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whitehotharlots · 1 year ago

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If you believe in nothing, you will achieve nothing

Andrea Long Chu has a problem. She and her acolytes presently enjoy dictatorial control over every discourse that falls to the left of Fox News. They have convinced the world that speech is inherently violent and therefore a dedication to free speech is a precondition of fascism, if not outright genocide. Every decent person must agree with every thing they say, no matter how deranged or implausible. And so if a random person, for example, says that sexual dimorphism exists or that maybe cosmetic hysterectomies shouldn't be the first response to teenage mental health issues, that person has committed a severe act of violence and must be silenced.

But, oh no, it turns out that Chu and her cohort have found themselves outgunned on the topic of Israel-Palestine. The same left that has gleefully silenced all improper discussions of culture war issues for the last decade is now seeing their exact same tactics being used to silence any criticism of Israel's ongoing genocide. You can't even do something as anodyne as expressing support for a ceasefire without making a Jewish Yale student feel unsafe, and since speech is violence and feeling unsafe is even more of a genocide than an actual genocide I'm sorry, you were bad and unvalid and you must silenced. Them's the rules.

Chu attempts to reconcile these two, very sad realities in a recent piece for New York Magazine titled "The Free Speech Debate is a Trap." The essay is staggeringly moronic, even by Chu's august standards. I had to read it twice just to make sure I wasn't understanding it unfairly.

My readers seem like decent people. I find no joy in subjecting them to crap like this. But a deep dive into Chu's essay is necessary because it confirms the value of free speech on two fronts: 1) it shows why nothing short of a doctrinaire support of the first amendment can allow for the dissemination of opinions that dissent against the consensus of the permanent war state, and, 2) it demonstrates how an opposition to free speech leads to the proliferation of braindead analysis among supposed leftists.

Let us begin:

As is her wont, Chu writes in an obfuscatory style. She belabors simple points to weaken the reader's attention, so that when she sneaks in observations that are insane or otherwise very stupid we're less likely to notice.

She starts with a description of herself, another writer, and the whole staff of a poetry center being deplatformed for expressing their support of the Palestinian cause. This is, obviously, an injustice. But rather than taking the fascist's way out and deciding that maybe this free speech thing is actually worth pursuing, Chu explains that the incident actually strengthened her resolve against the free and protected exchange of ideas. Because, naturally, anything else would render her a hypocrite, and then she wouldn't be able to silence people for dissenting against gender bullshit:

Now it’s true: A left that supports the deplatforming of transphobes but opposes the deplatforming of anti-Zionists cannot justify itself by appealing to free speech — nor should it. For the liberal, freedom of speech is a deliberately empty principle. It allows a liberal institution to mediate peacefully between differing political views without any (apparent) reference to the content of those views — all while quietly promoting its own views under the banner of neutrality. The left can do better.

Now, here it's very important to note the degree to which the concept of transphobia has been expanded in recent years, thanks in no small part to the work of Chu and her allies in media and academe. The concept once meant something like "a hatred of trans and/or gender non-conforming people," which is bad. But now it's expanded to include things like recognizing that males and females have different athletic abilities, expressing concern with the thought of male sex offenders being housed in women's prisons, the refusal of female service workers to perform intimate procedures on natal males, or even simply using words like "male" and "female." This type of extreme narrative control simply could not persist in a discourse that wasn't very broken, or among people who did not regard the aggressive policing of speech as a paramount ideal. Like the rest of the identitarians who now control what passes for the American Left, Chu is very unabashedly pro-censorship.

Strip down the blandishments and you'll find her point is simple: free speech is bad, because it allows people to say things that may discredit her. Only instead of admitting to being discredited, she shall claim that speech itself in an act of violence, because after all if she's discredited that means violence has been inflicted upon her. Herself and other people who believe everything she believes should be anointed the gatekeepers of what does or does not constitute acceptable speech. Those who break from their dictates must be shunted from the public sphere and suffer professional consequences.

The type of nihilism endorsed by Chu is only advantageous to those whose beliefs benefit the empowered. And, at the end of the day, the people who run most every left-liberal institution (including the Democratic party) are resolutely in favor of Israel's genocide. Some of them take genuine pleasure in watching Palestinians die; others were taped fucking children on a sex island and cannot upset their blackmailers; and the bulk of them are mortified by the prospect of being labeled some kind of -ist or -phobe, as they know full well--thanks, again, to the efforts of Chu and her cohort--that they would not be able to proffer any defense against such accusations, regardless of how stupid they may be.

There is no way to reconcile this situation within the boundaries set by left identitiarisn. None. You can either support free speech as an abstract principle and allow unpopular and inconvenient speech to proliferate without punishment, or you can endorse a society where the acceptability of speech is determined by the desires of the warmongering sociopaths who run the world. It's one or the other. There are no other options.

I don't think anything I've written so far is especially complicated, or even controversial. These are the sort of observations I would have easily grasped in middle school. But, oh, here's where the obfuscation sets in, where Chu demonstrates her Pulitzer Prize-winning skill of making reactionary bullshit sound left-ish.

She starts with the well-worn trope of arguing that today's speech debates aren't really about free speech because the first amendment only applies to, like, the government:

It is worth remembering the vast majority of what we call free-speech issues have little basis in the First Amendment, which only forbids the abridgment of speech by the government, not private organizations like magazines, cultural centers, or Hollywood production companies. In most states, for instance, it is perfectly legal for employers to fire workers for speech, as a Westchester synagogue did last year after a teacher wrote an anti-Zionist blog post. So when advocates talk of freedom of speech, they are usually referring neither to the Constitution nor to statutory law but to a set of civil norms imagined to promote the health of the republic but which cannot be directly enforced by the government.

As a matter of simple fact, this is wrong. At least 32 of our 50 states require potential government employees to sign some sort of loyalty oath to Israel before they are allowed to receive state jobs. Compelled speech in support of zionist genocide--or, at least, the promise to never criticize said genocide--is enforced by the government. This is very literally a first amendment issue.

But, I will concede, the support of free speech largely redounds to a set of civil norms--the same as how we don't go around slashing other people's tires or puking in our neighbor's mailboxes not strictly because it's illegal to do so, but out of a sense of shared civic duty. Even if we can't articulate exactly why, we just sense that it would be bad to abandon our principles to a degree where we did or tolerated that sort of stuff.

These unspoken compacts are essential for the existence of any human society. And probably any animal society. And, shit, this probably applies to plants and bacteria, too. But the persistence of these compacts pisses off people like Chu because such compacts can, at times, present a threat to their capacity as the sovereign overseers of what is or is not acceptable. If judgments were deferred to science or empiricism or any other existing form of adjudicating correctness and decency, all of a sudden Chu wouldn't be a very smart intellectual, and we cannot have that.

Chu's... her... discussion of this? I hate to call it a "response," because an actual response would require some degree of honesty. But, uhh, the way she addresses this is to point out that free speech is actually, like, just a fiction, mannnnn...

While it is true that left-wing ideas have flourished in the humanities and, to a lesser extent, the social sciences — the result of the retreat of post-1968 social movements into the academy — the big private universities remain in the business of business, their endowments tied up in fossil fuels, big tech, and the prison-industrial complex and their purses fattened by wealthy donors who expect influence in return. After a letter was released at Harvard that blamed “all unfolding violence” on the Israeli government, the billionaire hedge-fund manager Bill Ackman, apparently speaking for his fellow CEOs, demanded that the school publish the rosters of the student groups who had signed the letter “so as to insure [sic] that none of us inadvertently hire any of their members.” The implicit understanding here was that elite private universities funnel their graduates into the nation’s highest positions of power and influence — including Congress itself — and that this pipeline must not be polluted by ideas that its previous beneficiaries find morally despicable or politically disadvantageous. The House hearing itself came chillingly close to a direct attempt by the federal government to materially intervene in the composition of the incipient professional class through, as more than one Republican suggested, the expulsion of student protesters.

Yes, indeed, speech has always been limited by the sovereign. Go back and read Locke and Bacon, see how much they hem and haw about their love of the Queen. Point to any of the hundreds or thousands of socialists who found themselves jailed in these United States for criticizing our involvement in the first World War. That's all true. But none of these facts negate the value and utility of free speech as an ideal.

If you have no principles, if your only goal is a naked quest for power, you will eventually encounter someone more empowered whose desires run counter to your own. Then you will fail, as you will have no recourse to do anything but fail. Without ideals, there is no path forward. Without decency, there is no hope. If the battle over the continuation of a genocide redounds to nothing less vulgar than two sides claiming righteousness by din of their own existence, the side that owns all the guns and media organizations is going to win.

