#I should really stop doodling in the margins

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Remus Lupin x fem!reader [2K] protective!you, soft!Remus

Honestly, Remus should’ve seen it coming. You were never one to back down from a fight and the whole reason he was missing from class that day was the same grounds for your eventual argument. 

Professor Marigold had spent the best part of Care of Magical Creatures explaining moon phases and the effects each stage had on lycanthropes. You had been sitting between James and Sirius, squished in the middle as they doodled on their book margins, not really listening. Because, well, they’d had some first hand experience, hadn’t they? Which is why the professor was so surprised when she called on Sirius and he answered correctly, barely looking up. 

You were more on edge than the boys, wishing you’d skipped with Remus, wondering if he would’ve let you hide out in the boys dorm with him, sharing James’ hidden stash of Honeydukes loot everyone knew he kept at the bottom of his trunk. You spent most of the class eyeing your fellow students, Gryffindors and Slytherins divided in rows of three, sometimes four, a neat separation of red and gold, green and silver. 

You wondered if someone would say something, you wondered if someone would sneer, if they’d pull a face at the sketching of a werewolf in the textbook, if they’d shudder in fear or say something awful. It was silent as Professor Marigold spoke about the ramifications of being bitten, the changes the host went through each lunar cycle. You hated the word, ‘host’. It sat bitterly at the back of your throat and you changed it to ‘person’ when scribbling down your notes, more messily than you’d usually be. 

You felt Sirius watch you, dark gaze lingering on the way you sat up too straight, how your shoulders were tense and unyielding when he brushed against your own. If the boys shared a look over your head, well, you didn’t notice. 

Class was almost over, in fact, you were only mere minutes away from the finish line. But then a Slytherin you didn’t know the name of narrowed her eyes and said something you only just heard, a scorned hiss of:

“…the Ministry should do something about them. They’re a danger to everyone. Full moon or not.”

James’ hand found your knee before you could stand, nostrils flaring and heart pounding, but his touch kept you in your seat. You stared at him, wondering how he could remain so calm but he merely shook his head, subtle and soft. Knowing. 

“S’not the place,” he whispered, still bent over his own notes. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, sweetheart.”

Then class ended and it was fine until it wasn’t. 

The same Slytherin student was lagging behind you as you all made your way back to the castle, morning dew dampening your ankles as you all took a shortcut over the grass. Sirius was singing a song you didn’t know under his breath, James was still trying to stuff his book into his bag and the girl behind you was too fucking loud. You heard the way she gasped and cried out, all horrible dramatics as her and her friend spoke about the recent class subject. 

“I mean, really,” she intoned, walking closer and closer. “It’s not like they can live normal lives, can they? They’re practically monsters, I don’t see why they’re allowed to walk around freely like they have the same rights as—”

You spun, wand drawn, clenched tightly in a white knuckled fist that you barely managed to keep lowered by your side. 

“Well, that actually took longer than I thought,” Sirius mused quietly, stopping beside you with one arm across your chest, holding you back from making any other unwise decisions. “Settle yourself, darling.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you ignored the boy and spoke to the girl, brows stitched together as you tried to work out if you were going to cry or yell. Maybe both, perhaps at the same time - your chest was burning, a sickly kind of anger lingering in your stomach, rolling over and over until it simmered into a rage. The girl hadn’t said Remus’ name, but she might as well have. “You sound so— so ignorant! Have you ever met someone who has to go through something like that? Don’t you understand they’re just like us?”

The girl, Tabitha, maybe, you still weren’t really sure, blanched, staring at you as if you’d dropped from the sky. “What on Earth do you mean?” She laughed and it was a nasty sound, scathing and condescending. “Like us? Are you joking? They’re wild animals, they should be hunted down as such.”

James snatched your wand before you could lift it, red and orange sparks flying into the grass instead of the air and you scowled at him. He grimaced, hardly apologetic but Sirius soon stood between you both, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“Let’s go,” he told you, a gentle command, his hands on your shoulders. “She’s not worth it. Moony’s waiting, c’mon.”

That should’ve been it. The idea of Remus waiting for the three of you at the library should’ve been enough to make your legs work again and pull you away. But the girl was still laughing, an ugly noise, one that made your jaw tick. Sirius tugged at you, hands dropping to curl around an elbow and you took a step, just one. 

“Honestly, if I ever found out I’d shared the same air as one of those creatures, I’d have daddy on the phone to Dumbledore. One curse to the head is all it should ta—”

You ripped yourself from Sirius’ arms quicker than he could grab you, ready to throw your first into the girl’s face - her nose, if you could get your aim right. You watched as she paled, her footsteps fumbling as she backed away faster than you could catch up, all whilst your friends yelled your name from behind you.   

And then, an arm, needling around your waist to haul you up and backwards against a very solid chest. You squirmed, face scrunched in anger, cheeks aflame. 

“Hey, at ease solider, c’mon now.”

Remus. 

You deflated, breathe leaving you in a sigh, knowing that there wasn’t much point in trying to wrestle your way out of his grip. Your feet were dangling a good eight inches off the ground and Remus dropped his mouth to your ear, his voice soft. 

“Leave it, yeah?” 

You nodded, barely perceptible but Remus saw. You saw Sirius take a step towards the girl, eyes narrowed. He looked roguish and dangerous as always, and when he stepped forward once more, this time uttering a soft “boo,” the two girls took off without another word. 

Your wand was given back to you once they were deemed out of sight, your feet firmly back on the ground but Remus kept hand at your lower back, fingers lingering in your sweater, a reminder that he was close. 

“What was your plan, huh?” James’ asked, still wide eyed and surprised that you’d reacted in such a way. “Knock her out with just your fists?”

You rolled your eyes and started back to the castle, embarrassed at being seen having such a response to what was no more than some uneducated - albeit cruel - words. “Yeah, and what about it?” You sounded sullen, a little moody. “I can throw a punch as well as I can cast a hex, Potter.”

Sirius puffed out his chest, smirking. “I taught her.”

James scoffed, muttering something that sounded like, “was that really necessary?”

“What? D’you think she’ll always have her wand on her? What if she doesn’t, what then—”

Remus’ hand, warm and large, caught your own, keeping you from following the other boys and their conversation. He was frowning a little, brows knitted despite the way he was pressing his lips together, as if to hide a smile. He ducked his chin to meet your gaze, too tall otherwise, fingers twisting between your own. 

“What was that all about?” He murmured and his voice was low, pretty and raspy. “Huh?”

You sniffed, emotions catching up to you as the adrenaline faded and you toed at the grass, Mary Janes digging into the wet weeds. You tried to look away, somewhat embarrassed but Remus caught your chin with nimble fingers, scarred and calloused and entirely too lovely. His thumb tapped the space just below your mouth and he waited, quiet and patient. 

You shrugged. “That girl.” You nodded to the Slytherins retreating figure, glaring when she stared back at you from the safety of the castle steps. “Tabitha? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She was talking about—” you almost said ‘you,’ but that wasn’t true. She hadn’t spoken about Remus at all. How could she? She didn’t know. 

Remus waited, brows raised, his hand still on your jaw to keep your gaze on him. His touch was soft, more gentle than it needed to be and it made any explanation you wanted to give him a little harder to piece together. 

“Professor Marigold spoke about lunar cycles today,” you swallowed and Remus nodded. He knew this, of course he did. It’s why he spent that hour in his dorm, pretending to be sick. “That girl. Whatever her name is, she started going on about how, how werewolves shouldn’t be allowed to have the same rights as Witches and Wizards, how they should all be—” 

You stared at the boy, lips pressed together, deciding you didn’t want to explain anymore. The bitter feeling in your stomach was still bubbling, acidic and awful, but Remus dropped his hand from your chin to your waist, pulling you into him and it settled, if only slightly. 

He was too tall, his half hug had you face first into his chest, his school sweater smelling like laundry detergent and a little smoke, something sage and citrus that was seemingly just Remus. You clung to him, hands fisting in the familiar grey wool, your lip wobbling against the fabric because it was all suddenly a little too much. Remus rested his chin atop your head, his nose pushed into your hair when he felt your shoulders shake. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon,” Remus whispered, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter, hand travelling upupup until he could pull you closer still by your shoulders. “S’fine, really. I’m used to hearing shit like that.”

His reasoning only made your chest feel tighter and your breath shuddered. “That’s worse, Remus!” You intoned, speaking into his chest. “She was saying vile things, absolutely awful stuff and it’s just not—”

“Fair?” The boy mused, his lips brushing over your hairline. You wondered if Sirius and James had stopped to wait for you both, you wondered if they could see, if they were watching. You found you didn’t care. “The world isn’t fair, love, m’sorry to break it to you. But I’ll survive, no matter what Tabitha Rosethorne says.”

You leaned back, just enough to rest your chin on the boy’s chest, pouting as you gazed up at him, glassy eyed. Remus prodded at your cheek, brushing away one lone tear that had managed to escape out of anger. “She’s a dick,” you mumbled woefully. 

Remus snorted, nodding. He wasn’t used to you using such language, only giving him and the others in trouble for it. “She is a dick, you’re right,” he agreed. “But she’s not worth getting detention for. Were you really going to punch her?”

“I was going to try,” you enthused, flushing at the idea of starting an actual fight, completely wandless. “Sirius told me to keep my thumb on the outside of my fist.”

“Of course he did,” Remus mused, sounding unimpressed. “You shouldn’t be starting fights, you know, you’re too lovely for that. Especially on my behalf.”

Normally you would’ve preened at Remus’ sweet words, his soft compliments, but you were scowling, a full pout on your lips as you shook your head. Remus looked amused, knowing that expression all too well. 

Stubborn. 

“I’ll start fights, only for you,” you corrected him, not leaving much room for argument. “And Sirius will back me up. And more than likely, James too. Once he stops arguing.”

The boy laughed, a bright, sharp sound that had your frown fading quickly. You grinned up at him, smile growing wider when he squeezed at your shoulder and let his nose nudge against your warm cheek. 

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured. Remus kept you tucked under his arm as he lead you back up the grassy knoll, towards James and Sirius who were pretending they hadn’t been watching you both the entire time. “C’mon, hotshot, the library awaits.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin drabble #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #marauder's era #marauders x you

[munson-blurbs]

HEY HEY HEY

How about Wayne at Eddie’s funeral and reader shows up because she was a classmate and secretly loved him

Oh, you wanted sad? I'll give you sad. Enjoy your cry!

Warnings: S4 is canon, told in third person, mentions of death/funeral

WC: 1.3k

--

Wayne didn't realize who she was at first, when she walked in to the garden in her black dress and makeup already slightly smudged from tears shed on the way to Eddie's funeral. It wasn't until he overheard one of Eddie's friends--one of the younger boys; a curly-haired kid named Dustin--whisper to another one, "Told ya she'd show up."

And then Wayne knew.

He watched as she made her way over to him, hand trembling as she reached out to him. "Mr. Munson?" she croaked, voice breaking.

"'S me," he replies, fumbling with the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"I'm, um, I'm a friend of Eddie's?" She says this like a question, like she's unsure. "We had world history together this year, and he sat next to me."

