#writings — yes professor

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[magpie-trinkets]

continuing that "maya tries to contact claire" post, i present you the post-Spirit of Justice follow-up

[eyrieofsynapses]

why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

[risingmoonyue]

One thing that cracks me up about Detective Conan is that of all the people that Shinichi surrounds himself with, it’s is the exact handful of people who are willing to make mental leaps such as “16-year old shrinking to a 6-year old”, like that hasn’t been a scientific impossibility for all of forever

Like. Instead of adhering to common sense, he is friends with everyone who decides nah, I’m not gonna do that today and this child is actually my best friend/this random dude I’ve only met once who is and has documented pictures of being 16.

It’s just kinda hilarious that with any other group, his identity would probably be just fine, but no. He surrounds himself with the only people in the universe who would believe that, willingly or not.

[blueskittlesart]

speaking of art school i had a really fun moment tonight where my sequential art prof asked me how my project was going and i showed them 19 full pages of comic and they were like "you know the final page count for this semester is supposed to be 20 right"

[wyrdle]

I have so so so many WIPs you have no idea. Lord give me the time and energy to finish it all. Here’s a bunch of sneaky peeks

[im-sorry-what-ii]

yknow the classic uni professors au, the one where prof A spends half their time talking about their spouse and prof B has never said a word about their personal life ever but then it turns out theyre pining or married or whatever, yeah i think theres a chronic lack of those in the top gun fandom. bc the classic icemav teaches at top gun meets no homophobia au is the *perfect* setup and i cant believe no ones written it

[torchstelechos]

The funniest consequences for Bonnie being a child during All Of That is if they grew up to study social sciences and kind of just. Oh it's Frin :), Oh it's Frin :(

[padfootagain]

UPDATE!!!

Only less than four chapters left to write!!!!

I should finish the first draft this week! Really hoping to start posting next week, we'll see how fast the second draft goes. Expect a posting schedule very soon!!!

[lastoneout]

like real people do

Fandom: Pokemon Legends Arceus Rating: M Warnings: None Relationship(s): Professor Laventon/Captain Cyllene Word Count: 5,115

Summary:

During a late night at work, Captain Cyllene reveals to Professor Laventon that she's never been kissed. The two of them decide to do something about it. (A/N: This fic is only about 99% finished, but as it's been that way for several years now I figure it's time to stop keeping what I do have done all to myself. I've inserted explanations where the missing paragraphs are, so you should have all the context you need, there's just some missing prose.)

[The start was supposed to be something about two recruits getting caught making out and being punished for it, and then later that night, after everyone has gone home, Laventon and Cyllene are chatting and it comes up, at which point she says something about the recruits being careless or foolish, which leads into...]

"Yes, well," Laventon chuckles nervously, "the allure of such activities can pose quite the distraction at times."

Cyllene doesn't look at him, instead focusing on the papers in her hands, nimbly tapping the bottom of them against her desk and shifting them together so they fall into order with a satisfying thwhip, before placing them on the stack in front of her, all the corners lined up as uniform as soldiers, not a single page out of place.

"I wouldn't know," she says, the sentence as purposeful as her hands, not a word more or less than strictly needed in her usual clear, firm tone, though there is an unmistakable touch of something quite foreign to her voice—shame. 

Laventon's own embarrassment flares in response, and in his haste to correct his faux pas his words come in a veritable tsunami, starkly contrasting her concise reply. "O-oh, apologies Captain, I didn't mean to make assumptions! Enjoying things of that nature is far from a universal experience, t-theres hardly any reason to feel ashamed of not being interested, in fact, I'd say there's no reason at all-" 

"You misunderstand," she interrupts, "my inexperience is not due to a lack of interest on my part. There's simply never been anyone who reciprocates." 

That stops him dead in his tracks, his mind struggling with the idea that not a single person has ever found the Captain charming enough to so much as kiss, and before he can stop himself that doubt slips out. "Surely that's impossible-"

Her eyes at last meet his, her gaze sharp and cold, giving him the distinct impression that he's made an entirely different sort of blunder. "I don't make a habit of lying, Professor." 

"Of course," he agrees, calming his tone to hopefully convey his own honesty, "Of course, I apologize, that was insensitive of me. I've only ever known you to be truthful, I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

Cyllene nods, silently accepting his apology. 

Still, Laventon has never been one to leave well enough alone—if he was he doubts he'd have lasted long in his line of study—and his disbelief fades into a strong flare of indignation, lashing out at the very idea that no one has ever deemed Cyllene worthy of their desire. "I just find it difficult to believe that you've faced such stark rejection," he continues. "Forgive me for overstepping, but anyone would be quite lucky to find themselves the object of your affection, Captain." 

A breath of silence passes between them as she searches his gaze, but before he can be sure of what she's looking for—or if she found it—her eyes drop to the desk in front of her and she politely replies, "That's kind of you to say." 

"I mean it! The people who have turned you down were surely fools. I wouldn't bother taking their misguided opinions personally."

"Indeed," she says, her tone barely on the courteous side of dismissive, and she stands, further signaling her disinterest in continuing this discussion. "Regardless of anyone's opinion of me or the reasoning behind it, I am incapable of fully understanding why a person would be so taken with desire that they ignore their duties, and even if I was, I doubt I'd agree. Aside from the separation of one's work and personal lives..." she pauses then, the first sign of uncertainty slipping past her ironclad control, "I imagine such activities would be better enjoyed when one has ample time to spend on them. Pleasure can be quite rare in this world, surely the haste and risk of interruption cheapens what I assume would be an otherwise pleasant experience."

