” you agreed. 

“Exactly. We usually get a big delivery like this about once a month, then smaller deliveries throughout the week for more perishable items, as you already know.”

You nodded, quickly becoming lost in the repetitive task of counting and writing down the amount on the clipboard. Weirdly enough, you found that you didn’t actually hate taking inventory; the simple task was actually kind of calming and passed the time effortlessly. 

“50,” you muttered under your breath, jotting down the number in the correct box right after you finished counting. When you turned back to start on the next box, you caught Keishin looking in your direction. “What?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he responded, quickly elaborating when you shot him a confused look. “Well, more specifically, why you took this job.”

You shrugged as you continued working. “I already told you. I need the money.”

“Right, so you can move out on your own. But why?”

Your hands stopped grabbing items and your mind stopped counting, making you lose track. “Because I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember to live my own life and now that I have the opportunity, I’m not going to pass it up.”

“But wouldn’t you much rather be going to school? Surely you don’t want to work in a place like this for the rest of your life.”

You sighed heavily. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“I’m just curious,” Keishin said. “I want to understand you better.”

“I don’t think you could truly understand unless you experienced the childhood that I did.”

Stopping his work as well, Keishin leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try me.��

Rolling your eyes, you accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to give up. “First thing’s first, I’m not saying my childhood was tragic or anything. My parents didn’t beat me. They fed me and clothed me and everything a parent should.” You started, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “I was just never allowed to live my own life or make my own decisions. I ate what my parents wanted me to eat, I wore what they wanted me to wear. I took the classes they wanted me to, I was friends with who they thought would make a good friend. They went overboard on trying to get me to do what they thought was best for me. I was never old enough or mature enough to know what I really wanted. I lived in a controlling dictatorship.”

“What about soccer?” Keishin asked, proving that he had actually remembered the conversation the two of you had had on your first day at the store. “You told me you used to play.”

You smiled fondly at the thought of your high school soccer team. “That was the only thing I ever got to pick for myself . . . and it took months of convincing, and in the end, I was only allowed to continue because I was good at it. The fact that I genuinely enjoyed it never came into account for my parents.” Your smiled faded slightly. “Sometimes they even managed to drain the fun from that as well, but I refused to let them ruin it for me because it was the only thing I had that was mine.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day . . . but this is more important right now.”

Keishin was silent for a few moments while he processed everything you had said. “Sounds like everything needed to have a purpose.”

“Pretty much. If something had no chance of providing success in the future, it was a waste of time.”

“So the plan is to work so you can afford your own place, then go to school next year? How are you going to afford school?”

“Well, if I had followed my parents plan for me and started working toward a law degree, they would have paid for it. But since I’ve decided to do my own thing now, I’m just lucky they haven’t kicked me out of the house yet . . . so I guess I’ll have to get a scholarship or apply for student loans. I’ll basically be scraping by, so I’ve applied for a bunch of community colleges and I’ll go from there I guess.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Keishin lit one before sticking it between his lips. “What do you want to do?”

You laughed slightly at that. “I have no idea. I was never allowed to have hobbies or interests, so I don’t even know what I like. I just know what I don’t like. If I could do anything though, I’d apply for the University of Tokyo. They have a great soccer program. I just want to play soccer again.”

Keishin smiled. “Just soccer?”

“For now, yeah. I’ve learned that I’ll have to take life step by step, so that’s the first major goal. I’ll probably take some first year classes and see what I like and go from there. I think it’s okay to not have a set-in-stone plan sometimes . . . after all, this is the first time in my life I’ve never had my future planned out for me. It’s kind of exciting . . . scary, too, but exciting.”

Keishin sighed contently as he watched your eyes light up when you talked about the things you wanted to do in the future. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“So what was the point of what happened last night?” he inquired. “And, while we’re at it, the past few weeks as well. How do I fit into this grand plan of yours?”

You felt your heart pound against your chest. “I thought we were forgetting about last night?”

“We are,” he assured you. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, is all.”

You thought for a moment, unsure how to phrase exactly how you were feeling. At first, you were inclined to take him up on his offer to not answer, but after how nice he had been to you today, you felt you owed him at least that. 

“Originally, I was in a pretty messed-up head space and I wanted to use you to get back at my parents,” you told him truthfully, “. . . but after last night, I did some serious thinking and realized that wasn’t the case. What I really want is to prove to my parents that not everything that is different or ‘not according to plan’ is bad. You have an  . . . alternative look about you,” you tried to phrase that as respectfully as possible, causing Keishin to chuckle, “but you’re not a bad person or, despite my harsh words last night, a burnout. You coach volleyball for high school kids and you help out at your family’s store and even though I’ve been pretty horrible to you, you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You paused, unsure if you should say the last part or not. “I don’t know, I just think that maybe if they met you, they might realize that I’m capable of making good choices for myself even if it doesn’t fit their predetermined mold of my life.”

“You think I’m a good choice?” he asked, taken aback by your honesty.

“Yeah.” You eyed him while he took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke spill from his lips. “Maybe not the nicotine addiction part, but hey, no one’s perfect.”

Keishin chuckled before putting his smoke out. “Okay, I’ve got a deal for you.”

You cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“If I pretend to be your boyfriend and help you fix things with your parents, you have to apply to the University of Tokyo and follow your dream of playing soccer.”

You were thoroughly perplexed. “Both conditions of that deal only really benefit me. What do you get out of it?”

He just shrugged. “Nothing.”

You scoffed. “Well, as generous and sketchy as that sounds, there is no way I would be able to afford the University of Tokyo on my own and I don’t think any amount of ass-kissing could make my parents agree to pay for me to go there to play soccer and figure life out.”

“Hey, one step at a time, right?” He used your own words against you. 

You contemplated his offer for a moment. “You’re really okay with that? Even though you get nothing but more work out of it?”

“I suggested it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’d really pretend to be my boyfriend? Even though I’m just some rebellious kid?”

“Your opinion of me changed,” he pointed out. “Why can’t my opinion of you change too?”

“Fair enough,” you conceded. “Well, if you’re absolutely positive you won’t regret it when you wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll happily accept your deal. Thank you.”

Keishin turned back to the stack of boxes and promptly returned to the task at hand. “You’re welcome.”

You watched him work and quietly hum to himself while he did so. This time, it was his turn to catch you staring. “What?” he looked over at you.

“I just didn’t peg you for such a softy is all,” you joked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed at you. “Just don’t fall in love with me or anything, kid.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, old man.”