Her crystal blue eyes are glassy, and Wayne has to stop himself from wiping the tears from her cheeks. "He was...he was such a kind person," she starts, casting her gaze down at the grass. "He probably never told you this, but one time, right before class started, Jason Carver stuck gum to the back of my shirt, and Eddie..."

"It is you," Wayne muses. "You're the one Eddie gave his shirt to."

She nods. "Literally took it right off in the middle of the classroom and handed it to me so I could change in the bathroom. He walked around the rest of the day with nothing under his jean jacket." She gives a small smile at the memory.

"He was a really special boy," Wayne agrees. "Wish everyone else could see that."

"I have the shirt," she blurts out, almost involuntarily. "He told me to keep it when I tried to return it, but I figured you'd might w-want it back." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn Metallica t-shirt, hems frayed.

Wayne wants to take it, bury his face in it and inhale any remaining trace of his nephew, but he refrains. "If Eddie wanted you to keep it, then you should," he says finally. "I have plenty of his shirts back home." Though it doesn't feel like a home anymore, not without Eddie there playing his axe too loudly or headbanging along with the radio or giving his uncle a play-by-play of his latest D&D campaign with his mouth full of pizza.

"Thank you," her voice is barely above a whisper, and she can't hold back from enveloping the man in a hug. He was never one for physical touch, usually opting for a nod of the head rather than a handshake, but he allows himself to fall into her embrace, placing a calloused hand on her back before hugging her tighter.

He pulls back and clears his throat. "There's...there's something that I oughta show you," he admits. "'F you wouldn't mind coming back to the trailer after the service."

She nods in agreement, squeezing his hand before taking her seat amongst the smattering of other mourners. There aren't a lot; Eddie was an outcast at best and a (falsely accused) murderer at worst, but there were more people than Wayne had anticipated. He felt a pang of warmth in his chest each time someone showed up.

People loved you, Eddie, he thinks. You were so goddamn loved.

She finds Wayne as soon as the service concludes, and he motions to his truck. The ride to the trailer is silent but not uncomfortable; just the two of you silently remembering the boy who died a hero.

Wayne leads her straight to Eddie's bedroom. He grabs a cardboard box out of a dresser drawer, clothes haphazardly strewn around it. It's filled with notebooks and looseleaf papers covered in pencil markings, doodles of dragons and elves along the margins.

"Where is it..." he mutters as he rifles through the box. His tongue pokes out of his mouth slightly, just like Eddie's did. When he spots the paper, he snatches it with a victorious grin.

"He wrote this for you," Wayne tells her, tears threatening to spill over his lash line as he thinks back on the memory.

"It's finished, and it's perfect!" Eddie exclaims, flinging open the door to his room. He slams the paper on the snack table in front of his uncle, smiling so wide his cheeks start to ache.

Wayne looks over the lyrics and feels a grin tug at his lips, too. "This for that girl in your history class? The one you keep chewin' my ear off about?"

Eddie nods. "That's the one!" He paces around the room, chewing on a fingernail. "Now I just need to ask her to come to a gig so I can play it for her." He looks at Wayne nervously. "What do I say?"

"He was gonna invite you to a Corroded Coffin show after spring break," Wayne tells the girl now. "I'm sorry that he never got the chance."

Her eyes flit over the lyrics, soaking in Eddie's scratchy handwriting:

Blue eyes cryin' And I'll keep tryin' To stop them from cryin' again

She couldn't be sweeter And I would treat her Like the diamond in the rough that she is

I'd give her my heart if it meant that she'd smile And I'd do it again to hold her for awhile There'd be nothin' more divine Than knowing she is mine

So I'm done with pretendin' Want my happy endin' I'm tearing off my disguise

You and me 'gainst the world Let me call you my girl Just show me those pretty blue eyes

She's stunned into silence. "This was for me?" she asks unbelievingly. "He felt this way about me?"

"Oh, yes," Wayne offers a small chuckle. "He was head over heels for ya, darlin'."

"This is going to sound so stupid, because we weren't even dating or anything," she mumbles, forcing herself to look at Wayne, "but I loved him. I swear to you, I loved Eddie so much."

Wayne swallows the lump in his throat, lips quivering. "He loved you, too. Every day he came home, telling me somethin' about you. How you let him borrow your notes, or if you so much as laughed at a joke he told. There was one time where you pulled a little piece of dust from his hair, and the boy talked about it like you were the second coming of Christ."

"Well, I couldn't let him walk around all day with lint in those curls!" She relaxes slightly when she sees Wayne smile.

"And, well, pardon me if this is too forward," he says, "but your eyes; he wouldn't shut up about them! At one point I forgot your name for a bit because I just used to tease him and ask, 'how was Blue Eyes today?'."

She chews on her lower lip before speaking. "I never knew he liked them. Never knew he liked me." She looks up at Wayne. "What might've been, huh?"

Wayne just nods; there's nothing to be said. "You, uh, you keep that song. Keep it with the shirt," he instructs her. "And you read it anytime you start to forget how much he cared about you."

"I'll do that," she promises him, starting for the door. "Thank you."

"And if you see me around town, don't be a stranger. He might not be here anymore, but he'll always be in here," Wayne points to his heart, and she feels herself instinctively doing the same. "When keeping him in there gets to be too much, you come find me."

"Of course." She pulls him in for another hug, this one lasting even longer than the first.

Wayne watches forlornly as she closes the door behind her. He waits until she's far enough away before he speaks again.

"Hang in there, Blue Eyes."

--

#eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: love letter

A sheet of paper, folded into thirds, dotted in places with what must be water and grass stains. The handwriting is legible in some places, and shaky in others. In the margins are small doodles of birds, clouds, trees, and other miscellaneous, abstract shapes, as if the writer’s mind kept wandering. 

TO: Nico di Angelo 

FROM: Jason Grace 

Hey, Nico. If you’re reading this, something probably happened to me. Maybe I hit my head again and lost my memories, or something, and you went through my stuff to try and find things to remind me of who I was. Maybe this fell out while we were hanging out, one day, and you saw it was addressed to you and you picked it up. Maybe I died—

However you found this, I guess, surprise! :) 

First thing’s first: I’m sorry for leaving. I know I begged you to stay, and then turned around and left, and I really hope you understand - I didn’t leave because of you. I needed to find Leo, and leaving with Piper was the easiest way to do that. I had to try and get him back. 

I wanted you to come with, but you were still healing and things were going really well with you and Will. I hope things still are, in fact. Wherever I am, I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come, and how much I’m sure you continued to grow even after I left. 

I really love you, man. I never got to tell you that, but you’re one of my best, closest friends. You mean so much to me. You showed me a side of the world that I never would’ve seen otherwise, and gave me a space to be myself, and I will never, ever know how I deserved that. How I deserve you. 

Is that out of left field? Haha it definitely is. Sorry. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nico. I didn’t want to leave. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I had to go and I’m sorry it had to be me, but it couldn’t be her, Nico, it can’t be her, it can’t be. It has to be me. 

It has to be. 

Here, some of the words are smeared from the water marks. Lines cross through some words that have then been re-written, as if in after-thought the author realized they were too important to delete. 

If you really are reading this, after the worst case scenario, I understand if you’re angry. I understand if you never want to think about me again, after what I’ve done. I’ll understand if you storm to your father’s palace and demand I be placed in the worst of the worst punishments for being so stupid. 

Gods. Gods, Nico, I’m never going to get to tell you how I really feel. About all of this, about everything I’m going through, I’m never going to be able to tell you and that hurts. It hurts more than knowing I’m going to die, it hurts more than getting stabbed and poisoned. I’m going to die loving you and you won’t even know until it’s too late. 

Maybe this is a stupid bad idea. Maybe I should let it die with me. Is it cruel, to tell you how I feel if I’m gone? Does this make me an awful person? 

Shit. I think I’m an awful person, Nico. I’m awful and I’m selfish and I can never choose things for myself, it always has to be for the greater good, so this is it. This is as selfish as I can be. This is all I can be for you. 

I want to see you on the other side. I want you to punch me for getting myself killed and hate me for being a hero and I want you to know that I didn’t want this but it needed to be me. It has to be me. 

I’m still wrapping my head around it, but it has to be me, okay? So if I’m really gone when you’re reading this, okay, you have to let me stay gone. Please. If you get hurt, if you die, and it’s my fault, I could never— 

Here, the letter abruptly stops. Then, it continues: 

That’s all I wanted to say, anyway. That I love you. I love you in any way I can, and even if I’ve done it silently, and stupidly, from a distance, just know that it was there, the whole time. It’s still there, wherever I am. Dead, or lost, or whatever. I love you, Nico. I’m sorry.

-- Jason Grace :)

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #love letter #tw major character death ment #tw suicidal ideation #i haven't read TOA so I don't really know what Went Down with this shit but I think Jason did journal-type letters to people #he wrote down whatever it was he wished he could say to them before he died #I think there's one to Piper about how much he loves her and wishes things could've been different for them #I think there's one to Leo where Jason pours his guts out about how much he hates him and needs him and wishes he hadn't died #(the irony of that is lost on him) #he writes one to Reyna about how he wishes they had more time to be friends again #He writes one to Hazel begging her to keep an eye on Nico. pleasing for her forgiveness because he knows she'll be so angry #one to Percy and Annabeth in a similar vein. #i thik Jason just had a lot of feelings that he never let himself feel until he decided to die for everyone #and in that moment his dams broke and he realized that he was never going to have the chance to be himself #not really #he was destined for this. he was destined to be the son of jupiter champion of hera sacrifice of olympus. #who knew the boy raised by wolves was really a lamb for the slaughter #ANYWAY. :) #pjo #jason grace #hoo #nico di angelo #jasico

[cuubism]

please please please more silly rabbit au? (eyes)

i... literally had to go write more because there was none XD

more... utter nonsense designed specifically to satisfy @magnusbae 😂

--

The Middle Ages had been getting… weird, lately.

Not the Middle Ages, the historical time period, though that was always reliably weirder than expected, in Daisy’s experience. No, what was truly weird nowadays, and getting weirder by the minute, was The Middle Ages, history and literature class taught by Professor Robert Gadling.

Daisy had heard a lot about Professor Gadling before enrolling in his class. She’d heard he took a common man’s approach to history, focusing at least as much, if not more, on the experiences of average people than on the movements of kings. She’d heard he’d read everything under the sun and was far better than Google if you needed a source for your paper. She’d heard he had a playful lecture style that the burned-out older students, in particular, appreciated.

She had not heard about the boyfriend.

This was, admittedly, a new development, at least according to the gossip mill. Which was feverish, as Prof. Gadling was both well-liked and mysterious, a deadly combo.

But now there was the boyfriend, and what a boyfriend.

If Daisy had been asked to picture what any boyfriend of Professor Gadling might be like, she would definitely not have pictured this pretty goth thing, this being with a preternatural elegance to him. Where did this guy even come from? He even managed to look elegant dressed down and comfy in jeans and a sweatshirt as he was.

The rumors said that he was way younger than the professor, but Daisy didn’t think so. There was something… unaccountably ancient about him, no matter how young he looked on the surface. An old soul, she supposed.

One who just happened to win the genetic lottery and age – or rather not age – like a god.

Morpheus, which was apparently what his name was – and that was a whole other trip – was reclining in one of the seats near the front of the lecture hall. Reclining, quite literally, as he had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, notebook balanced on his thighs.

