#the second drawing is unrelated to the first two oops

[cconfusedkat]

Doodles doodles doodles doodles (technically already posted the second one but i wanted to add to it with a few other funny thoughts)

Simply my favorite war criminal spider sapphic who scares people as a hobby x sapphic cult leader lamb who falls for it everytime

They dont got a regular dynamic its either toxic or domestic yuri. No between. Sometimes both

[worldsentwined]

(No)NaNovember

Since November is right around the corner (wtf where did this year go) the annual NaNoWriMo hype is starting up again. I love seeing all the energy and excitement for writing that it produces! But. I am in no way, shape, or form capable of writing 50k words next month without running myself into the ground. I’m not really in a place where I can commit to doing anything every single day for a month unless it’s already something I do every day to keep myself alive. Last year I attempted NaNo, wrote 30k words (at least 10k of which were unrelated to my main “project”) and then couldn’t write for months. So I’m not going to do that to myself again.

Instead, I’m going to try to make progress on some of the many, many works-in-progress that I’ve started and left unfinished over the past year or so. Maybe I’ll write a sentence or two. Maybe I’ll try to actually iron out some plot problems. Maybe I’ll do silly ask/prompt games to get me thinking outside of the box. Or maybe I’ll draw character art instead of actually writing because sometimes when I tell myself to write all I want to do is draw instead. 

Some of these stories might be familiar to folks who have been following me for a while - I’ve either posted excerpts or promised spinoffs/continuations. I figure if there is excitement out there for some of these stories, it might make it easier to work on them? So I’m going to lay out the ones I’m thinking about, partly to keep my brain organized and partly to see if there’s interest in reading a particular story. If something piques your curiosity, feel free to ask questions about it!

Dual Citizenship

On my first night in this apartment, I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted, worn down from a stressful day after weeks--months? Years? Of anxiety. I should have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but I couldn’t escape my circling thoughts. I was going to live. I was going to live here, in an unfamiliar space with unfamiliar people. I told myself back then that it didn’t matter who I lived with, and it didn’t matter what I had to do as part of this new society the robots were creating. I had enough insulin to stay alive and a safe place to sleep. That was all I needed.

I can’t sleep tonight either, and this time my insulin stockpile is cold comfort.

~15k words (with nearly 5k of extras/deleted scenes/notes) I saw this writing prompt about a robot apocalypse in which a person with an insulin pump gets dual citizenship due to being a cyborg, and some of the replies made me so angry that I decided to write a story as a giant “fuck you”. But then I got really invested in it and now I just really want to tell this story about a cranky diabetic dealing with their weird roommates and also emotions. Delves into the inherent ableism of our capitalist society and some of my own repressed medical anxieties. Also there’s an nb/nb romance that keeps trying to take over the plot even though it is so not the point of the whole thing, oops. This is the story I’ve actively been working on for a few months so it is the one I’ll most likely keep working on if people don’t chime in about other stories.

Operation: Wingpeople

Second pressed a button--all of their monitors went dark--and tossed a set of keys to Greg. “You’re driving. We need to stop by my place first, though.”

Greg caught the keys. They were his keys; they had been in his pocket, last he checked. He sighed. “Sure. What are you thinking, bugs so we can keep an eye on the place? I wonder what their security system is like.” That was Second’s area of expertise, but they’d worked together long enough for Greg to pick up some basics.

“No, I already have my surveillance kit,” Second said, extracting themself from the bean bag and tying their hair up in a loose bun. “I need to get my ball and shoes.”

“Your...what?”

Second opened the door and waited for Greg to follow. “My ball? My shoes? We’re going bowling, Greg.”

~3k words When I wrote Operation: Boyfriend in a frenzy last spring, it went from being a silly idea that I was going to write out and post in a day and forget about (ha!) to being my most popular work on AO3 ever. I had a lot of fun writing Sasha and Charlie’s story, and apparently people also enjoyed reading it. I also became very fond of Sasha’s henchpeople, Greg and Second, and had this idea to write a spinoff about what they get up to while Sasha is busy being a lovesick disaster. Enter this story, in which Greg and Second go undercover in a bowling league (to sell one of Sasha’s more ridiculous lies) and discover a secret plot. No romance here so far, but I’m putting up as many neon signs saying “this character is asexual and probably some flavor of aromantic” as I possibly can. 

A Stitch In Time

Three things make a stitch in time, Mom always said. A piece of the past. A piece of the present. A hand to guide the needle. With my prize in hand, I start the stitch.

The world puckers. Time folds around me, and I close my eyes, feeling my way through the weave of it. I never know exactly how far back an object will take me until I get there--the farther I go, the worse the distortion usually gets. This house is old, though, far older than the jacket, so I’m expecting familiar surroundings when I arrive. 

So it’s a shock when the stone floor and cheerful yellow walls of my kitchen are replaced by some kind of--research facility, all chrome and glass and inexplicable translucent white surfaces. In the time it takes to recover from the stitch and get my bearings, three things happen.

First: an announcement over a loudspeaker. Welcome to the Bureau of Time Tailors. Your current chronology is 14:35, the ninth of May, 3021. 

Second: something wrenches the jacket from my hand, and cool metal clamps around my wrist.

Third: the person standing in front of me, all crisp blue uniform and neatly coiffed graying hair, smiles. “Ah. I see we’ve caught you at last, Ellis Corvi.”

~6k words (and it’s SO close to being finished but I was having trouble sticking the ending so it’s been left lying) Yet another one from a writing prompt, this one about a time traveler who travels through time by touching objects and going to when they were made...who unexpectedly ends up in the future. Enter Ellis Corvi, recent college graduate and casual “stitcher” - a person who can move through time - and their best friend Rigel Crow. Turns out that messing with time isn’t quite as consequence-free as Ellis thought, and the details of their own past are more of a zigzag stitch than a straight seam. No romance, but lots of friendship and family dynamics.

Meeting of the DKP Squad - Continuation

Some said the first dragon had cursed the kingdom with its last breath, dooming them to repeat its reign of terror. Others said it was a protective spell by a benevolent witch, ensuring that a hero would always rise when the kingdom needed one. A few select scholars argued that perhaps the dragons had some ulterior motive for appearing, such as migration patterns or territory expansion, and only stole the princesses by coincidence--but most people dismissed their ideas as flights of fancy.

Even as a little girl, Princess Magnolia had thought the “fanciful” scholars had a point. Curses and spells were tricky things, easier to imagine than to set in motion. But she could appreciate a finely-woven story. In many ways, a well-crafted tale could serve just as well as magic.

~4k words (including the already-posted section) I wrote the first part of this story and posted it on Tumblr a while back, and I promised I would continue it but uh. I got stuck because Plot. Basically a knight, a princess, and a dragon are best friends in private and enemies or lovers in public. This is a problem, because the knight (super gay, pining for a hot magic student) is supposed to marry the princess (also pining for someone hot, not interested in marrying the knight) and before the wedding he’s supposed to kill the dragon (who’s just, really into hot sauce). Anyway I know parts of how this goes but I haven’t figured out what the Plan is to stop the wedding (it doesn’t have to even work, but the characters have to think it will). So this one will probably stay on the backburner unless I get a brilliant idea for it, but I haven’t forgotten about it. The plan is to have both m/m romance and f/f romance in this one, depending on how things work out.

[jessbakescakes]

Oh oops I think I meant 98!

I love your writing :)

Thank you!

98. Take a deep breath from this post.

Post-series Josh/Donna for this one!

Josh arrives home just after six one Sunday evening with some take-out and a bottle of wine. The incident that necessitated the trip to the situation room and interrupted Josh and Donna’s afternoon plans ended up de-escalating fairly quickly; when he opens the door and sees Donna sitting cross-legged on the couch surrounded by books, magazines, and binders full of colored fabric squares, he knows that she didn’t expect him back so soon. 

“Donna,” Josh starts, pushing the door shut with his elbow. “I thought we agreed --”

Before he can finish his thought, Donna interrupts him. “How much do you like Senator Benson?”

Josh puts the wine and food on the kitchen counter and walks into the living room. Donna has been dangerously close to a wedding planning meltdown for weeks, and Josh has been toying with the idea of taking a page from the Donna Moss playbook and drawing up some rules to keep her sane. He knows better than to answer, anticipating the can of worms that his response will open, but he does it anyway. “I mean, I’m not about to give the guy a kidney or anything, but we’re friendly enough.”

“Think he’d feel snubbed if he didn’t get an invite?” Donna asks, scribbling a note on a pad of paper in her lap before looking up at Josh, wide-eyed. “Wait, no. You need his vote on… well, I was gonna say 453, but you need his vote on most things. So if we invite Benson, that means we also have to invite Roberts and Winslow.”

Josh reaches for a book sitting to her left, but she grabs his hand before he can make contact. 

“Don’t!” she practically yelps. “I need to mark the page first.” 

He watches as she blindly feels around for a pad of post-it notes before peeling a few off the stack and sticking them on relevant pages. She’s muttering under her breath as she closes one book, but then re-opens it. She lifts the pad of paper and uncrosses her legs, letting out a sigh as she stands up, clearly looking for something she’s misplaced among the sea of wedding planning materials. “Look, Donna…”

“Have you seen my pen?” she asks, kneeling down on the ground and leaning over to peek under the coffee table. She looks under the table and around the couch, letting out a groan when she doesn’t locate it.

Josh kneels down on the floor with her, gently reaching for the pen twisted in her hair before taking her by the hands. “Honey? Take a deep breath.”

She does as he asks and gives him an embarrassed smile. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he laughs. “Quite spectacularly, I might add.”

Donna sighs. “It’s just… it’s getting to be more than I bargained for, I think.”

“Then don’t do it,” Josh insists. 

She gives his hands a squeeze and looks down at her lap as though she’s giving the statement some thought before she answers. “You’re sweet. But we kind of have to. It’s just become such a... thing.”

“We don’t,” Josh insists. “Seriously. If this is what you want, then I’ll do it in a heartbeat. But if this isn’t what you want, then I don’t want it, either. Screw politics, I’d marry you at the courthouse tomorrow if you asked me to.”