But there's no room for such realizations within today's left, of whom Chu is a very sad but fitting embodiment. She is immensely successful not because of talent or intelligence or decency but because she manifests the perfect set of identity markers. If she were not physically hideous and/or a manipulative sociopath, she'd be a nobody. She thrives within our broken discourse only because her enablers fear her, and that fear is born of nothing more than pity. She cannot afford the existence of principles, as that would threaten her exalted status. And she is demanding that all the rest of us abandon every last sliver of hope to make sure she and friends remain in charge.

#ceasefire #palestine #andrea long chu

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crazydreamercycle · 1 year ago

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Random musings on what I'd do if, in a world where the 2012 seasons didn't exist, I was asked to plot the MCoG sequel

No romance, at any point

I would have expended on the theme that started to be set up in S1 with the Great Heritage of the Cities of Gold being there to preserve Muan technology and energy sources, as they can both cause great destruction and greatly improve quality of life, and have the kids end up with a very powerful and dangerous artifact which could either save or kill thousands, while they debate if they should give it to someone, and if yes, to whom

Maybe some expansion on Mu's history, both good and bad - it's an Empire, after all. But also Tao deserves to know more about the history of his culture

Maybe some of that with Atlantis too?

Of course, Mendoza, Sancho and Pedro have to be in here (I mean, they don't actually have to, I can honestly see a possibility where they're not, but I like Mendoza too much not to include him) but the kids don't deliberately go fetch them in Barcelona. Rather, they had their own wacky adventures while trying to go back to Spain, possibly lost the gold somehow, and run into the kids by coincidence partway through S2 and they team up again, possibly with more of an on-and-off thing to it than in S1 so as not to undo the kids gaining more independence/coming of age thing at the end of S1

Hey, remember how Sancho and Pedro wanted to betray the kids at the end of S1 but Mendoza betrayed them and threatened to kill them if they didn't help out? What if this had consequences on the narrative and group dynamics???

Mendoza's continued character arc: he has the kids as essentially morality pets but is still kind of a terrible person on the side and mostly in it for the gold. His arc now is to be a better person to people who aren't the kids (while still being a lying little scoundrel, of course). That, or the kids deliberately use the fact that they know he won't hurt them/let them be hurt to manipulate him or deliberately thwart one of his plans, and it causes conflict. Or both. Both is good, too. There are multiple seasons. there's time

Arson is committed at least once per season

if I have to bring back one of Esteban's parents it'd be his mom. After all, we only know she's dead through Mayucca's tale, which he himself admits might not be true. Just because the part of it about his father was right doesn't mean the part about his mother dying was

I'm gonna be honest, I don't have the knowledge to pull that off and the execs wouldn't let me, but. Exploration, or even just representation, or gender and sexuality in Native cultures beyond the western binary and heteronormativity (since it's like, a fact that colonization fucked that up and that the western concept was most definitely not universal)

Zia gets to still be angry, tho I'm not entirely sure what her arc would be (and probably am not the best person to decide that. Presumably I'd have a team and I could find someone who is more qualified than I am in the matter tho. Same for n°10, tho I really don't think I'd be allowed to to it)

You know these weird rooms in S1? The ones with like, glowing red tiles on the walls? At least one of these per season. They never get explained

Of course, that is not to say that this would be the only way to make a good sequel, or even the only sequel to S1 I'd enjoy (or even that I'd do a good job if I actually had to direct a sequel, I probably wouldn't). As I said, it's just a random reflection I thought I'd share on where I'd personally take things, and I'd actually be curious to know where others would have gone, disregarding S2+.

#les mystérieuses cités d'or #the mysterious cities of gold #mcog #mysterious cities of gold #i just love the glowing red tiles rooms so much #also like that's just random thoughts not a comprehensive scenario

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 1 year ago

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That was such a good analysis. And do you think a "balancing" is possible?

Re: this ask!

I think that depends entirely on what is meant by balancing!

If you’re specifically referring to the “you were meant to be my balance” line, in the context which it is said shdhdd I do not think he remotely meant it. When he’s like “you might make me a better man :)” etc, I think he’s fully bullshitting her. He isn’t saying it with the intention of becoming a better person, or even with genuine acknowledgment that that is something that might require doing! He’s just trying to get her to hook up with him. If at that very point Alina took him up on his offer, there is zero chance imo that he would at all change his ways. He’s fully decided that he is right, and she is wrong, and she only needs to see things his way. That if she doesn’t, the fault lies with her.

That being said, I think he’s a character that’s remarkably easy to rehabilitate in one way or another. I find online discussions of redemptions often really simplistic and only from the perspective of a single type of story. Fictional/narrative morality is so fluid, all it takes to side a character like the Darkling with protagonists is to simply put him in a position where his goals align with theirs. And I find that pretty easy because he has such clear cut things he cares about, ie the political situation in Ravka. So it’s a pretty easy fix to just introduce an outside threat and force him to work with Alina/any protagonist of choice.

Or like for fanfic reasons, I’ve thought a lot about scenarios where either the stag isn’t found, or he doesn’t go immediately batshit villain mode the moment Alina runs away, and the status quo established in SaB stretches on for longer. Or scenarios that are just set earlier. Like he seems to not have been committing many war crimes, that we know of, in that pre canon time? So that’s one metric, but that doesn’t actually sand down any of his edges lol. And it’s only placing a brief interstice on his more egregious terrible behavior— I fully anticipate the manipulation and interpersonal cruelty would also still be present.

If we’re talking about balancing him out from a legit moral perspective, that becomes harder, chiefly because he is really goddamn old, and him being unadaptable, and set in his ways is literally a plot point (his hatred for technological advancement).

His age is super unclear, but canonically *at least* upwards of five hundred years old, and honestly I can understand why, past a certain point, he’d be like “WHY do I have to care what these children think, when they’re going to die in five minutes anyway?” I don’t think he can really think of people as people anymore, because he’s seen repetitions of similar things play out so many times, for so long. And being so powerful for so long means that he can afford to act pretty carelessly because there aren’t that many permanent consequences. Most typical worst case scenario (beyond the canon ending lol) is that he can literally just fake his death and come back as his own son or grandson with zero consequences. So a key factor in making him change in any way imo is stripping him of power so that he doesn’t have the luxury of not giving a damn about other people. I mean that more institutionally, but losing his magic could also be useful.

Once again, for its flaws and my baseline disagreement with the concept of bringing him back from the dead after TGT, I think RoW had the right idea wrt forcing him to pretend to be a random monk. He was, however, even trying to claw to power then lmao. I think it would just take way longer than the span of stuff we saw in RoW to make any meaningful change in him. He’s just been an evil wizard king in his little evil wizard tower for too long. And on top of that, imo, his insistence to Alina that, when herself faced with immortality, she will turn out exactly the same as him, stems from a sort of sunk cost fallacy. He honestly seems desperately unhappy as a character! He seems so jaded and fully emotionally removed from everyone and everything, where the only thing that matters to him is power, and he needs her to discover that that is the only outcome possible bc if not… well he’s just wasted centuries being fucking miserable for nothing. He doesn’t want there to be another option! So he’s just very, very reticent to having any other perspective or changing in any way, and if he ever does it will inevitably be done while kicking and screaming the entire way. (I might honestly just be averse to the idea personally because redemptions are boring to me! He’s much more fun if he sucks!)

Personally, my favorite method of domesticating the Darkling is just Alina using one of the Morozova amplifiers (possibly any amplifier if it just works like that?) on him and keeping him as her pet war criminal tbh. I think that has the most entertainment value, and the most safeguards against him finding his way to power again and committing more war crimes, or being in a place to do much manipulating. Will it fix him? Ehhhh maybe over time, since it might force him out of his usual habits? Probably not. But at least it functionally tempers most of his worse tendencies lol.

TLDR: Do I think the Darkling can be balanced? I don’t know! Sounds like a tall order! I do think he can be put on a leash though.

#also thank you!#grishaverse #shadow and bone #rule of wolves #the darkling #aleksander morozova #sorry not editing this just stream of conscious typed it out and I’m too busy to look over it again in depth #all the bendy punctuations #a mysterious stranger has appeared #i ramble sometimes #*writer’s cap*#meta

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construingseacats · 1 year ago

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Umireread: Turn of the Golden Witch - Chapter 4: Chessboard Preparations

Sat, Oct 4 1986

The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.

It feels odd to generalise Umineko too broadly, but I can’t help but feel there’s a sense of Episode 1 introducing the themes of fantasy in a mostly positive light, with Episode 2 looking to focus on adding nuance to the theme with well reasoned opposition. After all, if you kowtow to all of a child’s whims and delusions, they become spoiled and resistant to resistance. Rosa’s improper utilisation of fantasy with Maria has had clear repercussions; arguably, it may have made reality even worse for the both of them.