And he was writing with a quill. A fucking quill.

Daisy would have thought he’d just be listening, not being a real student and all (she assumed and also hoped), but he seemed to be taking proper notes, unreadable, swooping cursive notes though they were.

He was also doodling birds in the margins of the page.

Daisy should really stop staring. She forced her gaze back to the front of the room.

Professor Gadling was in the midst of explaining the historical background of the text they were reading, The Book of Margery Kempe. It was a fascinating book, actually. If only Daisy didn’t keep getting distracted by whatever strange competitive game it seemed to be inspiring in her weird professor and his weird boyfriend.

The first time Morpheus had interrupted the lecture with a comment, Prof. Gadling had straight up ignored him, just steamrolled over him, waited until he raised his hand, and then called on him. Morpheus had not seemed embarrassed or chastised about this in the slightest, just blithely asked, “Professor, are we certain that Margery’s visitation from Jesus was a psychotic break, or could it have possibly been a dream?”

Professor Gadling had sighed, hands on his hips. “I think you’re going to have to answer that one for yourself, Morpheus. Also, we haven’t even gotten to that part of the text!”

“I read ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure that you did.”

This sort of thing had continued apace for the rest of the lecture.

Then there had been the eye-fucking. Dear God, the eye-fucking. Every time Morpheus made a snarky comment. Daisy wondered if they knew how obvious they were being.

Daisy had to give the prof credit, though. Despite all the antics he never skipped a beat in his lecture. Didn’t miss a goddamn bullet point.

Daisy really hadn’t thought university would be like this, though.

Now it seemed they were again having an argument over the book.

“It’s said that Margery’s tale is the only surviving firsthand account of an ordinary person’s life in the late thirteen-hundreds,” Prof. Gadling was saying, when Morpheus interrupted, very much in a drawl—

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Prof. Gadling raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Morpheus smiled, very snake-like. “Quite.”

“Care to share with the class, Morpheus?”

Morpheus leaned further back in his chair, arms crossed. “I think you know whereof I speak.”

“Oh, I see.” Prof. Gadling’s smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. “You’re talking about that one lost manuscript. Very much lost and not accessible.”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

“That’s how I wish to interpret it, you git. Stop interrupting the class.”

“I’m simply engaging with the material,” Morpheus protested, pouting. “I believed this was a modern classroom.”

“You can engage with the material later,” Prof. Gadling said, with a significant look, which brought a smirk back to Morpheus’s face.

Oh God, back to the eye-fucking. Daisy did not need this. Right in front of her lecture notes and everything.

“Right,” said Prof. Gadling, forcibly dragging himself back to the classroom and the present. He pointed at Morpheus. “You, quiet. Does anyone else have questions or comments?”

Based on that one class, Daisy might have assumed they had a sort of contentious and snarky relationship. But at the end of the lecture, she caught something different.

She’d lingered behind to ask Professor Gadling a question about the assignment – though she was starting to think that question was better left for office hours later.

As the students were filing out, Morpheus climbed down from his lounging position in his seat, picking his way down the steps until he was standing by Prof. Gadling at the board. Daisy hadn’t noticed before that his notebook had ravens on the cover; why was that so cute?

Prof. Gadling ran a hand through Morpheus’s hair, then let it fall to rest on the side of his neck, softer than Daisy would have expected after their snappy conversation from earlier. “Going to have to ban you from sitting in on lectures, love.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You would dare?”

“I would dare.” There was something soft about the way he said it, though. Like he was daring to steal a kiss rather than kicking him out of the lecture hall.

Morpheus tipped his head back, looking at Professor Gadling from under his eyelashes. “What if I promise to behave myself?”

Prof. Gadling played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” murmured Morpheus, his free hand finding Prof. Gadling’s jacket. “Though it has occurred to me that your students are missing out on some unique historical knowledge.”

Prof. Gadling sighed. “Can’t do much about that. Such is life.”

“Full of frustration?”

“Full of give and take,” Professor Gadling corrected. “Most blessings require a sacrifice of some kind, too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Morpheus. “And which am I?”

Professor Gadling smiled, fond. “Which do you think?”

Morpheus gave him a look that was sly, mischievous. “Nightmare.”

“Oh, too right.”

Prof. Gadling pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head into it with a hand on his jaw, and Morpheus dropped his notebook to bring his hands up to Prof. Gadling’s shoulders.

Daisy realized she was staring again, and slunk out of the classroom before she could be caught.

Yeah. She’d definitely just be waiting until office hours.

#this random student oc is having quite a day #the utter nonsense and silliness that is this au god #ask #anonymous #silly rabbit au #my writing #i think the thesis of this au is actually just Let Dream Have Fun 2kForever altho the version of 'fun' going on here is... interesting #long post

[ethankyou]

Last year I had a chance to play Mörk Borg, which is the bleakest fantasy RPG I've ever played and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

So how'd it go?

Mörk Borg was probably one of the easiest games to learn. I made the joke at the table, if you've ever played D&D you are overqualified to play MB. It uses the D&D OGL, loosely, and is technically compatible with it, but this is not that kind of game. That's just all so you can roll your little d20.

The rules are free in the "bare bones" edition but trust me, you'll want to own the full art edition, get a physical copy and put it on your shelf. It is a gorgeous book and has a style that a lot of games lack. If I could distill about 10% of the style into my own games I would be extremely satisfied with my work.

Seriously like. Go to their website. Experience this. Do it now (or don't, I'm not your mom. But you should though).

This game feels in line with the perceived brutality of first edition d&d and its ilk. You may name your character if you like but don't get attached. You can have as little as 1 hit point and nothing pulls its punches here. Deaths are common, and expected and add to the feel of the world. You're not trying to save the world, not really. You're on the precipice of doom and you're just scavengers picking over the bones of the preeminent corpse of the world.

But you can also generate a new character very quickly with SCVMBIRTHER. Don't like your new one? Kill them and make a new one. As many as you like. It's a riot just generating these wretches and seeing what could be in store for you.

But while it is fun and also sometimes necessary to generate characters quickly like this, doing so misses out on one of my favorite parts of any RPG. The Character Sheet!

To me a good character sheet is like a window into the soul of the game.

The game has this whole, doodled in the margins of your math homework, zine you found in a dirty puddle, graphited in a bathroom stall at a crust punk show ass aesthetic and the whole book is just like this. And I am eating this shit up! Here's the alternate character sheet provided:

This soul appears to be a little scrunkled, can I get a new one?

Now I haven't talked about how the game plays yet or anything but just drink this in for a minute. If looking at this character sheet does not make you want to try this game then I don't know what else would!

I mean I guess knowing how the game plays would but like... Okay.

The game itself uses d20 rules, but much lighter. You have small stats, and add them to a d20 roll. No skills no proficiency bonus. You'll eat your 1's and you'll like it. The target numbers are usually pretty low, floating around 10-ish, unless you're dealing with something nasty.

You may have powers, but they seem to be pretty limited in their availability and uses. The game itself plays like D&D-lite, in that you are probably doing a dungeon crawl, or other dirty work you do as an adventurer. But you are not an adventurer, you are lowly scum just trying to make a quick buck. There's no heroics going on here. If your d&d group already plays like a bunch of murder hobos then you're basically already playing mork borg in spirit but just cosplaying as a bunch of heroes. This is the game you should be playing if you want to be a cutthroat little bastard.

The game uses Omens, a limited resource that you can use to improve what you're doing; deal max damage, lower damage taken, reroll a die (or someone else's) that kind of thing. You only get them back after a rest though so if you blow through them quickly you're at the mercy of fate (and fate is not merciful here).

Our group played Rotblack Sludge which is the introductory game from the main book. We did it in a single session pretty easily, even between doing food and a fair bit of goofing off. I imagine your group could do it in 1 as well, but 2 sessions tops for sure. There are a bunch of free adventures available on their website too if you wanted to get a little deeper! That link is to their "content" part of their site which is just an endless slew of free stuff. They really just want you to play their game. And quality enough that they know enough folks will buy it.

My main criticism of the game is that I'm not sure how this plays out in the long term. I think that narratively and thematically, the game is crushing it. But mechanically, the game is light. This is by design but I can see this turning away people looking for a long term replacement for d&d. I mean some committed groups will enjoy this forever regardless, but I feel like this has the legs for a few decent adventures before you'd wrap up and move on.

But a big part of long term games is character advancement. My understanding was that the levelling system in the game is pretty light to non-existent. It didn't come up in a one shot for obvious reasons. I'll admit I only own the free rules at this time, I'm still waiting for my copy of the actual book itself. So I had to go to my friend who ran the game to understand how the leveling system works. There's no experience points, so the group levels together. You check to see if you gain some hit points, you check to see if your stats increase, and you get a random piece of gear.

And when I say check I mean you roll some dice and compare to current. For hit points you roll 6d10. If the result is higher than your current max HP then you gain 1d6 max HP. Roll under and you lose 1 max HP. This choice frustrates me. I actually like that there's a chance to lose HP, but is this really the best way we could do this?

Okay that's not fair that's a knee jerk response. Let's talk about why it might work this way. This is a bleak world so it doesn't make sense for your characters to be able to heroically weather any storm. They're just people who got lucky and survived. So we want the ceiling for how many hit points a character can have to be on the low side. The system does do that, but it takes a weird path to get there, which feels out of place considering this is otherwise a very light game. I'm gonna talk about dice math for a bit so feel free to skip ahead to the next orange part if you feel sleepy.

The average of 6d10 is 33 (5.5x6), which means that characters who managed to level up multiple times are at much higher risk of losing a hit point. Average result of +1d6HP means about 3 hit points a level on average (accounting for the fact that you still could lose some along the way instead of gaining them). Assuming you start with 5 hit points (you might have 1-10 depending on your class), you're looking at 9 level ups before the odds are against you to gain HP. You might think damn. That's a long time. And assuming a character even lives to see level 10. And I agree.

So why does it need to be so convoluted along the way?

To replicate this system without the cumbersome dice roll comparisons you could have players roll 1d8-2: there's always a chance you'll get -1 HP, even 0 HP. After a character has 20+ HP it could change to 1d8-3, then 1d8-4 at 30 and so on. If you don't like the idea of players losing multiple HP then just have it be that any resulting negative is only -1 hp. But this way you're making 1 roll and decreasing the gain over time, while still gaining. You could also just roll a flat die every level, but I think in Mork Borg it is very thematic to have something like leveling up, which is normally comforting, be cause for fear.

Anyway this is easy enough to home brew out and it seems like a lot of folks do that. But I'm judging the game based on how it is not how I could change it.

The hit point math is done... FOR NOW.

The way stats level up is simpler. Roll a d6 for each stat. If the die is equal to or higher, gain +1 in that stat (max 6). If it's less, subtract 1 (max -3), a 1 is always a -1. I like the idea that your stats could fluctuate and that high stats are not safe bets. A few levels and weird rolls later and your worst stat could end up being your best. I think this part could be controversial but I like it and I like how they do it!

But there's not really much more to advancement than that. This is fine if you're just playing a short game. But you hear stories about people running campaigns for years on end and I guess... I just don't see that happening with Mork Borg. I might say it's not that kind of game but it actually kinda is though? They have rules for long term games.