Donna looks up at him, her blue eyes just a little watery now. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Josh insists.

He watches as the tension melts away from her shoulders, her jaw, her neck. She lets out a long exhale, then shrugs. “Well, I don’t know what I want, but I sure as hell don’t want… this,” she says, gesturing to the chaos around them.

Josh reaches for his phone and scrolls through a few contacts before selecting one and handing her the phone. “I think I can help with that. Well, I know someone who offered to help, at least.” Donna glances down to try to see who she’ll be speaking to, and Josh gently guides the phone to her ear before she can protest.

Donna looks at him quizzically, but she beams when she hears the voice on the other end of the phone. “Actually, it’s Donna, Mr. President. I’m calling from Josh’s phone.” She pauses, listening to what President Bartlet has to say. “I’m doing well, thank you, how are you?” Another pause. “You’re right, sir, maybe not so well, then.”

Josh moves to clean up the living room as he listens to her end of the conversation, smiling to himself as she gets what he can only assume is an in-depth recap of the chat he himself had with the former President just a few days prior. 

“Really? Oh, thank you, sir, that… yes, sorry, that would be amazing! Are you sure? I wouldn’t… hi, Mrs. Bartlet.”

When the living room is cleared of all wedding planning materials a few minutes later, he opens the bottle of wine and pours them each a glass. He’s about to bring her a container of food when she walks into the kitchen, handing him his phone. He puts it on the counter and pulls her close for a hug. “Well?”

“The Bartlets offered us their farm,” Donna says, melting into him. “Mrs. Bartlet is going to do most of the detail work and vendor-wrangling, but we get the final say in everything. She and I are going to talk tomorrow after I get off of work to get some planning done.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You sound relieved.”

She looks up at him, her hands still clasped together behind his back. “I am. How much did you have to do in order to convince them to do that for us?”

“Almost nothing. I called for an unrelated reason, and he asked how it was going. I may have mentioned that you were a little overwhelmed, and that was all she wrote.”

Donna leans forward to give him a kiss. “President Bartlet made a pretty compelling case for doing it in October. With the leaves. It would make for some really nice wedding photos.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that too soon?”

“I seem to recall saying I’d marry you tomorrow,” Josh says. “You tell me when to show up and I’ll be there.”

She grins and reaches for a take-out container. “Don’t make any plans for the second weekend in October, then. Apparently, that’s the best leaf weekend, according to President Bartlet.”

“What is it with you two and leaves?” Josh teases.

“I’m sorry that you don’t have a running joke with the former leader of the free world, Josh,” Donna says with a shrug. “Maybe he just likes me better than you.”

“Sounds about right,” Josh says. 

Donna takes a seat on the couch, rattling off names for a much more exclusive guest list between bites of food. Josh just watches her and smiles, thankful that she agreed to marry him in the first place.

[reanimationstation]

[ID: there are three different images, all with traditional sketches.

The first image is a drawing of Victor Frankenstein, Ernest Frankenstein, and William Frankenstein all standing in a line and arguing towards the viewer, all varying levels of upset. Victor looks miffed, Ernest looks slightly confused, and William looks angry.

The second image is a simplified style showing Elizabeth Lavenza and Justine Moritz standing next to a broken vase. Both of them are looking deadpan towards the viewer, presumably where the three brothers are standing. there are two speech bubbles, the first only housing an ellipsis and connecting to both girls. the second speech bubble connects to Justine, reading "All we asked was who broke it,,"

The third image is unrelated to the other two, and is a drawing from the shoulders up of Elizabeth Lavenza, a darker skinned woman with curly dark hair put up in a bun. she has two circle blush marks on her cheeks, and is smiling and looking off to one side/End ID]

ok heres a clearer doodle of their designs sbfjsjsjd. im love them...especially Liz,,,, her... im so much happier with these designs as opposed to my old ones haha, now i just gotta digitalize them oop

[oh also if you could please reblog art instead of just liking it, thanks]

[tea-and-procrastination]

Shameless Self Promotion...

@berenacountdown, day fifteen

So apparently I’ve written 60 (!!!) Berena fics, which - well, came as a surprise, to be honest, because I knew I’d written a lot but I didn’t realise it was a round 60.

There is no logic or order to the fics listed here, I’ve just picked out some that, right now, jumped out at me. And I’ve put them under the cut, because things got a little out of hand.

carpals, metacarpals, phalanges: this was one of my earliest fics, all about Bernie’s hands (yes I’m predictable, don’t come for me, @bonnissance...)

your name carved on my soul and A Partridge in a Pear Tree: a pair of soulmate AUs, actually unrelated to each other but in my mind they go together. The first is from Serena’s POV and involves an amusing HR mistake about Bernie’s full name, while the second is from Bernie’s POV and allowed me to draw on my interest in folklore and divination customs.

shut up and dance with me: my first big multi chapter, following canon (up until Bernie’s return from Kiev) but with additional social ballroom dancing. Looking back I sort of wish I’d written a bit more from canon into it, because some chapters rely quite heavily on knowledge of what happened in specific episodes (fine at the time, less so now this much time has passed). But it was an important fic in my development as a writer, and gave the opportunity to not only have them spend a lot of time in each other’s arms, but to sometimes do so in rather nice outfits.

it is always in your darkness that the stars start to appear: the Harry Potter First Wizarding War crossover I’d never have thought of writing if I hadn’t been prompted! I have recently returned to the part written sequel I abandoned well over a year ago, with the hope that I might now be able to finish it. Watch this space...

concerto for two (hopeless hearts just passing through): the music teachers AU, featuring Bernie playing the cello. This fic is particularly close to my heart, and I loved twining music into their story. (Although I did almost make myself cry during my own carol concert because of it. Oops.)

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?: this might be the craziest fic idea I’ve ever had - Bernie and Serena as Discworld assassins. I had no idea if it was going to work, but it was so much fun to write - and I hope fun to read. It also features the tag ‘everyone wears black and the lizard gets his just desserts’.

I’m a thousand miles away (but girl tonight you look so pretty): this was my fic for Scrub In 2018. Serena is a newsreader, Bernie is a war correspondent, and they’ve fancied each other for years but circumstances keep conspiring to keep them from meeting. I just love writing AUs, ok?

And finally, I can’t not include given all of time and space, I would still find my way to you. I wrote this almost three years ago, and I still absolutely cannot believe what I did. The summary is ‘the one where Bernie and Serena are destined to meet time and again across countless lifetimes. (Or, five times Bernie and Serena could have met throughout history, and one time they did.)’. But what that doesn't tell you is that I, for some reason, thought it would be a great idea to write five separate (and very different) AUs in a single week. And that I somehow managed it. I still love each and every one of these AUs - as demonstrated by the fact that I returned to all of them in my Advent collection.

[pinkanonwrites]

Could I get a matchup please? I'm Infj, gemini and I'd say I'm pretty chill aside from anxiety. I'm 5'6, have a pretty thick build and an assortment of piercings and tats; a nice balance of fem and masc. I can be pretty nurturing and protective and I've been told I've got a comfy lap. I like to bake, play video games and unrelated, I have a sun allergy. In the bedroom I'd say I'm top leaning? I scored pretty high as a brat wrangler on a BDSM test lmao. Could I get BNHA peeps, please & thanks!

Well for BNHA I’ve got two for you! First is Nejire!

Your aesthetic would be the first thing to catch Nejire’s eye, and the questions would come shortly after. Did your piercings hurt? How many tattoos do you have? Are you secretly a vampire and that’s why you’re allergic to the sun? (Don’t worry, she promises not to tell anyone your deep dark secret.) You’ve got a comfy lap and Nejire is quick to snuggle, and she could probably benefit from someone wrangling her every now and then ;).

The second is going to be Kirishima!

Boy likes ‘em tough. Guys, gals, nonbinary pals, anyone in between, Kirishima has a thing for tough people with tough looks, and yours definitely draw his attention. But then he realizes just how kind and nurturing you are and oops he’s head over heels. He’ll gladly play guinea pig to any of your baking ideas and though he’s a bit of a manly man himself he’s not afraid to roll over and bottom if he’s feeling it. Of course, you’ll have to let him crush you in a few rounds of Mario Kart first.

[winx-canons]

do you have headcanons for saladin trying to get helia to practice/learn magic? or just cute family headcanons in general? your helia headcanons are always the best!

Awwh, you’re so sweet! Gosh, my Helia headcanons are far from the best, but I’m glad you like them. Also, I’m sorry for the late reply!

I think I’m going to do a mix, so they'll be cute family headcanons and magic ones. I hope you enjoy this!

Magic headcanons:

- Teaching Helia magic was certainly an interesting time. Helia asks him when he comes back to Red Fountain for the second time, during his second year.

- While his own mom was a fairy, his aunt was a witch

- Helia is frighteningly similar to his aunt, who actually died at the young age of 19.

- Saladin is scared to teach him because what if he falls to the same demise?

- However, Helia’s mom talks to him about this irrational fear. Saladin hesitantly agrees

- Helia is actually really good at magic

- He’s pretty good at potions as they require being precise; something he’s good at

- However, his speciality resides in defense spells!

- He doesn’t like attacking spells, as Helia prefers using his strings to hold enemies back.

- He obviously uses this to impress Flora

- She finds it rather endearing that he can help her train, as well as the fact that he could help her make potions! They would teach each other everything

- Saladin is proud of the fact that he’s able to learn rather quickly

Family headcanons:

-Helia’s mother falls ill rather often, so he spends a lot of time with Saladin (The only sad one, I swear)

-Helia has stayed at Red Fountain as early as the age of 4.

-Helia is pretty close to both Faragonda and Griffin because of this! He used to sit in on their meetings, making doodle dementrations on the topics at hand.

-They would take these drawings very seriously, Saladin going as far as to use one during a school assembly

-He won’t admit it, but he views Faragonda and Griffin as co-grandmothers

The cool grandmas!