This one’s tough. Is Rosa wrong to be offended? …It feels like the intrinsic answer is yes, but I’m not so sure about that. There’s certainly something to be said about how even pure or innocent intentions can cause undue harm unto others. I suppose it falls back, again, to how feelings aren’t necessarily invalid just because they’ve been ‘reasoned’ incorrectly.

And now for our regularly scheduled child abuse.

It really can’t be understated how much your real life experiences are reflected in anything you write. Being able to speak and conjure voices from first hand accounts make everything feel so much more real. These scenes are always so uncomfortable to read, but you can tell they’re as powerful as they are because of Ryukishi’s history as a social worker.

Again, even here - writing a scene like this is hard in the first place, but being able to add the appropriate nuance of the abuse - Rosa’s heartfelt reaction as if it were involuntary - really makes it sing.

Knowing how Episode 2 ends adds such an extra layer to this as well, because we can juxtapose what’s going on here with Rosa’s true, limitless love for her daughter. Also man I can’t wait to dig into worldenddominator again.

What a reaction to your WIFE, Krauss! Clearly a marriage of love, this one.

Ryukishi is channelling a little too much Victor Hugo with how much he likes to go off and explain random concepts that he knows about and wants to teach to us all. Thanks for the economics lesson, but let’s be real, this is ultimately fairly unimportant to the overall plot and/or message.

Natsuhi engaging in some casual magic with Krauss here, because that statement is most certainly not grounded in any sort of reality.

This is funny every time it happens. And they go on to say that Genji and Nanjo are on their side immediately afterwards.

As someone who didn’t figure out the “Kinzo was dead all along” twist before it was revealed, I can only imagine what it must be like to have worked it out by the end of Episode 2, only to be whammed by the scene of him attending the dining room in Episode 4.

Hi Gohda!

It’s interesting how many things were left to fate for this. You can’t exactly plan for things like a typhoon to coincide with the date of the conference. I wonder how many elements would have to fall through for Yasu to decide to call it off? Or would she be committing to this no matter what?

Rudolf seems like the type of person to pick the urinal next to you and then compliment you on your manhood.

If nothing else, it’s clear to see where Battler got his charisma from.

It’s wild how long it takes us to get back to Battler in Episode 2. That was nearly 5 full chapters, if you include the prologue.

Very fun how a lot of this scene is taken from Episode 1, feeling almost like a direct one-to-one recreation, but then you get hit with the halloween motif from Maria to make you realise that something’s up.

Like some sort of man from 19 years ago, perhaps?

So the shrine was destroyed a few months prior to the meeting - I suppose that means either our thoughts about the symbolism in the prologue are wrong, or the whole thing took place over the span of a few months. On the one hand, that’s not too unreasonable of a suggestion - it means George would have ran quick into a marriage proposal, but it’s not like Eva wasn’t trying to do that to him already. On the other hand, we have the supposed Kinzo appearance and George still being at college, so I’m more inclined to discard our initial thoughts about the breaking of the mirror being a representation of the bombs being tested. A shame if so.

I know it’s because they were meant to look like regular business offices, but the background here really feels like the scenery of a Yakuza office. That wouldn’t feel too off for Rudolf’s characterisation, honestly. Actually, being blunt, it makes you think about the importance of some characters having the one winged eagle tattooed onto them; similar to the earlier point about the guns, it’s easy to overlook as a westerner, but for the mid-80s the Yakuza connotation of the tattoos would be very prevalent. I wonder how much Ryukishi actually wanted to lean into this idea of a shady side of the Ushiromiya - I suppose it wouldn’t be much different from his work with the Sonozaki in Higurashi, though.

Rudolf channelling his inner Battler by being forward with great confidence without any real evidence to back him up.

Poor Ange. I suppose she had just been born before the conference six years ago, but still, it must feel bad reading these notebook fragments about how all your cousins were complete again without you.

Is this a case of Nanjo ruminating to himself about the Epitaph? Moreso, regarding Yasu’s plans to use it?

I love how they’re playing with characters interpreting the sea and sky colours all differently. Honestly, it’s interesting to note that the Alchemist sprites have most of the Ushiromiya family’s eyes as grey, and yet Beatrice’s are blue. Even if that’s not part of the original tale, isn’t that a beautiful detail?

Tohya will read and write these tales for as long as he needs to. Endlessly, if required.

It’s shocking how long it takes us to actually get to this part, but nevertheless - Game 2 is afoot.

#umireread #umineko #umineko spoilers

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marcuspierce · 4 months ago

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okay, so while i was working on the formatting of my really really long answer, i tried to save it as a draft but the ask just... disappeared??? it's not in my inbox, not in drafts, not even in my queue! it's just gone???? so i am very sorry for not answering your ask directly, anon, but i did take a screenshot before that for ease of referencing + saved my answer in a word document so at least i can still answer your question, even if it's in a roundabout way!

here's the answer, exactly as i had intended to answer it before tumblr decided to be a bitch:

oh this is such a lovely question so thank you, thank you, thank you for asking!!! i just love anything that involves intimancy/vulnerability and commitment when it comes to these two and this combines those concepts so well!

before i put a read more (both for length and to hide some bitterness that slipped through), i will give a tl;dr and say that i have thought about it and my answer is yes! they would/could definitely end up considering having children, and they would/could even have some!

this is actually a concept i have previously explored some years ago in two fics and a post about adorable onesies, and, more recently, in two parts of my series of social media edits! at first i only wrote them with one child, but in my posts from this year they have two!

read more time now!

now, before i begin actually talking about the specific matter at hand i just wanna say... when you say that you wish rory's inclusion had been better executed do you mean that there should've been (more of) a built up around lucifer, who, even as far as season 4, said that he detests children and wants nothing to do with them, actually being downright enthusiastic about being a father? or at least that there would be some sort of a more specific exploration wrt his feelings about random children vs a child he has contact with (such as trixie or charlie, who are clearly dearly liked by lucifer) and how that would relate to a child of his own and how his life circumstances (being in hell - perhaps/hopefully there aren't many children down there => discomfort due to lack of contact, but as he lives longer on earth that diminishes, OR just in general his insane self-esteem issues/self-hatred that are deeply tied to his time in hell and the things he had to do there, which would push him away from fatherhood simply out of kindness towards his imaginary future child - or his own childhood - it is so so clear that at least on a subconscious level he is aware of cycles of abuse, due to his deep hurt and displeasure when he heard from adult!rory that he sucked as a dad, plus he sees a great deal of himself in his father, which would just contribute to his self-hatred and would result in a refusal of fatherhood in order to not "inevitably" repeat the abuse he endured at the hands of his father... or, if actually faced with the done deal, it would result in... well, whatever breakdown amenadiel had about charlie, but probably more extreme)? or perhaps it is about him being forced to be an absent father and therefore not break the cycle of harming your child that his own father started and that lucifer was shown to desperately want to break? or just a combination of all of these things?

ok, phewwwwww, i am done with the rant, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to rant about one of the two only negative hills about this show that i am willing to die on! cause well, i actually stopped watching the show some good seasons back because i realized that the writers and i had completely different ideas about how to approach things. and while most things i can just chalk up to that, well, everything i heard about rory and lucifer has left such a horrible taste in my mouth and nothing has been able to make me less pissed off about it!

on this note, my knowledge about seasons 4-6 is pretty spotty and therefore i generally only make use of concepts/plot ideas in my analysis wrt long term piercifer. so yknow, some characters, mainly marcus' parents, are most likely nothing like their canon counterparts!

ok, so now to get to the actual topic at hand, i think that the subject would definitely come up and it would be a huge issue, i think even on par with them needing to figure out how they work together and how to make their relationship fulfilling for both of them. which makes perfect sense, because this is a life altering decision, that affects both the individuals, but also the couple, AND, most importantly, the child. and the child truly is a faultless party in this whole thing, but also the party that would be hurt the most. it is not an easy situation and it requires a lot out of them. so both of them acknowledging and treating it like a big deal already is a step in the right direction.

for lucifer, i already outlined some ideas in the rant above:

firstly we have him just not being used to interact with children so he associates that uncomfortable feeling of inadequacy with a displeasure for children (tbh i feel like he is not used to interact with people, in general, outside of very specific contexts but that's a bit less related to my point) so point against fatherhood no1!