The Calender of Nerthrubel fortells the end of the world. When 7 miseries have been accumulated, the world ends. At the start of the game you choose a die to roll for Miseries; as little as 1d2, as high as 1d100. The game master rolls the die and on a 1, the world gains a misery. So the size of the die does determine the upper limit of the game, but it is possible for the game to be over in as little as 7 in-game days regardless of the die type chosen. This is a very interesting mechanic! In fact I think it's one of the most interesting parts of the game! Most games struggle with a sense of urgency. Short of "you have 48 hours to save this prince" or "if you don't return with 25 wolf noses tomorrow you don't get paid", it can be hard to wrastle the players together to try and save the world in a timely manner. Meanwhile in Mork Borg your days are literally numbered. I can't imagine the tension that would come from being on your 6th misery knowing that every single day could be the last. That is truly bleak.

The role-playing opportunities in this setting for someone trying to grasp at the last ray of hope in the darkness, to fight against fate, or to battle the darkness within is truly incredible. The Dark Souls series has already probably come to mind by now for you and it's hard not to see that as an influence or at least a spiritual contender. There is something to be said about overcoming the odds and surviving in a bleak world. The Dark Souls franchise and periphery games have thrived on that for years. But when you die in that game, you come back you just lost some progress.

You don't come back when you die in Mork Borg, you just die.

So with no significant character advancement in the game, how do you meaningfully advance a character in a game like this? The game literally urges you not to get attached to your character. It's a bit tongue in cheek about it but it's not wrong.

At our table I was the only one who survived start to finish with the same character. And that wasn't from skill on my part i got a lot of dumb luck! We had 6 players and I think we had about 10 deaths? One player was on their like 4th wretch by the end of it! This seems excessive and I don't know if this is a standard experience, but we understood that's kind how it would go beforehand so our expectations were pretty set.

While I am sort of criticising this aspect, there is something pretty thrilling about going into a game without being too committed to your character. It makes those moments where you do realize them as a character in the narrative all the more meaningful, and more tragic when they die a terrible meaningless death. Nothing is precious in Mork Borg not even your life. So make the best of what you've got while you still have it.

Mork Borg is definitely not a perfect game.

But I cannot stop thinking about it and would drop any game to play it again, or even run it.

(and that's not even to speak of all the Borg spin offs like Pirate Borg, Orc Borg or CY_BORG!!!).

If you already play D&D or Pathfinder, Mork Borg is definitely worth your time to try, because you already know how to play it. It might not be for you, but if you go with the free rules and play a free adventure the only thing you're out is your time.

If you play other RPGs and enjoy dungeon crawls or hack and slash game play, this is still a great choice and will be easy to pick up and try.

If you're new to RPGs, Mork Borg is maybe a pretty weird one to start with, but is a really polished experience to try and a really easy game to cut your teeth on, so still not bad!

If you're more interested in character role playing, then Mork Borg might not be what you're looking for, but there are so many interesting narratives that can be explored here that I think would be really interesting and hard to replicate in other games!

If you're a power fantasy gamer, then I think Mork Borg might be a skip for you. Unless your power fantasy is to be a lobotomized mouse in Alley Cat Alley. No judgment, you do you.

If you took one look at the characters sheets up top and said "oh hell yeah I'm gonna play that!" and didn't read the rest of this lengthy text then we are already best friends but alas you'll never know it because you didn't read to the end... Oh well.

Now excuse me, I'm gonna dream about being ripped apart by a skeletal ooze and dying a painful death tonight (affectionate)!

#ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg talk #indie rpg #mork borg #d&d #dungeons and dragons #rpg talk

[not-krys]

[Repost] Do Not Disturb - Miri

Part of this set of WIP Wednesdays

Been wanting to do something like this scene for a while. Did a sketch of it a while ago, but now I'm putting it in writing form!

Raw, unedited writing. Takes inspo from Lesson 30-1 of the OG game. Miri showing signs of illness is meant for foreshadowing for later lessons (her powers are starting to get a little too much for her to handle and this is about where it starts happening)

-----

"And that was how the Great Celestial War ended-!"

The library had grown suspiciously quiet. No quiet scratching of pens or page flipping. No whispered questions from Luke to Simeon, or even of Miri's foot that had been swinging and sliding on the rug previously. Satan lowered his textbook in his hand, only to be greeted by twin soft snores and Simeon's apologetic grin.

Satan sighed.

"Really?"

"It was a lot to take in for the two of them."

"It's all on the exam! How do they expect to-" Satan sighed again, giving up.

"They tried their best to keep up and that's the most important part." Simeon pointed to the pages of notes the other two had kept while listening to Satan's lecture. Luke's was relatively neat and organized, as was expected of the younger angel. And while her handwriting wasn't exactly neat, Satan smiled at spying some little doodles alongside Miri's notes, like a bunch of trees in the section about the Devildom's beginnings, and a three-legged crow in the margins. Simeon chuckled, catching Satan's attention.

"What? Did you think of something funny?"

"Hmm… how do I explain it?" Simeon looked skyward. "As I was listening to your lecture, I couldn't help thinking…"

"About what?"

"Our history is so violent and bloody. Yet now we're able to gather in peace and study it together like this… it really is amazing."

Simeon then looked fondly at Miri and Luke, both with their heads in the arms on the table, happily in their private dream lands.

"Did you ever imagine we would get to this point?"

Satan shook his head with a smile.

"Hmm… can't say I did, no."

He watched Miri more closely, seeing her breathe in and out gently. Her pink curls cascaded over her shoulders and on the table, reminding him of cotton candy. Satan also couldn't help but notice she was paler than usual, almost to a sickly quality. It was the first he'd seen of it. Had the stress of the exams been getting to her and he never noticed?

He did, however, notice that there was something in Miri's hair that wasn't there before and frowned.

"Hey," he said pointedly at Simeon, "what are you doing?" 

"What do you mean," Simeon said innocently, "I was just stroking her hair."

"Don't get so touchy-feely with her."

"Why?"

"Just.. don't, okay?"

"Why? Are you jealous?" Simeon smiled.

"It's nothing like that, but don't touch her."

"Ah, you're just being her protective big brother, then?"

"You're still touching her."

"Her hair is quite soft," Simeon teased, "You should try it once you get the chance."

Satan glared, wanting to pull the angel's hand off of Miri, but didn't want to disturb her rest.

"She… hasn't been feeling well lately, has she?" Simeon asked as Satan's eyes widened.

"How did you-?"

"She feels warm, more than normal." Simeon took off one of his gloves and touched two fingers against her forehead, then her cheek, then her throat.

"Is she sick?"

"Not exactly, at least not yet."

"Maybe the stress of the exams are getting to her? Like you said, it's a lot to take on if it's all new to you."

"Possibly."

Satan then remember when they had all went to the Carnival before the exams started. When Beel had been throwing his food temper tantrum and he, Lucifer, and the others had been drawn into the fight. Miri had looked upset (naturally, they were all being idiots at the time), the pact marks on her body started to glow, somehow escaping her notice. Next thing he knew, she was yelling at all of them to stop fighting and he landed on the ground, hard, unable to move a muscle. Painful groans from his brothers told him they suffered the same fate, five more bodies accompanying him on the floor.

He also remembered hearing a soft something hitting the floor, his eyes trailing to see Miri's new zombie iguana plush she had gotten at the carnival fallen from her grasp. Looking up further, he saw the look of horror on her face, both hands covering her mouth. The ghost waiters surrounded her, praising and applauding her happily, but she took no notice of it, only staring as the six of them laid pinned to the ground.

"Maybe… something else is affecting her?"

"Hm?"

"She's been scared to use the pacts ever since that fight at the Ghost Café. It was such a powerful force that none of us could escape from."

"I remember hearing about that. Solomon said the first time he tried commanding multiple demons at once, his body ached for a while afterwards."

"She didn't look like she was hurting after the fact." All of his brothers definitely were, he remembered that part clearly, but not Miri. "She was just really quiet, not really talking to any of us after the fact. Lucifer kept staring at her, too. It was weird."

"Hmm…" Simeon put his glove back on, lost in thought.

#wip wednesday #krys's adventures in fanfiction #obey me #obey me oc #miriam (obey me mc) #satan (obey me) #simeon (obey me)

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

Switch

hey!!! so i'm posting a day earlier than i said i would. really, i'm just impatient by nature. kwan's, uh, struggling in this one. (ao3) (masterpost)

Part 2 Chapter 6

Kwan didn’t mean to ignore Danny. It’s just that Danny seemed to want this to be about him and it wasn’t. Just like Mom since the news came out, Danny was pushing and pushing for him to talk about it. Tyson dying had nothing to do with him. He didn’t need comfort or whatever. He wasn’t avoiding Danny, he was avoiding the awkwardness of Danny trying to soothe him.

Okay, maybe he was avoiding Danny.

Kwan didn’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t sad right now, but talking about it would make him miserable. The assembly was unbearable; all that emotion and eulogy nonsense—it’s like they were trying to make him cry. He wasn’t even friends with Tyson anymore. He had no business crying over him. Putting in his headphones, he listened to a football podcast instead.

The gym doors swung closed behind him and he headed the throng of students moving toward the classrooms. Pete Prisco was theorizing that the Patriots would be back on top of their division by the end of the month; Jason LaCanfora called him an idiot. Kwan hoped LaCanfora was right; Dash was always a huge Patriots fan.

Maybe he should get his own team. The Dolphins? No, if he picks a rival of the Patriots to spite Dash that’s still making the decision about Dash. Maybe the Bengals? No, their uniforms were ugly. The Panthers? Did he want to watch a whole team just for Christian McCaffrey?

This bore thinking about. Way more thinking about than being sad.

As he was mulling on the merits of becoming a Colts fan (pros: Indianapolis is close enough that he could maybe go to some games; cons: they suck), he bumped into someone as he tried to push through the door of his Creative Writing class.

“Watch it,” he said without looking.

The person scoffed. “You bumped into me, dick.”

Normally, turning to see Sam Manson, hands on hips and glaring at him, would’ve caused his heart to stutter in anxiety. Today, though, Kwan just felt exhausted. His shoulders slumped and the straps of his backpack slipped down.

“Whatever,” he said. He fixed his eyes back on the floor and shuffled toward his desk, dropping his bag to the floor with a thunk.

Manson frowned at him. “Are you… okay?”

Jesus. Why did everyone keep asking him that? Manson didn’t even like him.

Kwan rolled his eyes and said, “If I’m ever not, I’ll make sure you’re the first I call.”

“Tell me something: do you have to try to be such a dick, or does it come naturally.”

“You already called me a dick ten seconds ago. Get some new material, Manson.” Kwan put his head in his arms. “And go to your own desk.”

The thing was: Kwan knew he was being a jerk. He knew that Manson was actually trying to be nice to him. It’s just that anyone being nice to him right now felt kind of like swallowing glass, felt like reaching into his stomach with a red hot poker and swirling it around. They should save their niceness for Tyson’s older brother, for his father and mother, even for Dash and Valerie.

Kwan wasn’t even friends with him anymore.

“You know, you already stole my best friend. You could at least act like a person to me.”

“Danny’s his own person. He makes his own choices.”