-Saladin catches 7 year old Helia talking to the air. Thinking it’s just an imaginary friend, he finds it rather cute

-One day, he asks about it and

-“Oh, who I was talking to? A lady named Aiko! She was telling me about… something about the company of light. She was nice. She says she misses you! Kind of weird for a stranger, but yeah.”

-Saladin, silently sobbing and holding his grandson “Oh? Why don’t you tell me more about it?” (Okay so i might have lied about that sad thing. oops)

-One time, Helia got lost in the forest! He was 9 years old

-Saladin hadn’t realised that he had slipped from where he had been watching him.

-Immediate panic ensues as he rushes to call the other teachers and headmasters about the missing child

-They find him eventually, near the swamp

-Saladin, sobbing: “Helia! Why did you leave premises??”

-Helia: “I saw a frog, and followed it! I.. It left and I had no idea where I was…”

-*Cut to the two crying, clinging to eachother as Griffin and Faragond give eachother exasperated smiles

-Griffin finds that Helia has a natural knack for drawing, and helps him develop his talent

-He’s closer to Griffin because she shows him the hidden passageways through cloud tower

-However, he still loves Faragonda! Those two talk about stories, myths and legends

-Helia was such a sweet child, so it comes as a surprise when he grows up to be such a rebellious preteen

-Suddenly, he doesn’t like hanging out with Saladin?

-He still talks to Faragonda and Griffin, but they have to push for him to hangout with them

-Suddenly, all these things that he had loved doing became.. Uncool? What was this??

-He has secret dates and sneaks out? Saladin is concerned because not his grandson!

-He gets a full scholarship to Red Fountain, but not because of relations

-It’s because he works really hard for it!

-However, he’s convinced it’s because of relations, and Saladin would be lying if he said that it didn’t play even a small factor

-Helia begins at Red Fountain at the early age of 14

(This is shown because Helia is his grandson and works hard for the early admission, but also because I wanted to cover up the plot hole in which

Helia was there a year before the Winx but is the same age)

-Once, Helia ended up being bullied during his first year of RF

-Helia is a small preteen! Saladin is concerned

-Saladin was concerned when he would be snappy and irritable towards him.

-Like yeah, he understood not hanging out with him, but him being rude?

Saladin pesters him until Helia finally yells at him, even throwing in a swear

-Saladin is astonished at his behavior, calling by his whole name and telling him to apologize on the spot

-Helia immediately starts crying and telling him about some jerk picking on him at school because he was smol

-Saladin gets instant flashback to when he was bullied for being short during his college years

-He tells him about this, and the two talk it out. Helia goes back to class with the resolve to solve this

-He still gets bullied for a bit but doesn’t like seeing Saladin angry

So he doesn’t tell him

-That dummy

-(I’ll have a story for that or mention it further in ASPFF)

-Helia has had short hair, and only really grows it out during his year at art school. Saladin is surprised to see him with long hair

-Helia, smiling when asked: “Well, I wanted to look like a certain role model of mine”

-Saladin almost cries

-When Helia returns, no longer is he rebellious and edgy. Saladin thinks that a year away has really helped him to grow. Helia goes to art school and realises what a jerk he’s been being

-He loves his grandfather a lot

-It took Helia a while to adjust to all of the boys, as his dorm had only been one other person in his first year

-Saladin notices how he seems rather overwhelmed at times because he doesn’t know how to deal with so many different characters at once

-Knowing such, he calls him down to his office and just has him relax

Sometimes, they’ll video call his mother together and they’ll have the longest chats

-Slowly, he starts to visit Saladin less and less and he gets concerned

-Until he realises this actually just means that Helia is growing to be comfortable around his group

-Saladin is proud of the growth his grandson has made

-Saladin has seen Helia have crushes before, but he can almost immediately tell that Flora is different

-He knows the girl is a good student, and very sweet. One could say her one character flaw would be the fact that she was painfully shy

-Of course, he found this out from Faragonda

-Helia blushes when she is mentioned, and although he tries to look serious, Saladin can see the ghost of a smile when she is there

-Saladin is happy when they end up together, though he relentlessly teases Helia about the fact that his response comprised of “I love you.. Too!” with a blow kiss

-Helia, embarrassed: “How do you even know that?”

-Saladin, having been told because Brandon and Sky had stuck around: “Instinct, son”

-Unrelated but he obviously tells the other headmasters, who in turn take their time to talk about how grown up he’s become

-Helia may not always admit it or show it, but he loves being at Red Fountain with his newfound friends and grandfather

-He does some dumb things over the course of his years at Red Fountain, such as punching a guy and getting expelled

-However, Saladin knows that he’s better than that, as they work out fine

-Helia may have his moments where he would rather be in solitude

-And Saladin may not always know what to say

But they indeed love each other very dearly, and wouldn’t change that for the world

[afternoonpoppy]

Your Turn Now

Intended to get something written for Thanksgiving a couple weeks ago, but I ended up going a bit off topic with that piece and also made some continuity errors that need some fixing up if I am going to put that on here.

In the meantime, Allister’s not much better than Wolfram sometimes when it comes to overeating, oops.

Allister had been surprised to find out that the topic of studying magic was not as different and otherworldly a pursuit as he’d originally imagined. In fact, it was quite familiar and reminiscent of his time spent studying in college. If only he hadn’t suffered all throughout college.

In his attempt to be of some help to Wolfram with studying magic, Wolfram had instructed Allister to begin memorizing the sigils that functioned as the written language for magic. Allister had initially assumed that to mean it would be a fairly easy step like learning an alphabet. As it had turned out, it was far more work than that.

“This particular symbol represents the concept of light, and is pronounced as ’vetru,’” Wolfram said, drawing a symbol consisting of multiple jagged lines on a stray piece of paper. “In this form, it can refer to the light given off by the sun or by fire, anything that might be considered to be ‘warm’ light. If you were to write it this way, however,” Wolfram redrew the sigil, inverting a line on top and curving it more, “- then this would refer to 'cold’ light such as the moon and stars.”

“Uh… Right,” Allister scribbled the sigil - to the best of his ability - along with some hasty notes in his notebook. He felt like he should have been using a hefty leatherbound tome and a quill pen of some sort for this, but a college-ruled composition notebook and a dollar store pen that threatened to leak ink over the pages if pressed too hard would have to do. “When you say stars are, uh, 'cold’ light…”

“Yes?”

“Uh… Never mind.” Allister thought better of derailing the conversation into the gaseous makeup of stars. Besides, maybe stars worked differently in Wolfram’s world.

“You should ask questions if you have any, it’s essential to learning new topics,” Wolfram lectured.

“No, really, it’s unrelated.” Allister shifted position in his chair and one of his feet kicked aside a book that had somehow made its way to the floor. He looked around, suddenly realizing just what a mess the study had become over the past while. Paper and books were beginning to clutter the floor as space was lost on the desk. Granted, that was bound to happen quicker than usual since both Allister and Wolfram were sharing desk space. A second chair had been dragged up the stairs from the kitchen, something Allister hadn’t realized would be more of a hassle than simply studying in the kitchen until after he’d already made it most of the way up the stairs. “Hey, Fram, should we clean some of this stuff up?”

Wolfram glanced away from the desk long enough to see the floor and say, “Oh, I had forgotten.” He paused, then looked at Allister with a raised eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be ‘Fram?’”

Allister grinned a bit. “What? I thought it sounded cute, you don’t like it?”

Wolfram thought over it for a moment. “It is… different, but I don’t dislike it.” With a hand gesture and a string of 'magic words’ as Allister had continued to dub the arcane language, a mote of light appeared in Wolfram’s hand. Wolfram gently spoke a command to it and it leaped to the ground in the form of a weasel.

Allister watched the spirit scurry over to some of the books and begin pulling them to the bookshelves. “You make that look so easy. Do they alphabetize the books, too?”

Wolfram conjured two more spirits before setting them loose into the room, then said, “No, of course not. They can’t read.”

“Oh. Well, they’re still helpful. Can you teach me to do that?”

“Eventually, yes,” Wolfram looked out the study window where the sun was beginning to lower and the sky was dimming. “Perhaps not today, if that is what you meant.”

Allister flipped through the few pages he’d filled over their study session, unsure if he should be taking more thorough notes on this. “No, I didn’t think so. We’ve been at this for a while already, though. Should we take a break?”

Wolfram looked back at Allister. “Oh. Is this still a lot for you?”

“Well, uh,” Allister fumbled with the notebook in his hands, laughing nervously. Mostly, he was just tired and not keeping up with Wolfram’s method of marathon learning, but Wolfram wasn’t wrong, either. “I just figured, maybe we should get something to eat.”

Wolfram nodded slowly, then leaned himself against Allister’s shoulder. “I understand if this is difficult for you. I will not mind or judge you if you need to slow down.”

Allister smiled and reached his arm around Wolfram’s waist. “I know I’m not the supreme sorcerer that you are. But this is important to you, so I’m going to try my best.”

“I appreciate that.” Wolfram sat up and looked Allister in the eye. “However, I will not object if you think now is a good time for a meal.”

Allister opted to place an order for pickup, rather than let a delivery driver wander the wooded backroads to the house. Wolfram had objected to the idea of food cooked by anyone other than Allister, but there was no way Allister was doing anything else on his day off other than a thirty-minute round trip for food if he was already studying magic of all things. So, dinner would be Chinese takeout instead, complete with whatever movie seemed like it would make a good change of pace to watch on TV. Allister didn’t know How It’s Made had so many seasons.

Despite Wolfram’s objections about the food, he seemed to quickly take a liking to it and had cleared his plate of dumplings and fried rice before the movie had really even gone anywhere. Allister had half a mind to suggest Wolfram not eat so fast before he realized his own plate wasn’t fairing much better, being nearly devoid of food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was before, nor how full he was starting to feel now. He placed his plate on the living room coffee table, figuring it would be a good idea to separate himself from the food before he overate. Allister leaned back on the couch, hand resting on his stuffed stomach. Maybe it was too late to avoid the overeating part.

Once Wolfram was done with his own food, he settled in closer to Allister, pressing up against him.

