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hyewka · 11 months

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can i suggest a fic where beomgyu is helping take the reader’s mind off a bad breakup…. by fucking the living SHIT out of her NDJDNDJDJDJ

while i fuck you straight | c.bg

warnings; hard dom best friend!gyu, sub!reader, unprotected + pullout method, breeding kink, a spank or two, praise + degradation (mostly praise), slut shaming, rough marking, a tinge of possessiveness, friends w/ benefits, no romantic feelings involved (or are there?), ruined orgasm, princess pet name, beomgyus an insatiable manwhore lol, needy perv gyu with a lot of spit play, fingering, titty sucking hehe, literal messy filth and also barely proofread on my end

a/n; have to thank jazmine with all my heart for proof reading and giving suggestions, i love you so much 😭 @heart2beom this shouldn’t be a big deal as it is, but it is my first time writing full on dom beomgyu so it is this mini celebration for me and all the dom!gyu enthusiasts (i hope) 😇 reblogs are appreciated, keeps me going

You held your phone above your face, scrolling mindlessly through your socials, though subconsciously, you were really just awaiting a call from your boyfriend. Well, now ex-boyfriend. It's already been a week since you got dumped but no matter what went down that day, you couldn't get over him.

It was pitiful every time you jumped up from your bed at a notification just to find it was in fact not your ex asking to take you back and ...just a random spam email.

Beomgyu had his back against your bed, legs sprawled on the floor, also on his phone. You guys had run out of things to talk about when every conversation spun its way back to your ex- Seen that new avengers movie? You wanted to watch it with your boyfriend. That professor just got fired! You remember your boyfriend used to complain about that class. Gosh, you don’t think you’ll ever get over him.

"You're miserable." Beomgyu suddenly brings up.

You groan, as you repeatedly refresh your feed. "Gee, thanks Beomgyu. That definitely doesn't make me ten times more miserable."

He lets his head fall back on your bed, looking up at you through an upside down lens, abandoning his phone. “No, like truly miserable. I’ve never seen you so up and dry and…sober. Be young, live a little.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking past your phone for the past time in a while. “…You talk like you’re 80 years old, about to retire and wallow in self pity, having experienced all there is to life. Thanks Gyu but no thanks.”

“I’m an old soul Y/N.” He says patting his chest, and you roll your eyes. Not necessarily refuting it, it’s his entire personality. “Where’s the chick I used to know anyway. The old Y/N would’ve been over this in a day with a quick hookup rebound.”

You finally put your phone down, staring up your ceiling. He was totally right. Who else would be right about you if not Beomgyu? But you don’t want to think about your old self, or you’d start sobbing again. Not like you were a totally great person, but that person wouldn’t be so stuck on someone. Anything but being the lovesick, doting person you would’ve made fun of just a year ago. God, he really changed you hadn’t he?

You kick your feet, whining, falling into the abyss of treasured memories. “You don’t understand, he was different, he—he was the one, you know?”

He ponders for a bit, room silent, staring at you through his soft lashes, and you think that maybe he’ll give it you; sympathize and understand that grieving was the entire process of a first love. The silence is suffocating when finally, he lets out a light scoff, cutting through it. “No, no I don’t know. Bet you just got soft.”

“God, fuck you Beomgyu.”

He grins his stupid grin that the situation definitely doesn’t call for, “You wish.”

You think if he wasn’t with you through thick and thin for the past four years, you would’ve definitely developed some sort of hatred.

You could visibly notice a lightbulb spark above his head with the way he immediately sits up straight. “Hey, hey wait.”

You tentatively watch as he turns his back away from you, laying both his arms on the soft cushion of your mattress. “I think I might’ve just had the best idea ever. Of the century. The idea of the century.”

“I highly doubt that.” You say, blindly feeling the surface for your phone already.

“Just hear me out,” he whines noticing your eagerness to dismiss him. “But also don’t freak out or anything. Promise me.”

You stare at him, hesitant before you give in to his doe eyes. Sighing, you say: “Okay. I promise I won’t ‘freak’ out. What’s your groundbreaking idea?”

“We should like… fuck.”

Your brows are slow to raise, the rapidness of your blinking at what you think you just heard—no, not think, know. Beomgyu’s voice, loud and clear with his diction, your eyes widen at the final click of it all. Before you know it, you’re reaching for the pillow behind you, flinging it at him with all strength.

It’s like he predicted it prior, dodging one… and then another as you throw all remaining pillows on your bed. Instead of missing with your last one, you decide to hold on to it, and attack him with it. His smug demeanor of successfully dodging everything just a second ago, dissipates as he takes cover for protection. “Are you fucking—are you crazy?!” you yell exapserated, more than awake with your wide eyes.

“Ya! You—you promised you wouldn’t freak out!” When that doesn’t stop your mania with the damn pillow, he decides to lay it all out with as much speed as he can’t seem to escape your wrath. “You want to forget him don’t you? I mean, you should! He dumped you, it’s over! Sulking over him is—Ow! So out of character for you—fuck—I promise a one time fuck would get your mind off him.”