Laventon nods, and while he knows it would be best to leave well enough alone, but the moment has left him flustered and anxious, and he can't seem to stop himself from rambling on in a hapless attempt to return to normalcy. "That is a fair point, though I can assure you, desire can be quite overwhelming at times, driving one to indulge in any spare moment they can.” He pauses, letting out a thankfully more composed laugh and shaking his head. “In truth, some even find the threat of discovery rather enticing in its own way.” 

"Again," she reiterates, her silent insistence that they drop the subject becoming decidedly less polite, "I wouldn't know." 

And yet, against all odds, he opens his mouth once more. "Well, it's not entirely impossible to change that, with the right help, of course."

Silence falls again, their faces both slowly turning red as the implication of his words settles over them, heavy and impossible to ignore. 

Laventon almost immediately wants to say something—anything—but the words at last refuse to come, dancing just out of reach as his mind sorts through the mess of emotions churning in his chest that only grow stronger and stronger with each passing second. 

He's embarrassed first and foremost, how could he not be, offering to kiss his Captain like some sort of lecherous fool? Even if he hadn’t meant anything disrespectful by it—he’s always been eager to make himself useful—it was still incredibly rude and he should absolutely apologize, but before so much as a simple “I’m sorry” can make it past his lips something else captures his attention, an enticing feeling disarmingly close to interest simmering under his remorse.

Would he be interested in acting on his accidental offer? Perhaps he would. Cyllene is quite beautiful, and a lovely person to boot. Even if it was just to help her gain experience, a friend helping a friend, kissing her...well, as he looks at her now lucky hardly feels like the right word. Perhaps offering in the first place was a senseless move, but backing out should she accept, that would truly be a foolish mistake indeed. 

"Forgive me, Professor," she starts, her words no less purposeful despite the uncharacteristic shyness weighing them down, "but do you mean to offer...?"

"Yes," he replies without so much as a moment's hesitation. 

"I see." 

Neither of them move, a strange, nerve-wracking, tempting feeling building in the air. Anticipation, like the crackle before thunder, or the second after one only barely dodges a pokemon attack. Unsafe, perhaps, but exhilarating nonetheless, and prone to leave one with a craving for more.

Still, despite his now quite ardent interest, the sense that he's made an ass of himself finally becomes impossible to ignore, and his practiced courtesy—as well as his desire to stay in the Captain's good graces—wins out. "Apologies, Captain, I don't mean to, t-there's no pressure, of course. I just, you deserve to experience things, if you'd like to, that is, and I- I'd be honored to be your first, or, uh- if you wanted me to h-help you-" 

Cyllene still doesn't respond, but that's not a yes any more than it's a no, so he firmly shuts his mouth, giving her the time and space she needs to decide.

And decide she does, just a moment later. "Alright." 

Laventon is too shocked to be anything but almost manically enthusiastic. "Brilliant! Well, there's no rush, of course, you just let me know when-"

"Now seems appropriate," she replies, seemingly ignorant of the contradiction of their setting—or, perhaps, it's more that she's stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it at all.

He almost points it out, but the building is empty and they're both nearly done with the day's work anyway, and he's far to taken to do anything but play along. "I couldn't agree more!" 

Cyllene gives him an odd, almost amused look, before coming around her desk slowly, each step closer making his heart race all the faster, until she's standing in front of him and his pulse is so intense he begins to worry he may pass out. 

Because goodness, she's far more beautiful than he ever noticed now that he's really paying attention, now that she's close, her face tilted up ever so slightly so she can maintain eye contact. He was wrong, he realizes, lucky doesn't even begin to cover whatever kind twist of fate has blessed him of all people with the chance to kiss someone like her. 

"As I said," she starts, her voice confident, yet quiet and intimate, a conflicting display that leaves him reeling, "I'm inexperienced, so I trust that you'll take the lead?" 

"Yes, of course. Leave all that to me." 

"Thank you. I'm ready when you are." 

Cyllene tilts her head again and lets her eyes fall closed, and while the angle is a bit wrong and there's a blush staining her pale cheeks he takes a moment to marvel at her nerve, envious that she can face something like this so fearlessly. 

He owes her no less than the same, he decides, and quickly brings a hand to her jaw to gently shift her face to the correct position before leaning down, his own eyes falling closed as his lips make contact with hers. 

It's slow, chaste—nothing more than a gentle bit of pressure—but his heart still skips a beat. She's warm, and so very soft, and though this isn't about him or a precursor to any other activities, he can't help the wave of desire that crashes over him, making him crave more.

He reminds himself to resist it. He's a gentleman—or at the very least a decent person—after all and Cyllene is his Captain as well as someone he considers a friend, he'd never risk ruining that bond by disregarding her consent. Besides, doing such a thing would sour the experience beyond salvage, and he already knows he wants to savor every second of this, commit it to memory so he can revisit it again as often as he'd like. 

His desire only grows at sight that greets him when he breaks the kiss; Cyllene's slate-blue eyes half-lidded as she gazes back at him, the blush on her cheeks far darker than it was before. 

Still, she's as honest as ever. "Interesting." 

"Interesting?"

"It wasn't at all unpleasant," she explains, "but I hardly think it's alluring enough to distract one at inopportune times." 

Even years later he'll struggle to understand exactly why he opened his mouth again, but that doesn't change the fact that he quickly replies, "Well, that was just a small kiss. The...distracting ones tend to be a lot more intense, to put it mildly." 

"I would assume they must be...still, I can’t imagine the difference is that profound." 

“I assure you, it is,” he chuckles awkwardly, face flushing, "though I must admit I’m not entirely sure how to describe it..."

Another beat of silence, and then, "Show me." 