“You know what I mean.” Manson moved like she was going to sit down, then stopped and turned back. “Is he… is he doing alright?”

Kwan blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s okay.”

“Because I know he wasn’t doing so great earlier, and I’m sure our fight didn’t help, and Tucker said—I just, he’s okay, right?”

Kwan met her eyes for the first time. “He will be. And—and he’ll come to you when he’s ready. Promise.”

Manson bit her lip, nodded once, and finally, finally sat down. Kwan turned his attention to his desk, scribbling on a sheet of paper.

He was only vaguely aware when Ms. Suarez closed the door and began class. He doodled in the margins of his notebook as Ms. Suarez discussed the concept of ekphrasis and the ekphrastic poem. Normally, this was the only class he could focus on, but today, he couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his head.

He moved through the rest of his classes the same way. Like he was wading in the ocean, struggling against the waves for each step forward. He ate lunch in the library. He stared out the window in English. His notebook was covered with little pictures of the ectopus and the robot ghost even though looking at them made him kind of queasy.

—

He barely noticed when Danny split off from him after school, going to his own house instead of Kwan’s, and he walked the rest of the way home alone.

He walked in, said hello to Mom, ignoring her questions as he slipped into his room. He kept his answers monosyllabic through dinner, picked at his food, then excused himself and collapsed in bed.

The next day, he kept to himself again. Danny kept trying to talk to him, but he avoided him in the hallways. He was just tired of people being worried. He just wanted to be left alone.

He ate lunch in the library, again. Didn’t look at Danny. Didn’t wait for Danny after class, instead jogged out of the school and home before Danny could said one word to him.

“No Danny again today?” Mom said as he walked in the door.

“No.” He dropped his bag on the floor and moved toward his room, avoiding his mother’s eyes as best he could. He just had to get out of here before—

“Honey,” Mom said, “are you alright?”

Before that.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine.”

“You are not.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to tell me how I feel?” Something hot and ugly was bubbling in his chest, ready to burst out. He was so sick of this, of having to deal with everyone’s concern for no reason.

“I don’t know how you feel, but I’d wager that ‘fine’ doesn’t factor in.”

“Well, I’d feel better if people would stop bothering me and leave me alone.”

“Kwan.”

“What?”

“Do you want to have this conversation now or later?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation at all. And I don’t need it, either.”

Mom held up her hands in retreat. “Okay! Okay. I’ll table this conversation for the rest of the day, if you do just one thing for me.”

Kwan groaned, setting his bag on the floor. When Mom got an idea in her head, she was impossible to talk out of it. If it wasn’t today, sometime soon he was going to have to sit down and talk about his feelings with her because she’d decided that he had to be sad about what happened.

Well, it was sad. Just not sad for him in particular. Sad for Tyson.

Still, he’d take his one day reprieve. Maybe she’d forget in the meantime.

(She would not forget. He knew she would not forget.)

“Would you come with me to the park? I think we could both use some sun and fresh air.”

Kwan rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

The walk to the park was short, filled with Mom’s idle chatter about her day, about the patients she saw, about her frustration with one particular nurse who couldn’t seem to figure out how to put in an IV (“I know she’s new, but she’s been new for about six months now and she ought to have learned something in that time”). It was nice, not to have to react beyond a considering hmm.

Mom led him to a park bench that had been warmed in the sun all day. The air was cool, but not chilly. In the sun, it was nearly warm enough to take off his jacket. Mom stopped talking, instead taking the spot next to him and grabbing his hand.

Just sitting on the bench, Kwan could feel the gentle, low warmth of the late autumn sun hit his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, ignoring the nip of the wind at his chin and ears and focusing on the energy of the sun.

Of course, it couldn’t last.

“It’s okay to grieve, hon. Even if you weren’t friends anymore.”

“Cool,” he said, keeping his eyes closed.

“I know he wasn’t your best friend, not like Dash, but you invited him to your birthday party last year. You made him cupcakes when he made the football team. You loved him. That doesn’t go away after a month.”

“I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“I’m just worried about you. This isn’t something you should ignore.”

“There’s nothing to ignore!”

Mom buried her face in her hands. “I’m not a therapist, baby, I don’t know the right words to say. I just know you’re hurting and I want to help.”

“Why don’t you try helping me by listening to what I’m actually saying, not what you’ve decided is wrong with me?”

Whatever Mom was going to say, she was cut off as people started to scream. To the side, he saw a sickening green glow. Another one, then. He was almost grateful; at least it got him out of this conversation.

“We need to go,” Mom said, reaching into her bag. “I will call the Fentons myself, and then we’re leaving.”

The glow was getting closer. “Uh, Mom?”

Mom turned just as the ghost (some kind of green panther? Except, no, it just shapeshifted into a giant wasp. Great) crested the hill into their line of sight. “Now!” she said. She grabbed Kwan’s hand and pulled.

Kwan stood, still feeling sluggish from the day's events, and turned to follow. This was why he didn’t notice as the shapeshifting ghost flew directly at him, turning into a gorilla just as it landed on him.

“Kwan!” his mother screamed as he felt one of his ribs snap. Or maybe he was screaming. How had Danny put up with this so well? It felt like his torso was on fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her holding the stupid Fenton thermos, shaking like a leaf everywhere except her ever-steady hands. She fired it at the gorilla on his chest, but the gorilla batted it away like it was nothing.

“Another kid, too!” the ghost said. “She’ll be so happy with me for this one.” Then it lowered its fangs to Kwan’s throat.

Kwan had heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were about to die. He didn’t know if that was true for other people, but the only thing in his head as his death approached was a prayer he couldn’t speak: oh no, don’t let my mom watch me die.

And maybe he should take up religion, because the godawful, unrelenting pressure on his chest suddenly vanished.

“Kwan! Kwan, baby, are you alright? Can you speak?” And his mom was there, gently cradling his head in her lap, holding him at an angle so that he could just barely see the shape of Danny, in his ghost form, brawling with the other ghost, now in the shape of a bear.

(Of course it wasn’t a god. Of course it was Danny.)

“If you can’t speak, then could you blink for me? Once for yes, twice for no.”

“I can—” he coughed and his ribs burned “—I can talk. I’m okay.”

Mom laughed. “I don’t think any of us are okay right now, but I’m so, so happy you’re alive.”

Tears pricked at Kwan’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, voice wobbling, “I’m happy I’m alive, too.”

He passed out.

—

“Is he okay?”

Kwan bumbled back into awareness like swimming through so much molasses. He could hear the world around him, someone (Danny?) talking, but he hadn’t quite found his way back to the place where he could open his eyes or move his mouth.

“He’ll be fine.” That was Mom. She sounded so tired. He should let her know that he’s awake.

Once his mouth works again.

“I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t have to—"

“I do. You were right.” Mom sighed. Something was beeping in the background, making it harder to hear the next thing she said. “I just… I couldn’t let you put yourself in danger like that. Except I could, it turns out, to save Kwan.”

“Hey, I came out of it fine this time!”

“I know. But you won’t always.”

“… I know.”

“I don’t know what the answer is. But if you hadn’t been there, then Kwan would’ve died. I was useless. Your parents didn’t get there until the ghost was already gone. You came from halfway across town and got there just in time.”

“Maybe there’s a compromise.”

A shaky laugh. “A compromise, huh?”

“Yeah. Maybe… maybe I can just fight until we figure out something else. Just until my parents finish their exoskeleton or the government becomes aware of ghosts and can do something about it.”

“A stopgap.”

“Yeah.”

Mom sighed again. “I can’t believe I’m compromising on having a child fight deadly ghosts.”

“Sorry?”

“Not your fault. Just what it is.”

Before Kwan could breach the surface, a wave crashed down and dragged him back under.

—

“I thought getting injured was my thing,” Danny said when Kwan finally opened his eyes.

Kwan dragged his lips into a smile. “You can take it back, dude. Tried it. Didn’t like it.”

He was in a hospital room; he had fuzzy memories of waking up once before, but the specifics of the encounter eluded his sleep-addled mind. Danny and Mom were there, he was sure.

Danny chuckled. “Your mom’s getting you checked out,” he said. “The doctor was ready to let you go a while ago, but you took your sweet time waking up. Apparently, your body needed the sleep.”

Kwan flushed. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time since the mall attack. He hoped Mom didn’t put it together; she’d use it as another excuse to pester him about Tyson.

Danny’s hands were on the bed, fiddling with his hospital blanket. The silence stretched on for a long moment.

“What?”

“What?”

“You look like you want to say something.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Danny’s eyes shifted down to Kwan’s feet. “I just—are we good? You’ve been avoiding me for a couple days.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean—I just wanted to be left alone for a little bit, there. Mom keeps trying to get me to—talk about feelings, or whatever. I’m just sick of it is all.”

“Is there… something to talk about?”

“No! Fuck!” Kwan slammed his head against the back of the hospital bed, ignoring the dull twinge of his side. “Not you too.”

Danny held up his hands in surrender. “Okay! Just asking.”

Kwan sighed. “I know. I know. I’m just… really, really sick of it.”

“Okay. I won’t ask again. Promise.” Danny held out his pinky.

Kwan laughed and shook his head. “You’re still such a dork.” But he wrapped his pinky around Danny’s, and felt something warm and glowing in his chest.

—

“So,” the man in the white suit said, “your injuries came from… a wild gorilla? In Indiana?”

“Maybe it escaped from the zoo,” Kwan said, scratching at the bandages on his chest. Mom nudged his hand away. “How should I know?”

The man had introduced himself as “Agent O” and said he had some questions to ask about Kwan’s attack. Mom hadn’t wanted to let him through the door, but he’d pushed his way through anyway and when she told him to leave, he rested his hand on the gun at his hip. Mom closed her mouth with an audible click. 

Kwan had spent the last ten hours since being released from the hospital propped up on the couch, still woozy from whatever drugs they’d given him. He wasn’t sure if it was because of this haziness or not, but he couldn’t figure out why a government suit was so interested in an animal attack.

“Hm,” Agent O said. He scribbled something in his notebook. “And what color was the gorilla?”

Well, the gorilla had been green. And not always a gorilla. But he shouldn’t say that, right? 

“I was… more focused on it trying to kill me.” Yeah. That could work.

“Really? You didn’t notice the color at all? Nothing about its appearance stuck out to you?”

Who was this guy?

“That’s what he said,” Mom said before Kwan could try to put together a sentence. “Now, who did you say you worked for?”

Agent O pursed his lips and stood up. “Thank you for your… cooperation. We’ll be in touch.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Get out of my house.”

“Of course. Mrs. Huang. Mr. Huang.”

And the agent left, closing the door with a soft click.

A moment passed. Mom picked up one of the spare throw pillows lying in the room and threw it at the door, letting out a screech.

“To come in here—no warrant, no name, no agency even—to come in here while my child is injured and interrogate him, to badger him while he’s still—and to threaten me! To put your hand on your gun in my house! I just—he just—” Mom grabbed another pillow, held it to her face, and screamed.

Kwan’s brain took the opportunity to catch up with what was going on. “Did that guy… did he know it wasn’t a normal gorilla?”

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe. That whole interaction was… sketchy.” Mom ran her hand through her hair and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for freaking out like that. He just… he gave me the willies.”