Your pillow is mid air, and Beomgyu opens an eye to peek, hands still in protection mode—you sigh, landing a weak hit on his head before loosening your grip. You do want to forget. You’d do anything to get rid of what you’re feeling. But…

“It—it wouldn’t change anything for me. If that’s a worry. You know that no matter what, you’re my best friend.” He finds his footing, collecting himself, looking at you with intensity you could date back to just a few times over the course of your very long friendship. “Someone I care about. I can’t stand seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything. You know that.”

You bite down on your lip, staring at the familiar boy with his familiar brown bed of hair, and his familiar eyes, lips…How fast did he get you to actually give this a thought? Probably a minute or two. Beomgyu had a way with convincing you to do …anything. “I…know. But what if, what if I’m still head over heels in love with him? What if it doesn’t change anything for me?”

A grin gradually takes over his face, one that is once again, not fitting for the situation. “Why—why are you smiling like an idiot? This is—”

“It’ll change.”

You knit your brows together. “What?”

You don’t notice the way Beomgyu’s hand slowly inched to yours but suddenly, his palm was over your hand, squeezing it just a bit. “Having sex with me is a once in a life time opportunity. You’ll forget him. I promise.”

If you weren’t so lost in his eyes, as cliché as it sounds, you would’ve been completely taken out—probably a joke on his sheer confidence because who just says that? But he’s so …hypnotizing as you don’t even take notice of the ‘okay’ that leaves your lips.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You exhale, “Okay. We’re adults. This won’t matter in a few weeks. Let’s do it.”

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds before he was on your bed, crashing his lips on yours, a brief taste of strawberry lip balm, knocking a breath out of you until he slows down, testing the waters, then he stops, noses brushing against each other as he searches for something in your eyes, breathing already heavy, “Is this weird? Was that weird?”

You gulp looking down on his already glistening lips, and you nod. “The—the situation, not …the kiss. Fucking your best friend is an odd situation. The kiss…the kiss was good.” You ramble, your voice barely a whisper but he catches it anyway as you take notice of a small smile before he’s kissing you again, hands once cupping your cheeks already moving down to your tits, ministrating gently—every bit of his action seemed careful, too careful for what you know of the things your friends had told you in heated rants and swoons.

Half of the dictionary could be used to describe Beomgyu, and promiscuous was not an exclusion. You could probably say you already fucked him with the headache inducing details about what being with him in bed was like. Which is why you’re nervous as hell right now. From what you know, Beomgyu was… a lot. More than you could handle now, after an entire year of keeping yourself to one man.

“Jaehyun was worried about you. Was worried about what you’d do to me.” You blurt out randomly when Beomgyus’ moved to peppering feathery kisses along your jawline. He hums against your skin, then stops for a second to whisper, “He was?”

You could feel the smirk on his lips, opening his mouth a tiny amount to slightly suck on your neck at the process of your words—of course Beomgyu would get an ego boost from this. “Why?”

Beomgyu is practically suffocating with how little space he’s giving you, body flush against flush, your chest heaving the rougher he increasingly gets with his marking, his sly hand down to rub between your thighs, right at your core.

“Said you only wanted to get into my pants—h-ha shit, slow down, slow down Gyu.” You were getting teary eyed by his increased speed, friction against your sweats getting you wetter by the second whenever the pad of his finger teased your slit. “You know he—he asked me to stop hanging around you b-because—”

None of this was new to Beomgyu, your past boyfriends have always been worried about him for the exact reason—that he’d convince you to let him fuck you, because apparently women can’t have male best friends without it being more than platonic. But …you guess you aren’t really proving them any wrong now with the way you were letting him have his way, marking messy purple splotches all over, in hungry predatory manner, getting rougher and rougher by the second. You gasp when he abuses the same spot he just visited a few seconds ago, “Beomgyu!”

“Because?”

He presses on your aching core, pending you with the question. He didn’t seem as happy as he was with his smugness prior. “Because he thinks you’re a sleaze.”

An incredulous— mean chuckle from the back of his throat and suddenly his hand was down your panties, abandoning the long game of teasing in matter of seconds. He doesn’t touch you though, which only proves to make you more insane. “That’s dumb. Do you think I’m a sleaze?” You shiver, his deep voice so close to your ears, breath fanning against your cool skin—your eyes could go sore from how hard you’re shutting them closed.

You refuse to give it all to him, it makes you feel embarrassed and small. A new, foreign feeling you never thought you’d experience with Beomgyu of all people. “I-in some ways, yes.”

Not a satisfying response from you, he clicks his tongue like you were a misbehaving child, “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

You don’t get a chance to retort before you feel the pad of his finger prodding your pussy, then moving to gather your wetness.

Suddenly, he freezes his movement, pulling back from your neck, looking at you with an amused glint to his dark eyes. “Shit, you’re fucking drenched. And I barely did anything—”

You think he’s making fun of you so your cheeks quickly flush red, already putting up walls of defence but then he kisses you in the heat of the moment, wiping your frown away and you’re finding yourself reciprocating without a second thought—the kiss so sloppy and messy, string of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away out of breath. “Fuck, that’s so hot princess. You’re so hot.” He breathes in awe of the spit—he truly is the biggest perv.

“Spread your legs for me.” he groans, trying to get better access to your pussy. You obey, admittedly a little slow, but who can blame you? It feels embarrassing regardless of who, but it’s ten folds with your best friend. “Moreee.” he whines, and god you wish you could slap him—can he not see that you’re trying?

