#these kind of get worse and less creative as they go but we ball

[theliterarywolf]

I think the worst thing about the whole welcome home situation is that it really brings to light 1. just how "commercialized" the perception around creative pursuits has become (it might not be the right word but I can't think of another one). like this isn't [insert random corporation]'s IP #67484934 but someone's own work they are still directly involved in and unaffiliated with any major company. and 2. somehow the basic concept of respecting boundaries has been lost not just on fanpol but some proshippers too it seems. "no nsfw of my original characters please" is a pretty reasonable boundary actually and if someone feels the need to do it anyways they should at least have the decency to keep it private and away from the og creator instead of mocking them for *checks notes* being so arrogant as to have one boundary on interacting with THEIR work that they were so kind as to share with others on the internet

"Just how "commercialized" the perception around creative pursuits has become"

No, that's it exactly and we can see this echoed and causing the trickle effect that has led to the current situation with art and creative media in general.

Look at how the concept of a good adaptation (books, games, comics, anime, etc) is a rarity and not the norm. It's because you have a bunch of talking-head studio-executives not seeing the IPs they're scrambling over as creations from individual groups and artists but just something to get eyes on a watered-down screen, milk for ad-revenue, and then repeat the process with another IP.

Look at how the Triple-A video game space has turned into less of a 'we want to create fresh new experiences and ideas' and more 'okay, let's get a skeleton crew to make enough of a game to justify DLC and live-services for a year or two... Okay, time to do the same thing over again!'

Look at NFTs and AI "art" and how, the only reason why those two things were able to rise to the plague they currently are is because you have this brain-dead portion of the population who refuse to see art as a practiced skill of human labor that should be paid for and appreciated as such but, instead, they just 'want something pretty to look at for a second before getting another something pretty to look at for a second before...' Ad-nauseum.

Two perfect recent examples of that last one: one dude who calls himself rapidly making 'better' art of Princess Peach when all he's doing is clicking on an AI and getting nightmare amalgamations that look worse than pre-Toy Story Pixar and one person who made a piece of Sonic fanart with a human fem!Sonic in the center but all the 'Sonics' around her looked more inbred than the Hapsburgs.

But, of course, even with actual artists pointing out 'hey, these look wonky/weird/bad', you have thousands of people who don't care. Why? Well, look back to a certain comment that people use to dunk on current Star Wars, Marvel, and other mainstream IPs:

'Don't ask questions; just consume product and then get excited for the next product'.

No one wants to think about the creators of their favored IPs anymore. They just want to be given the shiny new ball to treat (or mistreat) in any way they see fit for a while before dumping it to the wayside a month or so later to do it to something else. And if, heaven forbid, you get a creator who dares to want to have some matter of agency with how people engage with their creation, well...

'Why do you hate people having fun?'

'Well, I'm just going to do it anyway.'

'So... Anyway, these characters are now mine because the creator is obviously shitty and doesn't know them as well as I do'

And then

The Cycle

Repeats

Anew.

[eliothochberg]

I don't think we take things seriously as much as we should

I was struck (no pun intended) by a post on Twitter publicizing which WGA strike locations have the best food trucks. Now, I'm not saying that this isn't worth knowing.

But I'm reading a book that goes over how the labor movement was going between WWI and WWII. Here are some things that happened:

Labor advocates stripped, whipped with leather straps with steel balls in them, then covered in tar and feathered, and forced to climb a wire fence and run out of town with no shoes through a field

Black workers lynched and burned alive and more/worse (if you can imagine) for either trying to unionize, or crossing picket lines

Labor advocates jailed for speaking for the cause of labor, some for more than 10 years, others tortured by the US federal and state governments

All to say that it was never a guarantee that unions would be a thing, have any respect. Many Americans in power fought tooth and nail agains unions and strikes; the media was largely against unions; they were seen as subversive and damaging; and even workers resisted them for fear of losing jobs, or out of a particular kind of patriotism common at the time.

For their part, union organizers and members were no less committed. They would destroy equipment, beat scabs (folks who cross picket lines), and where possible, fight back against the private armies that owners employed to "keep workers in line."

There is no excuse for any of the violence, however there were good reasons on the union side for the eventual violence they committed. Mostly in answer to all of the horrible things done to them. But then as violence escalated, people who weren't in the thick of it had reason to want the government to do something, especially when most newspapers at the time portrayed the actions of business and government as necessary and heroic (when they did report on what happened), while portraying union supporters as subversive and treacherous.

I think it's worth remembering all of that as workers today strike or try and unionize. This is serious business. People's livelihoods are at stake, and not just that. There are still working conditions in the US that lead to serious injury and death, and often in industries where you wouldn't expect it. For example, Amazon workers are pushed to their limits, and many just get all used up, can't do the work anymore, and find their bodies broken in such a way that it's hard for them to find any other work they can do without being in constant pain.

Thus, when the WGA strikers start talking about where the best food trucks are (food trucks are typically expensive, how can they afford it?), or which location has the best entertainment, it probably rings hollow with other unions in less creative fields.

Make no mistake: the WGA demands are reasonable, and every white collar worker, and even a lot of blue collar workers, should be paying attention. The main demand they have that can affect all workers is what happens with AI. They are demanding that AI not be given equal status to a human writer, and that any produced production must have at least one full time writer (my interpretation, apologies if that's not perfectly accurate). If they can get this concession, or something similar, this will have a HUGE impact on other union contracts, which will then pass into non-union agreements as well. If they fail, then anyone who uses words and their brain for a living will be more vulnerable than they could have been. And for those who use their bodies instead, there will be one less example to point to for how workers' rights can be protected.

Still, the WGA strike already appears to a lot of folks who don't work in the industry to be a lot of clean handed dilettantes asking for more money. Being compared to basketball players and such. It's mostly nowhere close to that, but deciding where you strike by the type of cuisine available isn't the best way to dispel that idea.

And one last thing: the whole point of a strike is to stop companies from being able to make money until a deal is reached. But not every worker is in the WGA, and not every worker is unionized. If successful, the strike will make it so that no money can be made for production studios. This means they won't be able to pay other workers. Which means that assistants, drivers, security guards, janitors, caterers, and any other non-union workers could be furloughed without pay without getting any direct benefit from the strike.

That's the cost of a strike, no doubt. But it wouldn't be surprising if those folks are upset that they have to be out of work just because the WGA wants a better deal. Their anger should be aimed at the producers and studios, since they are the ones who refused the very reasonable terms.

But...

It's a bad look when you're having a good time, and searching for the best food and entertainment while striking, while they are now facing possibly not making rent while not getting any direct benefit from the strike. Have a thought for them as you exercise your rights.

[palettepainter]

How the teachers play favourites

We all know Aizawa and All Might have their favourite UA child, Shinsou and Midoryia. And yeah I know Bakugo and Todoroki are also their UA kids but shhh, Midoryia and Shinsou where the first UA kids they adopted. 

And you can’t tell me Aizawa and All Might play favourites with them, All makes Deku lunch like..hello?? Aizawa gave Shinsou his capture weapon, HELLO?? 

So here are some dumb headcannons for how the other teachers play favourites to their UA kids

Ectoplasm and his UA kid Jiro:

-When he gives back marked tests he’ll sometimes write small encouraging notes for his students to read, he does this to some students when he feels they need a pick up but he always leaves a positive one on Jiro’s 

-During lessons where students are allowed to study in the lesson Ectoplasm lets them listen to music on their phones, everyone thought he would say no so everyone - mostly Kaminari and Mineta - peer pressured Jiro to ask. To no ones shock except Jiro’s Ectoplasm replied with a calm “Sure, but only if you use your headphones”

-Jiro talks about new songs that have been released and Ectoplasm will listen to her geek out about music

-Sometimes Jiro will tell Ectoplasm what her and the rest of the band (herself, Kaminari, Momo, Tokoyami and Bakugo) have been doing and if they’re working on any new songs in-between their studies. Jiro jokes that Ectoplasm is their biggest fan but Ecto is genuinely supportive of their band and admires their creativity

-Jiro once entered maths class and said “Hey miter Ecto, what’s shakin’ bacon?” and while the whole class was stood there in silence thinking Ectoplasm wouldn’t reply he said “Not much double dutch” and then Jiro went to her desk as thought nothing out of the ordinary happened. Kaminari tried to do the same thing to him and Ectoplasm just went “Kaminari your shoe lace is undone-” Jiro was very amused

Powerloader and Hatsume:

-This one started out more like this - Powerloader: Who’s idiot kid is that?....*realises it’s Hatsume* Oh shit- THAT’S MY IDIOT KID-

-Hatsume showed up at the design studio and never left basically, so Powerloader got used to her. He knows Hatsume overworkers herself so he keeps spare energy bars, fruit and bags of crisps in the design studio. He brought a small microwave and kettle for the winter so Hatsume could make hot drinks and food since she insisted on finishing her ‘babies’

-Say’s he doesn’t worry but still insists she goes to recovery girl when she gets a scratch or blows up the studio, sometimes dragging her there himself, ranting all the way about how she’s an idiot. One day Hatsume ended up breaking her leg during a bad explosion and Powerloader very nearly had a heart attack-

He kept a close eye on her while she worked from a wheelchair at her desk

-Makes her wear a god forsaken jumper in the winter when the design studio is freezing, stupid dumb teenager you’ll catch your death of cold

Present Mic and Kaminari:

-This man is shameless with playing favourites

-He greets Kaminari with his signature finger guns and an enthusiastic “AAAYYYY KAMINARI!” Kaminari shoots finger guns back with an “Ayyyyy teach hozit hanging?!” Everyone in class knows Kaminari is a teachers pet despite how Kaminari insists he’s not

-Mic knows Kaminari has a crush on Jiro and Kaminari is an embaressed child who is like “omg msiter Mic STOP-” while Present Mic is coeing and being all like “Aw that’s adorable!”. He always puts Jiro and Kaminari together in group projects, Kaminari shoots him a flustered glare cuz Present Mic knows what he’s doing 

-Kaminari teaches him meme/slang language for laughs and everyone in class hates it, Kaminari finds it hilarious. Eventually Mic gets the hang of it but he sucked at using the language correctly at first 

-Calls him lil listener and Kaminari calls him loud mouth 

Midnight and Yaoyorozu

-Another teacher who is shameless with playing favourites

-Midnight being a teacher does have to enforce the dress code if she sees a student wearing their uniform incorrectly - loose tie, untucked shirt, odd brightly coloured socks, chockes, etc. Midnight really doesn’t care all that much if a student’s socks aren’t the sae colour as their shoes...buuut she’s a teacher so she has to enforce it. Except when it comes to Yaoyorozu. Yaoyorozu one day had to wear light blue socks into UA as her tights where damaged, and she was worried she’d be called out for not following the dress code. Midnight saw, and turned a blind eye. She was in the middle of telling someone off for not dressing correctly, saw Yaoyorozu with the odd coloured socks and went “-Oh hello Yaoyorozu you have a good day sweetheart! ^^”

-Always complients Yaoyorozu when she comes into class. Oooo did you try a new hair style? Honey it suits you! New note book, such cursive hand writting! Glad to see you got those new pair of shoes, trying a different shoe brand this time? Very stylish!

-Had been tempted to kick Mineta like a beech ball on more then one occasion when he wouldn’t back off from Yaoyorozu

-The kind of teacher to say “I taught her that~” when Yaoyorozu uses one of her combat techniques

-Girl gossip. She tries to guess who Yaoyorozu will get with, meanwhile Momo is just blushing and blabbering because that isn’t very appropriate for history work. Midnight bats a hand is like “Pft I’m the teacher I can gossip in my own lesson”. Puts her with Todoroki during group projects and she, like Mic, 100% knows what she’s doing

Hounddog and Shishida

-Hounddog: I am not soft....*holds up Shishida* EXCEPT FOR MY 1B CHILD WHO IS VERY STRONG AND HE’S GOING TO BE A HERO DON’T @ ME HE’S AMAZING-

-Encourages Shishida to let loose with his beast form, with his rish upbringing Shishida isn’t used to embracing his more wild and uncaring side, having been raised to always be propper and polite when not in combat. Hounddog geuenily puts in effort to be a little less grumbly around Shishida cuz he doesn’t wanna peer pressure him, he’s giving him time

-Keeps a spare cloth so Shishida can clean his glasses off when and if they get dirty from training

-I imagine Shishida having a quirk called beast and having a more posh upbringing prolly has a little bit of anxiety, having to always be polite and propper even with a quirk called Beast. Sometimes he vents to Hounddog about this and he listens, insisting that it’s better Shishida get it off his chest when he apologises for drowning on

-During training Hounddog basically throws him about like a beanie bag at first, Shishida was still a kid and Hounddog had years of experience. The day Shishida finally knocked him down with a hard punch to the side of Hounddog’s face he felt...bad. But Hounddog was beaming! Shishida may have cried a little bit

Snipe and Hagakure (picked hagakure inspired by a suggestion @snipe-enthusiast made a while ago)

- Protective af

-Hagakure screams the innocent dorky girl of 1A, and thought Snipe makes sure none of the girls deal with Mineta’s bull while he’s around he’s especially protective of Hagakure just cuz...well, have you seen the way she acts? She’s innocent, peppy, happy, cheerful, and Snipe does not want that tainted by Mineta’s preverted ways

-After the exam with Hagakure and Shoji Snipe apologized for what happened and so did Hagakure, admitting that she over-reacted. 

-Hagakure admits one day to Snipe that she’s worried she won’t make it as a hero cuz her quirk isn’t flashy like her classmates. Snipe reassures her by saying that no one thought he could be a hero when he was little (this headcannon was inspired by @frelmidja and a post this did with Snipe) - guns weren’t exactly considered heroic and he got teased in the beginning when his quirk first activated. He told Hagakure to keep working hard and that she had the potential and the drive to be a hero, Hagakure was very thankful for the reassurance

-Hagakure really wants to see what Snipe’s face is like and constantly asks him if he could take his mask off and show them, Snipe has yet to break and take off his mask but Hagakure is very persistant 

Cementoss and Bondo

-Chill babies, they sit and have tea together. 

-I imagine Bondo to be the kind of person to accidentally call Cementoss dad, it happened once during one on one training and he got so embarrassed. Cementoss kept telling him it was fine but Bondo left in a hurry after

-Bondo tried to make certian shapes out of his glue one time but ended up getting himself stuck, Cementoss helped him out and reassured a disheartened Bondo that everyone makes mistakes and that he was progressing well 

-Being one of the taller boys in 1B he often has to hold back Monoma from going over to 1A when Kendo isn’t around, often tries to diffuse conflict before it gets worse, Cementoss is very proud

-After one on one training the two go to the lunch hall to get a hot drink after cleaning themselves up, Bondo tries to bring a different type of tea sweet each time - something like biscuits or chocolate. Cementoss returns the favour by bringing Bondo manju to have after his training

Thirteen + Gunhead and Uraraka

-Proud mum and dad because I couldn’t decide between the two

-Uraraka researches into the affects of zero gravity and how to better use her power, due to this she’s become a bit of a space nut and enjoys thinks like star gazing. When she was a kid and saw Pro Hro Thirteen on the TV she was ecstatic! Her parents brought her a Pro Hero Thirteen plush on her seventh birthday, Uraraka still has that toy. One day the toy got misplaced in the students washing and got mixed up with the teachers, Thirteen was a bit confused why a plush of her - and a well loved one by how old it looked - ended up in the wash. Uraraka hurridly rushes over to explain when Thirteen comes into the students dorms asking if it belonged to anyone. When Uraraka explained she got it when she was younger cuz she’s a big fan of Thirteen...heart squeeze

-Asked Uraraka if she could teach her the gunhead martial arts move, Uraraka was so honored she got to teach one of her idols a combat move! Through the gunhead martial arts move Thirteen met Gunhead and the two become good friends

-One day when Gunhead is teaching Thirteen the martial arts move with Uraraka to help demonstrate Uraraka wanted to take a picture of them all together. Gunhead was too tall to fit into the picture so he kneeled down to be at the same height as Thirteen and Uraraka (he did bunny ears behind Thirteen’s head and Uraraka thought it was adorable)

-Gunhead pretty much puts two and two together with Uraraka having a crush on Midoryia, so one day when Thirteen mentions in passing conversation how giddy Uraraka gets when she’s around this one green haired kid Gunhead just chuckles behind his hand. Thirteen and Gunhead think it’s very sweet how Uraraka totally has a crush on him (unlike Mic and Midnight thoug they don’t force anything and let Uraraka figure things out on her own)

[rpmemes-galore]

the magicians : season 1 ... sentence starters

“Well, I bond fast.“

“Am I hallucinating?“

“Yeah, no, that still sounds bad.“

“This house is haunted as balls.”

“Okay, what is magic actually for?”

“Every time I talk, I sound batshit.“

“I owe you, like, a wookie life debt.“

“I'm in, too. I heard the word illegal.”

“Celebrate the world you're in, dummy.“

“I begged you to stay. I... I needed you.”

“You have to mean it for magic to work.“

“FYI, this test is pretty much impossible.“

“If you were, how would asking me help?“

“Ow, the pine needles are hurting my feet.“

“You all look like you did a crime last night.“

“If you're trying to tell me that it gets better...“

“Look, don't go out there and be the old you.“

“Wait, are my eyes open or closed right now?“

“Hell is real, and it smells like Axe body spray.“

“One thing is real: You are always a raging dick.”