Yeah. He’d given Kwan the willies too.

Mom moved to replace the pillows to their rightful spots, humming under her breath. It was nice. Peaceful, even. Until:

“We do need to talk, though.”

Oh no. That was never good. Kwan thought back to what had happened yesterday, just before the attack. He had a sneaking suspicion.

“About Tyson?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. And now he was only kind of mobile, so he couldn’t escape the conversation. He stared at the arm of the couch, picking at the fibers. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know that’s not true.”

It would be if he tried hard enough.

“Now,” Mom said, “you don’t have to talk to me, but you do have to talk to someone. I’ve arranged for you to meet with the new grief counselor at school when you go back on Monday. Either you can talk to her then, or me now. Take your pick.”

Kwan groaned. He had no good choices, it seemed. Well, maybe the grief counselor would finally believe him when he said he was fine. If she didn’t, at least he doesn’t have to deal with her until Monday.

“Fine, if it will make you calm down, I’ll go talk to the grief counselor so she can tell you herself that I’m fine.”

Mom smiled. “Wonderful! I’ll let Dr. Spectra know to expect you Monday morning.”

“Yeah.” Kwan sighed. “Wonderful.”

#danny phantom #dp switch #bug posts #my fic #kwan #my writing #he's so sad!!!!!! #what a boy #anyway its a day early because i am incapable of waiting

[carriesthewind]

On the topic of the library marginalia poll, in one of the posts you alluded to the topic of street art/grafitti, which I found really interesting, because I think it's a good comparison with doodling in library books. In both cases you're "adding something" to something that doesn't belong to you.

But I think there's a difference to how we relate to both of these things. Library books are explicetly a loan. Which means that a. It's not your property and b. The main obligation you have as a borrower is to take care to not damage the thing.

On the other hand, with street art/grafiti, the property on which you've painted something is not yours, but a. There is no obligation of care and b. The tags and grafitis exist in a public space, and as such the sense of private/public (as in belonging to the State, the City etc.) property is kind of diluted, and it begins to feel as if it belongs to "the community" and not an owner in particular.

Which leads us back to the other library marginalia poll of who do we think the library books morally belong to. And from the results i've seen so far, there seems to be this same kind of idea that a book belongs to the community (which might explain why some people do doodle in the margins)

Anyways, thank you for the poll and the further discussions on this topic.

This is really interesting (and enlightening for me)! I hadn't been thinking of this issue from the social contract/duty of care perspective, because I tend to favor and default to a harm-based perspective. (That's just my personal preference/instinct, not a judgment on the validity or usefulness of a social contract-based perspective.) But that makes a lot of sense that a lot of the people answering "because it's not your property" are coming from that perspective (with the unstated, but presumably implied, social contract term regarding the duty of care). Under that framework, it does make sense that people would prioritize "because it's not yours" as a singular answer over the harm-based analysis, because breaking the social contract is a separate harm, and usually we expect the harm-based analysis to be baked in to the social contract at the point it is made, so there is not necessarily to do a further harm-based analysis. (Although - and this is my preferences/experience showing - I still do think it is really important that people be able and willing to do further harm-based analysis, as there are many contexts where stopping at the social contract level can lead to real harm. This is why I initially brought up the use of public space by houseless individuals - there is a social contract to not sleep/camp in public places, but if we stop there, we end up criminalizing being houseless.)

I also agree with your analysis of the "yes" answers in the context of community ownership. I personally do see library books as belong to the community, but think the "yes" answers are still (very) wrong because being a "partial owner" through your membership in the community does not give you permission to harm other community member's access to communal property. (I think the social contract version of that would be, as part of the joint ownership through the medium of the library, we all agree that we have a duty of care in borrowing a communal resource.)

And yes! That is exactly why I added the "Yes, because if it bothers other readers, they should just buy their own copy" response to the poll! I was trying to figure out what justifications people who write in the margins of library books could possibly have, and one of my thoughts was, well, maybe they think that because they are part-owners (as members of the community) of a community resource, they should be allowed to use it as they please?

(If I was doing the poll over, based on the responses, I would have instead put, "Yes, as long as it isn't too obtrusive or disruptive." Because the sense I'm getting from some of the responses is that some people think that writing in the margins is bad, but things like underlining or putting asterisks or writing occasional notes in light pencil is fine because it is unobtrusive and/or doesn't damage the books (it is extremely not).)

I also agree that the social contract/duty of care perspective can also help answer the graffiti question! I don't entirely agree that there is no duty of care with regard to public spaces, but I would agree that the duty of care is different. For example, in my view, there is an obligation to not actively disrupt the use of the space for others, e.g. not litter (although I know a lot of people do) and not play loud music on my phone (although again, I know a lot of others disagree), but there is no duty to prioritize other people's use of the space (e.g. no obligation to be quiet), and no obligation not to alter the space (as long as the alteration is not harmful/doesn't interfere with the basic functionality of the space.) So under my framework, graffiti on buildings or train cars or whatever is fine, as long as it isn't hate speech or whatever(because that is harmful), but graffiti that covers signs (and thus interferes with the basic functionality of the space) is harmful. (Although I think that I'm slipping back into a more harm-based analysis.)

Thank you for the very interesting question!

#ask #library marginalia poll

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

Back to September

7. Recipe Book

Based on this prompt list

AO3

__________________________________________

The apartment was an absolute disaster. The contents of his half-unpacked duffle bags were strewn about the space, and the contents of the box of kitchen supplies he had brought with him were spilling out all over the meagre counter space. 

He should really get back to unpacking… 

As if reading his heart, a breeze from the open windows ruffled the pages of the book he was holding. 

He lowered his gaze back down to the pages. Marinette had been ecstatic for him when he found out he had been accepted to the semester exchange program. She had been less enthusiastic about the fact that they would be apart for an entire semester. But her worries had been quelled by the reminder that Vienna was close enough that all it took was a train ride and he would be home. Or she would be there, with him. 

But that hadn’t stopped her from worrying entirely. 

He chuckled as her words echoed through his mind. ‘But what are you going to eat, Luka? You can’t live off of takeout and cereal! You’ll starve! Or go broke! Or go broke and then starve!’ He had tried to remind her that he wasn’t quite as hopeless in the kitchen as he had once been. But that hadn't stopped her from worrying.

She had worried enough that one of her parting gifts to him—there had been many—had been a recipe book. Not a cookbook. 

A recipe book. 

One she had made just for him. 

She had filled it with all of his favourite recipes, organized by meal and sorted by difficulty level; all written in her neat, looping handwriting. But she hadn’t stopped there. Little doodles of hearts, music notes, and her flowers littered the margins. And she had left little notes for him too. 

‘I miss you so much already!!!’

‘I know you like this one spicy, so you can add an extra half-teaspoon of chilli flakes. Make sure you measure and don’t just dump them in! They’re spicier than you think!’ 

‘This one makes me think of that little patisserie we went to in Marseille. Maybe we could go back there soon?’

'I love you.'

‘This is the recipe I use when I make you the raw cookie dough you like to eat (that’s still gross!!!) But if you're going to make it, you HAVE to precook to flour first’

‘I got this recipe from your seanmhair. She gave it to me when we visited her and I thought you’d like to have it! It isn’t the same as me making it for you, but I will when you get back. Or when I’m there!!’

‘Remember when I made these for our midnight picnic?’

‘Remember to keep your fingers tucked when you’re chopping. 

Little reminders of the meals they had shared and the memories they brought. Lilly ramblings and notes about the recipes and adjustments he could try depending on his mood. He could almost hear her voice as he read them. 

It was almost like she was right there with him. 

#endgame lukanette #pro lukamari #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #au #university au #aged up characters #gift giving is one of her love languages #writing prompt #monthly writing prompt #back to september

[batboychronicles]

“Huh” came a soft noise from Eddie as he came into view in the doorway.

Steve started poking around the trailer while waiting for Eddie to finish up his “very important haircare routine that should not be interrupted by guests showing up half an hour early, you should know this better than anyone Steve “the Hair” Harrington thank you very much!”.

And that’s exactly how he ended up squatting over a pile of notes at the end of Eddie’s bed that looked like a chaotic mix between History and Maths with little doodles covering all the margins. 

Most of them were deciphering terrible accidents happening to the teacher (including but not limited to straight up exploding) that would ultimately put an end to the class at hand. But some of them were surprisingly cute. Steve was staring at a small cartoon character that wore a striped polo trying to figure out if he imagined it, or it did vaguely resemble him, when Eddie interrupted his train of thought.

“What’s up?” he looked up at his friend where he stopped in his tracks and apparently grew roots still frozen in place.

“It’s just…  you’re in my room.” 

“Yeah, I noticed” Steve offered up a half smile and got a contemplating stare in return.

“No, like, you’re in my room!” 

“Yeah Eds, not following.”

They’ve hung out at the trailer a few times now, admittedly mostly in the living room but Eddie’s door was always cracked open and he never mentioned it so Steve just assumed it was because the TV was out there and the space was slightly bigger. Maybe there was an unspoken rule about avoiding the room for some reason? Before he could analyse every conversation they’ve ever had to see if he missed a warning, Eddie launched into explanation:

“It feels more like an extension of myself than an actual place if that makes sense. Like this is my space you know? Uncle Wayne always said that I should do whatever I want with it, so I really took him up on that as you can see” he smiled lightly. “Nobody’s ever in my room. Not even him if he can help it.”

Looking around Steve started to get it, the place was cluttered with little figurines and knick-knacks, walls covered with posters and so unapologetically Eddie. His eyes finally landed back on the owner of the room, only to find him still blankly staring back at him like he was deep in thought, hands fidgeting a little. He started to squirm under the unwavering attention.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn't know, I can leave if you want me to, I just started to wander and…” he trailed off and hesitantly started to straighten up and head to the door.

“No! No, I mean it’s fine.” Eddie snapped out of his daze, eyes coming back into focus.

“I think I actually like you being here. You fit right in.” he added bashfully, his trademark grin finally creeping through. And was that a slight blush dusting his cheeks? Huh. Interesting.

Before Steve could reply suddenly there was a blur of motion as Eddie made his way through the room in his usual big strides, draping himself over his bed.

“C’mon Stevie, I’ve got something I wanna show you!” he said, pulling out his sketchbook, smiling up at him.

As Steve sat with him, right before they got wrapped up in one of Eddie’s fantasy stories, he had a brief thought that his friend was right. 

Steve does fit here. But even more so: They fit together.

#steddie #i have so many thoughts about them its insane #this is also quite literally my first ever fic so if the writing is shit at least i have an excuse #i just wanna put them in scenarios #also your room being kinda like your extension is how i feel sometimes and im curious if other ppl think that way too #eddie would i think #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steddie fanfic #ramble #also idk where in the timeline this would be but eddie still has his room and they are friends who are starting to hang out alone #and just being soft

[currentlyprocrastinating]

🍂 and 🥀 for the oc ask game :D

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

🍂 — I answered this here! Short version? Hugs are one of her favourite things :)

🥀 — Oooh, how fun! She would probably litter it with doodles, whether in the margins, between lines, or on sticky notes she staples to the page. She emphasizes words or sections with boldened lines, different colours, highlights, circles, etc. — whatever she feels fits the particular tone she's aiming for. She'd keep the colours she uses aesthetic, too. For each entry, she would have a certain selection or range of colors she would stick to, so everything looks nice.