but, this is the easiest to solve, as it just takes time. after all, the more you do something, the better at it you become! but, because it is something that changes slowly over the course of years, that means that lucifer would be quite oblivious to it. everyone around him would notice, it would be hard not to. he stops being bothered by children just... existing where he also happens to exist. he starts getting along quite well with trixie and even starts asking her parents about her and buying her presents for her bday. when it comes to charlie, lucifer's thrilled to find out that he's going to be an uncle and he's quite emotional when amenadiel offers him to hold charlie, and he obliges very happily and afterwards he talks marcus' ear off about the moment. he is also very happy when it becomes clear that charlie likes him.

and everyone notices these things, except for lucifer. so when asked he still insists that he hates children and that he just cannot stand the little "parasites", but after a while people stop taking him seriously when he says things like that.

but not hating kids does not a father make, and lucifer's other hangups are far more complicated and deep-rooted, namely his own chilhood and the resulting trauma/issues. but for these things it is mostly a matter of realizing that you need help and then asking for it, which lucifer is trying to do. and i definitely think that finding the kind of therapy that is most useful to him would help him tremendously and that + a support system (which he has in his friends and marcus) would help him get to a point where most of the day to day stuff becomes manageable and then he can focus on more deep-rooted things, things that he may not even realize are influenced by his trauma or that he doesn't think affect him, such as how his trauma influences his views on certain issues and one of those issues would definitely be parenthood. and the conclusion would be that his self-hatred, both from him having to go against his morals and do horrible things to survive in hell, but also from seeing himself in his own (shitty) father and therefore expecting to turn out the same, has absolutely influenced how he feels about the topic.

for marcus, on the other hand, i feel like there would be a journey. like, i always saw his parents being young and inexperienced at just... life, in general, when they have him and they don't really have who to go to for help (well... i suppose grovelling for g*d's forgiveness - just so they could ask the guy some questions - was an option, but not doing that was the better option ny far), so they don't really know what raising a child means and because of that they end up being quite neglectful. as such, marcus had to learn how to fend for himself and attempt to fulfill on his own as many of his needs as possible really fast, especially once there was someone smaller and needier than him around, so he became very capable, responsible organized, as Knowledgeable as one could be in that situation, but also both cautious and quite curious and willing to try stuff out at the same time, and also someone who could fake maturity really well and who was really good at taking care of others, which extended into being good at reading and interacting with people. all of these things come from him, at least subconsciously, realizing that, despite being a toddler who's faking it, he's the one person in that house who has any idea what they're doing and that that position is one that desperately needs to be filled.

all of this results in him emotionally distancing himself from others and retreating into himself, starting to built the wall/armour that he would later on use as a jaded, heartbroken adult. and a consequence of that retreating into himself and of prioritising this role he has bestowed upon himself is that he doesn't really explore who he is and what he likes and wants until adulthood. as such, parenthood is, at first, something that he does to be fulfill a role that was assigned by society and by fulfilling that role he blends in with everyone else and the ways he is not like everyone else stay a secret, but also it's about doing something familiar, something that he knows how to do. but he likes. loves it, in fact. he adores that child, and is, therefore, a complete wreck when that child dies after having a life, growing and changing and getting older while he just stays frozen in time, looking the exact same way as he did when said child was born decades earlier.

but, the first tragedy would come before that, when he would realise that everyone around him is visibly growing older while he stays suspiciously young, and people will notice soon and no one can notice. and as he packs up he is forced to endure abandoning the child he loves so so much and miss out on the little time (by his standards) that he had left with them. and he couldn't even tell them. doing so would defeat the purpose of leaving.

still, he tried again and again and again, just like he had with friends, lovers and just about any connection one could make. and no matter how much he tried, it always ended the same way, until he decided to stop trying and he allowed his armour of apathy and his wall of isolation to fully encircle him and solidify cause then he wouldn't get hurt. we know how well that worked out and what it did to him... until he met lucifer, that is!

finally someone he can be fully honest with, someone who can see him exactly as he is and oh, he won't leave him either!

so really his issue, as with all things relationships and connection, is mortality, as it is a luxury he doesn't have, but one that any children he has will have. so it ended up being something that he considered to be off the table for him, and he didn't think to revisit those wounds and that issue in therapy even after lucifer came into his life and nestled himself a place in it because, well, for decades on end lucifer's stance on it was clear. and marcus was fine with it as that wasn't a wound he was keen on reopening and picking at.

but then those decades passed and lucifer reached a point where he had worked out through enough of his issues that parenthood did feel on the table for him. and trying to bring it up did not go very well, at first, because they just weren't quite in the same place... yet! but that alright, cause they had all the time in the world, and when they did end up in the same place all was well and all was easy cause they were, in fact, on the same page.

with one small potential caveat: marcus was all for it, he had loved being a father and he had always wished he could do it right, but he couldn't bear that pain, the pain of watching his child grow old and die while he stayed the same, ever again, nor could he bear the thought of lucifer ever feeling that pain either. that could be an issue... or not. i don't see how any child that is not completely human wouldn't be immortal lmao

and if that really is the narrative the show decided to go with well... loser behaviour! boo tomato tomato! good thing i don't care and, even if i did, there sure are ways around it!

but yeah, the child being related to lucifer and therefore immortal is exactly lucifer's argument and that realisation sways marcus pretty quick!

and i think in a scenario like this, where they both give themselves and the other the time to heal and to figure out how they work as a couple before bringing another family member into the mix, they would be wonderful parents! sweet, caring, attentive, affectionate, intentional, just all the good things. and it would be easy... because they have learned what not to do (well, that's not a guarantee, but all of that work towards healing sure brings it close to a guarantee).

i think that's it! going further than that would be off topic... and just excessive given the insane walls of text i already wrote lmao

so, again, thank you so much for the question and i hope this was a satisfying... and coherent answer!

#mine: q&a #mine: piercifer

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mouthoffenrir · 1 year ago

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Fajar Wahid, The Radiant Fanatic

I don't know why, but for some reason this place calls to me to brainrot about my various rpg characters, so I'll start with this one.

-Concept- Fajar's concept has changed quite a bit from his original iteration in 5e. Originally he was meant to be a menacing, overbearing conquest paladin, feverishly worshipping the sun itself as a righteous purifying flame. However as I've shifted him to Pathfinder, he's softened quite a bit, now mostly readied toward studying in the Magaambya if I ever get to play that AP. He's changed into more of a.. very self assured himbo who's been sadly lied to and manipulated his whole life for the gain of others, and is utterly clueless to that.

-Backstory- Fire, bright, blazing, brilliant conflagration. Smoking, crackling, searing. This was the place of Fajar Wahid’s birth, the plane of elemental fire, born of Ahtira, an efreeti warrior, cruel and unkind. When Fajar was pulled from her, his head ablaze with shining light, his eyes like white hot iron illuminating all around him, she could only look upon him with an inconvenienced disdain. She did not want a child, only having slept with a random human during an excursion into the Prime Material, and now saddled with a child for which she held little love, she found she could not bring herself to simply kill or abandon the child however. So, she decided on the next best thing. Years later, Fajar would be told the story of his gifting unto the cult that raised him. He would be told of the beautiful angel of fire who descended from the heavenly flame, her hair flowing in great licking flames as she gave unto them a child, only a babe at the time. She told them that he is the holy blessed of their god, Atreia, The God of Flame, and that this child is set to purge all the world of the sins and corruption of the wicked. That their god had sent his blessed child and entrusted him unto their care, so that he may one day free his father, and save all life under the sun.

The cult took good care of Fajar, they raised him as one of their own, taught him of their faith, of the great dome of the sky, protecting the realm from the searing flames of the plane of fire, of the glory of the sun, the gateway into the divine realm of flame and fire, the speckled stars, scars of ancient battles between Atreia and Ymeri the Ashen Usurper.The cult trained young Fajar to be a warrior for Atreia, to serve the lord of light and holy fire with true faith and devotion, in all that he does. A training that Fajar took well, as he memorised every prayer, every sermon, gazing into the light of the sun every morning and every night, drinking in its majesty and praying for its safe return in the morning.

In time, however, Fajar began to grow restless, his prayers felt empty, his purpose was not yet complete, he had more to do in his life than to serve in this manner. That much he heard one morning, as he committed to his morning prayers, as he stared into the sun, taking in its divine majesty with his brothers and sisters, he could hear a voice in his mind. Harmonious and beautiful, the voice told him of the corruption in the world, told him of the people that he is meant to help, told him of his true divine purpose. Just as the angel had told the people of his faith all those years ago, he is to set out into the world, and cleanse it of darkness and corruption. With his mind made up, and his purpose at last laid before him, he set out at once to leave his home, the cult compound he had known since he was a child. He took his holy gifts, a flail shaped like the sun, a shield bearing the holy light’s visage, and his glittering armour, and without a second thought, not even so much as telling his people what he had seen, he strode out into the world, eager to begin his holy work.