“We can fix some things. So, we fix what we can.“

“But power, as you all know, does not come cheaply.“

“Magic doesn't come from talent, it comes from pain.“

“You weren't. You were trying to prove yourself to me.“

“What is the point of magic if we can't fix real problems?“

“You're not very remarkable. You're smart, but no genius.“

“I'm kind of new to this whole thing, if you hadn't guessed.“

“That's the thing about you, you actually believe in magic.”

“Everything you say is so boring, I replace it with dubstep.“

“Oh, I'm sorry. I thought this is how we support each other.“

“Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life.“

“I can't imagine what you must be thinking of me right now.“

“I'm literally becoming less cool with every word you speak.“

“You're not as good as I'd hoped. But you're better than you know.“

“There is no substitute for a childhood of adventure, warmth, and love.“

“So, okay, I know that this is embarrassing, but trust me, dying is worse.“

“This isn't Middle Earth. There aren't enough noble quests to go around.”

“Dreams are weird. People are naked and animals are smoking cigarettes.”

“You can either step up to it or not, it's up to you. We'll just hope for the best.“

“I need to be taught magic, because I need to decide what magic is...for me.”

“And the worst is, you're so eager to belong, you even forget why you're here.“

“Will you please, just for once... no more riddles, okay? Just tell me what to do.“

“You do not have to make me feel better, really, we basically just met each other.“

“A great way to get what you want is to be so miserable that you don't want it anymore.“

“I was very angry a moment ago, but I have to be honest, you two would make a cute couple.“

“You're complicated. You need somebody who gets that about you. Maybe several people.“

“I'm going to tell you something deep and dark and personal. Ready? ...Okay. I killed someone.”

“It doesn't matter what anyone tells you. You make the web you're in. You're the spider and the fly.”

“Well, I can finally reach you, again, but that's never been the problem, has it; my reaching you?“

“And I really don't want to be the guy who dies in the first ten minutes of the movie because he's like, ‘You know what? Let's take out the Ouija board. What could possibly go wrong?’“

[coeurdastronaute]

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think. 

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry. 

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow. 

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street. 

“You are mad, and we need to talk.” 

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.” 

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car. 

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name. 

Today she was not going to cry. 

At least not on purpose. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” 

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes. 

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.” 

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.” 

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.” 

She didn��t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry. 

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses. 

“Not a problem. I was in the way.” 

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner. 

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night. 

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it. 

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen. 

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse. 

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult. 

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed. 

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.” 

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.” 

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready.” 

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator. 

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time. 

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever. 

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die. 

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life. 

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest. 

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor. 

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden. 

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?” 

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office. 

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.” 

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering.. 

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?” 

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?” 

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee. 

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.” 

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.” 

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain. 

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.” 

“She’s relentless.” 

“Maybe you’re impossible?” 

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?” 

“I got you, boss.” 

“Thanks.” 

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before. 

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all. 

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science. 

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation. 

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease. 

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life. 

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk. 

“About what?” 

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?” 

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.” 

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?” 

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely. 

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate. 

“I have someone I want you to meet with.” 

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.” 

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.” 

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.” 

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.” 

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting. 

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.” 

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side. 

“I’ll… I’ll try.” 

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.” 

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.” 

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating. 

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three. 

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.” 

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow. 

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it. 

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful. 

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top. 

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?” 

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.” 

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look. 

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.” 

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile. 

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.” 

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

[marvelsbetch]

Peter Parker’s parent teacher conference

Warnings: IronStrange, Supremefamily, bullied Peter, dick head teachers, anxious Peter and homophobia.

-Peter POV-

"Hey Bambi, why didn't you tell us about your parent-teacher conference tomorrow night?" Pops asked sitting next to me on the living room couch.

"I didn't think you would've wanted to go? Dads not the one for school or teachers and you're -well- you." I explained tentatively.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Just so you know, we'll be there for around 5 so just after your decathlon meeting. It'll just be me and your dad so no need to be embarrassed." Pops told me.

"Thanks. This'll be the first parent-teacher conference I would've ever been to." I told him.

"Same kid. It's a first time experience for us all." Pops smiled at me.

"Not many times that happens." I commented resting my head on his shoulder.

"No it's not Bambi, no it's not." He smiled putting his head on mine.

-Next day at 5 o'clock-

"Hey Penis, what're you still doing here? This is a thing for kids with parents." Flash taunted walked passed me in the gymnasium as I waited for my dads.

"Shut up Flash, you know nothing about my family." I told him.

"You better watch your tone Parker or you'll have another black eye." Flash threatened getting really close to me.

"If you would be so kind as to step away from my kid, it would he greatly appreciated." Pops' voice spoke from next to me. They must've just arrived.

"Oh my God! It's Stephen Strange! And Tony Stark!" Flash all but yelled making the whole room fall silent.

"It's Stephen Stark actually. I didn't spend thousands on a wedding for people to not recognise my changed last name." Pops corrected.

"I'm so sorry. I'm such a fan of both of your works." Flash blabbered composing himself.

"Eugene! We've been looking everywhere for you!" A man, who I presume is Flash's father, scolded walking up to us with a woman trailing behind.

"Sorry father but look who I found. The Starks." Flash excitedly announced.

At this point I slowly slipped away from him and walked up to my Dad who gladly greeted me with a hug. I could feel the warmth of the arc reactor on my chest and it gave a strange comfort. After a few moments we let go but I didn't move very far, being so close to Flash made me really anxious.

"Underoos you okay?" Dad asked me worriedly trying to look into my eyes.

"Yeah I'm fine, just tired. I was up late finishing a piece of homework last night." I lied hoping Pops wouldn't say anything as I fell asleep on him last night.

"Wow Mister Stark. I must say I'm a big fan of your work. If you haven't noticed I try to style myself off of you." Flash's father said showing off his black tailored suit and aviator sunglasses and reached out for a handshake.

"I'm flattered but I don't do handshakes. I'm not the biggest fan of touching." Dad told him trying to give a convincing smile.

"Then why've you got an arm around Pen-Peter?" Flash asked making both my Dads give him the 'Bitch WTF' look. I hate that look. Dad was about to say something but I decided to cut in.

"So, why don't we do what you came here to do and speak to my teachers? Sounds great, let's go." I spoke grabbing Pops' hand and dragging him and Dad to one of my teachers.

"Who was he?" Dad asked in a demanding tone.

"Nobody important. Look Mr. Harrington's free. Let's go and talk to him." I rushed and pulled my dads towards Mr. Harrington's table.

"Ah, Peter and Mr. and Mr. Stark. Lovely to meet you, I love all you've done for the world." Mr Harrington spoke as we took our seats.

"Thank you Mr. Harrington." Pops said.

"No problem. So, I teach Peter Physics and I've got no problems. The only thing I would say is that he is often on his phone during lesson and doesn't listen that much. However with that being said, he's never got below an A+ on his tests. You should be proud of him." Mr. Harrington smiled.

"We are. Is that all?" Dad said ruffling my hair slightly.

"That's all thanks." Mr. Harrington announced and shook Pops' hand before we walked away.

"That was a really good report but who're you texting during class? It better not be one of the others or your dad." Pops asked and gave Dad a pointed look.

"No it's this guy I met online. His names Harley Keener and he seems really nice." I explained as I lead them to my history teacher.

"Harley Keener?" Dad asked shocked.

"Yeah. Why? Do you know him?" I questioned.

"Sorta. I'll explain when we get home." Dad dismisses before turning around to face my history teacher Mrs. Keens.

"Wow, this is a shock. It's not everyday the Starks turn up to a parent-teacher conference. How are you both?" She rushed out slightly flustered.

"We're doing fine thank you. How is Peter in this subject?" Pops asked, straight to the point as always.

"Peter is amazing, always hands his homework in on time, always listens in lesson and has never received less than an A on a test. You should be proud of him." She informed smiling at me.

"Wow, our little goody-two-shoes." Dad teased ruffling my hair slightly.

"One thing that you may or may not be aware of is a boy called Eugene Thomson. He seems to be bullying Peter for whatever reason, I've caught him a few times throwing paper balls at Peter or sliding him malicious notes. I'm not sure if it's friendly or not but I felt you should know. Thank you." Mrs. Keens informed, may the ground swallow me up now.

"We will also discuss this later on." Pops told me sternly, oh no.

We left Mrs. Keens with a slight wave and headed back to the main area to find another teacher. My eyes landed on my English teacher who didn't seem very happy, this is not going to end well.

"Oh look, it's your English teacher." Dad commented and pointed to Mr. Malory. Fuuuuuuuuck.

"How do you know my English teacher?" I asked worriedly.

"Research department, making sure my son has the best education he can. Let's go to him now while he's free." Dad brushed off and started to walk towards him. God save me.

My English teacher hates me for no reason, always turns a blind eye to Flash, always nitpicks my assignments and finds any reason to not give me a good grade. He's also quite homophobic and has expressed on many occasions his hatred for my Dads and anything to do with them. He even leads a group called the 'Freedom from Starks'. This is so not ending well.

"Peter, didn't expect to see you here." Mr. Malory commented not looking up from his clip board.

"Well, this is a parent-teacher conference and I, as his parent, would like to speak to my sons teacher about his school work. If you'd be so kind." Dad said, his words oozing sarcasm and sass. He really did his research.

Mr. Malory picked his head up and stared Dad dead in the face. The distaste clearly shown on both faces as the three of us took our seats, Pops took Dad's hand, probably as a way to calm him down. This is worse than I thought.

"Well, if I'm being honest, Peter is the worse student I've ever taught. He's disruptive in lessons, throws paper at a wonderful student called Flash Thompson, slides Flash malicious notes and seems to find any excuse to blame Flash. His work is simply upgradable and I couldn't thing on a bigger lost cause than your son. Any questions?" Mr. Malory spoke and Dads face got redder and redder with anger.

"Really, then why did the last teacher we speak to say it was the other way around, that 'Flash' was the one throwing paper and passing notes?" Dad questioned leaning forward in his seat.

"Look, I don't know what happens in other lessons and quite frankly, I don't care. All I know is Peter is a major distraction and it's bordering bulling with Flash." Mr. Malory told us.

"What about his work is so upgradable? Is it his handwriting or the content of what he's writing?" Pops asked placing his other hand on top of Dads. This is getting serious.

"The content. The ludicrous stories of the Norse Gods and his 'adventures' with them are beyond reason. His stories are beyond the realm of possibility and are just ludicrous." Mr. Malory told them.

"His stories about the Norse Gods, does this involve Thor putting his hammer in inconvient places or Loki and black widow being kind and caring to others?" Das asked.

"Yes." Was Mr. Malory's short response.

"Well, it is within the realm of possibility as it happens. Every single day at the compound or sanctum." Pops spit out trying to keep calm.

"Oh well, maybe he should learn to be more creative with his stories." Mr. Malory spoke silently challenging Pops.

"Thanks sir." I hastily said before dragging both my dads out of their seats and walking off.

"No Pete, I would like to hear more about how much of a bad student you are." Dad argued challenging Mr Mallory.

"And I will be glad to provide. Mr Park-"

"Stark." Dad deadpans.

"Mr Stark is highly disruptive not only to Mr Thomson but is also always on his phone, sleeping in class or just straight up not listening. Honestly, his behaviour is a reflection as to why you people shouldn't be allowed to have kids, you simply don't know how to raise them." Mr Mallory continued to explain. Dad went red.

"What do you mean by you people?" Pops asked scarily calm as be placed a hand on Dad's knee to soothe him slightly.

"Gays. You shouldn't be allowed children because there's not a mother to properly raise them, I never had these issues when Peter lived with May. I honestly think it would be in his best interest to place him back in her care."

Oh my god. He knows May is dead. He knows that I can't be 'placed back in her care' and It was the same when I did live with her, nothing changed.

We were all stunned into silence, including some of the surrounding parents and teachers who were stunned. Well, we were silent until Dad blew up at him.

"How dare you," he began, "I take as good care of my son as any other parent here does, I give him as much as I can and do everything I can to be a good parent to him. If he's sleeping in your classes or being distracted then maybe you should make your lessons more interesting and not be blind sighted by your homophobic, bigoted and downright dickish beliefs. Your head may be crammed so far up your ass you can smell your lungs but maybe once join us in the real world and see that just because people are different doesn't mean they're not as capable. I will be putting in a formal complaint and if I were you, I'd start looking for new places of employment seeing as I am one of the biggest donators to this school. Come on Pete, we're going home."

Dad then grabbed Pops' hand and my arm before storming out of the building towards the car. You could see the steam coming out of his ears as Pops tried in a desperate attempt to calm him down.

I think I can safely say that this night was a disaster.

[contemplativepancakes]

yarn rants with dandelion

3.5k of Geralt poorly hiding the fact that he knits from his family and, in general, being an idiot, read here on AO3

Geralt slams his laptop shut as his apartment door swings open, causing Eskel to quirk an eyebrow. “Whatcha doin’?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Geralt says in a rush. 

“Uh huh.” Eskel raises his hands. “Can’t be any weirder than the porn Lambert watches.”

Geralt grunts, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Eskel glances at his watch. “I figured you might want help before the game.”

“I’m ordering pizza,” Geralt says. “Actually, do you want to do it? I have cleaning I still need to do before everyone else gets here.”

Eskel’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead, and Geralt starts to sweat as he sees Eskel's skepticism. Geralt always makes a spread on game day, telling everyone he’s not going to wait two hours for delivery while they’ll be so busy. 

“Um. Okay.” Eskel stares at him for a beat before finally pulling out his phone. “What am I ordering?” 

Geralt shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He goes to his room, shutting the door behind him and hearing Eskel’s voice as he talks to the pizza place. Geralt looks to his bed, where a half finished baby blanket is laid out, before hastily gathering it and its attached ball of yarn up and stuffing them in a basket, piled high with various colors and weights. He throws some dirty clothes from his floor on top for good measure before reemerging from his bedroom, Eskel looking at him suspiciously from his spot on the couch. 

“Sure you don’t need help with anything?” Eskel asks. 

“No, I’m, uh, I’m good.” Geralt goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers, passing one to Eskel and keeping one for himself. 

Thankfully, Eskel doesn’t say anything about his odd behavior, just watches the pregame show with him without comment until Letho arrives, followed shortly after by Lambert and Aiden. Geralt’s relieved, because then Eskel’s attention goes to their ridiculous dancing around each other instead of scrutinizing Geralt. 

After everyone has left for the night, Geralt pulls his laptop back out, settling it on the coffee table in front of him and goes to get his blanket. He spreads it across his lap as he clicks play, the sound of a cheerful voice filling his living room. 

“Hey, guys! It’s Dandelion, back with my latest yarn haul! I’ve got some awesome ones, and ones you should avoid at all costs, so watch and see which is which!”

Geralt lets himself stare for a second before he jerks himself out of the trance and looks back down while his needles click together as he starts to knit. 

Geralt lets the feeling of the yarn between his fingers soothe him. That’s why he watches these yarn reviews, after all. He hates going to the store for yarn, but he hates wasting his money on yarn that’s scratchy and uncomfortable against his skin even more. 

Needless to say, he’s grateful to Dandelion for doing all the prep work for him, and he may or may not have developed a crush on the man.  Who watches these videos and hasn’t? Geralt reasons.

Dandelion has an infectious enthusiasm, and Geralt can’t help the soft smile from spreading across his face as he listens.

Geralt keeps knitting until his skein is almost out. When he has less of a ball and more of a tangle left, he casts his eyes around for the next one before looking despairingly back at his blanket when he doesn’t find it. 

Fuck. 

He knew he should have ordered extra; he always does this to himself, but somehow he never learns. He groans as he pulls his computer onto his lap and opens up the website he orders his yarn from. He goes into his history and clicks on the link to his blanket yarn. It’s teal, velvety, and Geralt can’t stop running his fingers over it. When the page finally loads,  out of stock  blinks back at him. 

Double fuck. 

He’s never made a blanket before, and he’s drastically underestimated how much it would take. He’s going to need at least three more skeins. Yen’s baby shower is in a month and a half, and there’s no telling when the yarn is going to come back in stock. What if they discontinued it? 

There’s nothing for it; he’s going to have to go into the store. He looks at the clock. First thing tomorrow, he decides, before it gets busy. He’ll go right when they open, before the store gets noisy and filled with women who always try to draw him into conversation for some reason. 

Geralt huffs at the thought. 

- 

Geralt tugs his scarf a little tighter against his neck before he gets out of the car and heads into the store. There’s only four cars in the parking lot, so Geralt hopes he’ll be able to get in and out quickly. 

Once he’s inside, he makes a beeline for the yarn aisle, trying to hold in his noise of dismay when he sees someone already standing there. Geralt avoids eye contact and feigns interest in the brightly colored acrylic yarns at the end of the aisle. The person is right in front of the baby yarn section, and Geralt tries not to tap his foot. 

Just when Geralt is getting ready to pretend to browse other aisles while he waits, there’s movement behind him. “Lovely scarf,” a man’s voice says. “Looks very soft.”

Geralt turns around, only for his eyes to widen as he comes face to face with Dandelion. 

He’s sure something very intelligent sounding comes out of his mouth, but he doesn’t register it. 

Whatever it was makes Dandelion laugh, sounding familiar and alarmingly close when they’re not separated by a screen. Geralt glances down at Dandelion’s basket to see it piled high with yarn. 

“Nice colors you have there,” Geralt finally manages. 

Dandelion beams. “Thank you!” 