"Oh!" he practically squeaks, feeling himself begin to drown in dual blinding panic and overwhelming desire to fulfill her request. "A-alright, as you wish. Just, uh, follow my lead, but do speak up if you want to s-stop, of course, and...feel free to- um, you know, take the reins, if you'd like." 

"Understood." 

Laventon keeps things simple at first, gently guiding her to move her lips against his while mostly closed, before finally parting his, heart hammering when she follows suit. 

He goes slowly, giving her as much time as possible to get used to things, but despite that less than a second after his tongue presses past her lips she lets out a shocked sound and jumps back, falling into a stiff stance nearly a full foot away from him. She tries to recover, or at least act natural, and nearly manages it, but the bright crimson blush coloring her face and the hand she's holding over her mouth betray her true feelings. 

"I'm sorry," he starts nervously, holding his hands up apologetically, "That's just um, how this s-sort of thing works..." 

"I know that," she practically snaps, letting her hand awkwardly fall to her side. 

He's not sure he entirely believes her, but either way he chooses to shoulder the blame. "Regardless, I should have warned you." She looks as if she can't decide if she agrees or not, so he continues, "Anyway, the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, Captain, and you've had a kiss now so, we can stop-" 

She shakes her head, some of her nervousness fading. "I don't want to stop. It was...simply an unfamiliar sensation, and it caught me by surprise."

"Are you quite sure? I don't want you to feel pressured-"

"I don't feel pressured, or uncomfortable, and I'm sure. If you're willing to continue, then so am I," she insists, starting to sound almost close to eager, and a fair bit more confident.

He nods. "Yes, I- um, I'm willing." 

Cyllene steps closer and tilts her head up once more, her stance more relaxed, though still guarded. "I'm ready." 

"Alright." 

This time Laventon tries to go even slower, to keep things progressing as naturally as possible, but in an apparent effort to maintain her composure she swings so far in the other direction that she hardly reacts at all when things move forward. It's undeniably awkward, leaving him feeling a bit like he's just poking at a statue, but soon enough she pushes past whatever is keeping her frozen and hesitantly moves in tandem with him.

It's still awkward, as she has no idea what she's doing, but the two of them have always worked well together and she's a quick study, and when she finally starts to get the hang of it the sensation that he lacked the words to describe begins to build up warm in his chest. It drives home how right he was, at least in his opinion, as even the slightest hint that she may agree to it would surely make the temptation to come do this with her at even the most inappropriate times incredibly distracting, to say the very least. 

And goodness soon distracting isn't even enough to cover it, because as the awkwardness fades and she becomes more confident, more bold—and almost desperate, needy, like she's waited her whole life for this moment and doesn't plan on passing up even a second of it now that it's come—his sense starts to leave him completely, the desire for more cementing itself firm in his chest. It makes his face burn and heart stutter and fingers flex at his side, barely resisting the urge to reach out, wrap her in his arms, and pull her close. If he can hardly hold his ground against that small temptation right now, knowing this was just on the other side of the door, waiting for him...heavens it would be like dangling water in front of a man dying of thirst. Far too cruel to even dwell on for long. 

Thankfully that train of thought is quickly swept away, because after a particularly arousing slide of her lips against his she suddenly tilts her head a bit more, letting herself get even closer, before reaching up of her own volition and gently resting her hands against his chest, her fingers hesitantly taking hold on his vest. 

It's almost overwhelming how instantly consumed by her presence he feels, and all at once he realizes that perhaps it's not just the kissing that he likes—though that is incredibly nice and she's becoming rather good at it unfairly quickly and it's sating his own baser needs exceptionally well—no perhaps what he truly likes is kissing her.

Just then, as if to convince him, she lets out a soft noise, something small right at the back of her throat, and leans in just a bit more, her fingers tightening their grip on his vest. It's beautiful, perfect, and for a moment the lustful desire gives way for pure, honest, burning affection. It's all the confirmation he needs. 

He likes her.

Oh, good heavens, he likes her. 

How had he not realized it before? They've known each other for years by now and have spent nearly every day together, surely he should have noticed that his feelings had drifted beyond platonic at some point. What point even was it? When had he started to appreciate her not as a coworker and captain, but as a companion? Someone he wanted around not merely because they share a common goal or mutual respect, but simply because it's her and things don't feel right if she's not beside him? Perhaps it all just happened so slowly, so naturally, that it hardly even registered until now, when it's finally right in front of him and impossible to ignore. 

Those people she spoke of, the ones who turned her down? They truly were fools. How could they not see how blessed they were? Laventon counts himself as fortunate just to share this moment with her, to be trusted so deeply that she isn't afraid to accept his help, to be able to stand close and truly take in how gorgeous she is, and yes, to kiss her, to hope that he's making her feel just as good as he does. To relish in it all, no matter how briefly, with a person he cares so very deeply for. If she even slightly returned these newfound emotions? He'd feel like the luckiest person alive. 

Pulling away is harder than it has any right to be, but when the time comes he manages, though he goes slowly, selfishly lingering in every last precious second until they're finally parted. 

"Do you understand now?" he asks softly, torn between staring into her eyes and gazing down at her lips, both sights overwhelming in their own way. 

Cyllene shakes her head, though he gets the distinct—and flattering—feeling that she’s chosen now to finally be dishonest. "It's...enjoyable," she explains, voice breathless and halting, "but I don't see how it's distracting-" 

Once again, he opens his mouth, caving to the desire to drag this moment out. "Well, admittedly, you t-typically get much- um, closer, than this..." 

"Closer?" she asks, a hint of urgency in her voice as she looks down at their bodies. They aren’t touching aside from her hands resting on his chest, but they’re still barely inches apart. 