“I never would’ve thought you’d be so cuddly when we first met, you know,” Allister observed.

Wolfram rested his head on Allister’s shoulder. “And I hadn’t expected you would make such a good pillow.”

Allister chuckled, but he was becoming increasingly aware of Wolfram’s arm pressed up against his sensitive stomach. “Good to know, Fram, but my stomach’s not as happy about that right now.”

“Oh?” Wolfram pouted for just a moment before straightening his posture and lifting himself off of Allister. “Is that better?”

Allister had intended to answer, only to be interrupted by a loud HIC that cut him off. He clasped a hand over his mouth just in time to muffle a second hiccup into a still-loud HMPH sound. “Ugh, crap…”

Wolfram looked startled at the sudden appearance of Allister’s hiccups, but quickly switched to a more amused expression. “It’s good to see I am not the only one of us who gets them.”

“Yes, we - HIC - well you wouldn’t - HUC-UP - get them so - HUC - so mu - HIC -” Allister gave up on talking despite his intent to point out Wolfram’s poor eating habits. It was clear his hiccups weren’t going to let him make that point.

Wolfram watched Allister struggling with the nonstop chain of hiccups bouncing through his chest and stomach. “Are they always this… aggressive when you have them?”

Allister nodded. “Don’t get - HIC - get them oft - HIC-UP - often, but - HYUC - but -”

“Right, I understand,” Wolfram said, holding up a hand so Allister didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Should I get a glass of water for you?”

“M-may - HIC - maybe,” Allister said. On the one hand, it may help, but the thought of filling his stomach with anything else, especially with how his hiccups were constantly bouncing through his stomach and shuffling around everything he’d eaten, was less than an appealing idea.

Wolfram seemed to key into that same thought, seeing how Allister pressed a hand against his stomach. “Or… perhaps holding your breath would be a better option?”

Allister shook his head, knowing that was definitely a terrible idea. “Makes - HIC-UP - makes 'em wor - HIC - worse.”

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. “They have room to be worse? Love, fate is cruel to you. I’m going to fetch you a glass of water as I think you’ll suffer less if your hiccups at least stop.”

Allister grimaced but was in little position to argue with his hiccups still interrupting him every other word. When Wolfram returned from the kitchen shortly after, Allister opted to get it over with, taking the glass of water he was handed and gulping it down as quickly as his body would allow.

“Well?” Wolfram asked expectantly once Allister had finished the water.

Allister had to catch his breath at first while the sudden influx of cold water settled in his stomach. Much like he’d expected, forcing the extra liquid into his stomach had not ended well as he noticed how bloated and tight his stomach was by the end of it. On the bright side, at least, not a single hiccup had forced its way through him. “I… I think they stopped…”

Wolfram made something of a victorious “hmph” sound and smiled, sitting back down next to Allister. “Much better. Are you feeling alright?”

Allister rubbed a hand over his stomach and groaned as he became aware of the growing ache in his stomach. “Maybe I should have gone slower with the water…”

“Here, let me make it up to you. Lie down.” Wolfram gently pulled Allister closer, lying him down across his lap. “Comfortable?”

“Mm…” Allister nodded. It was as comfortable as he was going to get, anyway. “Does this mean it’s your turn to take care of me?”

“I imagine it’s only fair, isn’t it?” Wolfram traced his hands over Allister’s stomach, commenting, “I always thought you were the more restrained between us.”

“For your information, I was holding up alright before you made me drink all that water. Besides, do I hear you admitting to your own gluttony?”

“Don’t make me use your precarious position against you, Allister,” Wolfram poked a finger against the side of Allister’s stomach. Gently, though.

Allister rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a mean enough bone in your body for it, Fram. But, uh… Thanks for this.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah, but, I know you’re… probably not used to this stuff, right?”

“Hm… Not with most people, no. But you’re my lo…” The confidence in Wolfram’s voice suddenly wavered as if that last word got caught in his throat, a hesitant expression coming over his face. He cleared his throat and poorly faked some composure as he shakily whispered, “M-my lo-lover… So - so, this is the least I can do for you, isn’t it?”

The term threw Allister off a bit and brought a blush to his face. He had thought 'boyfriend’ was fine enough, but he realized terminology probably varied a bit between his and Wolfram’s worlds. Despite the more intense sound of it to Allister’s ears, though, it was wonderful to hear that. “I appreciate it, Fram. I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

Allister glanced over to the TV, realizing neither had been paying any attention to it, and reached for the remote on the coffee table to hand it to Wolfram. “Here, if you keep massaging my stomach, you can put on whatever you want.”

Wolfram’s eyes lit up at the offer. “Gladly.”

[timelordthirteen]

Some Other Time 9/9 (Complete!!)

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit

Summary: College student Lacey dumps her boyfriend and needs a new apartment, it just so happens her professor, Dr. Gold, has a room to rent.

Chapter Summary: The, uh, thrilling conclusion. ;)

Notes: I hope this lives up to the expectations I built up for these two. Unbeta'd so it's probably messy and overwrought as fuck. I'm sorry.

[AO3]

It took more than a minute for Gold and Lacey to get themselves up off the floor.

His face flushed with embarrassment when he struggled with his leg, but she held out her hands and pulled him up with a grin and surprising strength.

“Sorry.” He shrugged and looked down at their joined hands, his self consciousness over his age and his disability creeping back to the surface. “I know -”

His words were cut off by as she pulled him to her and kissed him, her arms winding around his neck as her tongue slipped into his mouth. His hands settled at her waist, clutching at her shirt as she nudged him towards the bed. He hit the edge of the mattress with the back of his knees and dropped down with a surprised noise, breaking the kiss.

“Lacey, wait, just - wait,” he said in a rush as she climbed up onto the bed and straddled his lap.

"Sorry," she replied, her breath slowing. She moved to stand, but Gold set his hands at her waist and kept her in place. "I should have asked first. Are you...okay with this?"

Her pupils were blown wide as she gazes down at him, hair a mess of curls, and her teeth digging into the edge of her lip. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw that much beauty in anything.

He nodded, the words lodged in his throat, coming out rough and painfully earnest. "More than okay. It’s just - I don’t -”

“There’s condoms in the drawer right there,” she said, nodding towards the nightstand. “And I, um, I have an IUD, so...”

One shoulder shrugged, and he raised a hand, pushing her hair back from her face. His knuckles grazed her temple, and then came down, thumb stroking her cheekbone as she blinked those long, heavy lashes at him. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Some unbearable ache in his chest started to spread, pressing up to his breastbone until he nearly lost his breath from it.

He swallowed and tried to speak. “Lace -”

"I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned in, her voice soft and quiet, taking his face into both of her hands as she brushed her mouth over his. “I...I love you too.”

Gold wanted to laugh, to shake his head in disbelief, as the pain in his chest faded, replaced with something else, an ache of a different kind. He warmed head to toe, flush with the desire to feel every part of her with every part of him.

She must have felt the same thing, because she shifted above him, bringing her legs up press as close as she could get. Her hips rolled experimentally, and he let out a tense breath, his hips lifting against her in kind. She bit her lip and repeated the motion, chasing the friction.

"God, Lacey." He growled her name, and buried his face in her neck for a moment, lost to the feel of their bodies moving together.

His breath was coming out in hard pants, and he pressed a shaky, open-mouthed kiss to a spot just under her jaw, heat building down low when a soft moan escaped her. Her fingertips danced lightly over the weekend scruff on his face, her mouth curving in the softest of smiles. Her nails scraped the back of his head, and then pulled lightly on his hair, drawing him up until they were kissing again, tongues dragging together. She rolled her hips downward, chest pressing into his, and this time he was the one groaning.

He grasped at her top, gave it a light tug, and then stilled. "May I?”

Lacey grinned, already yanking the cotton fabric over her head. His jaw went slack as she dropped the tank top behind her, and she cocked her head to the side, letting him look his fill of her bare chest. Her nipples hardened in the cool air, and she shivered when he bent forward, his lips finding her collarbone. He worked his way lower, kissing over the swell of one breast and then the other, and then down further, to the soft, willowy skin beneath them.

She made a small noise of frustration, and he closed his arms around her, hauling her up against him. Hips lips encircled her rosy nipple, sucking gently, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through to her core. She stretched and keened, arching into him as her fingers raked through his hair. His hands braced her back, holding her steady as he kissed and licked his way from one breast to the other. She cried out at the feeling of his teeth, a sharp lightning that made her pussy throb with need.

Gold kissed up her sternum to the curve of her throat, smiling into her skin when she pulled at his clothes. His lips parted, teeth dragging over her skin with a groan as she moved her hips against his. He slid his hands down and grabbed her rear in both hands, grinding her down onto the hard ridge at the front of his jeans in short, rhythmic motions. He felt her hands pull at his shirt, tugging it free of his belt in the front and then fumbling the buttons open. One popped loose in the middle of his chest, and he leaned back, smirking up at her.

She shrugged and looked down at the stray thread dangling from his shirt, and then met his eyes. “Oops.”

He had a slightly bemused expression and touched a soft kiss to the side of her jaw as she continued following the buttons down to the end. Lifting his hands, one at a time, she undid the cuffs and then pushed the fabric away from his body. He watched her while she bared him, a pretty flush to her cheeks, her hair tousled, lips pink from being thoroughly kissed, and felt a small surge of affection.

She ran her palms down his chest, skimming his nipples and making him shudder. Her fingers settled at his waist and began pulling at his belt. With a hint of something mischievous in her smile, she slipped the leather free and gave him a gentle shove, pushing him to lie back on the bed.

His hands roamed up her thighs to her waist, back and forth as she worked his zipper down. She licked her lips when the front of his jeans opened and his erection pushed out, tenting his underwear. Her eyes met his and she inched up until she was directly over him, and rubbed herself against his hardness.

Gold moaned and arched up, his hips lifting in desperation. He cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples, tugging the tender buds with his fingers until her head fell back. Soft, gasping sounds came out of her as her hips moved harder. She rose up, biting her lip, her creamy skin marked from his hand and mouth, and he was sure he’d never seen anything as stunning.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

She hummed and smiled down at him, her eyes flicking along his body and lingering pointedly at his groin. "The view’s pretty good from here too."