Geralt takes a closer look and realizes they’re rainbow colors. He heaves a tiny sigh. He’s a disaster. Does Dandelion think he’s flirting with him? Not that Geralt doesn’t want to be, per se, but—it’s complicated. 

“Did you make your scarf yourself? Or did a boyfriend make it for you?” Dandelion asks. 

“I made it myself,” Geralt mumbles. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved by this line of questioning or not.

“Oh?”

“No boyfriend.”

Dandelion turns another smile on him, and Geralt tries not to melt. “What are you shopping for?” 

“Oh. Um. A blanket.”

Dandelion turns back towards the shelves with a critical eye before he plucks out a chunky bright yellow and holds it out to Geralt for his inspection. Geralt runs his fingers over it absently. “Feels nice.”

“Right? I love this brand. How big of a blanket are you making?”

“It’s for a baby.”

Dandelion’s eyebrow arches in question. 

“My friend is adopting soon; I thought this would be nice,” Geralt says, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Dandelion shifts his basket from one hand to the other. “Oh, my. That is very nice.”

Geralt grumbles as he piles more yarn than can surely be reasonable into his own basket while Dandelion eyes the shelf thoughtfully. 

Geralt finishes putting the yarn into his basket and goes to leave the aisle, but Dandelion stops him before he takes more than three steps. 

“Better get more than you think. I get what I expect to use, and then add 25 percent more.”

That makes Geralt crack a smile. “That makes an expensive hobby even worse.”

Dandelion shrugs. “The curse of being a creative.”

Geralt picks two more bundles from the shelf. “I suppose you’re right.”

Dandelion clears his throat. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Geralt answers, and Dandelion looks him up and down. “Would you like to join our yarn circle?”

“What?” Geralt asks, throat dry.

Dandelion shakes his head glumly. “Nevermind. It’s just there are so few men…”

“I’ll join,” Geralt says, before he fully thinks out his words. 

Dandelion brightens instantly. “Excellent!”

Dandelion follows him to the register, chattering the whole way, and by the time Geralt leaves the store, Dandelion has his number saved in his phone. Geralt can’t help but notice how the women are leaving him alone today, just shooting him the occasional baleful look. It’s a nice change of pace. Maybe he should run into Dandelion more often. 

“I’ll text you, okay?” Dandelion says after he’s walked with Geralt to his car. 

“Um, yeah, okay,” Geralt replies. 

He slides into his car and watches Dandelion walk to a bright yellow slug bug. He quirks a grin. It fits him. Geralt’s just turned the key in his ignition when he realizes he didn’t even get the yarn that he came for. He sighs and shuts the engine off. 

If he reemerges from the store with the yarn for the rest of his blanket in addition to two skeins of blue that remind him of Dandelion’s eyes, well, that’d be creepy, and it’s nobody’s business but his, anyway. 

-

Geralt looks down at his phone.  yarn circle at that coffee place on Main tomorrow at ten! you in?

He saves the contact in his phone, debating with himself before typing  Dandelion 🌼.

He puffs a breath through his lips. He shouldn’t be this worked up about a text. 

See you then  , he types, and goes back to make the  s  lowercase. 

“Who are you texting?” Eskel asks from his spot on the couch, setting down his own phone.

“Who are  you  texting?” Geralt retorts weakly. 

Eskel looks at him, unimpressed. “My girlfriend, dude. Did you finally get yourself one? You know, it’s kind of weird Yen’s replacing you with a baby…”

Geralt grits his teeth. “She’s not replacing me. We just had conflicting goals for the future.”

“And what, pray tell, are these goals?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not kids. I’d be a terrible dad.”

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s a conversation they’ve hashed out many times before. “Hmm,” Eskel says pointedly, and Geralt gives him an eye roll right back. 

“Are we watching this movie or not?”

Eskel mumbles something too low for Geralt to hear. 

-

The next morning dawns bright and early. Too early for Geralt to reasonably head out to the coffee shop by the time he’s ready, so he takes the time to work on the blanket. He’s inching closer to being done, and he’s looking forward to starting something with the yellow yarn, but he’s not quite sure what he wants to make yet. 

He wonders if he’s supposed to take his blanket to this yarn circle. Do they knit? Or just talk about it? What if they gossip the whole time? Geralt doesn’t have anything juicy to contribute; he doubts they want to hear about Eskel’s latest problems with his goat yoga business. Giving customers ringworm probably isn’t the best breakfast conversation. He takes in a deep breath, trying to stop the panic spiral. 

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. 

-

It’s not fine.

When he walks in, Dandelion is already sitting at a table, wearing a floral button down that has entirely too many buttons undone to be decent. Geralt tries not to imagine what Dandelion’s chest hair would feel like under his finger tips, if it would be coarse and wiry or smooth and silky. 

Geralt shakes his head and grunts a greeting when Dandelion waves him over. 

“Hello, hello! Find the place okay?”

“No issues,” Geralt says, pulling out a chair and settling his bag with his knitting awkwardly on the ground. 

Dandelion glances down at his phone, and whatever he sees makes his face tighten. 

“Hmm, looks like the rest of the circle isn’t going to be able to make it. Flat tire.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow at him. “Do they...need help? I could go change it.”

Dandelion mutters something to himself before looking back up at Geralt. “I think they already have that covered.”

Geralt laughs and rubs a hand on his neck. “You know, I’m going to start thinking you were just trying to get me alone.”

Dandelion returns the nervous laugh and warms his hands on his mug. “Are you going to get some coffee?” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah.” Geralt stands up before turning back to Dandelion. “What do you recommend? I don’t come places like this very often.”

“Yeah, I bet. You seem like a coffee, black kind of person.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Geralt admits. 

Dandelion’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “What do you mean you don’t drink coffee?”

“Makes me jumpy. My hands shake.”

Dandelion lets out a sharp exhale. “Wow.”

Geralt scowls. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! Well, maybe a little. You just better get hot chocolate, then.”

“Fine. I will.”

Dandelion’s laughter when Geralt returns to the table with a mug piled high with whipped cream is infectious.

He’s not sure what comes over him, but Geralt sticks out his tongue. 

It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he never even pulled out his knitting. 

-

Dandelion starts texting him more and more, and Geralt feels vaguely guilty when he watches Dandelion’s latest video. 

He should probably tell Dandelion he watches them, but he doesn’t want it to turn into a  thing , and he certainly doesn’t read too much into it when Dandelion mentions running into a handsome stranger on his latest yarn expedition. 

He could be talking about anyone. 

Geralt finishes his blanket for Yen, and he starts to think about what his next project should be. The yellow yarn is bright and warm; silky smooth between his fingers. He starts another blanket, because why not? He’s been wanting to practice cabling, anyway. 

He brings it to the next yarn circle Dandelion invites him to, but it doesn’t get worked on, and Dandelion doesn’t say anything about where the rest of the circle is. Geralt doesn’t ask. 

Finally, four yarn circles in where no knitting is accomplished, Dandelion gives up the ghost and asks Geralt out on a date. “That’s not what we’ve been doing?” Geralt asks with a small smile. 

Dandelion shoves him in the chest, a teasing glint in his eye before his hand lingers on Geralt’s pec for a little too long. He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. “Great. I can’t wait," Geralt says.

“I’ll choose to believe that’s not sarcastic.”

Geralt pokes at him. “It’s not.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and  hmm s right back. 

-

A few weeks later finds Geralt sifting through Netflix for a movie to watch. “Hey, Dandelion!” Geralt calls from the couch, tugging a blanket up to his chin. 

Dandelion freezes from his spot just outside the living room with a bowl of popcorn in hand. 

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt says.

“What did you just say?”

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt repeats, more slowly this time. 

“No, no, before that.”

Geralt thinks. “Your...name?”

Dandelion blinks at him. “My name is Jaskier.”

Now Geralt is the one who’s confused. “No, it’s not?”

“Geralt, I think I know my own name.” Dandelion’s face pinches. “Wait. You watch my videos?”

Geralt steels himself for the conversation. He had been wondering if he'd just be able to take the fact that he watches them to his grave. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“It seemed...weird," Geralt says haltingly.

Geralt’s still reeling from the revelation. He’s the world’s worst boyfriend; Dandelion has to be playing a cruel prank on him. 

“And it didn’t seem weird to you that you were watching me literally sing your praises last week?”

“I thought it was kind of sweet.”

Dand—Jaskier drags a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this.”

“How was I supposed to know that wasn’t your actual name?”

“Geralt, we have been together for a month. How do you not know my  name ?”

“It’s never come up!” Geralt says defensively. “You’re the one who never even introduced yourself. Talk about bad manners.”

Jaskier splutters, and Geralt can’t help but quirk a grin at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Jaskier finally rallies. “We’re going to have a talk about online boundaries, but—”

“But what?”

“You’re so god damned stupid,” Jaskier says, before dragging Geralt into a kiss. 

Geralt goes without complaint. 

-

While Geralt ponders the new nature of their relationship, he finally finds a use for the blue yarn he’s been hoarding. The whole time he’s knitting the hat, he thinks of Jaskier. It’s exactly the right shade of his eyes, but Geralt doesn’t let himself contemplate it too hard. 

When he’s finished, he finds an index card and scrawls a message. He wraps up the whole thing and gives it to Jaskier the next time he sees him. 

Jaskier tears the package open and rubs the yarn between his fingers in delight. “You made this for me? No one’s ever knitted something for me before.”

“I’m glad I could remedy that,” Geralt says gruffly, shifting uncomfortably at the adoring look Jaskier is giving him. 

Jaskier notices the card and reads it before bursting into laughter. 

Sorry I didn’t know your name <3

“You’re forgiven.”

On to the next order of business, then. Geralt clears his throat. “Yen’s baby shower is next week.”

Jaskier makes a noise of polite interest, not looking up from where he’s examining the stitches in the hat. Geralt really hopes he doesn’t notice where he dropped one. 

Geralt waits for a few more seconds and sighs. Jaskier is really going to make him ask. “I was wondering if you would want to go with me.”

Jaskier tilts his head up and gives Geralt a bright smile. “Of course I would!” He pauses to think for a moment. “Are you...out to them?”

“Yes,” Geralt grumbles. “It turns out my hiding spot for my play girls when I was 16 wasn’t as clever as I thought.”

Jaskier snorts. “It never is, is it?”

-

In the days leading up to the shower, Jaskier’s anxiety starts to show, but Geralt politely doesn’t comment. They walk up to the party arm in arm, Geralt carrying both of their gift bags. Geralt had told him he didn’t need to get anything, but he had anyway, insisting that he had just happened to stumble across  the cutest onesie, Geralt! What a coincidence!

Geralt can’t help but smile as he looks over at Jaskier. Jaskier’s thumb is compulsively stroking over a spot on Geralt’s hand, and he’s even wearing the hat Geralt knitted him. Geralt’s chest feels tighter than normal. 

“Oh, so this is why you haven’t been such a grump lately?” Triss asks once they walk through the door, taking their gift bags to set on a side table. 

“I’m never grumpy,” Geralt says, and Jaskier has the audacity to laugh, so Geralt elbows him in the side. 

Triss laughs at that, too, before she goes off to find Yennefer and drags her back to them. “Geralt!” she exclaims, rubbing a hand up his arm. “I’m glad you could drag yourself away from your very important activities that you refuse to tell anyone about.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks over to see Jaskier staring at him curiously. 

“Ah, and this must be Dandelion!” Yen says, turning to Jaskier. 

“Eskel wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that!” Geralt hisses, but Yen just gives him a delighted smile. 

Geralt sighs as she moves on to terrorize her next guest. 

“Your friends are pretty brutal, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly. 

“You have no idea.” 

Geralt leads Jaskier over to where Eskel and Lambert are sitting by the food table and attempts to make small talk. 

Almost immediately, Lambert asks, “What’d you get her?” 

Eskel and Geralt share an exasperated look. “Why so competitive, Lamb? Over compensating?”

Lambert scowls. “I was just curious. You’re not going to be able to top what I got her, anyway. Best uncle ever.”

“You’re not going to be an uncle,” Eskel says. 

Lambert is unconcerned. “Best uncle ever.”

Geralt crosses his arms and leans into Jaskier, trying to block out Eskel and Lambert’s bickering. 

“I hate things like this,” Geralt mutters. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Geralt. You being an unbearable softie is our little secret. I won’t breathe a word.”

Geralt grumbles. “That’s not why.” He pauses, then, “Why do I put up with you?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Jaskier says, turning his head to press a kiss against Geralt’s temple. 

Geralt flushes at the touch and looks around, but no one is staring at them like anything out of the ordinary happened. Geralt relaxes back against him. 

He’s almost dozing off by the time Yen gets to his gift, and he only realizes it by Jaskier digging a bony elbow into his stomach. He pinches Jaskier in retribution. 

Yen opens the gift carefully, making the appropriate polite noises as she does so. 

“Isn’t it soft?” Jaskier asks as she strokes her fingers over the blanket. “Geralt chose some great yarn.”

Geralt whips his neck around to look at Jaskier so quickly he thinks he heard something pop.

“What?” 

“The yarn! It’s so nice and such a lovely color, don’t you think? Geralt did a wonderful job.”

“Geralt, you made this?” Yennefer asks incredulously, and great, her voice cracks. 

Geralt sighs and tries to accept his fate of all the merciless jokes that are going to be made in his defense. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“When the fuck did you learn how to do that?” Lambert asks. 

Geralt shrugs defensively. “I’ve been knitting for years.”

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to the blue cap perched on top of Jaskier’s head, and teasing grins spread over their faces. 

Geralt groans. He’s never going to hear the end of this.

As Jaskier takes his hand in his and squeezes, he thinks maybe that’s okay. 

[x-neurodivergent-reader]

Familiarity (Dhawan!Master x Autistic!Reader oneshot)

Anon’s request: “Can you do dhawan master x autistic fem reader who stims a lot I do the same stim just more violently if I'm upset and its just putting my hand in a fist and shaking it its either that stim or be jumping or rocking back and forth could you pls do that?”

Summary: When you and the Master decide to destroy yet another planet for fun, things take a turn when your actions instead lead to a war between two worlds. The unexpected changes make you uneasy about continuing with your plans - luckily, the Master can always tell when it's getting to be too much for you.

A/N: Hi! Sorry this took so long - I got creatively burnt out in general, and then once I started writing, I kind of uh... got carried away and gave it more story than I intended (and the reader kind of turned out gender-neutral, as nobody refers to them in the third-person, so their pronouns aren’t said). The stimming is definitely still here though, so I hope this is OK!

The reader here is gender-neutral.

Content warnings: Death and war mentions. The reader gets close to a panic attack/meltdown/something similar, but doesn't actually have one.

When the Master brought you along to destroy yet another planet for fun, the last thing either of you expected was to cause a war within the galaxy.

Of course, this is far from the first time that the Master had done something like this - he has caused every type of problem among countless parts of the universe for centuries. When the insect-like aliens - the Locusect, as they had referred to themselves when you first arrived - discovered that someone had been trying to destroy the so-called "egg" that kept the planet alive, it was sheer luck that they assumed they were being infiltrated by the species of a neighbouring planet, which they had recently been having some rather rocky negotiations with.

And now, after a particularly nasty meeting where the Locusect refused to believe the other species' insistence that they were innocent, it was clear that the Master had unintentionally - albeit not unwillingly - made things much, much worse.

Wanting to watch the announcement regarding the recent developments, the Master took you to the upper level of a great hall, overlooking the area where the Locusect civilians would be led to soon, and possibly evacuated from. The Master ran up to the railing like an excited child, manically clapping his hands as he anticipated the chaos he had wrought onto them.

"Yes, yes!" The Master exclaimed, grabbing onto the railing to support himself as he leaned over it, his eyes frantically darting around the large room. "Oh, this is brilliant! Of course, we screwed up our plan completely, but these idiots didn’t suspect a thing – and now we get front row seats to watch them and that other planet burn each other to the ground for us! We’re going to have so much fun-"

The Master turned to you, only for his bright, devilish grin to drop at what he saw.

You were standing in the corner of the room, your back pressed up against the walls as your hand was balled in a fist, shaking violently in the air next to you. You were breathing deeply, your worried eyes staring at the floor as you anxiously tried to calm yourself down.

The Master's expression softened slightly - he knew how it looked when you were stimming with joy or excitement, and that was certainly not the case here. This was more similar to how it looked when he had first taken you on adventures, and you were less used to the violence and bloodshed that he carried everywhere he went.

He took a few steps towards you, making sure to give you some space, while still bringing your attention to him. When you looked up at him, he tried to make his face look neutral - he didn’t want you to think he was angry at you, nor let you see how concerned he was for your well-being.

"I know this wasn't what we planned," he murmured, not wanting to risk triggering your sensory issues, in case they were heightened by the stress you were going through, "and it's all unfolding quite quickly. It's fine if you want to go back to the TARDIS now."

You opened your mouth like you were about to speak, but your lips were quivering and felt too dry, making you feel less able to. Instead, you licked your lips and swallowed, nodding in response.

"Do you want me to come with you? Or would you rather go back on your own?" The Master fumbled in one of the pockets of his jacket, before taking out the golden key to the TARDIS, the sky reflecting on its metal surface through the large windows above the hall. "It's not that far away, so you should be safe either way."

"I can go on my own." Your voice was slightly shaky, but you had at least managed to calm down enough to reply.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"All right - I'll stay for a bit longer. You might not want to come out of the TARDIS again once you're inside." The Master's sharp, toothy smile returned.

Right as he handed you the key, you both noticed crowds of civilians starting to enter the hall, the sound of their nervous chattering gradually filling the room while the Master led you out of the door you both had entered.