-Depiction-

Here we have both his main armour, and his more casual attire. I am also waiting on some commissioned art for him as well.

I don't particularly know how to close this post off, other than I hope one day I can watch this sweet himbo's entire worldview crumble before his eyes so he can actual heal from all the bullshit he's been through.

#pathfinder #rpg #oc #original character

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rancim · 1 year ago

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7-16

I had spent a lot of time trying to figure out a new novel to read before going to sleep, because these days I’m trying to be better about consuming things that at the least I think will actively contribute to my development as a writer, rather than simply soaking in the pockets of internet ephemera that do nothing for me but present strange little tidbits of trivia to present to friends when I have nothing to talk about (did you know there’s a whole subreddit of pictures devoted to cars fucking dragons, I will say to a friend when I feel we are on the verge of emotional vulnerability).

I tried my best to follow my writing professor’s advice post-grad, and instead of trying to be published, simply thought about writing and formalism and what my writing meant and what my writing could be. This ended up with me reading a lot and saving the recommendations of books anthologized in the canon of small presses, big presses and everything in between. A random blogger I thought was pretty. A friend who mostly read things circumstantial to their own experience. Again, anything and everything.

And then I started to ask myself do I really like reading and writing or do I simply like the things that adhere to my particular personality? I would read critically lauded things and think ah, what a bore, but I’d read a thing with no press, no accolades, panned on goodreads or whatever and think ah, how interesting! How interesting! Read enough and everything starts to blur. I only delved then into the writers who appealed to me, be it because of emotional resonance or interesting story concepts or stylistic flair or more recently, what I’ve come upon, is the idea of compression. Just an ear towards rhythm, a story without a wasted word, where no single sentence felt redundant.

Now in my thirties I find myself less interested in the new and more invested in reading more and more of the writers that I’ve managed to vibe with during that wild, undisciplined time in my twenties, when I amassed books from used bookstores that sounded even vaguely interesting, whose first pages were read, set aside, now a drop in an ocean of a closet of which I do not open because all of those books tend to bum me out. Rather than venture into that closet for new things to read, I spent 2 hours googling what books the people I read like reading, because now again, to reiterate in my thirties, I guess I just want to see the people that affected the people that affected my life. I’m more interested in just my inner workings, my small circle of influences.

So in conclusion, rather than start anything new, I just ended up drifting in and out of the online sphere before downloading some novellas that George Saunders was into and then feeling sleepy, deciding to sleep without getting any real reading done. But then I had realized, oh no, did you do your writing quota? I’m trying to be better about writing too. Even boring things, even minutiae, I need to try to write something when I can’t get the lead out on the fiction front I’ve been trying to commit to, so yes, even the dumb act of trying to pick a book before bed, let’s write about that shall we?

I’m always worried about whether I’ve improved upon the self that I was a decade ago or whatever. Without a successful track record to cite, books published or awards won or what have you, it’s easy to think that maybe you’re just going in circles and you’ve plateaued skill-wise. I went onto my old blog that I ran in college, its prose feeling as if written by a completely different person, a Haruki Murakami wannabe without an ear for rhythm and intonation. I feel assured that for my lack of accomplishment, at the least I can say I approved. Here’s hoping that’s good enough to take to the grave.

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Can’t Be Your Secret Anymore

Summary: You hardly expected the next time you saw Spencer after your big fight is him coming out of an ambulance on a stretcher.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: one swear word, arguing, hospitals, fluffy ending!

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: this is an anon request!!! anon, i hope i did your wonderful request justice! my asks are always open for anything (random concepts, full-fleshed ideas, or just random thoughts/questions)

Masterlist

“Sorry, I’m home late, sweetheart. The team wanted to go out for drinks after work and then Savannah wouldn’t let me leave until I did karaoke,” Spencer chuckled, “Luckily, she was drunk enough that I slipped out without ever having to fulfill my promise.”

Spencer’s smile faded once he realized you weren’t smiling too.

“Why did Savannah get to go but I can’t? We have been dating longer than her and Derek,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Baby, it’s not the same thing…” Spencer began to say.

You shot up from the couch, “It is too the same thing, Spencer. I have asked you at least 5 times to meet your team and you always say it’s not the right time. When will it be the right time, Spencer? A year? Ten? I can’t wait around until you decide I’m good enough for your friends,” you began walking around his apartment, collecting your things.

“No, Y/N. Please stay. You can meet them! You can meet them, I swear! Please don’t go,” Spencer desperately begged.

“I never wanted a pity invite,” you sighed, “Goodbye, Spencer. Call me if you would finally like to commit to me for once.”

The gentle closing of his apartment door cracked Spencer’s heart in half. He snuck out early from the bar in hopes of being cuddled up with you but now he was all alone.

A week. It had been a week since you walked out of Spencer’s apartment only to be met with radio silence. If you were being honest, you hadn’t really expected Spencer to make no attempt to get back together with you. But if he really didn’t want you back, you needed to start moving on with your life.

“Y/N, we’ve got an incoming ambulance,” Linda, the other on-call ER nurse said, snapping you out of your daze.

You jogged out to the ambulance bay, suiting up with rubber gloves.

The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the entrance as the paramedics unloaded the stretcher.

“White male. Early 30’s. GSW to the neck. Pulse is thready,” the paramedic stated.

The patient’s eyes opened slightly for just a second and they locked with yours.

“Spencer,” you whispered under your breath as his eyes closed again.

You and Linda rolled him up the OR before returning back to the ER floor. You took a seat at the desk and put your head in your hands. You were trying to control your breathing because being in the elevator with your barely alive ex-boyfriend was not how you expected this night to go.

“Do you know Reid?”

Your head snapped up to the muscular man that travelled in the ambulance with him.

“What?” you asked, even though you heard him the first time.

“It sounded like you said ‘Spencer’ when you pulled him out of the ambulance. I was just asking if you knew him,” Derek said.

“Um, kind of. We have a mutual friend so I’ve seen him around but I really don’t know him that well,” you lied.

It pained you to say that you didn’t know Spencer well at all when he was fighting for his life in surgery but then again, did you really? The mutual friend technically wasn’t a lie because you guys were set up by Patricia, a librarian, because you were the only two people under 60 that came into the library regularly.

Derek didn’t seem to be convinced but he nodded and stepped away regardless.

When the head surgeon working on Spencer came out, you purposely pretended to be doing a task close to where his whole team had gathered.

“Dr. Reid is expected to make a full recovery,” you heard, you let out an instant exhale of relief, “He is in Room E105 if you would like to see him now.”

Shit. That was the wing you were in charge of post-op for. The surgeon found you and handed you the clipboard of Spencer’s file before returning back upstairs.

You slowly made your way to the room. Thank god, you could see he was still unconscious through the door. You knocked lightly on the open door to alert the team of your presence.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Y/L/N. I’m in charge of Spenc-I mean Dr. Reid’s post-op. I just need to check his vitals real quick,” you informed them.

A blonde woman with bright bold clothing that you assumed was Penelope, based on what Spencer told you, backed away from Spencer to give you room to work, “Do whatever you need to do, sweetheart.”

That sent a pang through your chest. Spencer always called you ‘sweetheart’ but maybe that was just because he could never bring himself to call you ‘love’.

“He’s all set. I’ll be back in an hour,” you flashed a polite smile before quickly leaving the room that felt like it was suffocating you.

“Thank you!” Penelope called after you.

An hour later, you picked up Spencer’s clipboard once again and headed to his room, stopping in your tracks when you saw he was awake.

You made brief eye contact before you whipped around and speed-walked back down the hall.

“Linda, can you take my patient in E105 please?” you pleaded.

“Is it super gross?” she cringed.

“No, it’s just someone I’d rather not talk to right now. It’s just a vital check for a post-op GSW,” you informed her, “I’ll let you take an extra 5 minutes on break and I’ll do all the bedpan changes.”

“Fine,” Linda grabbed the clipboard and headed to Spencer’s room.

Linda decided to take her slightly longer break right after doing Spencer’s post-op. So when his ‘call nurse’ button started rapidly going off, you had no one to turn to.

You sprinted down the hallway to his room and quickly opened the door to see him sitting up, perfectly fine with the remote in his hand.

“Are you dying?” you asked flatly.

“Without you, yes I am,” Spencer replied.

You rolled your eyes and let out a humorless chuckle before heading to the door once again.

“Wait, Y/N!” he urged.

You didn’t turn around until you heard a ripping sound followed by a loud ‘ow’. When you turned around, you saw Spencer had pulled his bandage half off.

“Spencer! Why did you do that? I have other patients to tend to,” you grabbed the roll of gauze on the table.

“Now you have to listen to me as you reapply my gauze,” Spencer explained.