He reached to cup the side of her neck, and coaxed her down for another kiss. It lifted her off of his hips, and he used his free hand to start to push his jeans down. His cock felt hard as steel and throbbed in time with the thump of his heart. Desire tightened in his belly, but he knew he had to see to her pleasure first, and slipped a hand up the leg of her shorts to find nothing but slick, heated skin.

Lacey made another sound, desperate and low, as his fingers trailed through her slit. Breaking the kiss, she sat up, holding herself off of him to give his hand room to maneuver. Her eyes fluttered and closed as he circled her entrance with a finger, making her muscles twitch in frustration. There was a burning ache centered on her dripping cunt that made her desperate to be touched, filled, and fucked, and she whimpered with need. Her nails dug into his abdomen as he slipped one finger, then two, inside her, and stroked her slow and shallow.

"Rum - fuck," she gasped, hips jerking into his touch as he ran his thumb up over her clit.

He made a sound of his own, low and guttural, while she writhed over him, and fought the urge to flip her over, and fuck her deep. Seeing her come apart for him, hearing her say his name like that again, and again, would be worth every second of waiting as the ache in him built until it was almost unbearable.

He adjusted her position, pushing her up onto her knees and sinking his fingers deep it into her as her head lolled back in a picture of blissful abandon. She was so tight, wet, and so very warm, and he shuddered and curled his fingers, feeling her tremble and rut her hips down to meet him halfway with another low-throated cry.

Lacey heard him swear, and cried out as he shifted his hand again, fucking her deep while his thumb rubbed circles over her clit. His free hand groped the curve of her ass and pulled at her. She brought her own hands up and plucked at her nipples, letting out a breathy squeak at the pleasure that zinged through her and made her belly tingle.

Gold was transfixed by the way she moved and the sound she made, but he wanted more. He wanted to hear what sounds she’d make with his tongue on her instead, and he pulled his fingers out of her, drawing a growl of frustration from her throat. Her eyes blinked over, dark and wide with confusion.

“Up,” he commanded, nudging her higher up on the bed.

It took her a moment, but she realized what he wanted, and scrambled to get her shorts off. Throwing them to the side, she settled back over his face, her breath coming in rapid pants as he nosed at her glistening sex. He reached up and took her backside in both hands, guiding her down to his mouth.

She cried out as he licked at her, his tongue setting the same steady pace as his fingers had, pushing her to the edge. Her thighs shook, but his arms held her tight and unyielding as he kept her over his unrelenting mouth, leaving her unable to do anything except writhe upon his face. He sucked and licked at her clit as he brought one hand from her ass back down to push a finger inside her. It felt wonderfully thick and rough, and she realized rather dazedly that it was his thumb, pressing at just the right spot to make her lose her mind.

"Don't stop," she breathed, "Rum...oh - don't stop!"

He caught her clit with his lips and pushed his tongue against it, the motion of her hips rubbing it just right, and a second later she fell to pieces, her mouth dropping open on one last throaty gasp as her body spasmed. Her thighs clamped down on his head, squeezing and giving him the vague feeling of being smothered.

Truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded, but that was a fantasy for another time.

“Shit,” she swore as she came back to herself. Then she shifted back off of his face, and slumped forward.

Gold was grinning up at her, his face shiny with her juices. She kissed him hard, licking at the taste of herself as they both rolled to the side. He made a noise deep in his throat when she sucked his lower lip and tugged it between her teeth.

He pulled away for a moment, standing to finish shoving his jeans and boxer briefs to the floor, and then climbed over her. They exchanged ragged breaths as they took each other in, his palm cupping her face and then pushing her unruly hair back. He kissed her again, gentler this time, and moaned into her mouth when she spread her legs. She was warm and soft, and felt so good in his arms.

Her hands ran up over the plane of his back and then back down to give his arse a squeeze. It made him jerk against her, and she broke the kiss on a gasp as his cock slipped through her sopping wet slit. He was so hard it was starting to hurt. All his senses felt heightened, yet the room around him seemed fuzzy at the same time, like this wasn’t quite real. He pushed up on his arms and looked down at her, her blue eyes nearly black with desire.

“I’m sure,” she said, as if she knew what he was going to ask. “I love you.”

Gold’s eyes closed for a moment. She was real, and she wanted him, and he was the luckiest man in the world. Her hand closed around his cock, palming his length, and he hissed.

“Lacey...” He gasped and then grit his teeth as she stroked him. “Need - something.”

She grinned up at him and then shifted up the bed, reaching over towards the nightstand. “IUD, remember?”

“Yeah, but -,” He stopped and shook his head. “I won’t -”

Lacey put her hand to the side of his face until he met her gaze. “It’s good, okay?” He nodded, but opened his mouth to stay something more, and she pushed up to cut him off with a kiss.

“I’ve got condoms in the drawer...if you want one,” she said, fillingn the gaps between words with soft pecks all around his mouth, “but...I don’t care if you last five seconds...or five minutes. So don’t worry about it. I just - I want - I want all of you, okay?”

Relief rushed through him. He wanted to take his time and learn her, inch by inch, but he also didn’t want to wait anymore. It seemed she didn’t either as she reached for him again, guiding him to her entrance. The heat of her body was incredible, and he slid inside with a long, low groan. She clenched around him, her lips parting on a soft sigh as he brought one of her legs up around his waist and pushed deeper.

Lacey’s eyelids fluttered as he started to move, and she clutched at his shoulders as she felt her pleasure building again. Every thrust was perfect, his cock stretching and filling her better than her fingers and toys ever could, and the softer flesh of his belly pressed against her swollen and overstimulated clit, providing a deliciously light friction.

Soon her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and her thighs were tensing around his hips. He could feel his climax coming fast, but he couldn’t let go until he made her come again, in spite of her saying she didn’t care how long he lasted. She started to lift off of the bed, her cunt pulsing around him as her fingernails bit into his skin, pulling him down.

She strained against him, scrambling desperately for the orgasm that hovered just out of reach. The weight of him pushing her into the mattress helped, but then she felt his hot breath on her, and his soft, low brogue in her ear.

His hips jerked in short, hard thrusts, and he dug his fingers into the sheets trying not to let go until she did.

“Please, Lace,” he whispered. “Come for me. Want - to feel you.”

His voice continued in her ear, a litany of praise, telling her how good it felt to fuck her. It seeped into her brain and something in her body relaxed for just a second. Then her breath caught, a gasp stuck in the back of her throat just before the wave finally broke inside of her. Pleasure washed over her, raising goosebumps on her skin and making her limbs tingle.

There was a gush of fluid between her legs and then a deep, rumbling groan as Gold followed her over the edge. She kissed his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his chin, anything she could reach as she held him close.

He could feel her breathing, slow and deep, and the thump of her heart against his when he finally came back to himself. It was as if every muscle in his body had given out all at once, but after a long moment, he managed to push himself up and roll to the side. There was a wet, obscene noise when his cock slipped out of her, and he heard her giggle.

She curled into his side, and propped her chin on his chest, her lips curving slightly. “So...that was pretty good.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted, and Lacey broke out into a fit of giggles. He shook his head, fighting a grin. “You know a person might develop a complex being laughed at immediately after sex that was, and I quote, pretty good.”

She stifled her laughter and bit her lip before pushing up to kiss him. “Shut up. It was amazing and you know it.”

He trailed his knuckles along her cheek and down to her jaw. “You’re amazing, Lacey French.”

Her nose brushed against his. “So are you, Rumford Gold.”

His smile was a bit forced, and Lacey pushed herself up, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, shifting to sit up against the pillows. Then he let out a long sigh. “Just that - are you still...” He swallowed and took her hand, curling his fingers over hers. “Are you still moving out?”

She moved to the side and then straddled his lap, looping her hands around the back of his neck. “I think so, yes.”

“Ah.” He looked down for a moment and then fix his gaze on the freckle on her right shoulder. “I just thought maybe...I mean you’re still very welcome to stay here.”

Her hips rolled against his, drawing out a sharp, stuttered breath. His hands went to her waist, but he didn’t stop her from doing it again.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I’m quite ready for round two.”

She pressed down over the sheets, right where his cock was. “Oh, we have plenty of time for that later.” He swore and dropped his head to rest on her chest, and she grinned, punctuating every few words with another teasing shift. “But I’m thinking...it might be a much...shorter move than I originally planned.”

Gold hummed and lifted his head. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm.” She leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, then drew her mouth up to his ear where she nipped gently. “Maybe...downstairs?”

Lacey pulled back, smirking, and he blinked up at her. “You mean...? With me?”

She shrugged. “If you’ll have me. We’ve managed to share a house for this long, so -”

He pulled her down for a very thorough kiss, and when it broke they were both breathing hard. “I’ll have you any way you want.”

“In that case, Dr. Gold...,” she said, rising up so her breasts were at his eye level. “I have this little fantasy involving your office and your cane.”

Her fingertips touched his mouth, then his chin, and then down over his chest to dip under the edge of the sheet. His head fell back against the headboard and he flashed his teeth at her. “Do tell, Miss French...”

[internetremix]

In IR lore, what are the personalities of your personas? Basic likes and dislikes?

Kristen: Goggles is An Child and behaves as such. She's very cheerful, very curious, a bit mischievous and also 100% obsessed with making fanwork of her internet family... like a goddamn weirdo. She'll usually be hanging out with everyone, spot some sort of inspiration, squeak with joy and then rush off to write or draw. She's also the defacto leader of the Smol Squad, which is composed of herself, Shyner, Jojo and Chi-chi, and she's usually the one squeaking out ridiculous plans in muppet for dumb shit like stealing cookies and trying to trap people in fanfiction scenarios. She likes to help and can often be found doing such things as assisting Xander in his many schemes or just popping up to provide shit like charts or hold things for other people- basically whenever it would be funny to have some goddamn muppet backing something up.