“Beomgyu—“

Your voice gets cut off, gasping when he takes it upon himself to pull down your sweatpants with a quick swift motion, taking it off completely, revealing your patterned underwear—and god, now you’re hiding your face…everything was so embarrassing. He takes a second to examine the wet dark spot right in the middle, proof to what he felt earlier, but then you kick your feet. “Stop staring freak!” you shriek.

You can see through the cracks of your fingers the smirk he has on, looking at you with so much intensity you think you’d melt. He reaches out to grab your hand and put it down, even through your resistance, you couldn’t match his strength to your dismay. “I wanna see your face. Have to let me see you fall apart on my fingers like a little slut.”

You’re scandalized at his wording, your cheeks once again quickly heating up. But you let him part your timid legs anyway, big hands gripping the softness of your thighs, spreading your legs as much as he possibly could, to the point you felt yourself cramp up. But even with whines of protest he doesn’t ease up—bunching your panties to the side, impatient when finally he inserts a digit—experimental with his movement before you hear him groan out a curse. “You’re so tight holy shit, did he even fuck you?”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

Your senses are already overflowing, you could feel his hard on, his erection pressed on your bare skin, you’re hyper aware of the finger inside you—slender and slow with expertise as he pushes in and out, talking to you as if you could respond with anything more than restrained mewls. “Maybe dating him was good, then you had to be monogamous and not whore around with every guy you laid eyes on like you used to.”

“I-I never whored around—shit.” He suddenly speeds up, a merciless grin spread on his face—did he find messing with you funny?

“Yes you did. It was a new guy every…it was weekly, wasn’t it?”

You shake your head at his accusations, tears brimming when his mouth finds it use, suckling harshly on your nipples through your flimsy top—your body extra sensitive with the way you spasm on a singular finger. He pumps in two without warning and you yelp, hand reaching out to grab at his hair. You swear you could cum just from the stretch. “Stop denying it, you’d do anything for dick. I’m surprised you stayed so long with that bitch. Was he any good?”

One thing you won’t do is tell Beomgyu details of your sex life with your ex. You refuse. But Beomgyu is stubborn, and he isn’t one to give up so easily. Especially if he feels like you’re withholding information from him. “Tell me.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

He raises his eyebrows in mocking shock, “No way. He never made you cum?”

Your nostrils flair from pure embarrassment and shock. How’d he know? You quickly try to control your expressions, masking it to not give him a hint that his guess was right, but he knew you too well. You hate that. Especially now.

“Can’t believe you’re hung up on a man—fuck, baby are you close? Hung up on a man that never made you orgasm—shit,” He breathes, rubbing his clothed dick on your thigh, getting off at the sight of your face. You really are falling apart. “Don’t worry princess, I’ll take care of you.”

You tighten your hold on his hair, feeling yourself get close as you grind down on his fingers, chasing your high, choosing for your sanity to ignore all his sweet talkings.

“Gyu, gyu I-I’m gonna—No—no-why? God, fuck you, you’re such a—such a dickhead!”

Beomgyu just ruined your orgasm by completely taking out his fingers, you could practically cry out of frustration and yet he didn’t seem the least bit sorry. Instead, he makes a show of licking his fingers, the ones he just had in you, swirling his tongue and sucking them clean while making direct eye contact. You cower a little but still keep your eyes on him. Now you aren’t sure if you could stay as bitter.

You blink rapidly to collect yourself, because holy shit, you’re getting weak for…Beomgyu. “Why’d you do that? I was close Gyu.” you say exasperated.

He unbuckles his jeans, “I said I’d take care of you, just trust me.” Zipping down his pants, he’s quick to drop it down to his knees before completely abandoning them on the floor.

He flings his cock out of the restrictions of his boxers and you’re practically drooling at the pretty sight. He isn’t the biggest you’ve seen but he definitely has the girth—his tip leaking pre cum down his length, hands trying to lube it with his spit. “Beomgyu, condom.”

“I don’t have one.” He breathes, already on you as he lays wet kisses down your collarbones before he gets irritated with your shirt and takes it off, revealing your bare tits. “God, you’re so sexy.” He drawls, sucking hickeys all over your chest in hunger.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you resist his touch and in turn he lets out an annoyed whine, his voice vibrating against your exposed skin. “Beomgyu, we can’t—we need a condom.”

He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, the cutest you’ve seen him this entire day. “I’ll pull out, I promise. Please, I need you right now.”

In that moment of weakness, his tone so needy, as if he really did need you made you feel some sort of power—like you were the hottest, sexiest woman in the world. And so you bite your tongue, and trust Beomgyu to not ruin your life. You’ve done that quite a few times.

“Swear you’ll pull out.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do.” You say with conviction. “I do, obviously. It’s just-”

“I know. Take a breather for me. Said I’ll take care of you, didn’t I?”

You could feel him lining up to your entrance, his tip prodding your hole, and you’re already getting desperate. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” you breathe.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You do, not sure what to expect until Beomgyu spits, letting his saliva slowly fall down in your mouth. “Swallow.” he demands, his low voice making you shiver—dark eyes watching every twitch of your face intensely.