"Yes." 

Cyllene wastes no time stepping forward until they're pressed flush against one another, forcing him to swallow nervously as his heart threatens to give out completely. "Like this?" she asks, meeting his gaze to confirm she hasn't misunderstood.

"Yes, s-sometimes or...almost." Because yes, often this is as close as couples bother getting, but no matter how much of her he has it's still not enough, and his eyes drift over to her desk beside them, though his voice one again fails him, as he's far too embarrassed with himself to explain. 

But she follows his gaze and puts the pieces together, and rather than be offended or embarrassed, she instead barely takes a moment to consider it before she steps past him and in one smooth movement hops up onto the thing, spreads her legs to make room, and yanks him close once more. 

"Like this?"

"Yes," he breathes, or tries to, anyway, it's become rather hard to pull in air past the overwhelming everything threatening to drown him completely. 

Cyllene lets the moment linger, her eyes dragging over his face, staring into his own eyes before drifting lower to his lips. "I can see how this is more intimate..." she admits quietly. 

"Indeed," he agrees, though as he continues his thoughts fight his attempt to put them into proper words. "I've found that the uh- the i-intimacy...it, well, a-accentuates the experience greatly." 

She leans a bit closer. "Would it be alright if I once again asked for your-"

"Yes," he interrupts, no longer caring how desperate he might sound. "I'd be happy to help." 

"Thank you." 

He waits with bated breath for her to close the distance between them once more, but she pauses, her gaze drifting up past his eyes. Her hand follows, delicately sliding along his cheek, tracing the edge of his hat before pushing past it ever so slightly, the tips of her fingers just barely grazing his curls. "May I...?" 

"Of course." 

“Alright,” she replies, before reaching up with her other hand to gently pull the knitted cap off his head and set it aside. 

Laventon flushes, feeling strangely bare without it. Not that he wears it for modesty reasons, it’s simply because he's always been more sensitive to the cold than the average person, but given the situation, he feels exposed and vulnerable. The feeling eases, however, when Cyllene's hands return to his head, one traveling up to run through his hair, the other cupping his jaw, her thumb grazing his beard. 

He can't suppress a sigh at the sensation, and he leans into her touch, letting his eyes fall shut. 

"Do you enjoy this?" she asks. 

He nods slowly, not wanting to dislodge her hands or discourage her touch. "Most people do." 

"I see." 

She continues her exploration, and she pulls her hand away from his hair before sliding it back through, this time grazing his scalp with her nails before making a loose fist and pulling ever so slightly. Despite how gentle it is he can't stop the small, appreciative whimper from escaping his throat, or his face from flushing bright red as it does. Thankfully she doesn't ask him to elaborate this time, though she certainly takes note of it, and she uses her grip on his hair to tug him into another kiss. 

This one is instantly far more heated than the previous ones, neither of them even remotely interested in going slow. Her hands move, wrapping around his shoulders, though she can't help but return to his hair, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck before slowly tangling them in the short curls there. It nearly makes him moan, but he swallows it back, only briefly concerned about how well she's pressing his buttons. 

The worry passes, however, as she next tightens her thighs around him ever so slightly, the pressure emptying his mind and cracking enough of his resolve that he finally touches her, letting his trembling hands come to rest on her sides, just above her hips. Even with the layers of her uniform between them he can tell she's warm and soft here too, but as good as it is it's not nearly enough, not anymore, and he can't stop himself from letting his hands slide a bit higher and then around to settle against the small of her back before using the leverage it grants him to pull her even closer. 

She seems to like it, breaking their kiss for just a moment to let out a soft, gorgeous gasp. He gets a quick look at her as she does, and his heart all but stops at the sight. In all the years they've worked together he's never seen her this disheveled before, her hair messy, face flushed, chest heaving, and it's so beautiful he almost—almost—wants to stop kissing her just so he can drink it in uninterrupted.

But then she closes the distance once more and he decides looking isn’t enough, no he wants to see if he can make it worse. Find out what she likes, exactly where and how to hold her, touch her, kiss her, and then dedicate all of Almighty Dialga's time to doing it right, giving her everything she wants until she's a shaking, trembling mess in his arms-  

All at once Laventon feels a familiar heat in his gut and tightness in his pants, and what little sense he has left breaks through the haze, his face burning as he realizes his body is well ahead of him on this one. Embarrassed panic quickly starts to overtake his mind as he prays to any god that's listening that she won't notice. Sure, it is only natural that he would find all of this incredibly arousing, but that's not what this is supposed to be about. It's about helping her gain experience, not his own idiotic lust, and he loathes the idea of her discovering how little control he has over himself and becoming uncomfortable—or offended—because of it. 

So he pulls away, faster than he probably should, but still slow enough that he can play it off as natural. Regardless she chases after him, her eyes only opening when that proves unsuccessful, and heavens, the look on her face—not offended or uncomfortable but confused, disappointed—nearly makes him cave and pull her back in. 

"Do you understand n-now?" he asks instead, thankful his breathlessness hides how nervous he is. 

Cyllene looks lost, her eyes clouded as they search his, and it takes her a long moment to process that this encounter is ending and actually answer his question. 

"This was...enlightening," she says, her flush darkening as she becomes more and more aware of how intense the two of them let things get. "I have much to consider..." 

It isn't a yes, but somehow makes him feel as if he's done a better job. “Well, I’m glad I could...be of service,” he replies clumsily, unsure of what else to say.

Her blush only grows more intense, and rather than respond she glances away and slowly loosens her hold on his vest. 