She loves plush toys, particularly Crockernanner, and also loves sugar, star decorations, and cuddles. She likes being picked up and loves attention, and she's pretty consistently attached to at least one person, often her big brother Split if she's not with the Smol Squad. She is in eternal war with Phill since he bullies her constantly, and will occasionally try to set up elaborate traps for revenge only to fail miserably. Also she's a huge weeb. She does not like to sleep and will often go days without it before being dragged off by some bigger person to take a goddamn nap you ridiculous child.  She is also very afraid of thunderstorms, she doesn't like loud noises or the dark.

She also has... various flaws and problems. But those are spoilers and I have no idea when/if we’ll be doing story stuff with IRsonas so I don’t want to give too much away with that.

Sorry this is very long, I think about my child a lot.

Jojo: JoJo is also a very happy child... like, stupid happy all the time. Like, they don't really have a concept of being angry. they're either manic happy or a bit sad. They love to find any way to make anybody smile or laugh, whether it be a somber happy, or a crying fit of laughter. They thrive off of happiness. They're a bit mischievous as well, and will try to play pranks and swipe things to chew on. They'll just appear in random places you'd never expect. like, in the pantry, the vent, or in your drawer. They chew things all the time to keep their dragon teeth sharp! They do tend to come off as obnoxious and kind of useless sometimes? But that's ok.

They love happiness, rocks, swimming, sandwiches, Vanilla coke, coffee, pianos, stars, ghost stuff(horror genre), and laughter. JoJo is pretty similar to Goggles now that I think about it x_xJoJo is best friends with Phill, and will always be on him in some way. Like his leg, back, holding onto his scarf by their teeth, etc. They're also very close with Goggles and Shyner, and Scott (even though Shyner tries to chase JoJo off with knives, JoJo will take it as a game of tag or something)JoJo doesn't like being yelled at or being told to go away. They get spooked easily by loud noises. They always get paranoid when they think someone is mad at them and will go to ungodly lengths to make them not mad or slightly annoyed with them, which sometimes makes people more annoyed with them than they were before.

JoJo is just an exaggerated version of me XD

Atwas: Atwas is fairly easy going. They make light of things often, and often hide serious sentiments behind jokes. They’re the type to roll with goofy and silly situations, and are very “yes and” type that enjoys escalating things in the name of light-hearted fun. They enjoy playing pranks, especially ones that take advantage of their hologrammatic nature (being able to enter and ‘possess’ electronics is something that they take advantage of often). Being technically in the cloud and a part of the internet at all times, they will often chime in with fun (often unrelated or humorous) metrics about situations and people as they occur—and often forgets that having a HUD isn’t something everyone has access to.

Being ‘technically’ invulnerable, atwas isn’t phased by the more dangerous things that go on in the IR tower, but usually prefers being a spectator or commentator as opposed to being an active participant in general shenaniganry. They don’t have any particular animosity towards anyone, and will occasionally help manage technical parts and functions of the tower.

They enjoy things like tech, cold weather, tea, fun statistics, darkness; and aesthetics like Film Noir and Retrowave.

They dislike things like excessively hot weather, being interrupted, getting too personal, having to put in a lot of “effort”, and being out of the loop.

Shyner: Shyner can easily be summed up to a tsundere in denial, and is the definition of an agent of chaos. If something goes wrong, she’s the one pouring a trail of kerosene to let the fire spread. She's loud, impulsive, and really doesn't give two shits. While quirky and charismatic, she’s also sarcastic and witty, reveling in the amusement of making fun of others. She’s often stubborn and impatient, thinking highly of her own beliefs and angered by those who dare to challenge her ideals. She also lacks a filter, and enjoys garnishing her words with colorful profanities. Filled with gripes of past trauma, she’s engaged in a constant internal war of turmoil and grief. She’s incredibly cautious and closed off around those she doesn’t trust, and can be very selfish.  Despite this, she’s loyal to the few people she cares about, going out of her way to put them first if a dire situation were to arise. She’s also very sneaky and mischievous, often finding amusement in spying on others. Her MBTI is INTP-T.

Her hobbies include stargazing, ghost hunting, spying, and Satanic worship. She enjoys melancholy vibes, horror movies, animals, thunderstorms, and has an unhealthy obsession with sweets. Yes, this child will stab you without hesitancy if you take her cookies. She dislikes seafood, big crowds, kiddie leashes, and is afraid of experiencing intense emotion she doesn’t understand.I love my satanic smol bean very much. If I may be so bold as to dive into the nitty-gritty psychology, Shyner possesses many flaws, a lot of which I personally struggled with growing up. She is a reflection of my past self, some gripes with my current self, and the perception of how I could have turned out if I hadn’t met my family at IR. Hiding behind the exterior of being a merciless bully, she still has an intense internal desire to be a good person, but gets frustrated and often derails herself in the process of fighting her desire to act on impulse. She keeps most relationships with people at arm's length, fearing that if someone were to think highly of her, it would only be a matter of time before they’re disappointed. If we were to go full-fledged story mode, she would most definitely have an intense character redemption arc, making the revelation that being shitty to those who care about her isn’t the way to run from her problems and hide away from her own sense of self-insecurity/hatred.

Phill: Phill likes mischief, bad jokes, sexual undertones, Jojo, sexual overtones, bullying Kristen, and the colour pink. That's it xD

Jojo: :D yay

Alex: Alex don't give a shit but is for whatever reason the bossman and is also as powerful as silver age Superman, just don't try actual murder of the crew and he won't yeet you into the sun

Moon: 2019 Moon is an idiot. If we didn't know any better, we would assume he was born from nothing but an old head of lettuce in Satan's refrigerator. Think like Scott from Monster Prom, but different. He knows his right from his left, but the compass is still just "NESW" to him. Impulsive, lovable, and kinda loud, this muscley dumbass will do practically anything you tell him to if he finds it enjoyable. When paired with a few people, he works well as a second to many dynamic duos. Brodingles and Moon/Split and Moon are two really good ones, dangerous shenanigans ensue. Can and will rap like a beast, any challenge to a freestyle will result in a career ending and a death being sentenced. Extroverted people pleaser, definitely shooting high to perform and when adapting to a character, goes a little too hard. This man played Gander in Charlottes Web and didn't stop making goose sounds for months. Did I mention he's also a disney princess? Singing, animals, mortal enemy falling to their death? Everything

Dawn: ToonWolf/Dawn's personality falls within the confines of recklessly adventurous who doesn't think things through entirely. They like to try and rope others into going on various hikes, treasure hunts, mythic/cryptid searches, etc. Unapologetic sailor mouth. They will fight for friends and family. Various animals, trinkets, treasures, and cool but useless garbage are brought back to the tower often (oops theres a liiiiiiitle bit of hoarding). Sometimes those animals consist of dogs, cats, lizards, bears, wolves, The Great Noble One, horses, lions, elk, you get the idea (Can I keep them?Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaseeeeee??????????).

Overall they are most comfortable and relaxed in/around water and likes a whole lotta things including sailing, swimming, adventure, stargazing, animals, mythology/legends, friends, family, and drawing.

They dislike waking up early, limitations, being talked down to, boredom, desert/hot/humid/dry weather, coffee, and the movie "Cube"

Tex: Tex is an avid cryptid detective + has a surprisingly good intuition when creating conspiracy theories about them to follow. Mm lots of memes and disguises. Smart, but usually just off on their own thinking about other stuff.Totally has a wall in their room dedicated to figuring all the cryptids out with like, red string and everything.

[pesky33]

Happy birthday Chikara!

Ficlet to go with this under the cut, or read on AO3

As soon as Chikara walks in the door, he’s nervous. There’s an atmosphere that prickles along his skin, the same one he hasn’t felt in months.

“Yuuji?” he says as he takes his scarf off and wraps it around a peg in the hallway.

“I’m in here!” Yuuji shouts from the kitchen. “Don’t come in!” he adds, desperately.

The prickle travels to Chikara’s chest, filling him with dread. “I’m coming in.”

“No!” he shouts again.

But it’s too late, Chikara is already at the door, too panic-stricken to listen, pushing it open. He imagines a myriad of scenes he might see in those few seconds, all involving Yuuji having fallen off the wagon. At least one involves him being with someone else, and he feels nauseous.

He sees none of what he imagined, even though Yuuji isn’t alone.

“Chika! I told you not to come in!” There’s flour on his forehead, something in his hair that looks like egg, and a small boy standing on a stool next to him who looks terrified.

His hair is black, almost the same style as Chikara’s, glasses with thick brown rims balancing lopsidedly on his nose. He turns and clings to Yuuji, eyes like saucers still directed at Chikara.

“It’s fine, Jack,” Yuuji says, picking him up. The boy turns his head, burrowing it into Yuuji’s neck, his thumb in his mouth. He clings to Yuuji, as if Chikara might bite.

Except Chikara knows the name, Jack, and knows the last thing he should do is snap at him.

“Oh, hi Jack. It’s nice to meet you finally. Yuuji’s told me a lot about you.”

Jack looks up at Yuuji, puzzled, before hiding back against his neck.

“That’s me,” he says against Jack’s temple, before turning to Chikara. “He knows me as Pip. That’s what his mum has always called me.”

“Ah, okay. Well, Pip’s told me all about you, and I’m really happy to meet you. May I come closer and shake your hand?”

Jack looks up again at Yuuji. “You can say no, but Chika is very nice. He looks after me when I’m poorly.”

This time, instead of nuzzling back into Yuuji’s neck, Jack turns and nods at Chikara. His eyes are still wide, and the brightest blue, his skin pale as the flour he’s also spattered in.

Chikara moves slowly but surely, and puts his hand out to Jack. After a few seconds, he gingerly extends his hand towards Chikara’s, pinching his two first fingers, before withdrawing again. “Hi,” he says, softly, still clutching Yuuji.

“Hey, Jack, why don’t you go and finish what you’re doing over there, and let me talk to Chika for a second okay?” Jack leans up and whispers something in his ear. “Ah, no, I won’t tell him that.”