You gulp his saliva down your throat, obeying and suddenly his expression morphs into lust you’ve never been met with before. You don’t even get to process it for longer, bask in the attention you’re getting before he’s pressing your thighs to your body, pushing into you with a deep groan—filling you up to the brim, your cunt not prepared for the aching stretch. You can feel each vein against your walls, you can feel his slight twitching, you can feel everything. “Fuck, fuck you’re made for me. You’re perfect—shit, you’re perfect princess.”

“Gyu—” you cry out, gripping the sheets under you. It was too much, too much for him to already start slamming his hips. “Gyu what—” you’re cut off by your own moan the moment he hits your g-spot, your face scrunched up, hot as you let out lewd sounds with no control of your own, throat strained already. It's not a surprise he manages to find it on his first try, despite it catching you off guard with the sudden wave of pleasure.

“Should’ve fucked you sooner. Get your little pussy molded just for my dick. You would’ve liked that, right princess?” He breathes out in a long winded babble, his hips unrelenting with each thrust, already quickly building up to be in erratic speed. Through your blurry vision you could see his eyes focusing down on the jiggle of your breasts lewdly, drool trickling down the edge of his lips, the brutal slapping sounds of them from his roughness getting his head light with ecstasy. You’re more than aware of what he wanted to do when he lets your legs rest from the ache of angling them so high. Dirty pervert.

You can’t handle him playing with your tits again, you were too sensitive for anything more than you’re getting but you can’t find it in your throat to say anything before Beomgyu gives in to his lust, leaning down to attach his mouth to your sore nipple. Abusing it as he suckles harshly, muffled moans against your breasts.

His pace getting quicker, clearly getting off from sucking your nipples like a dumb baby. It was getting you embarrassingly close, your pussy clenching around his dick. “Princess. My princess is so—mmf—so perfect.”

“Stop calling me that.” You manage to squeak out. Hes been using that nickname the entire time, and though it was easy to ignore everything else, the nickname was affecting you more than you’d like to admit.

He detaches from your tits, slowing his movement, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh? Princess? Why?”

“He—he used to.”

He blinks a few times before his lips draw into a sneer, clearly irritated and you’re about to backtrack, but it’s too late. Your eyes fly wide open, breath stricken when he, with no mercy, picks up his speed again, drilling his dick so far into you, you think there’s probably a bulge showing through your stomach—its when you let the tears stream down, let yourself go as he fucks you dumb with each sharp thrust serving as a punishment. But for what exactly? For mentioning your ex? Did he hate him that much?

“You can replace your memories of him with me princess. I know you can do that, I’ll make sure you do. You’re my princess, and I’m the only one who can call you that. Remember that, yea?”

You nod up and down, and he leans down to give your lips a peck, one then two then three until he loses it and it starts getting heated, tongue messily intertwining, spit exchanged in desperate action. Drilling his dick in and out your sopping pussy, squelching pornographic like sounds filling the room—you think you’re screaming at this point, mind too clouded to be fully present. You’ll definitely hear a word or two from your neighbors.

“Fuck princess, are you close?” he hisses, “I’m close too, so close. Tell me when you get there baby, okay?”

You manage to nod, pressure quickly building up

Suddenly you feel him force in a finger in your pussy, stretching you out to unimaginable degrees. “B-beomgyu—I’m cumming, I’m—” your panicked hands at the intense feeling reach out to grab at his chest, crumbling his shirt’s fabric, using the last bit of your strained voice to moan his name, your orgasm so overwhelming you genuinely start seeing white, body shaking as you try to calm yourself down. “F-fuck.” you breathe out.

The way you still clutch onto his arms pushes Beomgyu to his high too, quick to pull out of your gushing pussy before a mistake happened. It takes only two strokes before he’s spurting his seed all over your tummy, biting down a groan, obsessively taking in each inch of your body’s ruined state.

He did this. He ruined you.

The only thing filling the room being the heavy breaths of you both, Beomgyu’s hair plastered onto his forehead from sweat, yours disheveled, a complete mess. Suddenly, a notification ding goes off, and your attention’s snapped to your side. “It’s my phone.” You awkwardly point out, noticing the light before reaching your arm to get it to you.

He doesn’t move from his position, still practically hovering over you. But you try not to focus too much on it, instead taking a quick look at your notification.

Your brows twitch in surprise at seeing the message on your lock screen. Fuck, it’s your ex! Did he want you back? So miraculously? After fucking your best friend?

Without any thought, you unlock your phone, trying to skim where the ellipses left off. It was a long message and—

“We just fucked. Can’t you wait a few minutes before going on your phone— Are you texting Jaehyun?” His warm smile turning to utter rage gets you stuttering.

“No I—well—yes, but—” you fumble on your words, not knowing how to explain—not knowing why you feel like you should explain, but Beomgyu isn’t one to play around clearly, as he snatches your phone from your hand and throws it to god knows where before your body’s turned around like it was nothing to Beomgyu, like you were some ragdoll. Pushing your hips up to have your ass up in the air with your face pushed into the sheets. “B-beomgyu wha..—”

Slap. Your whole body jerks at the impact of his hand, feeling yourself get teary eyed again. “Beomgyu what the hell?” You shriek, trying to squirm from your position, your ass burning. Then you get another slap, and your legs start to shake, bottom lip wobbling at the painful feeling of his rings.