“Where did your team go? Can’t you bother them?” you huffed.

“You met them?”

“Don’t worry. I said I barely knew you through a mutual friend. I know how terrible it would be for you if they found out you were dating me,” you assured him.

“No, no! That’s not what I want. I want to scream from the rooftops that you’re my girlfriend. I just get scared that once we make it official to everyone, it will be even harder when I lose you,” Spencer admitted.

“Why do you think you’re going to lose me?”

“Because you’re way out of my league. Sometimes I still think you’re just a figment of my imagination and this couldn’t possibly be real,” Spencer confessed.

“Spencer, you’re a hot genius FBI agent. If anybody is out of anybody’s league, it’s you.”

“And you’re a hot ER nurse who probably saves more lives than I do on a daily basis and...I love you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, he finally said it. A sign of commitment.

“I love you too,” you spoke softly, gently pressing down the last strip of gauze on his neck.

You heard chattering approaching and the whole team appeared at the door with food and drinks in their hand.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you shot up from the edge of the bed, “Your gauze is all set. Press the button again if you have any other complications. Enjoy your dinner. Remember only jell-o or soup,” you headed to the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer grabbed your wrist before you got very far and then interlocked your hand with his, “Guys, this is my beautiful and amazing girlfriend, Y/N, who I love very much.”

“Um-hi,” you waved.

Derek looked between the both of you and grinned.

“We were just going to have some dinner if you would like to join us, Y/N,” Penelope offered.

“Sure! Let me just tell Linda I’m taking my break,” you smiled.

You tried to leave again but Spencer still wouldn’t let your hand go.

“Spence, I’ll be right back,” you promised.

“I need a kiss before you go,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes playfully before leaning down to give him a loving kiss that made up for all the kisses you lost over the past week.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #cm fanfic #spencer x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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aviivix · 3 years ago

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Welcome to some weird Jevil concepts

Many of these are based on incorrect assumptions that I decided I liked. My brain is open source, if you wanna steal these ideas, go for it.

More doodles and infodump below the break!

Main thing: That’s a mask, not his actual face. This stemmed from his face reminding me of things like the drama masks and Phanto from Mario 2, and the fact that I sorta mistook some of the mouth pixels for a crack in his face in his dancing animation.

Immediately after that, I thought that it’d be hilarious if under the mask was just, void, with eyes and teeth hangin’ out in there, almost like what you’d see when taking apart a 3D model. There’s no real reason for this besides I tried it once and it looked just goofy enough for me to like it.

The mask has some chaotic magic imbued in it from being worn by such a chaotic creature and being exposed to so much chaotic magic, enough to start messing with folks who wear it for too long. Of course, since that chaotic magic comes from Jevil, he’s unaffected by the mask’s effects. (It’s Jevil that makes the mask chaotic, not the mask that makes Jevil chaotic.)

He really wouldn’t be without his mask often though. After all that face is probably pretty scary to folks, and what kind of a jester would he be if he were making people scared instead of making them laugh? He might’ve been more willing to remove it before he went insane, but at this point, the act and the game stuff is basically his life, so he’s practically glued to that thing.

This is just a personal design thing I like to do with it, but I also have it so the eyes and mouth can’t fully close, and he’s only got that top row of teeth. (Though since the eyes can often have nothing in them, they can easily appear to be fully closed.) Some of these doodles may break this though since I didn’t always maintain this idea.

Next, he’s made of fabric just like Seam! Not sure which fabric exactly, but he’s comparable to those fabric jack-in-the-box jesters, with the spring his head is on coiled in the main body. He’s totally hollow, holding his shape with magic. This also means he could commit pile of dirty laundry if he felt like it, or if he somehow ran out of magic.

This also is meant to go with him mentioning “they craved to imprison my body” and “This body cannot be killed!” His body isn’t truly him exactly, as the ethereal presence in the void on his face is truly what makes him up. Alongside that, the fabric is just that - fabric. It can’t be killed because it was never alive, he could just repair it with magic if something ever got damaged. (Or ask Seam to do it, heh)

Also his chaos crime was yeeting Lancer off a cliff. He probably caused a bunch of chaotic problems, but the Chaos King of Spades thought it was too funny to stop - until he just YEETED Lancer and then all bets were off. (This is also how King learns of Lancer’s bounciness - not through child abuse)

Speaking of the chaos stuff, I don’t have a lot interesting to say about his chaos magic. I mostly play it straight, where his magic is very Discord (MLP) esque. I find it more fun to take the “I can do anything” literally, making him a chaos god archetype, able to teleport, apparate random props, mess with his own body (and I suppose others too, but it’s mostly him doing it to himself), mess with the weather, basically anything he thinks is suitably funny or wild.

In the current, I like to have it so he pops up out of his scythe form every now and again. I don’t personally like how quiet he goes in Chapter 2, though I get why. I just sorta wish he popped out and caused issues or funny scenes.

Anyway if you’ve made it this far, thank you for indulging my strange headcanons. Beyond here, my HCs are more shallow and these are just some particularly good or funny doodles I’ve done over the past however long.

Such as, Jevil obviously being not on the best terms with Spamton... (I also am not super consistent with their sizes)

Not ready to consider Gaster as the one who corrupted Jevil, and the crack on his face has nothing to do with Gaster, but someone pointed out their faces looking similar and it made me mad enough to do a side by side lmao

Anyone can wear Jevil’s mask so long as they can fit it on their face. Including Lancer. Especially Lancer.

His eyes and teeth just sorta float in the void, so I like to think you could shake him up and turn his face into alphabet soup.

Young Jevil and Seam bein’ buds

Another Discord Jevil doodle I did as part of a larger comic that I’m not happy enough with to post here. I liked this frame though.

And another Discord Jevil

jevil makes sweet sundae ramen on /ck/

The amount of maskless Jevil pics I have where the thesis is just “please return the stolen property”

#deltarune #jevil #spamton #susie #seam #kris #ralsei #lancer #gaster

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solemnly-mischievous · 3 years ago

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rivalry (d.m. x reader)

You and Draco Malfoy have a rocky relationship, at best. It'd be better to describe it as a rivalry. But all it takes is a bit of fire from your end to finally make him snap.

(AKA: I just really wanted to write an enemies-to-lovers trope for my first fic.)

A/N: Hi! First fic. Hope you like it. :)

Contains: Degradation, slight edging, d/s elements, slight dub-con (but not really; full consent is clearly given), light humiliation

Word count: 3.9K

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Normally, Defense Against the Dark Arts would be your favorite class. The spells you learn are fun and useful; Professor Lupin is always a plus, and most importantly, you’re good at the subject—so bloody good, you’ve bested even Hermione and Harry multiple times.

But lately, you’ve been finding yourself dreading the lessons. So much, in fact, that you were half-considering asking Hermione to hex you just to get out of your afternoon class.

Why? It’s a pretty easy answer when you got down to it.

Draco Malfoy.

You’d had an ongoing rivalry with the git since third grade. He’s been terrorizing you and your friends, mostly because of Harry, but along the way the two of you had begun building a personal vendetta.

(He probably hasn’t quite yet forgiven you for hexing him so badly he’d had to stay in the Infirmary for weeks, and you certainly haven’t forgiven him for causing your friends so much grief over the years.)

This year, you’d thought you could try your best to avoid him, with your upcoming N.E.W.T.s and all. But DADA had other plans.

Professor Lupin had begun experimenting with mixing up partners for class—it was, after all, a very hands-on class—and had apparently decided that cross-house interaction would build bonds and skill. His exact words were, “If they’re your friend, you’re gonna go easier on them. In the real world, you never know who you’re fighting with—or against.”

So he’d randomized the name list. You, being Gryffindor, knew immediately you wouldn’t be with any of your closest friends—but you hoped that perhaps you’d be paired with Cedric, or Luna, or anyone but—

“Your partner is Draco Malfoy,” Professor Lupin informed you when he got to your name, and you immediately make to protest.

“Her?” a voice came just as you complained “Not him”, and the students parted to reveal Draco himself, glaring daggers at you and Lupin.

“Yes, her,” Lupin replied, unruffled. “Now, pair up, everyone. We’re practicing Stunning today.”

That day, you’d fucking limped out of the classroom. Not to say Draco had gotten it easier—he could barely stand after you Disarmed, Stunned, and hit him with a nasty stinger hex just for the sake of it. (You’d gotten detention, but it was worth it.)

Today’s your second class with Malfoy, and you’ve never wanted more to be able to commit violent actions in your life.

“Please,” you whisper to Hermione as your group enter the DADA classroom. “Just one hex. I won’t even go to Pomfrey. No witnesses. You could just Petrify me, if that’s more to your liking.”