He sets Jack on the floor, who scurries over to a small table and chair Chikara has never seen before. It’s covered in paper and pens, which Jack begins using furiously, distracted immediately in his activity.

Yuuji kisses Chikara and takes his hand. “Sorry. Sam needed someone.”

“I understand. It’s fine.”

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost, though.”

Chikara smiles at him. “I’m the one should be sorry. I thought you’d been drinking. Should have trusted you.”

Yuuji’s mouth makes an O shape in realisation. “Oh, God, of course that’s what you’d think! Sorry, I never even thought. I just didn’t want you to see the mess until I had a chance to tell you Jack was here.”

“Shall we both stop apologising? It’s all fine.” Chikara looks over at Jack, who’s still busy, then kisses Yuuji on the cheek. Yuuji turns, grabbing at Chikara’s waist to pull him in for a full-mouthed kiss, giggling when Chikara pushes him away.

He whispers into his ear. “Dude, you could bend me over this counter and fuck me senseless, and he wouldn’t notice. Not when he’s drawing.”

Chikara shoves him away more forcefully, although he’s still smiling. “Don’t swear in front of children.” He tries to walk around the other side of the island in the kitchen, but Yuuji stops him.

“Where d'ya think you’re going?”

“I was going to…”

“You can’t go back there!” He takes Chikara’s hand and leads him to the sofa. “What do you need, I’ll get it,” he says, guiding him to sit down.

“I was going to make coffee, but now I’m getting suspicious again.”

“I’ll get one!” Yuuji says, skipping off.

Chikara assesses him; he doesn’t seem like he’s been drinking, but there’s still a prickling feeling he can’t shake. Thinking it could be Jack, he looks over at him, but he’s tiny and harmless, occupied in his drawing. He thinks about going over to talk to him, but decides against it when he remembers the fear in his eyes.

A clatter from the kitchen grabs his attention, and Yuuji stands up guiltily. He’s in the wrong place, clearly he’s been rooting through a cupboard completely unrelated to coffee making. “I’m fine! Nothing broken. Including me,” he says with a slightly manic laugh.

“Yuuji, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” he says in the same high pitched voice. “Stay there!”

Chikara starts to stand up, but feels a warmth on his arm. He turns to see Jack pressing gently on him. “Pip said no.”

He stares back, somehow frightened by a four year old. Could he be helping Yuuji cover his tracks? There’s no way, surely, he’s too young. But then Chikara remembers his home-life, and knows he could have definitely learnt how to lie and hide things already.

“Jack? Do you know what Pip is doing over there?” he says quietly.

Jack nods. “I can’t tell you though. He told me not to.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if you tell me.”

Jack shakes his head. “Definitely not you.”

Chikara’s throat swells, like he’s swallowing a cannonball, then the heaviness falls into his chest. “Why not me?”

“Because it’s a surprise,” Jack leans in to whisper.

The word lubricates the blockage. Surprise is a nice thing, Yuuji didn’t call it a secret. He still feels a bit sick, but it’s definitely lessening.

“Okay,” he whispers back, “Can I see what you’ve been drawing?”

Yuuji arrives with a tray at that moment. “Nope! Not yet.” He puts the tray down, and pushes gently on Jack’s back. “Go back and finish what you’re doing, Doodles, and then everything’ll be ready.”

“Ready?” Chikara asks, watching Jack toddle away to his table and pick up a fat blue pencil.

“Chika, you are dreadfully impatient! Just wait!” He bounces on the sofa next to Chikara, grasping his hand. The flour and egg are gone, and his face is shining with being freshly-washed and the huge smile he’s wearing. “So, anyway, Sam needed to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Thought she might be back by now. Didn’t have a chance to ring and warn you, then I got sidetracked with him.” He looks over at Jack fondly. “I can’t believe he came and spoke to you so quickly!”

“Well, I was trying to go to the kitchen and he stopped me.”

Yuuji throws his head back and laughs, still looking at Jack. “Oh, bless him. I told him it was all a surprise. He’s bright for his age, right? Isn’t he great?”

Chikara shrugs. “He seems nice so far.”

“You wait until he’s comfortable with you. He’s so funny. He was singing me a song about Japanese chickens while we were baking…” He stops short, looking back at Chikara to see if he noticed.

“Baking?”

“Oops. Busted.”

“You don’t have to be a genius to guess you were baking. You were covered in flour and eggs. Why do you look so guilty?”

Yuuji leans in and kisses him, before saying quietly against his lips, “Pretend you didn’t know, okay?”

Chikara nods, still confused, and Yuuji stands up. He stands in the centre of the room, hands on hips, and says theatrically, “Now then! Is anyone peckish?”

Jack looks up, smiling for the first time. “Yes! Me!” He jumps up and runs over to Yuuji, a piece of red construction paper folded in half in his hand.

“Come on then,” Yuuji says, taking his hand and leading him to the kitchen. “Oh, Chika, look! What’s that out of the window?” He winks and nods at him.

Chikara dutifully looks the other way, rolling his eyes first. His eyes fall on the bench he built for Yuuji, the one he insisted on buying just after Chikara moved in. It’s covered in crescent moon shapes, cut from the wood like cookies from dough. He wonders for a second if that’s what they’ve been baking, but then, suddenly, finally, he realises what’s going on.

He doesn’t know why it took so long, he’s obviously not as bright as he thought, maybe not even as bright as Jack. Then again, it’s two days early, so it’s not at the forefront of his mind.

In the window, he sees only the reflection of the candles as Yuuji carries a cake towards him. As they get closer, he can see then both singing ‘Happy Birthday’, their eyes lit up by smiles and the flickering of twenty-nine flames.

[mf-fairy-princess]

Problematic and Proud: Instagram Artist Beebosloth

Alright, I tried posting this to Reddit but that whole website is fucked so. Tumblr is crazy toxic and I want absolutely nothing to do with this website lmao, I just know if it’s posted here, it will show up in google search results. 

Alright, so there's this artist on Instagram. Nothing new and unique there. In fact, there isn't really anything special about this particular prick at all. Rather, he more-so represents a larger cancerous growth within Instagram; entitlement, and toxicity.

I know, I know, "Hey dumbass, that's the entirety of the internet." Yeah, you're damn right it is. Does that make it any less gross? Any less pathetic? These humans are still humans, they know what they're doing.

So what exactly is Beebosloth? Unless you've come here from googling the name followed by some key-word synonyms of "problematic," you're probably unfamiliar with his presence on earth. @Beebosloth (Stan Osipov) is a pretty general artist on Instagram, pumping out at least one sketch a day; his works are namely skeletal, usually black and white, usually accompanied with an odd little strip of slogan text which rarely fits the image subject. People have gotten his works tattooed, he's almost up to 300k followers now, etc etc, he's doing alright for himself.

If there's one thing that millennials and gen-Z kids' insane internet vigilante rampages have taught us, it's that successful people can be, and often are, problematic as all hell. Beebosloth is no exception.

I had been following the artist for close to 3 years, giving him general support through likes on his posts, but also going an extra mile in standing up for him for 2 problems he had been facing repeatedly as an artist. First, due to the general popular aesthetic of his art, his works were getting reposted a lot, often without credit. There would even be imitation accounts which would post nothing but his art, essentially pretending to be him. I repeatedly took it upon myself to give them the ol' trollish finger wag, in an unlikely hope they'd better their behavior or at least let passersby know who the real artist was.

Another problem he was facing was Instagram support; (Ooh what a surprise, when has that ever happened to anyone)? The way he went on about it had us all believing that Instagram would never punish those who committed these unethical acts. And that was the entirety of the problem at first; not punishing other people who had done him wrong. He made several posts and stories complaining about this, usually enticing his followers to go out and do his bidding in this regard. Then . . there was an incident, and the first instance that really alerted me to Beebosloth's behavior.

This is a man who spends half his posts whining because he refuses to learn how internet-related copyright laws work. Even though with the sheer amount of trials and failures he's experienced, he should be an expert on them by now. A dude who claims every 5 seconds that he's getting his work stolen . . . which is why this next part is such a kicker.

I wish I could remember the time exactly, (but unfortunately I'm not pursuing a degree in problematic Instagram artists, and these details have just really just slipped my mind). It was March; I believe of this year. I scrolled through Instagram like normal, came upon a new post by beebosloth, and noticed that this one had about twice the typical amount of attention attached to it. Osipov had posted a doodle of a skeleton arm, holding up a ticket which read "1 WAY TICKET TO HELL." Pretty simple, pretty basic. And the next picture on the slide was the exact same thing, only this time, it wasn't in his style. I believe he also included screenshots of an incredibly petty argument between him and the other artist, in which she accused him of stealing the design from her. - In the caption he's ranting, he's raving, Instagram copyrighted his version and removed it. He does something else too . . . .

Now, these images are the exact damn same, I wish I could find her original work but it has really just disappeared. After what Stan Osipov does next, it wouldn't really surprise me if she deleted her Instagram to cut out the toxicity of this whole situation. And here's the most important part to consider of all of this; not beeblosloth's cruel, immature, reaction, not his history of sending his followers to spend their own personal time being terrible to other users on his behalf, this-

The artist who claimed Osipov had stolen her work- posted it first. Actually I believe she posted it a few weeks before beeblosloth ever did. And keep in mind- the only feasible difference between these two photos is the art style. They are exact same in every possible detail. Now, unfortunately, at the time I was a member of beebosloth's cult following. I really made up any possible excuse to believe that somehow, regardless of how impossible and ridiculous it would be, this girl was lying about beebosloth just ripping her off majorly. Even though- she kept the matter private, between themselves. Beebosloth was the one who posted their screenshots, made this a "let's get everyone involved and invoke the wrath of my followers" thing.

In the caption, (or maybe in a new post), Beebosloth then goes on to beckon everyone to draw this image, he starts a #drawthisinyourstyle challenge. He also, of course, incites his followers to go send hate the the original artist. I will admit I stupidly wanted to believe beebosloth was the original artist, and maybe there was some justification to him posting the screenshots, but that part, I didn't like. That was totally unnecessary, even if he was somehow telling the truth.Can we just step back and assess how insane this situation is?