“I promised you I’d make you forget him. Clearly one fuck wasn’t enough to get your mind off that asshole.”

Your panic only lasts a millisecond at feeling his tip for a second time before you’re abusing your throat again at the oversensitivity of having Beomgyu’s dick slam into your pussy, fucking your juices back in. He’s rougher now, ten times rougher. Maybe this was what all your girlfriends were describing to you, the feeling of having Beomgyu’s dick rut into you like wild feverish dog, fucking you like all you are is a pair of limbs, just for him to hound.

You can’t think straight, not a single word coming out of your mouth is intelligible, all slurred together dumbly as he ruthlessly digs his fingers in your hips, helping you find rhythm, your body reacting on its own as it syncs with his thrusts, moving your hips enough for him to let a hand go to the back of your head, further pushing you into the mattress, drool messy staining your white sheets, loud muffled wails filling the room.

“Fuck, you like this don’t you? Getting fucked like a bitch?” your hear him growl. You don’t know what comes out of your mouth, you don’t know anything right now, because you are being fucked like a bitch while thinking like one too, your nose running with your tongue uselessly out like something out of a porno. “Should I breed you like a bitch too? Huh? Will that make your pretty little head forget?”

At that, you cum again, and he sneers, a mean laugh at noticing your orgasm, “You want me to breed you princess? Make you round with my seed?” he drawls each vowel mockingly like you were a dumb kitten and he had to explain a really simple concept—still ramming your cunt, not giving you a fair chance of responding.

That’s how it goes for you’re not sure how long, Beomgyu switching positions to have your leg draped over his shoulder as he fucks you to oblivion, making you orgasm over and over again, before you really feel like you had blacken out at some point only to find yourself waking up to him still going at it—your entire body sore, down to every inch, your nipples especially swollen from all his sucking. He never cums inside you, instead emptying his load all over your body, making you basically a show of his dried semen.

You trust him, even when his tendency to go far never died down no matter how much he got older. “You awake?”

You flutter your eyes open, a dark room, and Beomgyu. His face is abnormally close to yours. “What happened?” your voice comes out very strained, your throat hard to use. Great, you entirely lost your voice.

“Think I might’ve had my balls in…too deep.”

Even a chuckle hurts every bone in your body, holy shit, how were you going to go to work tomorrow?! “Hey, don’t move around too much, I already cleaned you up. Just try to go back to sleep.”

“I don’t feel sleepy. I can’t.”

Beomgyu suddenly giggles, you could make out the cute small thing he does with his lips when he does. “What?” you ask.

“Your voice sounds funny.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d find it funny. Maybe next time you should peg his ass and see how he’d like to not speak for an entire week.

You feel his all too familiar hand laying on your cheek, and you subtly gulp. You don’t know if he heard. He probably did with how close you guys are, noses practically brushing against each other, his breathing all your hearing can pick up. “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

You nod, until you realize he might not be able to see you properly. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He takes his hand off your cheek, then turns on his back, folding his arms over his chest, staring up the ceiling. So the room won’t fall into an awkward silence, you say: “I have a question.”

He shuffles a little on the bed, letting out a hum in acknowledgment. “What was the I’m perfect for you thing about? We’re definitely not like, compatible or anything.”

He laughs before he turns his head to you in disbelief. “Are you serious? Is that a serious question?”

You nod, “Do I not sound serious?”

“No, you sound like you just had the best fuck of your life.” You roll your eyes in good nature, though exasperated, you were exposed to too much of his ego in one day. If you had the strength and will to come up with something to level his ego down, you would. “It’s called dirty talk if you must know the term fair maiden.”

“God, you’re so silly, I’m going to sleep.” You withstand your pain to turn your back to him, groaning with each movement. But you can’t escape his wrath it seems, because he almost immediately snakes his arm around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, his heartbeat all you can here against your back. “Can’t I find you perfect? You know, like…my dream girl. My princess.”

You rapidly blink a few times trying to process—past the deep rasp of his tired voice that you found yourself incredibly attracted to— his words and how it brewed big unfamiliar emotions, knowing now you won’t be able to get a blink of sleep after this.

“Can I keep calling you that by the way? It really sticks.”

Oh god, the last thing you’re going to do is self sabotage yourself even more and get yourself in a stickier situation than you already put yourself in. “No, that’s definitely staying in the bedroom.”

a/n: i have no idea how this reads, its basically bare of any editing so if the flow is a little choppy i sincerely apologize, i write at the golden time of 10pm-2am 😭

#txt smut #txt hard hours #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut #dom!beomgyu #txt hard thoughts

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cursedonyx · 1 month

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Professor Fig Adopts the Emerald Trio (Part 2)

The second instalment of an AU in which Professor Fig has survived, and has adopted Sebastian, Ominis and Dracaena.

Part 1

Sixth year begins and with it comes the NEWT preparations. Fig discusses with the Trio what careers they might take, and tries to help Ominis begin to process his childhood trauma. Sebastian and Dracaena end up in possession of contraband.