"It's going to get noisy in here now," he warned you, "so hurry back. I'll catch up later."

~*~

When the Master opened the doors to the TARDIS, the sounds of horrified screams could be heard, likely coming from the hall after the war was announced. You were sitting on one of the seats next to the console, and you looked at him as he raised a hand behind his ear, his face lit up with an amused smirk.

"You hear that?" He asked you, pausing to let you listen to the nearby disarray. "It's like music to my ears - never gets old, that."

You gave him a small smile in response as he closed the doors behind him, his gaze looking you over to see if you were feeling better.

You had been reading a novel - one that he had seen you read before, he noticed - and your body was rocking back and forth in your seat, looking far more content than you had been earlier.

Satisfied that you were all right, the Master walked up to the console, preparing the ship to take off. You took a bookmark from the back of your book, placing it where you had left off before placing it carefully on the console’s surface.

"Are we going to watch the fighting start?”

"Nah." The Master's nostrils flared as he scrunched up his face dismissively, grabbing a screen attached to the console to read it closely. "I've seen big wars like that before, they're all the same..." He glanced back at you again, only to see you staring at him, your eyebrow raised in disbelief. He rolled his eyes, as he started to press some of the controls. "...and I may have been a bit too excited about what was happening, and made them start to suspect that we were the ones that started it. Doesn't matter - they'll never see us again anyway."

You snickered, grabbing onto the edge of the console as the TARDIS started to teleport away from the helpless planet, the vibrations throughout the console room causing you to stand up to make sure you wouldn't fall over.

Unfortunately, your book did, and the bookmark slipped out of it, causing you to curse under your breath while the Master let out an amused snort.

Once everything settled down again, the Master sauntered up to you, watching fondly as your fist started to wave in the air again, this time less frantically. Truthfully, he liked that you stim so openly - the fact that it can vary based on how you're feeling makes it much easier for him to tell when you might be starting to feel stressed out, or upset. It was much easier for him than being with someone who tries to keep everything bottled up to look tough, or who defaults to yelling at him seemingly out of nowhere. Having a visual indication for your emotions was more helpful.

The best part was knowing that you trusted him not to judge you for it, even if others get the impression that he would. Nobody has ever had as much faith in him as you did, and although he's convinced that he doesn't deserve it, it was something he would cherish for as long as you stuck with him.

"Do you fancy going somewhere a bit quieter?" He asked you, his dark eyes holding a softness that was reserved only for you. "Anywhere you want, I'll take you. No strings attached."

"You sure about that?" You snarked, and the Master sighed, rolling his eyes again. Of course, you knew him as well as he knew you.

"...Fine, if it involves food, you'll have to pay for it. But other than that, I'm being serious."

You thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling as your hand continued to shake absentmindedly.

"Can we go see the northern lights?" You finally asked him, your eyes full of hope as you stimmed with a little more fervour. "It always looks pretty in photos - I want to see them in person."

'Ugh, of course it's somewhere on Earth...' The Master thought disdainfully.

But as he looked at you, he started to imagine what it would be like. He imagined you wrapped up in an excessive amount of clothes, your joyful eyes reflecting the radiant colours and patterns, the bright smile on your face while you bounced up and down excitedly...

His mouth slowly stretched out into a big grin, the thought making your offer too good to turn down. After all, who's to say that he has to pay attention to the lights?

"Definitely," he said, and you already started jumping with delight, "go to the wardrobe and wrap up as warm as you can - I'll take us there soon."

You immediately bounded towards the corridor and out of the console room, thanking the Master as you ran. He chuckled to himself, crouching down to pick up your forgotten book and bookmark, before walking out after you, planning to find some warmer clothes for himself.

He really would do anything for his favourite human.

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2021.06.22

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. The Fourth Rule by @hbee [T, 1k]

►Tonight may be Potter and Malfoy's final performance. Then again, every performance might be their last.

2. If We Could Get to the Moon by Snoflinga [M, 121k]

►Draco has successfully hidden his odd feelings for Harry Potter until the Yule Ball makes them suddenly burst out. Harry notices there's something new about the Slytherin, but he can't quite figure out what.

3. Sweet Tastes and Feathery Touches by @drarrelie & @janieohio [E, 2k]

►Harry wants to do something special for Draco's birthday, something which probably shouldn’t include taking advice from his pet snake, Orion. When you have a Veela mate, though, you’re allowed to get more creative than most.

4. Thank You for Your Kindness by @fw00shy [T, 1k]

►Draco runs every day at six-thirty in the morning. So does Harry Potter, apparently.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Antidote by @isamijoo [T, 1k]

►Prompt: Immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Harry are advised to go to therapy or to see a Healer to help them develop appropriate coping strategies. How do they feel when they run into each other unexpectedly? ★ Exploding Snap: A Drarry Game/Fest | @gameofdrarry

2. Stay by @orange-peony [E, 7k]

►The day Draco Malfoy finds out that the Manor has finally found a new owner is a Tuesday. It takes him less than two minutes to realise that he’s screwed. He has nowhere to go. Things go from bad to worse when he finds out that he's been assigned a new probation officer. Harry bloody Potter. ★ Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange

[hazbincalifornia]

Not trying to alter the timelines here but oh w-what if possessive Stolas in this whole awesome shitshow with pregnant Blitzy

I’ve been doing episode spinoffs already, so this is just an au thing! Anyway, I'm gonna kick this fic to you real quick before doing my own. 

_______

There was ragged nylon and kevlar cutting into his wrists. Not always a problem, especially when a guy liked rope play, but it sure as shit was right now when he was trussed up like a turkey, wrists and ankles pressed together above him and stomach hanging lower than the balls of a participant in No Nut November. The rope traced around his stomach, making a circle around where it jutted out from his body but leaving it entirely unsupported.

"So, y'all gonna tell me what the deal is here? Kinda got shit to get to, and all the blood's pooling in my gut. Trust me, you don't want me thinking even less, because instinct's telling me-"

"Hey, hey, hey! It took us ages to maneuver you with-" A voice asserted before a throat cleared and the human woman that the voice belonged to stepped forward. "Anyway. You're going to tell us what we want, or else!"

"Or else what?" Blitzo raised an eyebrow. "Come on, I've gotten out of blind dates worse than this on this on an average Tuesday night."

"Maybe this could convince you?" Something sharp dragged along his stomach and his head immediately snapped down to see a pale hand holding a blade that was slicing through the fabric of the shirt. He growled deep in his throat, and the man attached to the hand chuckled.

"Ha, I knew you'd be protective of your weird demon spawn. Do guy demons reproduce or do you just have a really deep voice?"

"Good question! How about you shove it and that knife up your puckered asshole, you fucking dipshit?" Blitzo's tail snapped like a whip, catching the man with a yelp as the knife was knocked out of his hand. 

“Hey! I’m not into anal!” The man scurried over next to the woman, and she patted his shoulder. 

“So, where’s the guy who came with me?” Blitzo’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s still unconscious,” The woman said. “It must be weaker than you. Maybe stronger demons are the ones to carry the young? Is that your mate?”

“Fuck, sometimes I wish,” Blitzo muttered before clearing his throat. “Okay, lemme make this simple: You let me go, and I kill you in a slightly less painful way than usual, sound good?”

“No, that sounds terrible, actually,” the man replied.

“Trust me, it’s a lot better than you’d think. I can get real creative. You ever seen anybody get their ribcage pulled out their throat before?”

They grimaced in unison, and Blitzo squirmed in the rope. No dice, and his stomach was starting to ache even more than usual- without any kind of support from his limbs, it was like the weight had been doubled. Something was compressing his lungs, but if it was the position or some kind of drug he had no idea. 

“Come on, what do you chucklefucks even want? I’ve got tips on how to get horses to trust you and how to make a body into a pretzel, but-”

“Information.” The man stepped closer. “Who you work for, how you got here-”

“What you are,” the woman chipped in, and Blitzo snorted.

“I’m a catch is what I am.”

“Sure you are.” The man flipped some switch and the ropes cinched tighter. Blitzo bit back a yipe, stomach bubbling acid as the weight dropped lower. “And we caught you.”

“Nice one, One.”

“Thanks, I was saving that one.” 

Blitzo struggled, but any movement just pulled the ropes tighter, circulation starting to chafe as his hands got hot- and so did the ring around the now-squirming baby gut as the kid inside started kicking up a fuss at the restricting space.

Losing oxygen to the gut region would... probably be bad.

“Feel like talking yet, demon scum?” The woman had borrowed the blade from her partner, running it along Blitzo’s cheek, and a single drop of black blood oozed over the blade.

Things got... a tad blurry after that. Blitzo knew that he swung forward, trying to bite at the woman, and that she swung with the blade, slicing through his face. Blood oozed over his eyes, and no amount of blinking could get rid of it without access to his hands. 

The lights flickered, then went out, so even if his eyes had been working, they might not have helped that much. The humans yelped, and a warmth swelled up in Blitzo like he’d swallowed lava before he coughed up a single feather. From what he could see, the woman was doing a lot worse, bent double and pounding on the floor before her knuckles split and she started smearing the blood everywhere.

“T-Two? What are you-”

Two didn’t respond, even when the man shook her shoulder- she just swatted it away.

The fountain of feathers erupting from her throat before she vomited black blood was thick, and Blitzo just stared slack-jawed as they kept coming and coming, twitching his eye muscles to try and get the blood off his eyelids. 

“Who dares to harm my precious little impling?”

“Impling? Really? I’m not five,” Blitzo muttered under his breath and entirely without thinking as the feathers formed into a black and red form seething around the edges with deepest Hellfire, the kind that would keep burning for decades if touched even once. The thing was impossible to describe, the edges shifting every millisecond, but it had far too many teeth and wings and eyes, and a roar at the humans made them piss their pants. Blitzo could smell it.

It took mere seconds for the thing to spin itself into a more familiar form, and Blitzo gulped as Stolas lifted him up and sliced through the bonds with a hand.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“I’m fine, they just got my face. That’s the worst place to leave cuts, though, don’t want to ruin this pretty mug.”

Stolas gave a little chuckle, scooping Blitzo up with ease and running a hand over his stomach. 

“I can heal it for you, and I believe that I told you to be careful while carrying.”

“Yeah, well, I believe that they snuck up on us. I’m not trying to get junior whacked any more than I’m trying to off myself, alright?” 

“D-demon...” The man muttered, and Stolas turned.

“Ah, are you two the ones that tied my Blitzy up and mussed his face?” He raised one hand and the man’s brain exploded inside of his head, bits of brain chunk flying out of his ears and popping out of one eyeball. They made a squishy splatter on the floor and the nearest object, which happened to be his partner. Two didn’t even have enough time to scream before the same happened to her.

“...Holy shit, Stolas,” Blitzo said, and Stolas grinned.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to my favorite Daddy, now could I?”

[ouyangzizhensdad]

Hey, feel free to ignore this, but I'd love to hear your grievances against Bridgerton? I saw some of the fashion posts you rbed, but I'm especially intrigued by the "fails on all aspects" parts? Thanks!

Hi there,

There is honestly so much that could be said and analysed in finer points but the short version of it is just that it is a bad story wrapped in the glitz of high production value but surprisingly little good technical execution despite all the money shoveled at it. Bridgerton is the type of show where the petty, mean side of me would delight in a detailed and cutthroat list of all of its flaws but for which I do not care enough to be actually invested in hating it. It’s just a thing to be puzzled and petty about: people think Bridgerton is good. Wild.

Now let me first say that I have no inherent problems with anachronistic creative choices, or the idea of a contemporary take on period dramas. After all, all period dramas are inevitably told through a contemporary lens, to different degrees. It’s also not like they were the first big production to do it either: has everyone just forgot about The Great Gatsby? or tumblr’s favourite Hamilton? I honestly think this kind of mixing already has so many cool outcomes when it comes to music (like this, this or this and this), I do believe we could get something really interesting out of creative anachronism in mainstream visual media. I’m also more forgiving with newer forms of experimentation, because sometimes new ideas need to be worked out before they reach their full potential. But the way Bridgerton does it.... so clearly lacks a clear creative vision and dedication to the concept imo that it makes it harder to excuse the ways it fails since the failures seem to originate from that lack of vision and dedication to storytelling. For instance, there is seemingly no logic as to when the diegetic music will be an instrumental cover of a contemporary song or not--which does not even broach the topic of how bad those ‘classical music’ arrangements for modern songs were? Honestly embarrassing how lazy those arrangements were: hire a good composer (or any at all), you cowards. And then the costumes... once again, a lack of internal logic seems to permeate the choices presented in addition to a lack of care in its execution: so many of the dresses are ill-fitted, the characterisation through the outfits were all over the place (like the mom who wore a silhouette that no one else wore and had no basis in any fashion of the era) and so many of the fabrics/jewellery looked the opposite of expensive (kind of looked like a lot of it was polyester and plastic tbh), which is sort of a problem when you are trying to sell the fantasy of "The lives of the rich and famous but make it regency” imo although I suppose a portion of the audience just doesn’t notice lmao. Honestly I find that a lot of ‘costume historians’ who made video essays on Bridgerton were too nice with the show, perhaps in order not to come off as seeming to hate the costumes on the basis of them not being historically accurate, and as a result were way too forgiving imo. And this lack of real creative vision is also something we see in the cinematography and direction which.... seems often confused about the way it wants to make things feel fantastical and ends up dropping the ball on the execution of these meant-to-be extravagant or over-the-top shots.

But, again, the cinematography is just... middling at best, made only worse by the editing which is just plain bad. I guess you’ll have to just take me on my word on this because I am not willing to do an autopsy of all I find off about it, but lord jesus mary and joseph it was painful to watch at certain moments.

Bridgerton is not the first show to do colourblind casting, although I’d say it deserves recognition for fucking it up for no reason at all. Like, sure there are criticisms to be had about how it remains still a very white story that falls into certain tropes wrt darker skin characters or the glaring lack of south asian representation considering what the contemporary UK looks like, etc. but what I’m gesturing at is the totally unnecessary but mind-boggling “royal love solved racism” twist we get in the, what, fourth episode? (Broey Deschannel covered the topic quite well imo) The audience would have accepted that there were no in-world explanation for the colourblind version of the already-made fantastical regency that had them dancing to Ariana Grande songs. The colourblindness, racism-free society would have just been another aspirational aspect. They literally did not need to do this.

Honestly I don’t feel like I need to get into why the story itself is not very good or well-executed since it feels very obvious. I won’t begrudge on principle the show for using well-worn tropes and common-to-the-point-of-farce character archetypes, but I have to object to the way it uses them and in the service of what story. And not to make myself in a plot-hole-ding kind of person-who-has-thoughts-about-media, but this is not a story that holds up well to scrutiny or logic, let’s say. And any type of social or political commentary it tried to include was dumb to the point of farce: the Feminist Character Who Wants to Read not Go Dance was just.... a masterclass in bad, embarrassing writing. I am surprised at how unlikeable and boring the vast majority of the characters were, but perhaps less surprised at how a series that planned on having multiple seasons already sold the twist of Lady Whistleblow’s identity at the end of the first season, for what seemed to be no narrative reason at all. That being said, I have to give credit where it’s due and acknowledge that there is a skill in being able to produce stories that get extremely popular and well-loved.

(Do I need to mention the performances? So many underwhelming or embarrassing performances. It’s hard to tell sometimes whether it’s the actors themselves or the directing that’s the issue, or a mixture of both, but.... oof).

I guess in the end Bridgerton’s biggest transgression is it sits for me in the uncomfortable middle where it is neither trashy or campy fun nor is it an interesting work of fiction. Differently put, it is simply neither good nor fun.

[popculturebuffet]

Sparkshortstravaganza! (Commissioned by WeirdKev27)

Well this was a needed kick in the pants. When I first heard of the Sparkshorts program I was excited. As a kid I loved PIxar, as an adult I love pixar and as an old man dealing with the loss of his partner floating away in my balloon house, i’ll still love pixar. So the idea of a program focused on giving new fresh talent the room to do whatever they wanted and make content that would be on Disney Plus, a platform BADLY bereft of original animation? It was a dream come true and the first one I saw Kitbull is easily a masterpiece and something that I can vividly recall every part of to this day, which for my terrible short term memory recalling EVERYTHING is a rare feat few works have achived.  But given I have a REALLY bad habit of letting things I want to watch sit there if I don’t jump on them immediately.. I let it sit there and didn’t touch any of the shorts and mostly forgot about the program until now. Until Kev, my patron and the only person paying for reviews at the moment, though others are more than welcome wink wonk, just decided what the heck and to test out comissioning shorts picked these ones because why not. And given I had been dragging my feet and reading the descriptions found creative and suprisingly heavy premises... I was fully on board And better late than never because along with Soul this program has EASILY restored my faith in the company after Onward really disapointed. Granted they’ve done worse, while there are pixar films I haven’t seen I need to like Coco or Cars 3, I’ve vowed NEVER to watch Cars 2 unless I have to and that vow has served me well so far. The shorts here are as a whole beautifully animated, have a ton of wonderful concepts and even the two weaker ones are still gorgeous to look at and a decent watch regardless and both come from a very well meaning place with a very well meant message. So yeah i’m thankful for this comission and to show you why let’s go through every Sparkshorts so far and see why their so awesome.. after some background of course. 