The exception would be if she ever recorded something negative or emotionally turbulent. In that case, she'd either use one pen the whole time, or clashing colors to represent how she feels. She's the type of artist who will sometimes doodle nonsense on an entire page to let out emotional energy — sharp, angry lines; loose, mindless scribbles; and so on...

But, from a realistic standpoint, she's not good at consistent journalism. So, she'd probably only ever record significant things in a journal, with some pages of random thoughts sprinkled in for whenever she happened to have the journal nearby and felt like recording the thought.

Squirrel also would definitely have moments of feeling awkward at the start of her entries, before her thoughts roll into motion and things smooth over. Other times, when she's so full of energy, it doesn't even occur to her to feel awkward about writing out her feelings lmao.

Oh, yeah, speaking of writing out her feelings, this could definitely be a place where she could think through things. She does write poetry, but has a specific notebook(s) for that. Sometimes her poetry just turns into talking to the page.

Anyways~

She probably has movie tickets or old receipts from a significant visit to even a place as common as a chain fast-food restaurant — because that was the first time she drove a friend somewhere, or something like that. A lot of seemingly insignificant items that hold sentimental value in her mind. And these particular entries aren't necessarily in chronological order! For the most part, she groups them by event or season, but there's a freedom to not having to stress herself about the particular dates.*

As for an example entry... Well, here's one (off the top of my head :P) from their post-AE vacation :) I imagine she did a lot more journaling (digitally, too, including plenty of photos) than usual during those months!

18 November 2032 — Thursday

lol what if I wrote a love song for lololol would that be crazy or what ahaha.

...what would I say? there's so much TO say. No way in hell am I going the cheesy route, blegh.

I could... be vague. Tell a story, be vague, talk about... Everything. There's too much!! My heart feels full. What do I say? I love him x10000?? LOL a song that is just "I love you." That would be awful. I love you... And his eyes... Ahah, no cheesiness. Um...

Where are my words when I need them? Ugh, why is HE so good with his words? Dude is a verbal poet, it's so not fair.

Girl, just say his name, stop being so weird.

Saeran. Saeran. Saeran. ♡

...I wrote that in pen. Oh no. I CAN'T ERASE.

Uh. Anyway!! Um...

Can't I just steal his talent? Steal his words? I've got my guitar in my lap and I can't even think. I have chords in my head but they're not clicking. Should I start with the WOW. You can't sing AND play a Wind Instrument AT THE SAME TIME, girl! smh, dude.

This is getting me no where. Big sigh. Not even worth exploring this, really... I can't help feeling all flustered when I start thinking too much. lol.

Maybe I'll just stick with hoping one day I'll have the courage to play someone else's love song for him lol

...oh God. has he seen my HS jazz ensemble videos? ARE THOSE PUBLIC? I THINK THEY'RE PUBLIC

FUCK

soRry for swearin g

but FUCK

GAH. Am I weird?? I don't like seeing my own Hands write that word lol...

yeah that's right focus on something else dumbass, not the fact that Ray cyberstalked you and has almost definitely heard your sem1 freshie concert where you FREAKING CAME IN A WHOLE SECOND EARLY

AAAA

Signing off to go scream into the pillow before Sae gets back ㅜwㅜ

bonus, tiny one:

Got my hand stabbed by a potted cactus cos my dumbass tried to catch it when it fell off the display :((

Saeran =tended to my wounds= lol

It was... nice. painful ㅠ but he made everything a lot less worse ♡

[Questions from here!]

#*my uncle does this and has encouraged me to do so as well #ive seen first hand how it brings so much joy to the others tied to those memories #like when he was showing me some of his books- his hubby was right there going 'omg i remember that!!' and such lmaooo #it was great #mystic messenger #mysme #squirrel x saeran #squirrel bakken #mysme-rifters au #rifters #ask game #original character #cmc #my cmc #mammonprotectionsquad

[sambunnysgrave]

i. Introduction

Hello all, my name is Sam. I’m an 18 year old trans guy living in the southern United States as a 2nd generation immigrant. English is my 2nd language. I’m gay, jewish, and disabled mentally as well as physically.

I am a survivor of csa and ramcoa. The specificities of my trauma aren’t something I feel any obligation to explain, nor are the exact details of my health. Block me if you have a problem with that.

I don’t intend to get into identity politics on here, just sharing what I feel is important context about myself.

ii. Thesis

This account is just a journal, more or less.

I’ve always loved to read peoples public journals, especially people dealing with marginalization or trauma that I can relate to. These people experience life through the same lenses I do. Unlike the accepted definition of humanity in this day, these people are still fighting to survive.

It’s beautiful in a morbid way, I think, to watch people survive. It’s fascinating. It unearths a primal feeling.

If you’re reading this, then consider this a log of the most impressive thing Man has ever done: survive.

iii. Tags

Here’s a list of the tags I plan to use frequently on this account. This list is subject to change.

🐇::꒰ ❛Sam’s Grave❜ ꒱

general tag for when I have anything to say

🕊️::꒰ ❛Dead Dove❜ ꒱

catchall tw tag

🖤::꒰ ❛Long Post❜ ꒱

for my long posts

🫀::꒰ ❛Yearning❜ ꒱

loveposting tag that may get nsfw (please block if under 18 or uncomfortable)

🪓::꒰ ❛Lyrics❜ ꒱

lyric spam tag for your spam-filtering convenience

🩸::꒰ ❛Vent❜ ꒱

venting tag (for heavy venting; again, please block if you’re uncomfortable)

🦷::꒰ ❛Brainweird❜ ꒱

mental illness/mental health content

🍷::꒰ ❛Art❜ ꒱

for my art, probably doodles or poetry

🥩::꒰ ❛Silly❜ ꒱

lighthearted/silly content

iv. Content Warnings

I am psychotic and often unable to tw for unreality or delusions.

I use slurs to refer to myself. I will not tw for my identity.

I do not tw “creepy” or “unsettling” content. If there is a specific thing to warn for, I will. Otherwise, expect this whole blog to be a bit weird.

I love blocking people, and you should too. If you don’t want to see my content, you don’t need to tell me that. You can just block. It’s okay, I promise.

v. DNI

Because every blog needs a DNI, right?

Honestly, just DNI if you don’t want to interact with me. That’s about it. Other than that, here are some general guidelines, I guess.

I am a proshipper, I believe that people should be allowed to post whatever gross shit they want on the internet if they tag it right. Doesn’t mean I enjoy consuming most “proship” content, I just don’t think it’s my business what other people do. If you disagree with that, we probably won’t get along.

I support informed self diagnosis.

I support non-traumagenic systems (coming from a traumagenic system).

9 times out of 10, I don’t want to hear about drama. If you post about drama untagged, we probably won’t get along.

Interpret that as you will. I don’t really have a hard DNI.

vi. Closing Statement

If you’ve read this and still want to look at my content, then please, feel free to browse. Follow if you like what you see. Talk to me if you think we’d get along. I love meeting people :]

If you do plan to stick around, then hi. Glad you decided to stop by.

#🐇::꒰ ❛Sam’s Grave❜ ꒱ #🖤::꒰ ❛Long Post❜ ꒱

[theweirderofthetwo]

📓 tell me about Temeraire fanfiction!

Ok so first i’m very [flailing hands, excited noises] about getting an ask! Second, I’m so so Sorry for being slow to answer. And third i also realized I have l less fic thought out than it feels like, its mostly little loose details and questions rattling around…

I have recently been thinking about something that would be Very outsider pov: a series of conversations that is basically different distant acquaintances discussing/reacting to news about laurence. Just some scenes with different people at different times during the story (or alternatively, different people reacting to the same thing?). Thoughts so far:

- the crew of the Reliant - some seaman later serving on a different ship and telling others about how he was there at temeraire’s hatching and confidently sharing his “expertise” about dragons. Or just something like:

”How come you are so unafraid(?) of dragons, mr ——?”

”I was on the reliant, sir, when temeraire hatched. And himself was polite as any could want and even saved —— when he went over in a storm. He never woulda et none of us sir.” (Spose theres some sense to it, captain laurence had everybody mind their manners. Us and the officers too. Made sure the little gentlemen understood the ship and didnt abuse us for no good reason)

[excuse my attempt at writing some unspecified accent, english is not my first language]

- some of the correspondence that laurence is pretty good at remembering when things are only a little bit crazy. Like - Hello dear friend, it is good to hear from you again - I Assure you I am not Offended by this recent Unfortunate pause in our correspondence, but it really has been a Long while since I last had Word from you. My family is well, as is [some mutual friend] who I was happy to catch last month at a Dinner. Now I must Ask, what Pray Tell is this I Hear about you having been Made a Prince?? ….something something

- some of the abolitionist politicians talking to each other like “so have you heard the classified part of what went down in brazil?” I feel they would be interestingly conflicted about it since it is a win towards stopping slavery, but they probably had a different vision for how they thought that should happen and they also probably didnt want portugal weakened at that time so… Also: “That’s our friend’s chaos son doing things again. Should we send him congratulation or condolences? Or perhaps just never mention it?” “Never mentioning it would likely be best I think.”

———

Something i have managed more specific thoughts about is actually animatics. I barely know anything about making any kind of video, but i have two ideas that will not let me go to such a degree that i have detailed notes for one of them and a full storyboard for the other. Actually the reason i started making Temeraire fanart beyond little margin doodles is because i needed to figure out the characters for these animatics.

The song i have a storyboard for is The trial of Lancelot by Heather Dale. Not every line fits perfectly, but a lot of it goes very well with Laurence's own trial.

The other one would be mostly pre canon Laurence set to How far i'll go from Moana. (It works ok)

I realize that while i love pretty much every character in the series Laurence is the one im most focused on. I think its partly because empathy is something i have to do very much On Purpose which means i generally get most attached to main characters whose feelings are more explained in the story. But also partly because I’m fascinated both by the specific way 19th century brits are fucked up and by the struggle of figuring out your own set of morals when the system you belived in fails you.

#temeraire #ask #!! #again im vibrating about getting an ask #and sorry for taking so long #lots of chaotic words… #i hope you get some little joy from something in this

[notepagescribbles]

#8

When does it go away? When do i stop thinking about it?

Stop.

What?

Stop. Stop it.

I-

We both know how this goes. We've done a thousand times over now. You say 'when does it go away? When do I stop thinking about it?' And I say, 'it doesn't. You just get better at dealing with it.'

Which is still true-

Which is still true, and then you say 'but I don't want to deal with this pain forever,' and I say 'it gets easier,' and you say 'do people help me?' and I say, 'no, but you learn to deal with it yourself, and people around you get better at it,' and you say, 'but I didn't want to get better at it by myself. I wanted to be loved.' And I say 'you are. It's just hard sometimes.' And then you say 'I wish it wasn't.' And I say 'I know.' I say 'you got thicker skin now too-'

Which is true-

Which is true, and you say 'was it worth all that?' And I don't know, because we can't imagine a life where it didn't happen. Tell me that's not how this conversation happens.

...

Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep coming back? What do you want from me?

...

Whatever you want, I don't know if I have it. I really don't.