Word Count – 5.7k

Warnings – Mentions of childhood abuse (Ominis) | Contraband (drugs)

The summer of 1891 was an enjoyable affair for the Emerald Trio. Dracaena, Sebastian and Ominis spent most of their days taking full advantage of the mostly empty castle, exploring every nook and cranny and delving into places they were more than certain they shouldn’t be, before retiring for the evening and having dinner with their new guardian, Professor Fig.

Dracaena took the opportunity early on in the summer to show them all, including Fig, the Room of Requirement, revelling in the praise heaped upon her by her mentor and her best friends for all she’d done with the space. It became a retreat of sorts for her and her best friends, a far warmer and more comfortable hidden spot than the Undercroft, which they visited only on rare occasions (and mostly when hiding from Peeves). Fig didn’t come into the Room all too often, telling the trio that it was their space, and he’d only enter if he needed them for something that couldn’t wait. That didn’t stop him enjoying his frequent invitations, particularly enjoying spending time with the beasts Dracaena had acquired during her adventures, and bonding with the Phoenix that she had named Miriam.

But time marched on, and summer eventually came to a close. The other students came back, and word quickly spread that the three were now cared for by none other than one of their own Professors. Some muttered irritably that they were now protected from consequences, and others tried to test the waters by teasing and attempted hexes, but they were dealt with as Sebastian, Ominis and Dracaena had always dealt with irritants. Swiftly and without mercy, which landed them all detention before the first week of term had ended.

The weekend arrived, and Dracaena lounged on one of the sofas in the Room of Requirement, her feet propped in Sebastian’s lap, occasionally tickled as he turned a page of the book he was reading. Ominis was tending to a large Flutterby bush he’d been cultivating all through the summer, and Professor Fig was seated at an elegant desk, marking homework. Deek swanned around, a smile on his face as he offered them all tea and biscuits, the light pattering of his feet accompanying the gentle music piped from a magical gramophone.

With a light sigh, Fig placed the last essay onto the pile and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face as Miriam the Phoenix ruffled her feathers from the perch behind him. He eyed the three Slytherins, one corner of his lips lifting and pulling out a touch. His charges. His kids. His smile broadened, and he decided to disrupt the soft peace by clearing his throat.

“I think we all need to have a little chat,” he said, fighting to make his expression stern as all three of them stilled, throwing guilty looks to each other, Ominis doing a remarkable job of it, all things considered. He let the silence hang a long moment as they turned to him, then he chuckled.

“About your future careers,” he clarified, smirking like a schoolboy as his adopted charges all uttered various sounds of relief and irritation at his little joke.

“Merlin’s arse, Elly!” Dracaena said, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “You made me think we were in for a bollocking!”

He chuckled, warmed by the freedom with which she now spoke to him, her comfort with his presence obvious. The lads weren’t quite so informal, but that would come with time. At least they all still called him ‘Professor’ when they were around the rest of the school. He waved a hand, and the three gathered in front of his desk, conjuring their preferred chairs and settling before him.

He clasped his hands and leaned forward with a smile. “So, any thoughts on what you want to do once you’re finished with Hogwarts? I know the careers advice of last year might not have sunk in with all you endured.”

Dracaena was the first to answer, ever eager and certain of herself.

“I thought being an Auror would be good,” she said.

“Yeah, I thought about that too,” Sebastian agreed. “Or maybe a cursebreaker, or research, or something like that.”

“Marvellous ideas,” Fig said, turning to Ominis. “What about you?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve no idea.”

“Surely you must have some thoughts?” Fig pressed.

Ominis twisted the corner of his mouth. “Nope,” he replied, his hands tightening in his lap.

Sebastian and Dracaena shared a significant look at this oddly colloquial word, and Sebastian cleared his throat.

“You know, I’ve got to go grab something from the library,” he said. “Care to give me a hand, Drac?”

“Yep,” she jumped to her feet, and caught Fig’s eye, tilting her head meaningfully at Ominis with a look that said he needs your help. Ominis began to rise, but Dracaena put her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. A flash of fear crossed his face, but his friends were already halfway out the door.

“Well…” Eleazar cleared his throat gently as the young Slytherin before him shuffled his feet, looking for all the world as if he wished he was anywhere but here. “Is… everything alright, Ominis?”

His shoulders tensed immediately.

“What have they said?” he demanded. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Almost instantly, another flash of fear lit on his elegant features. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Frowning lightly, Eleazar got to his feet, and the young Slytherin bolted out of his chair, taking several steps back. Alarmed, Eleazar followed, raising his hands.

“Ominis, it’s alright, you're not in trouble,” he said. Far from relaxing the lad, he seemed to become more agitated, his eyes darting around, as if he was seeking an escape he couldn’t see. “Come on now, come and sit with me, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea, and a chat about whatever’s bothering you, hm?”

Ominis looked terrified.

“You think he’ll be alright?” Dracaena said, following Sebastian through the castle. “I feel awful, like we were abandoning him.”

“Nah, He’ll be fine,” Sebastian said, the back of his hand occasionally bumping hers as they walked side-by-side. “Fig really helped me, more than I thought he would, and Merlin knows Ominis has some heavy shit to get off his chest.”

Dracaena sighed. “All the same, I do feel a bit guilty. He always seems so much happier when we’re with him.”