Sparkshorts, for the uniniated, is a program by pixar where animators are given six months and a limited budget to create a film based on personal experince. The program was designed to test out new ways of animating, directing and creating and to find a creative “spark” in it’s employees. Thus each film feels unique, has it’s own style.. and is utterly charming. I’ll be looking at them chronologically as while this wasn’t my watch order, I feel it’s a bit neater that way. I’ve already taken long enough to get to watching these, let’s open these films up and see what makes them tick shall we?

Purl: An Adorable Yarn Ball Vs Toxic Masculinity  Purl.. was better the more I thought about it. The first short released, it DOES have a good message and killer animation. The film takes place at B.R.O., a dude broey brockerage firm that’s painfully relasitic both in how broey it is and in how it looks. That’s to contrast our heroine: Purl, an adorable ball of yarn who just wants to be accepted but is instead ignored by the rest of the company till she changes herself up, donning a suit like her co workers she badly wants to fit in with and adopting their wolf of wallstreet esque douchebaggery. She finally gets accepted.. but ends up shedding her new self to help another Yarn Ball starting up.  Director Kristen Lester drew from personal experince, starting work at animation in a mostly male dominated workplace and thus having to adapt and only letting the femine side she’d repressed out when she moved to working at pixar, which had more female employees. The film DOES have a good message about toxic workplaces and toxic masulinty and learning the personal story did raise it a few notches as it made it clear to me that what SEEMED like an over exageration.. was probably just a light exageration given the kind of bro antics we’ve heard about at companies like Ubisoft. So while I didn’t like the film much at first honestly.. it’s over the top because it NEEDS to be because even though it’s 2021.. some idiots STILL don’t get it and kids are better off learning it now so it’ll hopefully stick when their entering the workforce. So we’ll get more people like perl willing to make a change and stick up for those like her and less dude bros. Still a decent and clever short with Perl’s bro form looking really neat and the animation on her in general is really fucking gorgeous. All in all not the best of these but still pretty good and while a bit thick on the message.. it kinda has to be. 

Smash And Grab: A Jaunty Ride to Freedom

This was a really fun one. Directed by Brian Larson and inspried by his need for a break from routine this follows two robots, the titular smash and grab who are designed to well.. smash and grab coal-like energy things for a train and have for years and years. The two long to high five, but can’t because their hooked to tubes so they can’t escape. But one day Smash looks out the window and not only sees fellow robots living a better life.. but a way to power him and his buddy/love intrest? I mean bromance or romance, either way it works. Point is our heroes escape, and have to fight security.  It’s just a really damn fun and creative movie. While robots wanting a better life isn’t new, the crisp art deco animation, breakneck pace, fun gags and heartwearming relationship between the two bots is just charming as hell. It’s just a fun ride the whole way through with a lot of heart and creativity with the two’s way they throw coal to one another used to take out the guards, and all together just some really good set pieces. Easily one of my faviorites here and that’s a high water mark to pass. 

Kitbull: Tiny Orphan Kitty + Big Abused Doggo = Best Friends

As I said this is the only one of these I saw before today and as I said it’s stuck with me. I love dogs. I have one of my own named Yoshi whose just a sweet boy. So i’ve always loved ALL DOGS.. and was thus horrified years ago when I learned about the stigma Bulldogs get. Seen as “agressive’ and “Mean’ and victious.. when really a lot of them, including my grandpa’s own pitbull when I was little, are just loveable as any other dogs. And having also known a former fighting dog my friend owned, if a much smaller min pin rather than a pitbull, who by the time I met him had become the sweetest dog you’d ever meet.. yeah.. don’t mistreat a dog just because some assholes force it to fight to the death because their sick, horrible, ghastly human beings.. if they can even be CALLED human beings after doing that to these poor animals.  My point is it’s nice to have a short about such a needed subject. Director Rosana Sullivan actually had the idea for the short for years and intended to do it as a side project, but when the program cropped up she moved it to pixar and the result is one of the most popular and easily one of the best of an already bright bunch, brought on by her love of animals and working in a shelter. It’s also one of Pixar’s first 2d animated projects and proves their just as good at that as cgi.  It’s the touching story of a kitty whose alone in the world and initally mistrustful and hissy at a big dog she finds and is naturally scared of.. until she grows to bond with the dog, realizing much like a LOT of fucking people need to that pitbulls.. are just dogs and often victims of circumstance and the poor, sweet pooch who just wants his owner to love him.. is instead thrown into a fighting pit, nearly killed and forced to make a daring escape with their new forever friends help. It’s through this wonderful, heartrending friendship that the dog finds freedom and the cat.. finds them both a home, no longer running from people but instead making sure they both get a person. It’s often brutal at times, with the scene of the dog being forced to fight being one of the most striking: while we thankfully don’t see the action, we HEAR IT, as does the poor kitty, and we see the aftermath: a friendly harmless dog thrown out into the cold just because it dosen’t WANT to fight. It’s just really heartrending stuff that makes the happy ending all the better. It’s also gorgeiously animated which I mentioned but i’ll say it again; the animation here is GOREGOUS, unqiue and stunning. Go watch this if you haven’t. 

Float: This is Why Krakoa Exists

This.. has easily been the hardest to review of the bunch. While ALL of these stories are very personal, very inclusive and very intresting, this one.. is a bit rougher than most of them and hits REALLY close to home. See this one was built out of director Bobby Rubio’s experinces raising his son who has autisim. 

It’s about a dad who discovers his infant son can float... and thus gets stares of fear or judgment from eveyrone around him slowly getting broken down by this. So he makes a HORRIBLE judgment call and rather than just accept some people are assholes, weighs his son’s backpack down with stones despite him hating it then drags him away when he ends up floating off, before screaming at the poor kid WHY CAN’T YOU BE DIFFRENT.. He DOES instantly regret this and the ending is genuinely touching as the father finally accepts his son is different and throws him into the air while on a swing, letting his son soar as he always should’ve. It is a beautifully animated and well meant film and the filipino representation is truly great: Rubio originally was going to have the characters as white but his fellow animators convinced him to go for represntation and be true to himself and honestly in a time when disney itself has had to be fought to get queer representation most of the time, it’s nice that pixar at least is a part of it that throughly encourages representation and will gladly put diversity and representation over any bullshit “risk factors”.  That being said.. while this was a decent short with a very well intentioned message and it clearly connected with a lot of people.. it wasn’t for me and I say this as someone who has autisim. As someone who has worn down people’s patince and been starred at by a freak for something I was way too young to properly deal with.  I’ve been in this Kid’s shoes. 

And that’s the problem: The metaphor dosen’t really work for me. While auitism CAN have some benifits and I wouldn’t be any other way i’d be lying if I said it was easy having trouble commuincating, constnatly misreading people, constnatly worrying if someone’s going to like you, and hyperfocusing on a problem instead of being able to set it and forget it for a bit to my own detriment. There’s other problems and not ALL of my issues come from anxiety disorder: I also have anxiety and depression. They just bleed badly INTO said autisim sometimes, as it’s hard to effectively combat anxiety sometimes when your mind won’t let you. 

What i’m saying is... there aren’t any FAULTS in his powers. See i’m a fan of x-men, so I can only see this boy as a mutant, and yes I know they usually manfifest at puberty but there have been exceptions so don’t at me.. and one of them who has no real downsides other than the unfair stigma of being a mutant. He’s more like storm, who can control the elements and whose power only enhances her life nad lesss like say Rogue, who looks normal.. but can’t touch anyone without knocking them out at best or horribly abosrbing them into her head at worst. There’s no downside other than the fact people judge him and his dad is a dick about it.  And the dad part is hard because I get what Rubio is going for: parents make mistakes, parents mess up and their only human even if they should embrace their kids anyway. That’s a good message and one I support.. I just think Rubio was way TOO hard on himself and thus made his stand in into an unlikeable asshole, one whose more concerned with how everyone ELSE thinks and does the horribly abusive action of basically tying his son’s wings down so he can’t fly. He mans well, it’s so his son dosen’t float off.. but instead of finding a way to help him and work with him on it.. he just stuffs rocks in his back and forces the kid to be miserable so other people can be happy. It just goes way too far in the other direction to work. As I said I think it’s the guy being too hard on himself, manifesting his worst moments with his kids and his biggest regrets and making himself into a very hard to like character because he has trouble forgviing himself for how he acted. So I want to say if you ever read this bobby while I wasn’t hte biggest fan of your film.. I do wholly support you and your son.. and the fact you made an entire FILM just to show your sturggle and show people there not alone was a beautiful act. You are not a bad person , we all make mistakes and we’re all just human. You are a good man Bobby Rubio. I may of not liked your metaphor... but your message is beautiful. 

Wind: Immigration by Way of Rocket Science

Thankfully moving on.. this one is tied with Kitbull for my faviorite. It has a truly intriguing premise, a great metaphor, stunning animation, and is just really moving, gripping and fun to watch. This one was by Edwin Chang, and as is usualy by now, it was built on personal experince.. but not his. It was built on the fact his father was an immigrant who had to leave his mother, Chang’s grandmother, behind to a better life. She rejoined them eventually but it left an impact on his father and thus serves as the core of this story. And honestly knowing that only STRENGTHENS an already impresssive sci fi short.  It’s the story of a boy, apparently named Ellis so i’ll use that, and his grandmother who live in a bizzare, hauntingly beautifuly stygian sinkhole that has floating rocks and debris. The two spend their day farming potatoes and grabbing whatever they can to hopefully make their way out. But it becomes clear to young Ellis after they find a plane his grandmother wants HIM to go alone and escape and is willing to sacrifice herself.. and ends up having to trick the boy into thinking sh’es going along in order to get him to do what he needs to surivive and thrive. It’s a truly gut wrenching story as even when she seems to have found a way for them both to leave.. it’s very clear she’s simply training him with all the welding tools and what not so he has skills to make it out there on his own in the unknown. So he can live without her.. but more importantly.. so he CAN LIVE. Away from the darkness, not having to scrape and to surivive and hopefully find something better out there. While the old parental figure sacrifciing thsmelves so the youngun can start hteir journey isn’t new.. it’s the unique, beautiful and haunting setting and the emotoin, conveyed only through the utterly beautiful animation that make this story feel fresh, along with it’s great metaphor. This short is just haunting, beauitful and really damn sad, and I only dont’ have all that much to say because it’s all in the visuals. The only thing I have left is like all of these really, watch it. But especailly this one. 

Loop: Enough Said

This is part of the reason I didn’t like Float all that much. Loop is just.. way better at conveying the experinces of having auitism. While Renee is a more severe case than me I can relate to what kicks off the film: Renee, usually paired with an adult at the camp she at, is forcibley paired with a chatty boy named Marcus. While Marcus is eager to go home and has no idea how to interact with the two the two genuinely bond, with Marcus slowly getting into Renee’s world. The key scene for this and the one that clinches the film is Renee waving her hands over the reeeds in the water, throughly enjoying it with marcus not getting it.. till he tries himself. Director Erica Milsom, whose worked with autistic children and picked this medium entriely because i’ts perfect for a non verbal character and is one that can tackle heavy issues like this in a way to help people understan, really wanted to counter most depections of severe autisim, paticuarlly sensory issues. While we see the good in them instead of JUST her freaking out or being overwhelemed: how her sounds and the things she feels truly relax her and how she really DOES enjoy nature and is perfectly at home there. It’s just a beautiful way to show this disablility is not ALL bad, as many works tend to focus soley on the drawbacks. While I had my issues with Float part of it was it had too much good.. but Loop is superior at this simply because it shows both with unflinching honesty: The beauty of something that calms and relaxes your brain or a touch or sensation that just FEEELS really good, things that while again i’m not on the same level as Renee.. I can still fully relate to.  But what puts it over float besides not having a messy metaphor is it DOES show the issues that come with it.. but does so WELL and with nuance. It shows how isolating autisim can be, especially for someone like Renee who can’t talk, how people are sometimes freaked out by you and don’t know how to interact with you and how adults can MEAN WELL, and the counsler setting them off was a good idea in the end... but can also be misguided and not fully know how to handle you without overwhelming you. It shows just how bad a panic attack can be, how you can just.. shut down and drive away. It was easily the sequence that hit the hartest and resonated the most as I’ve had those, and i’ve just shut down with no one able to reach me.. and it makes it all the more touching as Marcus eventually realizes how to handle things, and gives her space despite the setting son and the peril of being stranded.. because he realizes she needs it and offers to simply be there when she’s ready. It’s a touching, wonderful gesture, capped by him giving her a reed.. and the two heading home finally udnerstanding one another.This one is very close to wind in my heart and I think I found even more love for it writing this review and realizing just how much it hit me. And that ain’t bad. 

Out: Be Proud of Who You Are.. with the help of a gay cosmic space cat 

Speaking of hitting close to home and really resonating with me, we have Pixar’s first short with a gay main character, with his sexuality being the center of this. And as a bi person who had struggle accepting his sexuality let alone telling anyone, even when you know someoen will likely accept you.. this naturally hit hard. I took some time to realize I was bi, and when I did I was terrified of telling my mom, despite her being loving, supportive and just wonderful, same with my brother. Both fully accepted me as I figured and had no issue with it, esepcially sine my romantic history is nearly non existant anyways, but I related to our hero Greg’s fears of coming out to his parents despite them being utterly wonderful, well meaning people. It’s hard to come out, it’s hard to admit that about yourself, and it’s hard knowing you may not be accepted or things may change. I had an even harder time coming out to my dad, who I fully expected being a trump supporter and having said “if gay marriage is leagal I should be able to marry my cat”, to not support me and to loose him.. and was proud and suprised when nope, he was utterly supportive and happy for me.. if a bit awkward with the “be careful with sex” advice.. to someone whose had none and may never will due to being awkward as shit. But he meant well and the point is I really related to this, and it’s easily one of the best coming out stories of this kind, tied handily with Schitt’s Creek’s episode about Patrick coming out to his parents that dealt with the same theme.  And naturally given the nature of these shorts it was a story close to Stephen Clay Hunter’s heart, as he group up a gay nerd in the 80′s a time when homophobia was even worse and representation was near non-existent. So when given the shot he wanted to make something for a young him, something they can look at and point to and tha’ts me. And the behind the scenes short for this one sold just how... big this felt for him. To draw two men in love and embrcing, to see guys mo capping that. To see someone LIKE him on screen. It shows just how important representation is and how dumb it is it took 20 goddamn years at pixar for them to get gay. 

The short itsel is delightful as we open with a gay space cat and dog appearing in a rainbow. The Cat and Dog are watching Greg, a nice young man whose moving out of his small town with his boyfriend Manuel.. only to panic when his parents who he hasn’t come out to show up to help move and try and hide the one photo he has of them. And despite Manuel seeing it as a very easy thing to do to come out.. it’s not for Greg. He knows it’s hard and a scene of him practicing shows the poor guy breaking down at the thought of telling them despite getting every indicatio their nice people.  It’s then the whole Space Cat thing comes in as the cat enchanted Greg’s dog’s collar, so when greg puts it on as  a jest, it’s a body swap! So naturally we get tons of REALLY well animated shenanigans as Greg has to get his body back. Seriously the animation here is gorgeous with director Hunter choosing the painted on , impercet style to give it a storybook feel which fits the story perfectly.. seriously if Disney hasn’t made a story book of this do so.. and if they won’t someone on etsy do it because Etsy is apparently where the merch companies should be making happens.

The point is it’s fun, furious and leads to some great gags.. and then we get the emotional punch to the godnand as Greg bites his mom’s hand in order to prevent her finding a photo of him and his boyfriend. He instnatly regrets it, and breaking the photo in the process and goes to comfort her.. and we get easily the most emotinal, most beautiful part of it as Greg finds out his mom is hurt as she can clearly tell he’s keeping her at arms length and dosen’t want to loose him.. and she’s known all along he was gay.. just like the Schitts Creek example it’s clear she’s hurt a bit her son is scared to tell her but just wants him to be happy. So with a brilliant use of a squeaky toy greg switches back.. and comes out, with his dad warmly hugging miguel when he introduces himn and the space dog crying. Just a beautiful, charming, fun, and gorgeously animated short with some badly needed representation.

Also... one last note. This isn’t related to the short.. but Disney, who once again proves they can’t be progressive without stabbing themselves in the foot and no I will not stop giving out about this. This time’s especailly bad as while Out was heavily promoted.. the descripton DOSEN’T mention it having Pixar’s first gay lead and goes out of it’s way to hide Greg being gay despite the fact the short dosen’t and his being in the closet is the whole conflict of the short. And the not mnentiong the first gay lead thing is noticable because Loop DID rightly point out it was their first non verbal proganist. You can’t.. brag about being progressive about one thing and then try to hide your being progressive about another you idiots. Plus the “pleasing the bible belt” ship has sailed and left port. Ducktales is gay as hell with Penny being gay, even if Disney won’t let her just come out and say it, the crew still had her say it as much as they could, Violet’s dad’s being gay, Della being bi and Webby and Lena being as close to a couple you can get without disney screaming at them no. Andi Mack is fully avaliable on D+ as well.. well okay not fully because the dad turned out to be a pedophile, but still a series with a fully gay character is out there. And finally Owl House got TONS of press for having a bi progatanist and having her love intrest be a girl. Even if Dana Terrance had to FIGHT for that, and rightly so good on her, the point is you have queer characters already. The groups that hate you for that aren’t going to magically stop hating you because you hide the fact a short anyone can see from minute one is very , beautifully gay, I mean it starts with a very swishy space cat emerging from a rainbow atop a pink dog. COME ON. I only have a few words left for disney..

Okay whew, one more and we’re out of here. 