She sighs. “I’m not going to Petrify you.”

“’Mione,” you say, scandalized. “I thought we were friends.”

“Pair up, everyone,” Lupin calls out. Your friends shuffle away and you close your eyes, already getting a headache from the thought of—

“Well, well.” That fucking smarmy voice. “If it isn’t Potter’s little friend.”

“If it isn’t Daddy’s boy,” you snap, opening your eyes and glaring at Malfoy, who already has his wand out. “Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Draco’s eyes narrow. Clearly, he’s as displeased with the situation as you are. “What are we doing today, then? Can’t wait to knock you down a few notches. Star of the class, my—”

“Patronuses!” Professor Lupin announces from across the room, and your heart soars—Patronuses, you could do that. Harry, months earlier, had taught you how to perfect a corporeal form in exchange for tips on his Astronomy essay. He isn’t here today—maybe you could be the only one in the class to do it.

Lupin continues, “Yes, the Patronus—an essential in the world of Defense magic. We’ll be starting with just the simple basics of it. A strong flick of the wand, and the words ‘Expecto Patronum!’. Say it with me, everyone.”

You chorus the words obediently along with the class, Malfoy’s snort of derision not going unnoticed.

“Good. Good, good, now—the key to the Patronus is to think of a happy memory. It has to be strong. Remember, Dementors feed on misery—it’s the only way to keep them away. Now, go practice. I’ll be walking around to see if there’s any problems.”

“Expecto Patronom,” Malfoy repeats in a mocking voice once the classroom starts filling with the chants of fellow students. “Doesn’t Potter know how to do that one? Heard he can do a deer. Pretty weak animal if you ask me—”

“A stag,” you correct. “And it’s Patronum, not Patronom.”

He glares at you again. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Certainly smarter than you are.” You glance at him. “Though that’s not saying much, is it?”

You give Fred Weasley, who’d circled around to hear the conversation, a not-discreet fist-bump.

“Alright then.” Malfoy spits out your last name, trying to provoke you. “Let’s see you do it.”

“You try,” you suggest, hiding your smirk. “Unless you’re too scared.”

Draco grits his teeth. Unwilling to back down from a challenge, he brandishes his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A thin, wispy light appears at the end of his wand—weak, but clearly visible. Classmates around you murmur as they notice it, and Professor Lupin beams as he sees Draco’s doing. “Very good, Draco! A fantastic start.”

Draco flicks his wand smugly and the Patronus charm dissipates. He smirks, shooting you an expectant look.

You take out your wand, feeling its familiar grip, and you close your eyes. You recall the memory of a weekend in Hogsmeade with your friends, drinking Butterbeer as you stroll through the snowy village, pointing out the shops and people. Unconsciously, you smile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Light blazes so bright you can see it under closed eyes, and you open them to find a glowing golden retriever prancing out the end of your wand. It bounds around in the air joyfully, leaving a trail of light where it leaps, and circles the classroom, eventually coming back to you and wagging its tail.

Professor Lupin is grinning, utterly delighted as he takes in your Patronus. Calling your name, he exclaims, “That is phenomenal—you’ve learned fast. Very impressive job!”

You smile back, and your Patronus glows lighter in response. You quickly call it off, the light being a bit too much, and the rest of the class passes by in a haze of awed murmurs and classmates asking your advice on their spellwork. You become so preoccupied, you don’t even notice Draco’s unrelenting stare on your back.

The class ends fast, the bell tolling to signify the start of what would be a study period for you. As students trail out of the classroom, chattering happily, Professor Lupin calls you over.

“Listen, I want you to know that what you did today was truly impressive,” he says, seriously. “I assume Harry laid out the groundwork, yes?”

You nod. He smiles. “You and Harry both are very accomplished students, then. But truly—I doubt many Aurors could’ve managed what you did today.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Your words are sincere.

“My pleasure.” Professor Lupin shoots you an apologetic look. “Now, I’m terribly sorry, but I have off-grounds business to attend to—would you mind setting the classroom to rights? I’m afraid I had to push the desks and chairs back for our class, but I don’t have time to put them back. I’ll write you a note, if you—”

“Oh, no, Professor, don’t worry, it’s a study period. I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved, already heading out the door. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll bring chocolate to compensate!”

“Goodbye, Professor!” you call, and he echoes it, and then he’s gone. You look around the classroom, seeing all the desks in the back, and you crack your knuckles. Time to get to work.

“Well. Quite the teacher’s pet, aren’t we?”

Merlin’s fucking beard.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” you mutter, turning around to find him leaning against the classroom doorframe. His blond hair glints silver in the sunlight, and his entire outline—his uniform, his stance, his dark gaze—is just… honestly, unfairly attractive.

So maybe your first impression of Draco Malfoy, years ago, wasn’t that he was a self-entitled git. Maybe, just maybe, you’d thought he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

And maybe that feeling never went away.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“What are you doing here?”

“Study period.” He starts walking towards you, shutting the door behind him. “Couldn’t help but be curious as to what Lupin wanted with you.”

“What’s it to you?” you snap. Malfoy doesn’t reply.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asks instead, and you blink.

“Me?” you splutter. “Difficult? Fat lot of sense that makes, with you fucking insulting me at every move I make—”

“As I recall, our first interaction was you hexing me in third-year.” Malfoy sounds amused.

“You pushed Harry into the lake,” you snap at him. “You bloody well deserved it.”

Draco laughs. “Good times.”

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth.”

“My mouth is also capable of jinxing you three ways to Friday, so I suggest you leave me alone, yeah?” Your fingers twitch towards your wand in preparation, and he only looks on with derision.

“I’m just frightened,” Malfoy sneers. You barely notice him slipping off his rings, pocketing them. “Potter taught you that Patronus charm, didn’t he?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. Just wondering what else he taught you.” A vengeful mood seems to have taken Draco. “You seem to hang out with him an awful lot.”

“It’s called having friends,” you snap right back. He looks as though he’s about to retort, but you push on. “Unfamiliar with the concept? Wouldn’t be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle don’t seem like the best conversationalists, are they? Just a couple of goons. Wonder why you don’t have better friends. Friends you can actually talk to who operate with more than one braincell.”

“Shut—”

“Maybe it’s because no one wants to be near you,” you continue, years of pent up frustration spilling out in a vitriolic spiel. “Because you’re a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to be happy, aren’t you? You drive everyone away and then you go after more because you’re lonely and sad and fucking pathetic—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy repeats with a vehemence.

“—and it’s too fucking late to repair the damage you’ve done—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy snarls, and you stare into his narrowed eyes.

“Fucking make me,” you snap back, and he lunges.

You’re pinned against the wall of the classroom, Malfoy’s wand to your throat and a hand fisting your robes to render you immobile. Draco flicks his wand, ever-so-slightly, and you hear the classroom door lock with a wordless spell.

“Malfoy,” you whisper, but he cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up or I swear you’ll bloody regret it,” he hisses.

“Draco,” you begin, and he curses.

“Fuck it.”

Gripping your robes, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s rough and demanding and you think he’s trying to hurt you, with how much his teeth scrape against your bottom lip and bite down gently, but you’re not pulling away, he’s not pulling away, and you find yourself leaning into the kiss, arching up to meet him—

He breaks away and looks at you, smirking.

“If I’d known that’s what it would take for you to shut your bloody mouth, I’d have done it years ago.”

“Let me go, Malfoy,” you say shakily, but even as he loosens his grip slightly, you show no sign of moving.

“If you’d wanted to leave you’d have Stunned me long ago,” he states, truthfully. Your wand is fully in reach. You know how to do wordless spells. And yet you let him kiss you.

“Shut up,” you grumble, still not moving.

“I think, perhaps,” Draco murmurs, glancing down at your body, “you’re enjoying this.”

“No,” you argue, and his wand digs into your neck—not enough to hurt but enough to register.

“Shh,” Draco hushes, almost condescendingly. “Be quiet, now. That’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, you shudder at his words. They made your legs weak, and you fight off the urge to audibly whimper—what the hell’s gotten into you?

Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he hasn’t noticed.

Of fucking course he notices.

“Oh?” The shit-eating smirk on his face is enough to make you glare absolute daggers at him. “Don’t give me that. You shivered. You liked it.”

“Shut up,” you say again, with no real strength.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl, sweetheart?” he teases cruelly, and you have to close your eyes to fight off the blush. It doesn’t work, and your face grows hot with embarrassment and arousal.

“Dear me,” Draco says mockingly. “What happened to the spitfire from minutes ago, hm? Still feeling like saying those words to me? Still feeling like being bad?”

Inadvertently, you shake your head.