“Well, you,” Sebastian grumbled under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

She chuckled, and took his arm, causing a blush to flow up the back of his neck. “So, what was that thing you needed to get?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Sebastian grinned. “I’ve been trying to get Ominis alone with Fig for ages now, and didn’t want to waste the opportunity.”

“Is that the only reason?” Dracaena teased, and the blush crept onto Sebastian’s cheeks. He glanced away.

“Fancy a walk?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the windows. “The weather’s good.”

They made their way down to the grounds and took an easy, rambling route, meandering up to the quidditch pitch to spy on the Gryffindor team’s practice for a few minutes before they were chased off by an irritable Madam Kogawa, losing ten points apiece for Slytherin. They decided it was worth it. Giggling together, they wandered off in the vague direction of Hogsmeade, before Sebastian glanced meaningfully at the Forbidden Forest.

“We've only landed the one detention so far,” he said casually. “I feel a bit strange without getting into trouble every now and then. How about it, Hoctina, you feeling brave enough to go in?”

Dracaena gave him a level look, trying not to grin at the cheeky smile on his face. “You do know I was in and out of that Forest more often than I was our common room last year, right?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Rubbish. Yeah I get that there’s a load of rumours about you, but you don’t need to make them up to impress me. We already did loads together that would scare the pants of most people.”

“So why are you doubting me?” Dracaena said, sufficiently rankled. She dropped his arm and marched over the tiny bridge, her nose in the air, Sebastian scampering along behind her. His free laughter told her he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and she sighed, chuckling a little herself at how easily he’d played her. He’d always had such a talent for it.

“Hang on,” Sebastian said, after trekking down the path for a good ten minutes and occasionally blasting spiders out of the trees. “What’s this?”

Dracaena paused, peering at the tangle of thorns Sebastian was investigating. A battered pair of boots poked out, and she felt the familiar prickle of cold shiver up her spine, the same feeling she got whenever she saw a dead body.

“Careful,” Sebastian said, as she stepped closer. He held out a hand to stop her. “There’s a Devil’s Snare in there, probably what got the poor bugger. It’s hiding now because the sun’s up, but still, be on your guard.” He used his wand to levitate a few of the brambles out the way. “Looks like he was a courier, there’s a parcel there. Maybe we could deliver it on his behalf?”

“Good idea,” Dracaena said. “But why was he walking through the Forest if he was delivering something?”

Sebastian accioed the parcel into his hands and frowned as he turned it over, a light clinking coming from within.

“No address,” he said, and picked at the string tying the brown paper together. “I wonder what…”

The paper fell away, and Sebastian’s brows went up as several tiny bottles were revealed, all neatly packed together in a small crate. Each tiny bottle contained a swirling, white-blue substance that seemed to slide between a liquid and gaseous state.

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian said. “This isn’t good.”

“What is it?” Dracaena asked, huddling up to him as he picked out one of the tiny bottles. “Unicorn blood?”

“Nah, that’s way thicker, and the colour’s more silvery,” he said. “This is moonflower essence. It’s extremely rare, worth an absolute fortune, and very, very illegal.”

Professor Fig sat patiently on the sofa in the Room of Requirement, a leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping the air slightly as he sipped steadily at a lovely cup of tea. He was settled back against the arm, trying his hardest not to ask for the fourth time what the matter was with Ominis. The young Slytherin was sitting bolt upright on the opposite end of the sofa, clutching a cup of tea that he hadn’t touched. Half an hour had passed, and he’d not said a word aside from variations of “I’m quite alright, thank you,” despite the older man’s gentle probing.

Eleazar had his suspicions, of course. The way he’d reacted when he’d thought he’d spoken out of turn to a parental figure spoke volumes of the kind of trauma he suspected he’d endured, and he knew as well as anyone that Ominis had to talk about his past in order to be able to process what he’d gone through, to begin to heal. But he couldn’t force it, for that would only make matters worse.

So he sat, and he waited. Unfortunately, it seemed Ominis was far more accustomed to long periods of silence than Sebastian was, and he sensed that if he was going to get anywhere at all, he was going to have to prove that he could be trusted. But how? Ominis was mistrustful by nature, and it didn’t take much for him to dismiss those around him as a bunch of lying fools, even if he wouldn’t say such a thing about his elders out loud.

The best way to get Ominis to trust him enough to open up would either be through gradual increments over a very long period of time, or it would have to be through shared experiences. Eleazar had no desire to wait for possibly years for Ominis to open up to him that much, walking on eggshells and praying he didn’t inadvertently abuse the young man’s trust. But he had very little in common with the lad, in truth. From what he knew from the gossip amongst the professors, Ominis was the polar opposite of his family in every way, though this realisation had only really come to pass in recent months as his dear Dracaena practically dragged him out of his shell when they were together.

Ominis, it seemed, had not had a happy childhood. The fact he went to live with the Sallows the moment he could signified that. But Eleazar had had a thoroughly enjoyable boyhood with warm and loving parents. How could he connect with Ominis like he needed when they were so different?

Another fifteen minutes passed, and Ominis gave a long, almost silent sigh.