Burrow: It’s Okay to Ask for Help and To Bang a Willing Salamander This was the first one I watched today. In hindsight had I properly researched the shorts and realized how heavy they were I probably would’ve saved this one for later to help balance out the deep feels of some of these. While Burrow is VERY VERY good, as all these shorts have been even Float, it’s subject matter is a lot lighter. I mean so far we’ve had stories about toxic masculinity, animal abuse, issues accepting your child is diffrent, sacrficing yourself so your loved one can have a better life, autisim and coming out of the closet. Even Smash and Grab which is light and breezy.. still has a disney death, and is still about a heroic rush to freedom from slavery whenyou think about it. This one.. is about an insecure bunny whose afraid to ask for help and ends up learning to get it while ending up plumiting through a bunch of comedic set pieces. It’s basically if Winnie the Pooh and Bugs Bunny had a baby comedy wise, it has the warm feeling of pooh art wise, a storybook quality tha’ts utterly adoring.. but director Madeline Sharafan specifccally wanted the animators to take after chuck jones, using lots of great expressions and reactions. It has a real classic theatrical screwball comedy vibe and given The Looney Tunes, Droopy, and Tom and Jerry mean the world to me and i’m glad nto reocnnect with 2/3 thanks to HBO Max.. I fucking loved it. 

Burrow is still a personal story and is based on Sharifan’s experinces having trouble colaberating, wanting something to be fully baked before showing it off, something I agian relate to. She often hid from the others and refused to show her work until it was done while everyone else was happy to help. And as the previously used to slam disney hard with something they own Hickman Era of X-men has shown.. colaboration is just better and more freeing. By having friends and colleuge s to bounce off of you refine ideas, see how people react to them and grow a bit and that’s what the shorts about. 

The plot is easily the simpliest of these: A young bunny wants to build her dream burrow but gets self concious when she runs into a friendly mole and rat living next door to where she wants to build and keeps digging to find both privacy and her own place.. and instead ends up digging into various shenangians and other burrows from frogs, to hedgehogs to most memorably some Salmanders taking a sauna.. and in the best and most ‘how the fuck did they get away with this bit of it”, one of the salamanders ends up .. gladly removing his town and being liike “You wanna do this? I mean I got an hour free” And i’m just saying while now wasn’t the time and the offer was a little awkward i’d go for it if I was her. I mean at least ask him out for coffee later. He seems nice enough if low on boundries. Then ride him until the morning light girl, ride it. She also finds the Demon Bear from New Mutants at one point.. so that’s where he retried to after danny kicked his ass again. Neat. 

But eventually our heroione digs herself too deep and ends up hitting water before finding a 

Who sees her crumpled plans and then does the stygian call of the badger to call all the other animals to help and after they escape the flood, the bunny finally realizes their good people and lets them see the plans. So we end on our heroine and her new friends and possible salamander lover helping her settle in as she finallyg ets the home she wanted, complete with disco. I mean every home should have a disco. If I didn’t have a ceeling fan i’d have a disco ball.. and I still want one just to set somewhere or hang away from the fan . Let me dream dammit. Overally a fun, hilarious, mad dash short with a good message and a good note to go out on.

Final Thoughts: Overall.. the Sparkshorts program is fucking spectacular, a great way to let some of Pixar’s staff get into the directors chair and really shine, and a way to tackle issues that they may not be able to get greenlit into a full film. Lushily animated, well produced, Pixar has announced MORE are coming and I cannot wait. Thank you kev for comissioning this, and thank you all for reading. If your new and liked this review, follow this blog as I talk disney all the time: when they come back i’ll be doing regular coverage of Amphibia, Ducktales and the Owl House as new episodes come out every week, and i’m currently doing a retropsective on the three cablleros kev also paid for, with the finale of it, an episode by episode look at the legend of the three cablleros, starting this week. I’m also covering LIfe and times of scrooge mcduck (though infrequently for a bit), and finishing up a look at darkwing duck’s just us justice ducks, started with looks at all the players involved and finshing next week with the episode itself.  So if any of that sounds good to you, check out the archives, but goodbye, goodbye, goodbye for now. 

[pikapals16]

Just When It Gets Better, It Gets Worse (not finished)

tw: non-con, abuse, self-harm, sensory overload/panic attack, suicide attempt (these were planned tw's so not all of them are in this draft, but just to be safe)

A summer day spent at the mall with her visiting family should've been fun. It probably would've, excluding her past and her parents' denial that anything of any sort happened.

This isn't the case if you couldn't tell.

Kat's family was walking through the mall center when a group of people catches her eye. It's not like this group came together, they're all gathered up and definitely staring at something. Normally Kat would just walk on pass, but the sound of distress convinces them to sneak into the crowd.

After scooting to a place where she can observe, they see the subject of curiosity is a girl, about her age, and who's clearly in a sort of panic attack. Her hands are clamped and pulling at her hair, her body rocking back and forth.

The girl in pink watches as someone tries to approach her before someone else yelling back.

"Don't get close! She's probably one of those weirdos with autism." Kat pushes down their anger at the offhand comment. This girl doesn't deserve that, she's already in distress. Kat looks around for anyone the girl could've come with, as it is very unlikely that she'd have come alone

She sees two men, mid to late fourties, frantically looking around for something, which puts them as the most likely possibility. They consider going up to them to inform them of the situation, but she figures they already know, explaining the distressed look on the their faces (and assuming that they are who this girl arrived with).

Kat digs inside of her bag, looking for something that might help ground the panicking girl. Nothing that'd be remotely helpful, and she never brings their stress ball or fidget cube with their parents around. Something about disbelief in non-physical diseases, but she'd rather not risk it.

What they do take out though, is one of those toy rings with googly eyes. To be frank, Kat isn't sure why she has the old toy in her bag, but perhaps it will help the girl calm down? It's not like they have anything else to use.

Slowly, Kat slips closer to the girl, choosing to ignore any comments made, and sits in front of her, making sure to maintain distance to not make her feel uncomfortable.

Admittedly, they haven't been in a situation even remotely similar, but they've read some articles that give her an idea of what to do. The rest, she's just winging it.

Slipping the ring onto her finger, Kat raises their hand.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Goggles." Kat opens and closes her hand to imply that it's the one speaking. As it does, Kat can see the girl look up in curiosity. They guess that it seems to be working. "What's your name?"

Kat cringes a bit, this girl is probably a college student, she doesn't need to be dumbed down.

"C-Cathy." Cathy's eyes seem to light up at the character. Although her hands haven't moved from their position, they've stopped pulling, and her rocking looks like it's slowing down. Kat smiles at her, hoping she recognizes it.

She takes the ring off of her finger, and holds it out in their palm, offering it to her.

"You can have it." They say just loud enough for Cathy to hear. The latter looks at her in confusion. Why would the pretty girl be giving this to her of all people? She doesn't even know her. "It's okay, really."

At this point, Cathy's hand have since released from her head as she contemplates this. Hesitantly, she reaches out, causing Kat to scoot forward so she can hand it to her.

Cathy curiously spins and shakes the toy before putting the ring on her finger, like the pretty girl had. She opens and closes her hand, and her heart seems to flutter--at both the shaking sound of the googly eyes, and the little character that appears on her hand.

Kat smiles when they hear quiet coos coming from Cathy's mouth. What she did seemed to work, and she's calmed down.

Speaking of which, they should probably go and find their parents before she gets punished. Again. Yet, there's something that draws her towards this...stranger. She can rule out love, as she identifies as demisexual, but they're tempted to stay here in their little bubble.

Without any outside influence, just them-

"Oh my god, thank you." The two middle-aged men briskly walk over, one of them kneeling to communicate with Cathy through what looks to be sign language, and the other turning his attention to Kat.

Feelings and memories are shoved down into the archives of Kat's mind. She doesn't need or want to remember, and this guy shouldn’t have to worry over another panic attack.

”Thank you so much for calming her down. My husband and I really appreciate it. Not many people have enough patience to deal with our daughter’s autism.” The thought of these two men being married and raising a child calms some of Kat’s nerves, but just some.

”You’re welcome. Does she go to school here?” Kat curses at themself for asking that, but surprisingly the question isn’t taken a wrong way.

“No, we’re just visiting friends.” The other husband mentions as he helps Cathy up. “But thank you for being so kind. It’s rare that people listen.” Oh. Kat would know that firsthand. The countless times it’s happened.

“Yes, for sure.” Is what she settles with. They don’t need to know. “I should get going though. Wish you all the best!” With the goodbye, Kat runs off to find their family, praying they didn’t notice her absence.

But of course, they did, and while she’s being scolded at, Kat lets her thoughts take over for a bit. It’s not like it’d end any differently. It’s always the same punishment and Kat hates it each time.

They’ve felt nothing for the past couple of years but today just seemed to be different. An unlikely meeting, yet Cathy seemed to have an effect on them. And they only met for a couple of minutes if anything.

They don’t know why she’s putting so much thought into this.

What are the odds of them meeting again anyway?

-

Kat walks up to their meeting spot for lunch. She doesn’t have friends, acquaintances really, but they eat with them to trick themselves into thinking they are her friends. That she’s not completely alone. To distract herself from other things.

Right before they sit, Kat sees someone else, seated by themselves. People walk past without so much as a second glance, and Kat can’t take their eyes of them. They have brown curly hair, and they’re wearing a blue hoodie, which in itself is a bit odd for August.

Kat fiddles with their pink crop top. She sees herself in this mystery person. The emptiness and loneliness. Perhaps if they help the other, maybe they’ll feel less damaged as well.

”Do any of you recognize them?” Most of them don’t, but someone claims to have seen her in their creative writing class, and another claims that she has ASD. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

The girl in pink sees the strange looks from their lunch mates, but like she’s done before, it goes ignored.

"Hi." The girl on the bench looks up at the new voice. "Can I eat lunch with you?" The brunette scoots over and pats the empty space for her to sit. As Kat sits down, the other can't seem to take her eyes off her. She's pretty.....and someone she hasn't gotten the chance to thank yet.

Quickly the girl in blue digs through her bag, looking for a certain item that a certain someone had given her on a certain summer day at the mall. She shakes the rings back and forth to get the pretty girl's attention.

"Oh. Wait." Kat takes a better look at the girl she's sitting next to. No wonder she felt familiar. "We met over the summer. Cathy, right?" Cathy nods, smile growing on her face. "Well, I never told you my name, so I guess I'll do that now. Hi, I'm Kat. She/they pronouns."

"She/her." Cathy points to herself as she speaks, to make sure that Kat didn't think that Cathy didn't support their pronouns. "And thank you." Kat tilts their head in confusion. "For Mr. Goggles and helping me during my meltdown. You kinda saw me at my worst."

"Oh um, it's nothing." Lie. "Hold on, I thought you were just visiting?" ..Not a complete lie, she put some pieces together.

"My dad got a job here and my pop didn't want to be more than an hour away from me because....you know." Cathy realizes she's been stimming, but doesn't stop her actions, rather glancing at Kat to see her reaction. Nothing. Kat's eyes never leave Cathy's, well really her head since the latter isn't a fan of direct eye contact.

And that's another thing. Kat doesn't force eye contact like the other's experienced so many times before. Cathy's met very few people who are similar, and she holds them all close to her heart.

"Yeah."

The two talk for a little longer before departing for their separate classes. 'Two' honestly refers to Kat leading the conversation and Cathy commenting when prompted, but neither really care. They make sure to exchange numbers, but little did they know how much they would end up depending on each other.

-

She was minding her own business, honest. Cathy was never one to go into crowded places alone, for obvious reasons, but this is the easiest and closest place for her to meet with her new friend.

The ever so increasing volume of the area starts to bother the blue girl, so she takes out her headphones, blocking out most of the noise. She checks her watch again. Kat’s still not here?

Her initial thought is that Kat blew her off, but they’ve made it very clear that she’d never do something like that, not without explanation. To steer her thoughts away from becoming too overwhelming, Cathy plays with her fidget cube inside her pocket.

It’s never completely gone, but Cathy’s certainly learned how to handle her ASD better. Or at least, so that she can prevent any public outbreaks.

Unlike some people who just haven’t grown up from high school behavior yet. This particular guy thinks it's funny to copy her very subtle stimming. Just your typical jackass.

"Dude stop, she hasn't done anything to you." And that, would be the arrival of her friend. Kat turns to Cathy, tilting their head in the direction of her dorm, and the pair starts walking away. "He didn't make you uncomfortable, did he?"

Cathy shakes her head, and the two walk in silence. The silence isn't all that bad or foreign, but rather a comfort to the two. Of course, until the unsuspected thunder. Seriously, they don't know why they bother listening to the weather reports at this point.

In instinct, Cathy takes off her jacket and wraps it around Kat before pulling the both of them into the dorms.

"Cathy, you can stop running, we're inside now." Cathy doesn't stop. She doesn't want anyone else to see what she's done. No one's seen it. Not even her parents. She keeps her same pace until she's navigated the halls to Kat's dorm.

Only then does she let go.

And she immediately regrets it.

"Cathy...." Without the long sleeves as a cover, Cathy's scars are exposed. Even as she tries to hide it with her hands, they're still visible. She does nothing except curl in on herself, soft noises coming from her mouth. Kat does nothing except open the door, trying their best not to stare so hard.

Thank goodness her roommate is out of town, that would've made for some awkward conversation. Kat and Cathy walk in, the latter with a brisk pace, the former with a moment of hesitation.

"You did that yourself, didn't you?"

-

and that's where i gave up, basically, where i was going with this was that cathy opens up about the self-harm, then kat opens up about her trauma yea, they're friends! cathy is a year older than kat, so she graduates and although they still talk, it's not as often as kat would like. long story short, kat starts to feel lonely and depressed again, and they feel so disconnected from the world that she kills herself by overdose. little does she know that cathy and her friends were just on their way to surprise them, but see kat just in time for it to happen. cathy runs up, and begs kat to stay with her (the others are calling an ambulance) and kat's like "shit no, wait, you're here" then black out.

whether or not kat survives is up to interpretation! or....would've been hehe. idk, i'm kinda rambling now, but yea here's an abandoned oneshot

[realm-sweet-realm]

Irreplaceable

This is a request for @threadedsafetypin- Norman realizes the pain that Sammy is in and attempts to offer some comfort.

---

In the music department of Joey Drew Studios, a violinist was shaking in her boots. Sammy Lawrence looked ready to explode at her-fists balled, teeth bared.

“What are you doing with that violin?”

The woman’s mouth fell open, and at first no words came out.

“Answer me!” Sammy shouted.

“I- my violin is getting repaired right now, and I thought that since no one ever uses this one, I’d borrow it.” Her voice was getting smaller and smaller as she went on, and Sammy wasn’t getting any less angry. “Please don’t-”

“Do you know why no one ever uses that violin?” Sammy growled. “That violin belonged to someone irreplaceable. Now, do you think that you’re irreplaceable?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Well, thankfully you’re right- the violin is hardly important to the song we’re recording. Go home, and don’t come back without your own fucking work equipment. I hardly think we’ll miss your presence. And give me that thing!”

The violinist handed the instrument to Sammy, who handled it like it was made of China. He carefully put it in its customary place in a case near the corner. Then, it was time to record.

Norman had seen the entire scene play out from his projector booth, and had thanked his lucky stars for the millionth time that he wasn’t a creative type. Sammy had always been sour and snappish and more than a little strange, but he’d gotten worse a while after the ink machine had been put in, worse again after Susie’s mental breakdown and subsequent incarceration, and worse yet a couple months ago for no apparent reason. Norman hadn’t seen Sammy not tensed up and distressed in... well, he didn’t even know how long. Clearly, whatever he and Joey were up to (and he knew it must have something to do with the machine), Sammy was not cut out for it. It was causing him a mountain of grief- furthering Norman’s belief that they were killing people. Well, tonight, Norman was going to figure out exactly what was going on.

“Working late tonight, Sammy?” Norman asked him later, once the recording was done. Sammy had been retreating to his office as everyone else prepared to go home.

“Mind your own business,” Sammy replied.

“Alright, whatever.”

Work had already gone late that day. Norman would only have to wait fifteen minutes before everyone left, and then he could go over to the ink machine room and try to unravel its mysteries. If Sammy was staying late to work on it, all the better. Maybe Sammy would do whatever it is one did with it, and Norman could watch, silent as a bird of prey, from the shadows.

Finally, the time came. Norman turned on the lights to ink machine room and inspected its insertion nozzle. There was ink and a bit of film- fascinating. It was also big enough that he could potentially crawl inside to take a look at it with his flashlight. It could quite easily go wrong, but Norman wasn’t exactly a cautious type.

It was while retrieving his flashlight that Norman heard it- the choked sobs coming from Sammy’s office. His first thought was to be glad that Sammy would be too preoccupied to catch him, but it sounded too painful and comfortless for him to ignore in good conscience. Norman sighed and dropped what he was doing to investigate. Let it never be said that I don’t have a big heart, he thought.

The sound had stopped by the time Norman was at his office, so he had to be extra quiet slipping in. Sammy was there, alright-  bent over his desk with one hand wrapped around a half-drained wine bottle and the other wiping tears from his face. It took Sammy a moment to realize that Norman was there, and when he did, he jumped halfway out of his skin and threw the wine bottle at Norman on instinct. Thankfully Norman had time to move out of the way and it only shattered against the wall.

“What the hell. Have you never heard of privacy!?” Sammy shouted.

“Sorry, I just heard you crying and wanted to see what was going on.”