Laventon decides to keep quiet as best he can, as he’d rather not make things any more awkward than they already are, and instead he steps back and offers his hand to help her hop down from her desk. She takes it with a polite nod, and his heart skips a beat at the feel of her hand in his, the gentle pressure of her weight against him as she slides to the ground intimate in its own way. When she’s standing she turns her focus to her outfit and hair, hastily fixing both until she looks mostly presentable. He doesn’t bother putting his hat back on, as he feels more than warm enough without it, and simply shoves it into the pocket of his coat. 

Besides, the cool night air should help with his...situation. Speaking of which, he begins to panic anew, and in a rush to maintain some semblance of dignity, he hastily shrugs his labcoat off entirely, draping it over his arm and holding it close so the bulk of it hides his lower body from view. 

Cyllene gives him an odd look, but before she can put the pieces together he jumps in, “I suppose I should leave you to your night.” 

“Yes...and I should leave you to yours,” she replies slowly. “Thank you for humoring me, Professor. I appreciate your assistance, and your patience.” 

“It was my pl- or, u-um, I’m glad to help, truly.” 

“I also would appreciate your discretion regarding this matter.” 

“Of course! That goes without saying.” 

“Good.” 

Silence falls between them, and while Laventon knows he needs to leave, his feet refuse to obey him, followed closely by his mind, now once again caught up in his new-found feelings regarding Cyllene, namely how beautiful she is and how much he desperately wishes he could stay in her company a bit longer. Not even for lustful reasons--though that desire certainly hasn’t let go of it’s hold on him--no, he finds himself wondering what it would be like if they were a couple, if he was here not for...whatever this all was, but so that he could escort her home, or perhaps to their home. He’s not sure he could ever be so lucky, but the thought fills him with longing all the same. 

“Professor?” Cyllene asks, snapping him back to reality. 

“Yes! Sorry, I uh- lost my train of thought there for a moment,” he replies quickly, shoving away his useless fantasies. “Well, do take care on your way home tonight, Captain.” 

“I shall, and you as well.” 

“Certainly. Goodnight then, Captain.” 

“Goodnight, Professor.” 

He gives something between a respectful nod and a half-bow before making a combee-line for his office door, already planning to clean up and head home as fast as humanly possible, but he freezes in place when Cyllene calls out, “Professor, wait...” 

Laventon turns to face her, grasping onto the last of his composure as best he can. “Yes?” 

She takes a moment before responding, her eyes drifting to the wall behind his head, like she can’t quite bring herself to look directly at him. “If, in the future, I should...wish to gain further experience in this area, would it be alright if I once again asked for your assistance?” 

He nearly faints right there, only barely stopping himself from falling over or making a complete fool of himself by offering to immediately provide any assistance she might desire—either here or perhaps somewhere more private. 

“Of course,” he replies honestly, praying he sounds coherent, or at least not like the lustful fool he apparently is deep down. “I would be happy to help.” 

“Thank you,” she nods, finally glancing back at him. “Well then, goodnight...for now.” 

Laventon hangs on her last two words and all they imply like a lifeline. “Goodnight.” 

Cyllene nods once more before turning back to her desk, her hands nimbly gathering the last of her paperwork, and he leaves her to it, quickly ducking into his own office to do the same. 

He lets out a breath once he’s within the safety of his personal space and tosses his coat and hat over onto his kotatsu, no longer needing the protection they offer, but as he starts to close the door something stops him. He isn’t sure what, exactly, his mind is far too muddled to make sense of what he’s feeling anymore, but it leaves him standing there all the same, his shaking hand lingering on the doorknob. Perhaps it’s habit—after all, he tends to leave it open during the day—or perhaps there’s a finality to it that he doesn’t want to evoke, or...or maybe he simply doesn’t want to be parted from Cyllene just yet, even if only by a single door. 

He shakes his head, dismissing his racing thoughts and prying his hand off the knob, leaving the door cracked ever so slightly. 

[He then heads home and like Idk something something a few days pass and then Cyllene drags Laventon into a closet and makes out with him because she gets it now or something???? I genuinely cannot remember where I was going with the ending.]

[slaytheprofessor]

"There are lights on in some of the windows," you point out, gesturing up to the buildings. "Doesn't seem that abandoned to me."

There's a long and confused pause before the Guide responds.

The Guide: Oh. I... I actually don't know what that's about. Maybe some people left in a hurry.

The Guide: As far as I know, you and the professor are the only two people left here. I could be wrong.

You stop, and you think about this for a minute.

What's so terrifying, you realize, about a professor? He's just a man, a teacher, and likely undervalued at that. You have no way of knowing whether or not your Guide, as kind as he sounds, is telling you the truth. He's already proven that he doesn't have all the answers, and you have only just met him.

And if he's right, and the professor is intent on killing you... better not to risk it, right?

"No, screw it," you decide, spinning around on your heels. "I'm not doing this. You can get some other person to do it."

The Guide: Wh---no, that's not---wait! You haven't even heard me out!

"Don't need to," you say firmly. "I'm not killing someone who could be innocent, and I'm not risking my life. There's people left in this city, and I'm going to try to find them."

The Guide: But---

And then a voice appears in your head. Your Researcher.

Of course, you don't recall her at all, but you still feel that little rush of excitement and relief as she speaks in your mind.

Voice of the Researcher: You heard her, buddy. We're not doing this.

The Guide: I... fine.

The Guide: You walk down the street with a determined feel in your step, attempting to wave and signal at the windows that have lights flickering in them. Nobody responds to you, and the further you go, the more you realize that this city truly is abandoned.

The Guide: And just as fear settles in... you arrive at the library, sandwiched between two smaller buildings. Huh.

Voice of the Researcher: Wait, WHAT?!