“Who’s pathetic now?” he mocks, grinning, letting his wand trail a cold path down your neck, over your collarbone, until it rests on the top button of your uniform. “May I?”

The question sounds mocking, but he meets your gaze and you know he’s honestly asking for permission. And you give it to him, nodding, even as your blush deepens. Draco undoes your buttons, one by one, with tiny flicks of his wand, until your shirt is fully unbuttoned and you’re exposed to his gaze.

Draco shoves his wand into his belt and pushes your bra out of the way with an almost laughable urgency, getting a full, appreciative look at your breasts. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “Shame they belong to such a fucking headache, hm?”

You grumble some sort of an insult, and Draco pinches a nipple, which shuts you up effectively. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands trail down to your skirt, and instead of undoing the button he leans down and scoops the fabric up. “Here, be good and useful and hold this for me.”

The indifferent praise and the degradation combined has you obeying immediately, hoisting your skirt up and baring yourself to him, which only adds to an eddying swirl of shame and arousal pooling in your gut. Draco looks at you, stares, really, and it’s with a predatory grin that he reaches over to caress you through your panties.

“Soaked,” he observes, sounding both amused and satisfied. “You always get off this much to being treated like a right slut, then?”

“Draco,” you whine, bucking your hips up into his almost phantom touch. “Come on.”

“Is that how we ask nicely?” Oh, this bloody git. You’ll never be able to look at him again—he’s going to be so fucking smug around you.

When you don’t answer, he withdraws his touch completely, and you make a sound of protest. “No, no, please.”

“Go on.”

“Please touch me,” you try, but it’s hard to focus when you’re so goddamn wet you’re soaking through your panties.

“Not quite,” Draco muses. He’s palming himself through his trousers, and the sight turns you on impossibly more. “Come on, then—convince me.”

“Draco, please touch me,” you beg. One of your hands drift down to your panties but he slaps it away immediately, shooting you a warning look. “Please!”

“Touch you where?” He wants you to say it.

“Touch my cunt, please, Draco, fuck, I’m so wet it hurts,” you beg, and it’s true—you’re aching with arousal, and if he doesn’t touch you within the next few seconds you think you really just might combust. “Please, please touch me, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just touch me.”

“If only the school could see you now,” he sneers, but even he seems to break his self-control and he tugs your panties down harshly, all but ripping them off. “Baring yourself to me and begging to be touched like a whore.”

“I’m not—oh,” you gasp, his fingers pressing into your cunt immediately and his thumb working on your clit, sending waves of pleasure so potent you almost double over. His fingers are long and thin, which is why he can press two in without preamble, and the stretch is barely noticeable.

“You’re not what? A whore?” Draco laughs. “Please. Look at yourself.”

“’m not,” you insist, but you clench around his fingers at his words and he raises an eyebrow.

“I think you’re lying.” He presses a third finger in and you whine, little sounds of pleasure escaping your lips as he works you open. “Quieter, now, or I’ll have to gag you.”

You bite your lip, and Draco thumbs your clit as a reward and incentive. “Now, tell me what you are. Be truthful, or I won’t fuck you. I’ll leave, leave you here with your shirt hanging open and your skirt up, the doors wide open. Maybe the next bloke who stumbles in might help you.”

Your eyes widen—he wouldn’t. But his gaze is dead serious. “Say it.”

“I’m a whore,” you breathe, and he thrusts his fingers into you, hitting that right spot. “Draco!”

“Say it louder,” he orders, angling his fingers and curling them.

“I’m a whore,” you moan out, bucking your hips upwards—you’re close, you’re so close. “Draco, I—”

He stops moving, and his other hand pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You let out a gasp of shock and hurt, reeling from the denial and pleasure. “But—”

“You’re not fucking coming until I say so,” Draco hisses, undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down. “And I’m not saying so until I properly fuck you into a bloody wreck.”

His cock is already hard, and he positions himself right at your entrance. You can feel him, his tip pressed against your wetness, but not pushing in. “Draco—”

“I think,” he muses, and you want to scream, “one day I’ll drag you into a broom closet. Fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to talk for the day. You’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

“Please—”

“Or I’ll bring you back to my dorm, so I can fuck you until you’re screaming yourself hoarse,” Draco says thoughtfully. “Your dorm works. So long as I can ruin you.”

“Malfoy—”

“Because it’s just so—” and he pushes into you in one swift movement, fucking into you immediately with a fast and rough rhythm, “—fucking nice to see you being a slut for me.”

“Fuck!” You grind your hips along with his rhythm, feeling the tightness of your cunt around his cock, and you clench as he hits your sweet spot with the right angle, almost shaking with the pleasure that it gives you.

Draco groans your name, fucking you brutally as he chases his own release, already pent-up from the teasing and the sight of your wrecked state. “’m gonna come on your tits, would you like that? Get it all fucking messy, maybe get some into your mouth, get you fucking ruined?”

“Please, please, fuck, please let me come,” you plead him, feeling your impending orgasm barrel towards you—you couldn’t last, you can’t fucking last—

“Fucking hold it,” Draco snaps. “Hold it like a good fucking girl, you understand?”

You let out a mournful sound, but you nod—yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please—

“Salazar, I’m fucking close,” Malfoy breathes into your ear, his voice rough and strained. “You feel so good, love, so bloody tight.”

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. Draco exhales shakily and curses, pulling out and pushing you to your knees with such a force that you drop down, your skirt being the only padding.

“Wh—?” you try to ask, but Draco is already pumping his cock and then he’s coming all over your face, some of it dripping down to paint your breasts as he’d promised. Draco leans down to gather some release on a finger and pushes it into your mouth, eyes darkening as you suck and swallow around it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you almost come right there.

“Draco, please,” you beg, still on your knees and still absolutely fucking desperate for release that he’s been denying you for the past half hour. “Please let me—”

“Alright, spread your legs, c’mon,” Draco guides, and you obey and then he’s there, thumb rubbing steady circles around your clit and two fingers pushing inside you once more. You whine and grind into his fingers, his touch, hips following his movement as he pushes you closer—closer—

“Fuck!” you sob as he senses your impending orgasm and stills his hand. “No—no, why?”

You sound like a petulant child and Draco laughs at you, and it’s an unfair move and a mean sound but it somehow turns you on even more. “I’m just messing, sweetheart.”

Fuck you, you badly want to say, but somehow you feel like that won’t get you what you want.

Draco starts moving again, his fingers gaining speed, and the sound of them pumping in and out of your soaked cunt sounds delightfully dirty. You’re quickly pushed to the edge again, and amidst your pleasure you eye Draco distrustfully.

“Please,” you whisper, and he smirks at you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

And he thumbs your clit and you’re coming, gasping with the pleasure and shaking as he eases you through it. His fingers don’t stop moving, even after your orgasm has faded, and you squirm in discomfort as he overstimulates you.

“Stop—please—”

“Promise me you won’t be a bloody pain again,” Draco levels at you, and you want to glare back but his fingers curl inside of you and you yelp with pleasure and pain. “Promise me, or I’ll keep going.”

“I—I won’t be a pain,” you mumble, trying to squeeze your thighs together to get rid of his touch, but he perseveres, flicking your clit mercilessly.

“Say you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good,” you manage, so close to sobbing from the frustration. “Please, Draco, I’ll be good, be good for you, please stop.”

He relents and you feel him draw his hand back. You close your eyes and you hear him tug his trousers back on, buckling his belt. You feel strangely empty without him—without his fingers, his cock, his touch.

Draco produces a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat, drool, and cum off your face, helping you button your shirt back up as well. “You alright?”

“Never better,” you reply, opening your eyes to see him staring at you in concern, all traces of the cruel tease earlier gone. Outside, the sun is setting, casting orange hues into the classroom, and you suddenly remember. “I—oh, bloody hell, I have to arrange the desks for Lupin—”

“I’ll do it. Stay here.”

Draco stands up and takes out his wand, flicking it twice in quick succession. A wordless spell. As you watch, the desks and chairs slide back to where they used to be, neatly arranging themselves in rows.

You’re impressed as he comes back. “What spell is—hey!”

He’s flicked his wand once more and torn your panties clean off your legs.

“Draco—what in Merlin—”

“A souvenir.” Malfoy smirks, stuffing your soaked panties into the pocket of his trousers. “And payment for the desks.”

“You’re a bloody prick,” you say, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Careful now, love. Remember what you promised.” Draco’s tone is playful, but warning. “I’m a man of my word, so you should choose yours carefully. Next time I won’t be as gentle.”

Caught off-guard, you can only nod obediently, which seems to please him. But you can’t promise you won’t slip back into old habits the very next day. Whatever the case, one thing was clear—there would almost certainly be a next time.

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