Sammy turned his back on Norman and leaned over his desk again, head in hands. “Well, now you know. So leave me alone.”

“You don’t have anyone to talk about this to, do you?”

No response.

“Look, I know you don’t like me, but I’m the option you have. So, just pretend that I’m not Norman Polk- I’m a warm body willing to listen to your problems in hopes that it’ll make you feel better. You don’t even have to look at me. Alright? And leave out anything you want- I’m not doing this for information.”

Sammy sighed. “Fine. I just didn’t want to go home after today.”

Norman nodded. “Didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, now that Susie is gone.” He thought he’d sensed a lover’s grief in Sammy, so this was hardly a surprise.

“It’s not that. I’m over her. Before we were dating, I lived with someone else- my friend of thirteen years. His name was Jack Fain, and he died a few months ago. I thought I was adjusting, but that was his violin, and apparently that’s all it took to get me like this.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He clearly left a big impact on you.”  

Sammy laughed bitterly. “‘Big’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. We knew each other most of my adult life, and wrote songs together for longer than I’ve been working here. We were a duo- I was the impressive one, the one that gets people’s attention, and he was the one who knew how to deal with people. He’s part of the reason I kept working here so long- it let me continue to work alongside him. And, I mean… I have to stay here now, for reasons I can’t explain to you, but I wish he were still here, making it tolerable. Even if I could never see him again, though, I’d give almost any person’s life for him to be alive again. It just isn’t fair that so many people- so many average, unimportant sheep get to live, and someone so irreplaceable and important is stolen from us. Like taking a keystone out of a brick wall, or an organ out of a body.”

Norman didn’t know what to say about that. “I know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t,” Sammy said. He was too drained to growl his words anymore.

"Sure I do. Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t tell a lot of people this, but I grew up in a cult. There were three kinds of people there- those who were there out of stupidity, those who were there out of desperation, and those who were born there. That’s what my dad told me, anyhow. He was the second one. He didn’t tell me how he’d ended up there- nowadays I assume his story wouldn’t have been age-appropriate for me. At any rate, he was my rock, like Jack was yours. And when I was eleven, he tried to escape with me, but he was caught. Probably killed. And I wish I could say that I handled it well, but boy, did I not. It felt like my entire world had shattered, and I had shattered with it. And yeah- it isn’t fair. Death leaves behind so many people, but takes the one person you need most. I did get better, though. I promise you, Sammy, one day, you’re going to think of Jack and not be in pain. You’ll just feel appreciation for his role in your life.”

Sammy was quiet for a while. “You do understand,” he said finally. “Listen. I mean this as sage advice and not an insult. When it comes to this studio, mind your own business. Keep poking around and you could end up dead. You’re probably irreplaceable to someone, so you should probably avoid that. And... thank you. It’s hard to believe that I’ll ever be okay again, so it’s good to get the perspective of someone who was there, too, and got through it.”

“Okay,” Norman said. He would have ignored Sammy’s advice had it been put any other way (the “you could end up dead” part might have even been encouragement), but when he put it like that, it made him want to run home to his wife and daughter as soon as he could. “I’m glad that helped. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy.”

Sammy nodded in acknowledgement, and the two of them set off for their respective homes.

[heavenbarnes]

I’ve never given a blowjob before (I’m almost 20), this is so embarrassing but I’ve been practicing with a body mist bottle from bath and body works and it always scrapes my teeth no matter what I do, and if I move my tongue underneath it my tongue pushes it hard into my top teeth, when I try to bob my head like you’re supposed to do it hits my teeth as well. I’m fine avoiding my front teeth, but it’s just my back teeth I’m worried about, I have a tiny, tiny mouth, to the point where I open my mouth as wide as it can go and there isnt even 2 inches from my top teeth to my bottom ones, and way less when I stick my tongue out. And to make matters worse, when I stick my tongue out there is a kind of webbing at the back of my throat around my uvula, which is hard to get a penis there, so I also more than likely won’t be able to deepthroat. I’m so nervous about giving head because I really want to do it, and I really want to be good at it, but I really, really don’t want to hurt the guy.

ok, i’ll start by saying that giving someone head is never actually as stressful as we chalk it up to be in our minds! bath and body works doesn’t exist in my country so i’ve never seen one of these, but from what i saw on google, their dick probably isn’t going to be that thick (you can usually get your thumb and forefinger around it) - also, as someone who has given head whilst incredibly drunk, teeth usually get in the way but not terribly! people always talk about teeth so we get worried but as long as you aren’t biting, they usually won’t play a big part! i recommend relaxing your mouth and pushing your lips forward more, use your hands in jerking them off and running your tongue over the dick to give your jaw a break (i also think you can buy an oral spray from most sex stores that help w blowjobs) - all in all, don’t think too hard about it cause the person is just going to be happy they’re getting head from you! if you are worried about the size of your mouth and this webbing at the back of it, you can talk to a health professional about it (they won’t judge, i promise) - as far as deepthroating, it’s actually so taxing that i only do it for small periods before getting creative with either my hands, tongue, or putting their balls in my mouth - i will say, it’ll all be okay in the moment and you’ll do just fine x

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor's betrothed, Teki's only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn't find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn't the only prince in Asgard...

Chapter 1: The Dagger

Next Chapter

Word Count: 6648

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

A/N: This is an idea that's been in my head for a really long time (like, for several years). I meant it to be a quick little oneshot to get my creative juices flowing, but I completely lost control of it and here I am a month later sitting on thirteen pages worth of writing. Sigh...I never specify the ages of Teki and Loki in the story, but if you're curious I pictured them as early teenagers, between 12 and 14 years old (or the Asgard equivalent).

TW: mentions of child abuse

Read it on Ao3

Teki held her breath as her mother laced her into the crimson ball gown.

“Oh, why did you have to upset him tonight?” she lamented as she pulled at the ribbons, ignoring Teki’s pained gasps. “Tonight, of all nights! You know how important it is for you to look your best tonight, and you’ve gone and made a mess of everything!”

Teki didn’t say anything. The subtlest of movements sent her chest on fire—it was not worth a bruising breath to attempt to defend herself. She was certain that at least one of her ribs were broken, but nothing could be done about that until her mother took her in to see the healer tomorrow with a story about how her clumsy little girl had fallen down the stairs again.

At least it won’t be a complete lie this time. Teki hated lying. Usually, the healers bought her mother’s story without issue and just set about silently fixing whatever she had broken, but last time they had questions. How did a fall down the stairs result in a black eye? Where did these bruises around your arms come from? And those gave way to a scarier question. Do your parents treat you well?

Teki had nodded her head enthusiastically, just as her mother had trained her. Of course they did! Her mother was loving and caring, the best in the world. She loved her stepfather more than anything. She smiled widely, hopefully masking the panic in her eyes. When the healers seemed to drop the subject, she wasn’t sure if it was relief or guilt gurgling in her stomach.

But she’d have to worry about them tomorrow. Tonight, she had bigger problems—like how she was supposed to dance the night away when it hurt to breathe.

If it were any other night, Teki might have been able to get away with playing sick. Norns know she had attempted that excuse time and time again. But tonight was the first night of the Summer Festival. Tonight was when the young men of the court would each choose a lady to hold their blade, and as Prince Thor’s betrothed, she had to be there.

Her mother often reminded her of how blessed she was to hold such an honored position, how lucky she was that her grandfather had negotiated such an agreement with Odin Allfather. No one was quite sure how he had managed it. But somehow, in the weeks before he died, he had convinced the king to agree to a marriage deal between Teki and Thor, thus turning his daughter’s greatest mistake into her most powerful commodity. Teki hated it. It was because of this “blessing” that Osvald had married her mother. After all, the promising of being the father to the future queen was quite the tempting offer.

But he wasn’t her father. He’d never be her father.

“There!” Her mother smoothed the silky skirt and stood up. “You look lovely! No one will ever know!”

Teki studied her reflection in the mirror. Did she look lovely? The gown clinging to her form did little to hide the tightness of her neck, the beads of perspiration collecting along her hairline. She shifted the wrong way and cried out as pain exploded across her ribcage.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, hands hovering over the throbbing area, afraid that touching it might make it worse. “Mama, it hurts so much.”

“I know darling,” her mother sighed. “Oh, why did you have to upset him tonight? Everything was going so well.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Sometimes, this was even worse than Osvald’s fists. She’d drag herself shaking and sobbing to her mother’s room, only to be fixed with her disappointed glare. She never seemed to understand that Teki didn’t mean to make him mad, she just… did. Everything made him mad. She couldn’t keep him happy, no matter how hard she tried.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to stay the whole time,” her mother saying, studying her in the mirror, “Once Thor gives you his dagger, we can probably find an excuse to leave. Maybe we can say that Brant isn’t feeling well.”

Brant was Teki’s six-year-old half-brother, so shy that many in the court thought him mute. Her mother had taken to using him as an excuse when Teki was hurt. It was better than Teki feigning ill herself—it wouldn’t do for the future queen of Asgard to be seen as too weak to stay for an entire dance.

Teki broke into a coughing fit. Her ribcage was on fire. The girl in the mirror didn’t look lovely, she realized. She looked like a corpse in a pretty dress.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered as the tears threatened to pour out, “It hurts too much. Please don’t make me do it, Mama, please.”

Her mother kneeled to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “There, there, none of that,” she cooed. “Of course you can do it! I’m sure Prince Thor can’t wait to dance with you!”

Prince Thor was three years older than Teki. He spent his days training in the courtyard with the Einherjar recruits and shadowing his father in the throne room while court was in session. He and Teki interacted only at festivals and balls, where they danced together silently until both sets of parents were satisfied, then went their separate ways. Teki doubted he’d miss her very much if she didn’t show tonight.

Her mother continued brushing through her hair. “I suppose I can give you something,” she said absentmindedly. “Not as much as last time, of course, but just a little something to help with the pain.”

The last time Teki had tried one of her mother’s painkiller drinks, she had passed out on the way back to their quarters, her evident laziness enraging her stepfather. She had sworn she’d never have any of it again, no matter how much she was hurting, but…

“Can you?” she asked, her voice pathetically small. “Please?”

Teki sipped on the concoction as her mother braided her hair into an elegant bun. The mug was only half full, but she was determined to limit her intake to even less. Just enough to make the burning go away for a few hours.

Her mother smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “Oh Tekla,” she breathed, “You’re going to be the prettiest one there!”

Brant and Osvald met them in the hall. Teki wanted to laugh—Brant was dressed up like a little warrior doll in his tiny leather armor—but she kept her face neutral. Osvald didn’t like it when children spoke out of line.

Brant, being his son, could get away with such disgraceful behavior. “Teki!” he squealed. “You look like a princess!”

“Not a princess, Brant,” her mother corrected. “A queen. And you know that’s not her name, darling—you can say her name, can’t you?”

Brant looked up at her with his big blue eyes, suddenly silent.

“Come on,” she continued prompting. “Tek-la. You can say Tekla, right?”

He gulped. “Tek-wa.”

“No, Brant. La. Tek-la,” her mother smiled down at him, but there was something strained at the corners of her mouth. “You can say it. Lalalalala!”

When Brant said nothing, she sighed. “You don’t want to look silly, do you?” she asked. “Do you want people to laugh at you because you can’t say your sister’s name?”

Brant’s bottom lip was trembling, the tell-tale sign that he was seconds away from bursting into tears. Teki forced a cough.

“It-it’s getting late, isn’t it?” she asked. Her voice was too loud and she cringed. “I mean—” Everyone was looking at her now, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I mean, I know mother wanted to get to the Festival right as it started,” she whispered. Her chest twinged, the last remnant that the painkiller had yet to take care of, and she bit her tongue to stifle the groan.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Her mother perked up, Brant forgotten in a second. “I’m sure Prince Thor will want to present his dagger early on. We mustn’t be late!”

“Of course,” said Osvald. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?”

Teki’s shoulder’s shook with the weight of his gaze. “No sir,” she whispered.

Her hands were trembling as they made their way through the palace. She clasped them in front of her skirt to mask the shaking. This was the first Summer Festival in which she was old enough to accept the honor of holding someone’s blade. It was an old tradition, but quite simple. When a man found a woman who pleased him, he could ask her to carry his dagger. It was a sign of respect, and of faith—he trusted her enough to give her control over his weapon for the remainder of the night. Who got to hold whose blade would be a topic of gossip for months to come.

For the past few years, Teki’s mother looked on with gritted teeth as Prince Thor handed his dagger off to a different girl every festival. Being older than Teki meant that he had come of age before she did, and that for a time he was unable to give her his dagger because she was too young. Tonight was the night her mother had been waiting for ever since she could walk.

Teki was terrified she’d forget what to say when Thor offered her the dagger.

The chatter of the ballroom enveloped her the moment they entered, and she allowed herself to melt into its anonymity. There was a strange kind of safety in knowing that she could be so easily swallowed up by the crowd.

Thor stood on the platform in the middle of the room, alongside his parents and younger brother. He was grinning at someone in the crowd, someone who wasn’t Teki. That was okay. She never quite knew what to say to the crown prince. Hopefully, they could just get their dancing and daggering out of the way quickly, and then he could go back to winking at whoever it was that he was currently winking at. Teki didn’t mind. She just wanted to lay down.

Odin welcomed the people to the first night of the Summer Festival in his booming voice, and with a bang of his spear on the ground, the festivities began. She got asked to dance soon after, by a stocky boy she knew from her Vanir class. At first, Teki wasn’t sure if she should accept—usually, she danced with Thor first—but she saw that her fiancé was already twirling a dark-haired girl on the dance floor, so she thought it would be okay.

Several dances later, Thor was still with the dark-haired girl. Teki didn’t know her name, but she thought she recognized her: she looked like the girl who trained with the Einherjar. With Thor. She swallowed the ball of anxiety climbing her throat and smoothed her crimson skirt. It made sense for Thor to want to spend time with someone he knew well, someone closer to his age. It was just… he had been with her a long time. And Teki knew that somewhere in the room, Osvald and her mother were peering at her intently, waiting on pins and needles for the prince to approach her with an extended hand.

A waiter came by with a tray of some kind of pastries, but Teki declined. The throbbing in her chest was beginning to return, along with a queasy feeling in her stomach. She hoped Thor would come over soon so she could go home and lie down.

A thin smattering of applause broke out over the music. Teki frowned. What happened? Should she be clapping too? She hadn’t been paying attention.

There was a stiffness in the air that hadn’t been there before. People were glancing back at her—why were so many people looking at her? And then she saw it.

Thor was tying his scabbard around the dark-haired girl’s waist in the middle of the dance floor. It took her a moment to understand, but once she did, she felt the color drain from her face.

Thor gave her his dagger.

Thor gave someone else his dagger.

Teki felt as though she had been doused in ice water.

Through the crowd, she felt Osvald’s heavy glare on her. She found him standing on the opposite side of the room, clapping with the rest of those around him. His features were emotionless, but his eyes glinted as they captured her gaze, hard and full of horrible promises.

We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?

Her breathing was coming fast now, so fast that it hurt, so fast that it felt like she wasn’t breathing at all.

Air. I need air!

Teki wasn’t sure how she made it to the balcony, only that suddenly she was outside, gripping the golden railing as if her life depended on it and gulping the cool, evening air.

Osvald was going to kill her.

A despondent wail slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She slapped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Why did Thor have to do that? Why couldn’t he have danced with her first? Didn’t he understand?!

Breathe.

The balcony overlooked the royal gardens, lush greenery that stretched far into the darkness of the night. Teki stared out at it all without really seeing it. Had she done something to upset Thor? Was he angry with her? Osvald would certainly see it that way…

Oh Norns, Osvald…

“Are you well?”

Teki jumped, whipping around with a shriek. Emerald eyes peered at her through the darkness.

Prince Loki.

She had had even less experience with the younger prince than with her betrothed, even though Thor’s little brother was closer to her age. He had been in a few of her classes when she was much younger, back when they were both still learning to read, but they never talked to each other. He didn’t speak much then. As far as she knew, he still didn’t.

Had he just been standing there this whole time, watching her panic about Thor’s blade? Teki had never been so mortified in her life.

“I’m well, my prince, thank you,” she tried to sink into a curtsey, but with her ribs screaming in protest all she could manage was a little bow of her head. “I-I just needed some fresh air.”

For a moment, Loki only stood there, studying her with those jewel-like eyes. “I can understand that,” he finally said, cautiously joining her at the railing, “It’s quite stuffy in there, don’t you think?”

Teki gaped at him, belatedly finding the wherewithal to nod in agreement. He turned his gaze to the gardens, allowing the quiet to lapse over the two of them once more. Teki stood rigidly at his side, wondering if walking away would be considered rude or if it was expected of her.

After several minutes of the uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat. “You look lovely tonight, Lady Tekla.”

The compliment only reminded her of the gown her mother had laced her into earlier, the same shade of red as the cape Thor wore as he danced with the wrong girl. Her eyes swam with tears.

“Thank you,” she only barely managed to whisper.

Teki could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up. It wasn’t enough that she had failed to capture the favor of the boy she was promised too; now she had gone and humiliated herself in front of his younger brother.

Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Loki shifted awkwardly. “My lady, I—” There was something in his tone that sounded almost apologetic. He cleared his throat again.

“Would you carry my blade for me tonight?” he asked quickly.

It took a moment for Teki to process his words, but once she did, she whipped her head to face him so quickly her braids almost slipped loose from their bun.  

“What?” she breathed. He had to be joking. Laughing at her failure. But the prince only smiled at her with a sort of hesitant eagerness. “You—” she stuttered, completely forgetting to use his proper titles. “You want me?”