The Guide: That's, uh... not how that's supposed to work. Odd.

The Guide: *overly cheerfully* Well, now, can't resist the call of adventure after all, right? Let's get on in there!

[rainintheevening]

She expects them to feel different, after three months, but it's a different 'different' from what she was expecting, though if she were honest, she wouldn't be able to say exactly what she was expecting.

She enjoys the train ride through the country, through the bare trees and dark cold earth, and she can relax a little against the carriage window, close her weary eyes and rest. Then the train spits her out into the cold air onto a tiny country platform, and there are her children! Rushing at her, Lucy in the lead as she would have expected, and she drops to her knees to take the full force of Lucy's onslaught in her heart and her arms.

"Mummy!" Lucy cries into her collar, and Helen's vision blurs. She blinks it back, looks up at Susan and Edmund standing over her, both smiling, Susan on the verge of tears.

When she stands, Lucy still clinging to her side like a limpet, there is more hugging and kissing, and she is surprised, but far more grateful, for Ed’s tight squeeze and kiss to her cheek. Susan clutches her tightly, and there are a few tears on her part as well.

"Where’s Peter?" Helen asks at last, turning this way and that to search for her eldest, notes both Edmund and her luggage have also disappeared.

"Oh, he's with Fee and the carriage," Lucy says, pulling out a handkerchief to dry her face, and smiling brightly.

And when they step down to the roadway there is a two-wheeled cart and a grey horse, and Peter holding its head, half-turned to speak with Edmund who stands close beside, and then Peter looks up and meets her gaze, and he smiles so bright it's as if the sun has come out. She doesn't miss how he pushes the reins into Edmund's hands before he steps forward to hug her, and he is... taller? Straighter, she can feel strength and muscle in the arms that wrap tight around her, and she lays her head on his shoulder, just for a moment, closes her eyes.

"Alright, Mother?" Peter says, soft, exactly the way Richard always did, and she smiles into his collar.

"Quite," she says, pulling back to kiss his cold-pinked cheek, and she finds she means it.

"Perhaps we should be off?" Edmund suggests. "Don't need Mum getting off on the wrong foot with the MacCready by letting her tea get cold," he adds as they all look at him.

Peter laughs. "Always thinking with your stomach, Ed," and Helen braces herself for the snap, for the offense and the glares and the barbed exchange.

"Well, someone's got to," Ed grins back, and briefly something glows in the chill air between them, something bright and warm, and Helen does not quite dare to relax, but she thinks she might be able to. "If we left everything to you lot," Edmund goes on, "it would nothing but swords and arrows and..."—a glance at Lucy, who is being swung up into the cart in one smooth motion by Peter—"flowers."

"What about hunting?" Susan says, climbing up quite gracefully with Peter's assistance. "Good shooting can make for a good meal."

"And swords can be useful to cut things up," Lucy pipes up, grinning down at Helen, who... does not quite understand.

"Yes, like the bread and butter," Peter says, laughing a little, as he turns to offer his mother a gloved hand. "Hush now, you lot, and we'll get Mother and Ed home for tea before one freezes and the other gets sulky."

"Hey!" Ed yelps, but again he is grinning, and as Helen settles herself in the back of the cart, Lucy squeezing in tight against her side, Susan smiling across at her, the joy and happiness in the air is thicker than the clouds their breath makes, and she sighs, from somewhere deep, and something done up very, very tightly inside her loosens.

She misses whatever else Peter has been saying as he climbs up onto the seat, blurting out, "Oh, Peter. You're driving?"

He smiles over his shoulder, pleased and soft into the face of her embarrassment over stating the obvious. "I've been doing a lot of it lately."

"He does almost all the shopping in the village now," Susan says proudly.

"Got on the good side of the MacCready, so he wouldn't race those farm boys in Kitchers Lane like I suggested," Ed grumbles.

"This isn't a chariot in Rome," Peter says, shaking his head, all exasperated affection. He clicks his tongue. "Chirrup, Fee."

Peter's comment sparks a lively retelling of Ben-Hur, which the children have apparently been reading with Professor Kirke as part of their lessons, peppered with many other comments about the mansion, the Professor, and its other inhabitants. Edmund settles in beside Susan, who wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Helen's stare lingers on them, on their new-found closeness.

Lucy is talking fast, and Helen strokes a hand over her youngest daughter's bare head, finally noticing— "Oh Lucy, your hair has gotten so long!"

Lucy blushes, reaches up to her half-crown of braids, an intricate thing which Helen has never seen before. "I like it long. Not too long of course, never as long as Susan had–"

"Look, I know it's not the most practical," Susan interrupts, "but it can be very pretty. Perhaps someday I'll grow mine as long as my waist."

"Why are girls always thinking about their hair?" Edmund rolls his eyes.

"Why are boys always thinking about their stomachs?"

"Well, an army marches on its stomach, not its head."

"Stop it you two," Peter says over his shoulder, calm, firm, and they leave off their argument at once. "Mum's here, and we want to give her the nicest Christmas she's ever had."

"Ooh, yes!" Lucy bounces suddenly, face lighting up. "Professor Kirke says we can go out into the woods to pick an enormous Christmas tree, and we'll all decorate it–"

"And Ivy told me the MacCready has been saving on sugar," Edmund chimes in, "so we'll have sugar biscuits and plum pudding and even a chocolate cake, she thinks."

"And the Professor said we'll have goose from the farmer Adams," Peter says over his shoulder.

"It‐ it all sounds absolutely delightful." Helen tries to keep the tremble out of her voice, but doesn't quite succeed, judging by the way Susan's smile goes soft, and Lucy squeezes her hand.