Osipov casually rips off another artist

He gets caught, called out in private, and the image is removed

He reposts his imitation image, as well as the original one, the original artist's details, the screenshots from their private conversation; he tells his followers to go send hate to the original artist because she hurt his feelings by calling him out.

He starts a competition encouraging everyone to rip off her image in their own style. In turn getting dozens of results, making a considerable chunk of the Instagram art scene focus all negative attention on the original artist. "Well if I can't have it, I guess everyone can." (It's almost impossible to find left over images of the challenge, but I remember there being dozens upon dozens of submissions. I will post one I managed to find, as well as the original rip-off by beebosloth.)

And me and his other followers were totally blind to this insane, ridiculous, behavior. I find that all of my red flags that make me dislike people and their actions boil down to a very simple act: Being shitty to another human when they're not doing anything harmful. That's exactly what Osipov was doing here, and I just kind of let him convince me she was the perpetrator.

-- The remainder is an explanation of why I personally snapped out of this and realized he is just a really sleezy dude, it gets a bit petty, read at your own discretion. --

I kept following him after this for months, sending likes to those stolen general commercial T-shirt slogans slapped on a sketch of skeletons doing basic little things. And then one day a few weeks ago, an image crawled across my feed whose incredibly vague message just didn't sit right with me. The image, as you should be able to see here (if I've successfully posted it), contains a scene of someone trying to post something on instagram, and there is an error message which reads "Oops, nobody gives a shit about you or your selfies. Post anyways?"

First reaction: YIKES, who has Stanny got a vendetta against today? The username of the poster was "dumb bitch" to boot. I honestly couldn't tell if he was attempting to shame someone specific, people who just enjoy posting their selfies, women on Instagram, the message was so unclear and the caption wasn't a help to say the least. Actually the caption was . . . The only possible relation the caption could have had to the art itself, was . . . no actually I really can't find a damn thing to relate the two. It had the same weird aggressive energy as the image, but it was essentially an uncomfortable and unwanted pep-talk? No . . . what in the fresh hell would you call that caption?

Anyways, I just assumed the caption didn't really have a direct relation to the art image, as that was something he'd done before and is pretty typical on Instagram. But I still had a problem with the message of the image itself; essentially teaching people to feel bad about posting their selfies, and holding some sense of superiority to those who dare share an image of their face every so often. How incredibly boring, and my reaction posted in the images explains why this personally pissed me off. And if there I talk like someone complaining in an Instagram comment section, well . . . I wonder why.

His reaction - Oh man his reaction, you could not have killed someone's loyalty to you faster if you used their pet in your omelet. I mentioned how I was confused at the caption in the end of what I was saying, and I guess that's the part that offended him?! I haven't a clue how, but he starts in: "The fact that you don't understand leads me to believe that you are still very lost."

. . . . WHAT?! bahahaha! Where the hell did that come from?! My mouth fell agape. First of all, I didn't understand his caption for the shear fact that it was vague and unrelated to the image. Secondly, beebolsoth, where in the shit did I say anything about being lost and remind me when I paid you to be my psychiatrist.  He goes on in this ridiculous narcissistic tone, making totally wild claims as if he's known me my whole life and can speak to my personal character, and my mental state. What a creep. Is he playing The Rewired Soul here? I didn't know, I didn't particularly care. The mild entertainment I received from viewing his images wasn't worth being talked to like I've just told freaking Sigmund Freud I don't like the taste of lima beans. After receiving some darling, and for some reason, racist hate from his cult followers, I unfollowed him.

But really, isn't that just one of the cringiest feelings out there? Realizing you've been doing back-flips for someone who would treat you like absolute dirt just for the fun of it? Well, now this experience is documented. Hopefully the true original artist of the "One way ticket to hell" piece is doing alright. And the next time Osipov does something weird and horrible, people can come here, and know it definitely wasn't the first time.

[happyblazeflower-blog]

Compare and Contrast Essay Tips from a Kibin Editor -

 Compare and Contrast Essay Tips from a Kibin Editor

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Erin H. has been one of Kibin’s favorite editors since August 2013. I had a chance to ask her for her best compare and contrast essay tips. Here’s what she had to say.

In Simple Terms, What Is a Compare and Contrast Essay?

A compare and contrast essay, at its heart, describes how two things are similar and how they are different to make a larger point about one or both of the subjects of comparison.

We humans love to compare things. We read articles comparing technical specifications to help us decide between an Apple phone and an Android one. We compare the stances of political candidates to help us make sound voting decisions. We also compare seemingly unrelated things, people, or ideas — like literary characters or the genomes of spiders and humans — to deepen our understanding of those subjects or to see them in a new light.

And sometimes, like New York Times contributor Eric Spitznagel, we do it for a laugh.

Compare and Contrast Essay Tips: What Makes a Good Essay?

That said, a good compare and contrast essay doesn’t have to be shocking to be interesting and engaging. Great compare and contrast essays might help readers make a decision, facilitate a new understanding of two subjects, or nominate a “winner” between two subjects — but at their heart, the best essays of this genre always say something fresh and are driven by a clear purpose.

Compare and Contrast Essay Tips: What Makes a Bad Essay?

A bad compare and contrast essay has no clear purpose — that is, it describes the similarities and differences without making a larger point about the subjects being compared and contrasted. In fact, I often see writers fall into the “easy thesis” trap with these essays. Say we’re comparing electric vehicles and biodiesel vehicles. Writing the thesis is easy, right?

Electric vehicles and biodiesel vehicles share many similarities, but they also have several differences.

While electric vehicles and biodiesel vehicles seem to be very different, they are actually quite similar in some ways.

BOOM. Easy. Dust those hands off. You’re done, right? Nope.

Each states that the two subjects are both alike and different, but….so what? Why does it matter? Without making any meaningful statement about the significance of their similarities and differences, why write the essay at all? You could literally copy and paste any two subjects into those thesis statements, which ultimately means they are way too bland.

A better thesis says why those similarities and differences matter. Maintaining the electric vs. biodiesel vehicles theme, let’s look at some better thesis examples:

While biodiesel and electric vehicles use radically different energy sources to operate, they both offer a viable alternative to fossil-fuel-guzzling vehicles that dominate the auto market.

Biodiesel and electric vehicles both offer environmental benefits compared to cars that run on gasoline, but their differences in consumer appeal and ease of refueling makes it unclear which will dominate the market in the coming decades.

While biodiesel and electric vehicles are similar in terms of their environmental benefits and costs, the ease of refueling biodiesel cars compared to recharging electric cars makes biodiesel king in the battle between greener automobiles.

These thesis statements approach the topic in three different ways:

1.) By arguing that both are equally viable

2.) By highlighting their differences and the uncertainty of the future market

3.) By picking a “winner” between the two topics

However, they all make an argument that you will support through comparing and contrasting the two subjects in the essay.

What Are 3 Simple Compare and Contrast Essay Tips?

Pay careful attention to writing prompts and instructions for compare and contrast essays. Some essays require you to compare and contrast your subjects, while other assignments instruct you to compare or contrast. Other times, comparing and contrasting two or more subjects is merely a portion of a larger essay assignment.

2. Identify MEANINGFUL points of comparison.

When comparing and contrasting two subjects, it’s important to focus on meaningful points of comparison (and contrast).

For instance, if your instructor asks you to compare and contrast two books you read in a literature class, noting that both books were published in Times New Roman font is probably not a meaningful point of comparison. Comparing and contrasting the characters, plots, settings, literary devices, and other literary elements is a much more sound strategy.

Graphic organizers lend themselves well to organizing points of comparison and contrast during the brainstorming phase.

The good old Venn diagram is a simple way of organizing your ideas. Simply grab a blank sheet of paper, and draw two large circles that overlap in the middle. Label one of the circles for your first subject, one of the circles for the second subject. Points of contrast, or differences, go in the main section of the circles. When you identify something that the subjects have in common, you list it in the middle, where the circles overlap. If you prefer a digital approach, try this handy Venn diagram generator.

A compare/contrast chart is another great way to list and organize your ideas. Check out this example that compares the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings series.

3. Pick a sound organizational strategy.

There are two primary ways to organize a compare and contrast essay.

The first is the block structure, in which you describe the qualities of one subject in one body paragraph and the qualities of the second subject in another body paragraph.

The second organizational strategy is the point-by-point comparison, in which each body paragraph focuses on a similarity or difference and includes discussion of both subjects. Check out these helpful outlines and tips for helping you choose the best organizational strategy for your topic and argument as well as short examples of essays organized using each strategy.

What Is Your Biggest Writing Pet Peeve?

One of my biggest peeves as an editor is a lack of transitions in writing. Transitions are the glue that holds an essay together. Transitions make all the difference between an essay that flows logically and one that seems disjointed and awkward, even if the core ideas are the same. Transitions are essential in compare and contrast essays. There are entire sets of transitions designed especially for comparing and contrasting. Use transitions well. Your readers will be grateful for the signposts that guide them through your writing.

Oops, something’s missing. Let’s try that again, now with more transitions:

One of my biggest peeves is a lack of transitions in writing. As our own Naomi points out, transitions are the glue that hold an essay together, and they can make all the difference between an essay that flows logically and one that seems disjointed and awkward, even if the core ideas are the same. For this reason, transitions are essential in compare and contrast essays, and in fact, there are entire sets of transitions designed especially for comparing and contrasting. If you use them well, your readers will be grateful for the signposts that guide them through your writing.

About Erin H.

Erin H. has been wowing Kibin customers since her first edit in August 2013. She lives in Indiana with her husband and daughter.

Favorite season: Fall

Favorite movie: Pulp Fiction

Favorite color: Teal

Favorite beverage: Coffee

Psst. 98% of Kibin users report better grades! Get inspiration from over 500,000 example essays.

About the Author

Erin H. has been wowing Kibin customers since her first edit in August 2013. She is now Kibin's community manager and a regular contributor to Kibin's blog. She lives in Indiana with her husband and daughter.