He laughed nervously. “Well, you’re the only one out here, aren’t you?” When Teki just stared at him, he coughed, twitching uncomfortably. “Of course, if you don’t wish to, I understand completely. I know I’m not—”

“No! It’s not—I mean—” Teki’s head was swimming. Was she even allowed to carry someone else’s dagger? He was still a prince, even if he wasn’t the right prince… it might please her parents to know that the entire royal family didn’t find her repulsive…

She smiled. “I’d be honored, your highness.”

Loki exhaled. “Wonderful.”

He picked at the knot holding his scabbard to his hip, the black leather sheath that housed his dagger. She could just barely make out the intricate design of its handle in the moonlight: snakes of gold intertwined and twisting their way up the grip, their metallic scales shimmering like the stars in the sky. Teki could practically hear her mother wailing about how it would clash with the silver trim of her dress. Still, she stepped forward when Loki reached out to tie the scabbard around her waist.

He was exceedingly cautious as he pulled the leather around her, almost as if he was afraid she’d shatter like glass if he moved the wrong way. Osvald would’ve laughed if he had saw it (“Our prince, ladies and gentlemen, frightened off by a pair of hips”), but Teki was grateful for his hesitancy. She too felt as if she was prone to shattering.

He pulled the strap tight as he knotted it, unknowingly pressing the leather against her aching rib. Teki couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that whistled through her teeth. Loki froze, glancing up in alarm.

“Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” His voice was slightly panicked.

Teki’s face flushed. Couldn’t she do one thing right today? “It’s fine, my prince,” she said quickly, ignoring the renewed throbbing in her chest.

“Are you certain? Forgive me—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my prince,” she smiled widely, hoping she looked calm and well put together and not as spastic as she felt.

He studied her, gaze laced with concern, but finished tying the scabbard. Her fingers traced over the scaly hilt that now dangled at her hip. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, so loud she wondered if Loki could hear it.

I’m holding someone’s dagger.

Somehow, in all the times she practiced this interaction in her head, she never imagined the giddy rush that came with carrying the weapon. Of course she hadn’t! —in her head, it was always Thor tying the scabbard around her waist for appearances sake, because he had to. This was different. This was Loki, and Loki didn’t have to.

Loki held out his hand. “Would you join me for a dance?”

Teki nodded.

The dance floor was just as crowded as it had been when she had dashed off, but Osvald and her mother were nowhere to be seen. Teki breathed a sigh of relief as she and Loki slipped unseen into the waltz.

For a while, the two said nothing. Teki’s mother had drilled into her at a young age that to look at one’s feet while dancing was the pinnacle of discourtesy, but her stepfather gave her the back of his hand every time she dared to look a man in the eye. As a sort of compromise, Teki had fallen into the habit of focusing only on her partner’s chest during a dance. It was awkward, especially with someone like Loki who was basically the same height as her, but it kept both her overlords happy.

Apparently, it did not have the same effect on princes.

Loki, having seemingly overcome any anxiety he may have been feeling on the balcony, was quick adopt a teasing tone.

“Is my breastplate so terribly interesting, that you continue to study it so?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Or am I just so hideous that you can’t bear to look at me?”

Teki started. “Oh, of course not, my prince. I—”

“It’s alright, my lady. I won’t turn you to stone.” Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to find Loki grinning at her. “There you are. You have such lovely eyes.”

Her eyes were murky brown, the same uninspired shade as her departed father’s. That Loki, with his sparkling gemstone irises, was saying hers were lovely was almost laughable. Cheeks burning, Teki dropped her gaze once more.

“Oh no! Not again!” Loki protested. When she continued to keep her eyes downcast, he sighed dramatically. “You continue to deprive me, Lady Tekla.”

Teki tried to bite back the smile that tickled her lips. This truly was the silliest conversation she had ever had with anyone, dancing or not. “My eyes are hardly anything special, my prince. It can’t be that great a deprivation.”

“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, my lady,” he said earnestly. “I’d go as far to say that you have the loveliest eyes in the room. They’re warm and inviting—like freshly roasted chestnuts on a winter’s day. Subtle, but subtle suits you, doesn’t it?” He reached out to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “As I said, lovely.”

If her cheeks had been burning before, they must have been on fire now. “If you say so, my prince,” she murmured. Loki laughed, spinning her about to the music.

While he seemed blessedly content to drop the topic of eye color, Loki was quite clearly intent on carrying out a conversation. It was strange, to say the least—Teki had never known him to speak two sentences together at once, but now that he had started, he talked more than all of her previous dance partners combined. Even stranger was his determination to maintain a dialogue: he’d ask her questions about her family and hobbies and seemed to genuinely listen to her answers, however threadbare they may have been. Teki was shocked to discover that Loki knew her brother’s name and age, something Thor never seemed to remember.

“I suppose I just have a better memory when it comes to such things,” he shrugged when she said as much. Teki wondered if she was imagining the faint pink in his cheeks.

They had taken a break from dancing, standing huddled in the corner near a refreshment table as they sipped tiny goblets of wine. Usually, Teki tried to avoid the sickly sweet glasses, filled so carefully to their golden brims, but the pain in her ribs was getting quite severe and her mother always insisted that alcohol could mask any kind of ache.

Out on the dance floor, Prince Thor was twirling the dark-haired girl to whom he had given his dagger, laughing with an enthusiasm that suggested that he may have been drinking some wine as well. Loki had said that the girl’s name was Sif, and that she and his brother had grown quite close in the past year.

“It’s another one of his passing fancies. Nothing to worry about,” he had told her. “He has a tendency to forget that the universe doesn’t orbit him. His choice had nothing to do with you.” Teki wished Osvald would see it the same way.

She caught glimpse of her stepfather on the other side of the room, laughing gaily with a woman who was not her mother, and quickly averted her eyes. Her free hand caressed the hilt of Loki’s dagger at her hip. The younger prince may have granted her a respite, but it would not last. It was wishful thinking to hope that he would not blame her for Thor’s decision. He blamed her for everything. The outburst from earlier, the one that ended with her in a crumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs, had been over a book missing from his nightstand. Teki hadn’t touched the book, hadn’t even been aware of its existence, but Osvald still dragged her out of her room by her collar, shouting about harboring liars and thieves under his own roof.

Teki swallowed. No, he would be furious when they returned tonight. He’d wait until her mother went up to put Brant to bed, and then he’d turn on her.

“You had one purpose tonight. One singular purpose.”

Maybe he’d pick something up. A heavy book. One of the silver candlestick holders. He liked to hold things in his hands, liked the authority it gave him. Or maybe he’d just knock her to the floor with his fists.

When Teki had been little, she used to run from him. That was foolish. Running made him even angrier when he caught her, and he always caught her. She knew better than to try now. Now, when Osvald was mad, she knew to stay as perfectly still as possible, to muffle her cries and staunch her tears as much as she could, and to let him hit and kick and rant as much as he liked because then it was over faster. When he was finished, she could hobble to her parents’ room, where her mother would be pretending that the walls were too thick for her to hear the thuds.

A hand on her wrist made her jump, spilling her wine on the floor.

“Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Loki smiled, but there was a sense of worry behind his eyes. “Are you well?”

Teki nodded, not trusting her voice. This was the second time tonight the prince had been concerned enough with her wellbeing to ask that question. She needed to pull herself together. But her hands were beginning to shake worse than leaves in the wind, and her breath was coming in fast little hiccups, her chest screaming. Somehow, she knew Osvald was watching.

Loki said something, but his troubled face was quickly fading into a blur of sound and color. She couldn’t have a scene. Not now, here, in front of the whole court! She couldn’t give him another reason to be mad! He was already so mad—

She cried out when someone wrapped their arm around her waist, pressing a little too hard on her injured ribs, but the grip loosened and she realized it was only Loki, guiding her out of the ballroom and down the hall to a bench. The sudden lack of the hum of hundreds of voices left her ears ringing, but somehow, the effect was soothing.

Teki was choking out apologies even as the prince helped her into the seat. He shushed her, kneeling before the bench and stroking her knee through her dress. That was soothing too.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

His words lulled her racing heart to a steadier pace. She closed her eyes and did as he said.

Breathe. In and Out. It’s alright. Just breathe.

She didn’t notice when his hand moved from her knee to her waist, but she did notice when his reassuring stream of words cut off abruptly. Teki opened her eyes to see him frowning at her middle.

“You’re injured,” he said.

Her heart jumped to her throat. “W-what?”

“This swelling by your chest. That’s not normal.” He looked up, his features distressed. “You’ve been in pain this whole time, haven’t you?”

Teki turned away. She couldn’t face him, not with him looking up at her like that. “I fell down the stairs,” she whispered when she realized he was waiting for an answer, quietly, quickly, all in one breath.

Loki said nothing. He brought his other hand to join the first at her waist and muttered something. A strange heat enveloped her chest, soft and safe, and suddenly the pain was gone. Just gone, as if nothing had ever happened. Teki inhaled. She had heard that the younger prince had his mother’s talent for magic, but never had she imagined he was capable of such healing.

“Thank you,” she managed to breathe. Then she burst into tears.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been building all night, the panic slowly rising in her throat even as she fought to swallow it whole. It was only a matter of time before it came pouring out. Still, it was humiliating. Teki buried her face in her hands, as if she could hide her obnoxious sobbing from the prince.

He rose. Teki half expected him to return to the party: after all, he had done more than enough. There was no need for him to sit here and watch her bawl like a baby.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, she felt his weight settle next to her on the bench. Gently, he began stroking her knee again, just a feather-light touch that she barely felt through her skirt. He said nothing.

They sat like that for a while, the silence of the hallway pierced only by her wet hiccups. It was a pathetic display and Teki knew it, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. Honestly, it started to feel rather nice after a bit. There was no staging right here, no role she had been trained to play. Lady Tekla of Asgard, betrothed of Prince Thor—that girl had washed away with the tears. Now, there was only Teki: battered and broken, but real.

Slowly, she got ahold of herself. Steadied her breathing, fixed her hair, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand—at least, that’s what she was making to do when Loki held out a handkerchief. Teki took it with mumbled thanks. She tried not to concentrate on what he must have been thinking of all this. A bitter laugh tickled her lips as she dabbed at her nose: at least it was only Loki who bore witness to what a mess she was, and not Thor, or worse, Odin.

He was the first to break the silence, his tone measured and deliberate. “My mother is very protective of the ladies of the court,” he said, holding her in his gaze. “If she thought that one was being mistreated, she would not hesitate to take action.”

Teki swallowed. She knew what he was asking. Here he was, trying to throw her a line and pull her to safety. She just didn’t know if she could take it. For a moment, Teki imagined going to Frigga, spilling her guts to a sympathetic mother, watching as her stepfather was arrested and dragged away on the orders of the Queen. It was a lovely dream, but it soon faded into something quite different. Going to Frigga, telling her everything, only to have the Queen call in Osvald to check his story. Osvald would lie. So would her mother. So would Brant, if they had time to tell him what to say. And Frigga would shake her head and chastise her for lying and send her back with her family, and Osvald would take her by the arm and, and…

We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves, would we Tekla?

“It’s fine, my prince,” Teki said, twisting the wet handkerchief around her fingers. She couldn’t look at him. “It’s fine. It was just an accident.”

Even with her focus on her lap, she could feel the prince studying her. How was it, she wondered, that this boy’s gaze was so tangible that she always knew when his eyes were on her?

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Teki nodded. Her eyes were burning again, but she had cried enough today and was determined not to start again.

“Lady Tekla,” he shifted, leaning closer to her. “Please. There must be something I can do.”

It wasn’t right, hearing the prince say her birth name so gently, not when it belonged to Osvald. It had never bothered her before, but suddenly, she couldn’t stand it. “You can call me Teki,” she blurted out without thinking. Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

But Loki didn’t seem offended at her direct tone. “Teki?” he asked, cocking his head. “Is that a nickname?”

Her cheeks were on fire, but she nodded. “In-in a way, my prince,” she stuttered. “Please, forgive my—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady,” he laughed. “Please, continue.”

Teki inhaled, swallowing her embarrassment. “Well… I don’t really go by Tekla. Or, I do, but… my brother calls me Teki.” She was speaking far too fast and likely making very little sense, but now that she had started, she found she couldn’t stop. “He can’t pronounce his l’s, see, so he just calls me Teki. It drives my mother crazy. She thinks he sounds like a simpleton. But… I kind of like it. More than Tekla, I mean. My—” she stopped abruptly, before she ventured out into more dangerous territory.

Loki nodded. “Go on.”

Teki bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t supposed to talk about him. She especially wasn’t supposed to talk about him to a member of the royal family. But Loki was sitting there, smiling at her with an eagerness she had never seen from anyone else, and she found herself trusting him despite herself.

“My father called me Teki, too,” she whispered. “My real father. Before he… went away.” She sighed. Saying it felt like a betrayal. Her father had been a kind, wonderful man, a musician in the royal court. According to the stories she heard from the servants, he had been absolutely enchanted with her mother, who greatly enjoyed the attention from the court’s most talented bard. Teki had been the accidental result of a few minutes indiscretion between performances.

Once he found out, her grandfather had been in a rush to marry his daughter off to a respectable noble before the pregnancy began to show. But the musician wouldn’t have it. The child was his, he argued. By law he had the right to raise it as such. Teki’s grandfather offered him money, land, prestige, but he held his ground. In the end, Teki’s mother had no choice, and the two were wed.

Even as a child, Teki knew that her parents didn’t like each other. They slept in separate beds in separate rooms and spoke to each other only through servants carrying messages. When her grandfather visited for lunch, her father was not allowed to the table. But he didn’t care, and so neither did Teki. He was content to spend his days carrying her through the gardens on his shoulders, singing songs of dragons and warriors and brave little princesses who saved the day. She learned to play the piano before she learned to read, sitting on his lap and covering his tan hands with hers as they danced across the keys.

“My little Teki,” he’d laugh when they finished a piece together. “You’re going to put me out of work!”

She had just started her lessons when the negotiations between Odin and her grandfather began. At the time, Teki didn’t really understand what was happening, only that her grandfather was coming over more than usual, and that he was angry at her father more than usual. When she asked her father about it, he told her not to worry.

“The adults are just trying to figure some things out,” he said, tucking her into bed. “It’s nothing you should be concerned with.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Teki.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

Then one day he was gone. Just gone. Her mother produced a letter he had left behind, explaining that family life had just become too overwhelming for him and that he had formally dissolved his marriage. Within a week, everything had changed: his room had been cleared out, the piano sold away, her mother’s engagement to Osvald formally announced. A week later, Odin made public his agreement with her grandfather, betrothing his eldest son to Lady Tekla.

Teki was banned from talking about her father.

“He left us, dear,” her mother explained. “He didn’t love you. He’s not your father anymore. We have Lord Osvald now.”

Teki nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. He went away. He left. He doesn’t love you. He’s gone. She chanted the words in her head over and over again, trying to convince herself of their validity. But she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.

When her father first disappeared, a handwriting specialist was produced to determine whether or not the letter was genuine. He concluded that it was in fact written by Teki’s father and that the sentiments expressed within were completely authentic. But he was wrong.

At the bottom of the letter, her father had left a note for her. “My dear Tekla,” it said, “I hope you understand that this is all for your own good. Someday, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Love, Daddy.”

Her father never called her Tekla.

Of course, Teki didn’t tell any of this to Prince Loki. Still, he seemed to be struggling to come up with a response to what little she had said. She wondered how much he knew about her father. Her family had done a good job of disappearing him from existence—most of the court believed her stepfather to be her biological father. Over the years, she had gotten used to being introduced as Tekla Osvalddottir, as deeply as it stung.

“It sounds quite special,” the prince finally said. “Are you sure you want me to use it? I feel as though I might profane it.”

Teki flushed at the reminder of how they reached this subject. “You don’t have to, my prince,” she murmured. “Only if you want to. I mean—I do prefer it to Tekla, but—”

“Well, in that case I shall,” he said softly. “Lady Teki. It’s quite sweet. I like it.” He grinned, his green eyes lighting up. “It’s only a few letters off from Loki, after all.”

She giggled despite herself. “Just… don’t let my mother hear you say that. I think she’d go mad if anyone else started calling me Teki.”

“Well, now I won’t be able to help it, will I? I do so love my mischief.”

Inside the ballroom, she could only just barely hear the notes changing to a slower dance. Perhaps it would be best if they returned now. Who knew how long she had kept the prince away from the festival with her wild, emotional nonsense. Someone was certain to be looking for him.

Loki seemed to read her mind. “If you’re feeling better,” he asked, standing up and offering his hand, “Perhaps you would honor me with another dance?”

Teki beamed. “I’d love to, my prince.”

The ballroom was just as they had left it, couples swaying, laughing, drinking. She noted Thor with Sif on his arm in one corner, her mother with Brant in another. Osvald was nowhere to be found, and Loki seemed to have no intentions of letting her search for him. He swept her into his arms, her gorgeous crimson dress fanning out around her, and pulled her out onto the floor. There wasn’t much to this dance: it was mostly just simply swaying, soft and soothing like her partner. Teki found herself melting into the movements, entranced by Loki’s smile.

“I’m glad Thor didn’t give me his dagger,” she whispered. She was surprised by how much she meant it.

Loki’s breath hitched. “Really?”

She nodded. Maybe Osvald could try to make her regret it, but she could feel the truth deep in her chest.

Her prince smiled. “Me too, Teki,” he whispered. “Me too.”