The air is crisp and cold, smelling of damp earth and leaf mould, and her children are all smiling, and the pale grey sky is quiet, there are birds chattering in the trees they pass, horses graze in a field, there are no explosions, no planes, no ground shaking under her as she huddles in the dark, and she has to swallow very hard, she would much rather not cry in front of her children...

In the moment of quiet as she bows her head, and grips Lucy's hand very tight, she hears Peter stop humming, and begin to sing.

Venite adoremus, he sings.

Venite adoremus... Susan joins in at once, and then they are all singing around her, voices rising in the December air, joyful and trumphant.

Venite adoremus

Dominum

Helen closes her eyes as her children sing on into the next verse, keeping time with the horse's trot, and the tears that slide down her cheeks are warm.

Lucy stops singing just long enough to press a handkerchief into her mother's hand, smiling up with a whispered, "You need it more than I do."

Magic, she thinks in a bewildered way, it's like magic, all this. Or perhaps even something holy, whatever it is that hangs in the air with their breath, and brightens the browns and dark greens and greys of the countryside, when she looks up from wiping her eyes.

She joins in at last, a little tremulous, but by the fourth verse, she is adding harmonies over Susan's, and they finish 'Adeste Fideles' wish something akin to a shout, a cry of hope and determination that rings through the woods they're passing, and makes the animals lift their heads.

Peter starts in on another before they've had time to draw breath, 'Hark the Harald Angels Sing', and so they ride singing all the rest of the way to the Professor's house, singing in the light and joy of Christmastide, even as evening shadows fall around them.

They are breathless and laughing as Fee slows to a walk, and they come up to the grand old house, spilling golden light into the night, and Helen Pevensie thinks that perhaps she should have hoped for different, rather than expected it, because different can be good, and this... oh, this is truly good.

[darthstitch]

Professor Cryptid Wet Cat

Look, Professor Gadling being a secret immortal cryptid has already reached peak meme status. The Gdoc is a rabbit hole to get lost in on a rainy day.

But Professor Murphy? Hooo boy. The students are just getting started.

Nobody calls Professor Murphy by his given name of "Thomas." Like, you could try, but he's not going to respond to you, as if the name was just something tacked on for the sake of appearances.

One of the class overheard Professor G calling Professor Murphy "Dream." Now, everyone initially thought that it was just another adorable pet name (there's a running list of them in the Gdoc). But then another student who had been getting drinks at the New Inn had overheard this sweet little boy calling him "Uncle Dream." Go figure.

Here's the thing, though, "Murphy" is an Irish name but there isn't a trace of the Gaelic's music in his accent, proper RP that it normally is. Unless you're an Irish student and suddenly, there's the lilt and the sweetness of the Goídelc in his voice when he talks to you, echoes of the tales of the Children of Lir and Cu Chulainn, best heard as the bards sung them.

The language thing doesn't stop there. Professor Murphy seems to inexplicably know every language ever spoken, happily chatting away in a mix of Tagalog and English with the Filipino students, Welsh with the kids from Wales, French and Italian and Polish and Russian and Swahili and Igbo - circumnavigating the globe as neatly as you please without losing any stride. And then, going back in time, as it were, straight to Middle English.

6. Middle English, as everyone knew, was the language Professor Gadling tended to slip into from time to time and there was something unbearably sweet about how Professor G would refer to his husband as myne owne hertis rote, only for Professor Murphy to answer with my heart's gleam and that lovely little smile. But one hadn't lived until they heard both Professors absently talk to each other in Middle English as if they'd been born speaking that language and had temporarily forgotten that they were already in the 21st century.

7. Suspicions about Professor Murphy being a vampire abounded, until they had all seen him walking in sunlight, with Matthew the Raven on his shoulder. Then it became rumors about Murphy being a Twilight-variant of vampire because he literally glowed in the sun. And had so obviously sent poor Professor Gadling dot exe crashing at the sight.

8. This conversation also happened:

"Who is Edward Cullen and why would he sparkle? And why would all of you be Bella Swan?"

All of the students look at each other. And then:

"I will fong the first person who explains Twilight to poor Professor Murphy, I swear to Christ, I will fong you."

"Perhaps I should ask Matthew."

"Caw! Nevermore!"

9. One of Professor Gadling's classes had taken a trip to the Tower of London and Professor Murphy had just tagged along, much to his husband's delight. Every. Single. Raven. from the Tower had just converged on Murphy as if he were their long lost King or something, cuddling close, cawing in delight. Matthew was so obviously, adorably jealous at the whole thing and somebody could've sworn they heard a distinctly American voice holler: "HEY CLAWS OFF YOU ASSHOLES. GET YOUR OWN DREAM KING!"

10. Sometimes, the students could swear up and down that Matthew the Raven could really, truly, talk. Professor Murphy and his raven have often been seen sitting together, often with Murphy apparently showing the bird something on his smart phone or tablet, deep in discussion with him. Everyone tried very hard not to think about this too deeply, especially since Murphy would often return to the classroom with a better understanding of current jokes and memes once he'd had a "conversation" with Matthew.

11.

"Darling, why do you have a plushie of .... good lord, is this Cthulhu?"

"A gift from my students, my love. We had a rather engrossing lecture on Lovecraft the other day."

"Oh. Oh no. Don't tell me you had the same sort of thing going with him as you did with bloody Shaxbert!"

A huff. "Certainly not. Such a small-minded young man, utterly arrogant - though he did have potential. I thought to teach him a lesson by showing him how insignificant he truly was in the infinite vastness of the universe. His mind almost broke from it."

"Ah. And where does Cthulhu come into this?"