I want-

'I want a reason not to die,' you say. 'Is that so bad? So heinous? Why do I keep thinking about it, then? Am I just going to keep half living forever?' And I say, 'you already have reasons. You know you have reasons. You counted them out this morning like daily bread on the way home from the shops. You have plenty of reasons. If you didn't, you'd already be dead.' That's how the conversation goes right?

...

Tell me otherwise. Tell me that's not how the conversation goes.

...

God, how am I still here? I'm stuck in this stupid bloody loop, and I can't... I just can't get past it.

...

How am I doing so much worse than everyone else?

...

Shit, there it goes again. And the thoughts keep coming. And I say, 'when does it go away? When does it stop?' And I have an answer, locked and loaded, because at least I know that answer is the right one. At least I can trust myself with that one.

...

It hurts. It hurts so badly. In my stomach, a grinding, sinking pit. Grating against the throat like iodine.

...

It would be okay if I'd earned it, I think. That's the trouble. It would be justified if it were anyone else. Shit, there's people who should be doing far worse than me. But I know them and they're way better. In every way better.

...

What the fuck does that say about you?

...

I'm stuck. I'm just stuck. It's like I started doodling nooses in my margins one day as a 15 year old, always rubbing them out before anyone could see them, and I never stopped. There's no more real notebooks. The only change is that I understand the movements of the pencil, the tilt of the head, why it moves up and down and side to side. But I can't seem to make it stop.

...

I was thinking, I never really learned how to ask for help, so I don't know how. I don't even know what it looks like. Maybe that's my problem. Because I didn't really reach out for help in the end, did I? I just sort of relented when cornered and fell apart and put myself back together as my own private porcelain Russian doll. I still kept it folded across my chest. Dirty laundry. My own shameful little secret.

...

I heard someone say, a while ago, something like, 'it doesn't matter how far along I seem to get, sometimes I just want to die.' Not exactly poetry, but it fits better than any of the poetry I've read honestly, and I've got heaps to speak of.

...

It was not death for I stood up/ and all the dead lay down. Is that how it goes? But it doesn't really fit, does it? Because I never lay down. Sometimes I think if I had, I could at least be more definitive in standing up again. Instead of floating, limbs tangled above the grave.

...

Schrodingers cat, I am. I keep thinking about the stupid wrist rhyme. It's one of those horrible 'knowledge nuggets' from IT that I wish I could unknow. One of those horrible blighting ones that stains against the nerve cells like mould and can't be pulled out. Can never be unknown. Unthought.

...

And so we begin again. When does it go away? When do I stop thinking about it?

...

Are you still listening? Can you hear me? It feels like it's all just a bloody echo sometimes, echoing back and back and back again. None of its really words, just the memories of thoughts once had, chisels in the stone. Do you remember the Greek origin of the word echo? The little nymph? Except she was too lovable. That was her downfall in the end.

...

I don't think we could say the same about you.

...

Hey. Do you hear me? It's better. I know it's better. It's so much better. But the stomach pit is pushing against my organs, and I'm tired of being like this. I don't think I can stop being like this. Maybe this is just me. Fuck. I'm tired of being worse. So horribly, visibly tangibly worse. I'm tired of being left behind. I hate this. I hate you. I hate you so much sometimes it burns.

When does it go away? When do i stop thinking about it?

#vent post #vent writing #vent #suicidal thoughts #tw suicidal ideation #cw suicidality #cw suicidal thoughts #tw suicidality #tw suicidal thoughts #im safe im fine i just needed to get some thoughts out. #if ive missed any tags you want me to add please let me know. this is a heavy one #not tagging with any writing tags just in case. #long post #a notepage scribble

[hellfireclubmember3]

Check out the latest chapter of my Eddie fanfic. If you like it, consider reading my other chapters on Wattpad :)

New to Hawkins

Chapter 21. New Developments

You had kept your promise to your mom, asleep in your bed before midnight and ready for the next day. Surprisingly, you woke up the next morning feeling great. The excitement from the night before must have still been moving through your system.

Like always, Eddie picked you up before school, "Good morning, sweetheart" he said as you opened up the passenger side door.

"Good morning, Eddie" you replied with a smile.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you last night" Eddie said as he pulled into the road.

"Oh?" you said curiously.

"So I was thinking... you should come over this weekend. My uncle will be working late as usual and I just thought we could use some quality alone time" Eddie said with a slightly mischievous tone.

"Okay... was there something you had in mind?" you asked, already knowing what he was alluding to.

"You'll just have to wait and see" Eddie said with a smirk. He then turned his music up as the two of you drove the rest of the way to school. You were equally excited and nervous about the conversation you had just had. Eddie hadn't really made suggestions like this before, not that you were complaining, but it caused an electricity to move through your body.

You couldn't stop thinking about Eddie and what the two of you would do this weekend. And although you didn't fall asleep in class like you promised your mom, you definitely weren't focused on the topic. Much of your time was spent doodling and writing in the margins of your notebook thoughts about Eddie. 

During lunch, Eddie couldn't keep his hands off of you. No matter what he was doing, he always had a hand on your thigh, a foot brushing against your ankle, or his arm around your shoulder. You thought it was cute and although you had never really been a fan of PDA, you didn't care what anyone thought about the two of you because you were in heaven. 

However much you were enjoying the attention, it did seem a little odd to you. Eddie hadn't been this physical or public about his affection towards you before this. You supposed it really meant a lot to him last night that you showed up and supported Corroded Coffin at their concert. He has said that flattery worked with him and you had definitely given both him and the band plenty of compliments. 

Lunch was over before you know it, and with it, the attention from Eddie. Your afternoon classes were boring, they usually were as you didn't have Eddie in any of them to help entertain you. However, you had started recently talking to a girl in your math class. It was actually the same girl that you had seen at Family Video the other night. You had learned that her name was Robin and she was pretty weird, but weird in a good way. And along with Dustin, she too was good friends with Steve.

You were happy that you had started making connections outside of Hellfire because as much as you enjoyed their company, sometimes it was nice to talk to someone that didn't think that D&D was the most important thing on the planet. During class, you and Robin would often make jokes about the quirky things that the teacher would say and do. You often found yourself having to stifle your laughter. 

Wanting to become actual friends and not just classmates, after class you approached her and  suggested that you hang out sometime. She lit up at the idea of this and threw out a bunch of suggestions, "We could go see a movie, or we could hang out at the arcade, or... or... we could people watch at the park...". She continued to ramble on and honestly, not make a lot of coherent noises or sentences. She was someone that easily got flustered and lost in her own thoughts, something you were kind of able to relate to.

"Robin!" you yelled, snapping her out of her rambling, "All that sounds great. Let's plan something next week, okay?".

"Okay" she said and ran off to her next class.

_______________

At the end of the day, you walked out to the parking lot to meet Eddie. He was leaning against his van with his arms crossed. When he saw you, his face lit up. You found yourself wrapped up in his arms with him landing kisses all over your face. "Okay, okay" you said loudly when people started to stare.

"Sorry sweetheart, I've just been thinking about you all afternoon" Eddie said while looking you up and down.

"What's up with you today?" you asked.

"What do you mean?" Eddie said clearly confused.

"You've been all over me today, you're never like this. What changed?" you wondered.

"I don't know, I just can't help myself, you're perfect" he said with a big grin. His tone and body language then switched, "Do you not like it? I can stop, just give the word and I'll stop". 

"Are you kidding? I love it, but I do worry it might be a bit much around others" you admitted.

"Well then I'll just have to save it for behind closed doors" Eddie said with a wink.

#eddie the banished #eddie #eddiemunson #strangerthings #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie cult #st s4 #fanfiction #hellfire club #corroded coffin #robin buckley

[pinkacademic]

Aesthetic Studying

*note: you do not need expensive stationery to make your notes pretty. Also, practical is more important- what matters is studying in a way that's functional for you. I want to give tips that are pretty AND practical, but you need to do what works for you. Without further ado: 1. I'll say it again: fluffy pens. Fluffy pink lens and fluffy pink notebooks will always make you feel like Elle Woods, Cher Horowitz, and Sharpay Evans all at once. Other elements: colour coding with highlighters and file dividers is useful and very cute, add pictures or illustrations where you can to emphasise points, and you can absolutely add doodles in the margins... But maybe not on your exams. 2. Make studying fun to encourage you to actually do it, especially if you're stuck with a module or subject that you'd rather not work on. You could: - make yourself a fancy beverage- a hot chocolate with ALL the trimmings, or a berry tea, or whatever you make to feel cozy and comfy - Keep your desk clean and tidy, but add a few things that make you happy such as a small potted plant or a teddy that can sit and watch as you go. - dress for the occasion! Use your favourite book characters as inspiration, or just a classic pink moment. If you feel pretty, it can be motivational to get stuff done. *if you don't have a uniform/ you're in third-level education, you could try wearing a certain colour when you study certain topics as a bonus visual aid. If you do have a uniform, try the same tip with a bracelet on your dominant hand. 3. For Auditory Learners: Pink Academia study playlists are very fun. I'm sharing my playlist soon, if you're interested, but if you're not then take some other options. If you're a classical purist, I'd use Tchaikovsky's three big ballets- Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and Sleeping Beauty. If you like musicals, there's Legally Blonde, Mean Girls, Carrie, and Six for a few to get you in the Pink. For musicals, I like to pick a song or character that I can sing along to and use that as a short break... Just don't pick Veronica. 4. For Visual Learners: Colour coding is very Pink Academia. You can also make your flash cards on colour-coded card. Something I don't see recommended that often is checklists. Break your tasks into smaller steps so that you can tick them off or fill them in. This is also another opportunity to talk about pretty pink stationery. 5. For Kinaesthetic Learners: Ok, this  might just be a me thing because I've never seen it anywhere else- tell me if you do this! So, take your notes with you while you exercise at home... Or at the gym if you really want, I'm not going to stop you. Basically, you read them in sections to yourself (aloud is best) while you do something like mountain climbers or up-and-down planks, and then you recite the information again while you do, say, jumping jacks, or anything you can't really read while doing. It's kinda like a variation on the audiobooks while you work out, but what you're listening to is your own notes. It also totally feels like you're Elle on her treadmill! 6. Making your Actual Notes pretty. Analog: (aka physical notebooks) my tip is not worrying too much when you initially take down notes.  My rapidfire note taking handwriting is absolute chicken scratch. But make it pretty when you need to read from it so that it's easier. - again, I will die on the fluffy pink hill - nice headers- try coloured pens, drawing a ribbon banner around it, colour coded underlines, or adding a couple of doodles that relate to the topic - consistent bullet points. I mean, if you draw your bullet points as filled-in circles, empty circles, dashes, or asterisks, it looks more aesthetically pleasing if you pick just one, or assign different roles for different shapes (like for staggered points) -work on your handwriting- when you need to be able to read it back, or when a teacher or examiner needs to be able to be able to read it, you should try to make it legible. You can add to the pretty with consistent sizing and shape. Digital: Literally please just... Notion. The free version has more than you will ever need, and you can make it as simple or as pretty as you like. It's... Listen. It's just good.

#pink academia #pink #studyblr #auditory learners #visual learners #kinaesthetic learners #study tips #aesthetic studying