"Lovecraft had a horror of marine creatures, specifically those of the class Cephalopoda. I often took the form of this creature in my nightmare aspect. The wings were an inspired touch, I believe. He was near out of his mind with terror - some of my finest work."

"Of course you were bloody Cthulhu, why am I not surprised? My adorable little eldritch abomination..."

"Hob Gadling, there is nothing adorable about me -- a;dkjf;adlkfja;dlkf!"

12. Rose Walker's first novel Into the Night was a best seller and readers everywhere rejoiced when they heard it would become a series. Readers also fell in love with the enigmatic King of Dreams, the antagonist in Ms. Walker's book. Thus, the second novel in the series, The Prince of Stories, was eagerly awaited by many. Once again, the same mysterious voice actor did the audiobook, which quickly climbed to the top of the charts in all the platforms of its release. But what drove Professor Murphy's students into a tizzy was Ms. Walker's dedication: "For Uncle Dream, our Prince of Stories" and the following exchange:

"Professor Murphy, we didn't know you were a fan of Rose Walker."

A proud smile. "My niece has quite the story to tell. I've been looking forward to reading her next book."

"You're Rose Walker's Uncle Dream?!"

-end-

Am I writing more of what I started in this POST - yes, yes, I am.

Do you guys want to see a more complete version of the first story? It's in AO3.

[keeponquinning]

JQ drabble / blurb coming at you.

okay but like.... seeing pedro's esquire video and shoot, i can't help but think of like a slightly jealous joseph looking at you engrossed with mr. pascal, and he's just like, ".... I'm your favorite, though, right?"

making you look up immediately like, "...what? seriously?"

"I mean.... Not like you've looked at me like that in a while..."

you're just so amused about this, but you're trying to hide it, because whether he's being serious or not, he has such a pout on. "baby. it's different. like...you two are different!"

that was not the response he hoped for, "sorry? different how?"

"well, we're dating for one. and... y'know... He's just....daddy."

you've never seen his eyebrows furrow that quickly, "...and what? I'm not daddy? not daddy enough for you?"

"....you're not his level of daddy...." he scoffs. "You're younger than him! so, like.... it's different."

"okay, but... Let's just say... We go somewhere, yeah? And he happens to be there..."

it takes all of you not to laugh, "You're being so cute right now..."

"..yeah, adorable, shut up. I'm... how long would it be for you to ditch me and go over to him?"

everything in you tells you not to smile, but you can't help it, stretching wider than you thought possible, "....w e l l..."

"Oh my god, you're going to leave me for him."

"What the fuck—"

"No, no, you're going to leave me. You've planned this, probably. Seduced me, and done it well..."

"Mmm, I did have fun seducing you."

His face softens, lips lightly smiling, "...I did have fun being seduced..." He watched you smile at him, and he took a deep breath. Rising from his seat and wandered toward you. "He'd probably fall for you, you're very easy to fall for."

You snorted, giving a shrug, "Well, that was the plan. Have you fall for me, have this relationship with you, had to fuck you a few times to want to make it official," he chuckled at that. "..and then on the off chance that you get invited to some invite with him, for me to tag along... And thus, the real master plan comes into place, and Pedro and I can go off into the sunset, with his tight jeans and dad sweaters, while you, my former love, are in shambles and devastated by me."

He sighed, shaking his head, "I feel so used."

Shrugging, you reply, leaning back in your seat, "The things we do for true love."

His brown eyes look at you, bending down and leaning over you in your seat, "Can I be used by you until that happens, then?"

"Mmm...." you hummed, raising your hands to place around his neck. "I dunno... that was the plan, but, lately... Kinda felt the plan changing a bit... Like I'm falling for you and that's a problem."

"Ooh, am I charming you, darling?" he asked, grazing his lips against yours, slowly giving a kiss.

You chuckle, kissing him back, nice and slow, groaning softly. "I think you are. That's so not part of the plan, how dare you."

He's smiling now, lips pressed against the side of your neck as he kisses, bites and licks. "To use your words against you, the things we do for true love." You chuckle at that, and he weighs down further on top of you, his hands digging to the waistband of your shorts. He suddenly pops his head up, looking at you with curious eyes. "...right, okay, but, I am your favorite, though, right?"

"Oh my god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, though there's a smile there. "Okay, look, on the list of white men... You're definitely on the top of the list."

His lips twitch, biting back a laugh, instead, giving a nod. "Right, well, as far as us white men... That is impressive. Top spot?"

"Mmm..... Top three, easily."

He was silent a moment, this seeming to placate him a moment, before he let out a sigh. "One of them isn't Garfield, is it?"

"...if I call you daddy tonight, can I like...not answer that?"

His eyes looked over you, licking his lips before he gave a nod, "Y e a h, deal." Rising up and taking a hold of your hands, pulling you up and into another kiss almost immediately. His hands wrapped around your waist and pulling you close to him, tongues met, a breathy moan from both as your tastes mingled and appreciated from one another, you could feel the affect you have on him, could feel him harden against you as you pulled away, walking toward his bedroom. He takes a moment to look as you go through the bedroom door, desire and lust overtaking him. And then — "It's not fucking Obi-Wan, is it?"

"Daddy."

"Right, forgotten, coming."

[safireinakettle]

Sometimes you just gotta get a little gender envious of deranged characters with kill counts

It’s just part of being

[darklight-owl]

Wtf did Dimitri mean "molecular instability". Was Claire's body dipping in and out of the blast? Did warm breezes feel like fire on her skin? Did the cold night air smell like smoke? Did the sunrise look like the flash of an explosion? Did she feel her body turning to ash, only to realize she was still alive?

I... I need to lie down.