“Forgive me sir, but I really ought to finish tending my Flutterby Bush,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Might I be excused?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Eleazar said. “You’re not being kept here against your will, you know.” He paused as Ominis set his untouched tea on the low table and got to his feet, berating himself silently for not being able to help the lad when he so desperately needed someone to care for him. “Do you want some help? I might not be the most green-fingered of men, but-”

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you,” Ominis said, his tone carefully neutral, and Eleazar avoided swearing aloud by a narrow margin. Of course the poor chap would think everyone wanted to help him because they assumed his blindness rendered him helpless, and not just because they wanted to out of the kindness of their hearts.

But then, Ominis hadn’t known much kindness in his life.

“Well, perhaps you could talk me through what you’re doing?” Fig got to his feet as well. “I’ve always held a bit of a fascination with magical plants, but never really had the time to study them.”

He was keenly aware that Ominis wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t give up, not now. He had no idea how long Dracaena and Sebastian would be before they finished fetching whatever it was they were going to get (or rather, knowing them as he did, getting into mischief), and if he missed this chance to get through to Ominis, it was unlikely he’d ever get such an opportunity again.

Ominis’ shoulders moved with another silent sigh. “Of course, sir.”

Eleazar followed him down a corridor and into a rather glorious, long room, where Dracaena had conjured a number of potting stations at one end, the walls covered with tools, diagrams and cuttings, and at the other end were her cauldrons, where she and Sebastian occasionally experimented, with significantly more success than their Gryffindor friend, Garreth.

Ominis headed straight for the Flutterby Bush, a pretty little shrub whose leaves waved and shivered independently, giving the whole plant a pleasant rippling affect. Eleazar took up a station beside Ominis, clearing his throat a little to let him know where he was, and he clasped his hands, waiting patiently.

To his utter delight, this tactic worked.

Though Ominis’ speech was monotone and halting to begin with, he soon settled into his usual pattern of casual conversation, a small smile even appearing on his lips as he spoke about the shrub before him, how to care for it, nurture it, and what results Professor Garlick expected by the end of term.

After half an hour of this, Fig risked a question.

“What is it about Herbology that you enjoy so much?” he asked, crossing his fingers.

Ominis gave an elegant shrug.

“It’s predictable,” he said. “Magical plants generally won’t hurt you, and those capable of causing harm do so only as it’s their nature, and that’s easily avoided if you know what you’re dealing with. You don’t have to deal with dangerous plants if you don’t want to.”

“It’s safe, then?” Fig said, and Ominis hesitated, his fingers brushing the tips of the shivering leaves.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I suppose one could call it that.”

Fig clamped his lips shut, waiting for Ominis to continue speaking. He had to wait a while, but his patience was rewarded as he sighed, lowering his hands to the worktop.

“Plants don’t lie to you,” he said, his voice so soft Fig could barely hear it. “They don’t seek you out to hurt you. They don’t force you to hurt other people. They don’t ignore you and manipulate you and disregard your feelings out of spite.”

Eleazar leaned to the side, peering at him. Ominis’ face was set in a fierce scowl, quite at odds with his gently delivered words. He looked about ready to hit something, and his hands were white-knuckled on the worktop.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use another cup of tea,” Eleazar said gently, and to his delight, Ominis nodded, turned, and led the way back to the sofa.

“What should we do with it?” Dracaena asked, staring at the little crate of tiny bottles in Sebastian’s hands. They’d rushed out of the Forbidden Forest as fast as their legs could carry them and holed up in the nearby stately ruin lying along the road to Hogsmeade. Now, they were huddled up behind a stack of crates, and Sebastian had conjured a blanket to lie on top, shielding them from all sides. The space was quite small, and they were pressed up together. Dracaena tried very hard to ignore how warm he was.

“We could do loads,” Sebastian said. “By my guess, there’s got to be at least fifty-thousand galleons worth of essence here.”

Her jaw dropped. It was an almost obscene amount of money, enough for her, Sebastian and Ominis to buy a big house and live happily on the profits well into their middle ages, probably longer if they were sensible. Of course, Fig would live with them, and…

“We probably shouldn’t,” she said. “Bassy, if this really is worth that much and is as illegal as you say, how the hell would we even sell it? How would we explain where we got the money if we managed it?”

“Well… we’d need to launder it so the Ministry doesn’t get suspicious,” Sebastian said, rubbing his chin. “But that’d mean we need a business, and none of us are likely to do that until we’re out of school.”

“So we just sit on it? What if we’re caught with it?”

“Azkaban, probably,” Sebastian said, pulling one of the bottles out again and tilting it to and fro, his eyes on the swirling, liquid mist within. “A few drops of this makes for a powerful hallucinogen, giving you visions of blissful things. Easy to get addicted to, but the more you use it, the more you need, and the more you take, the worse the visions get, until you’re in a waking nightmare, but you can’t stop. People who get addicted to this end up wasting away because they forget to eat, cowering in a corner and surrounded by horrors.”

Dracaena bit her lip. “We probably shouldn’t sell it, then,” she said. “I don’t want something like this out on the streets where vulnerable people can be hurt by it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Hey, if people want to take it, it’s not for me to tell them no,” he said. “Their body, their choice, right? And if it makes us rich in the process…”

Dracaena thumped his arm, and he chuckled, rubbing it.

“Take it easy, Sparks,” he said, teasing her with the nickname she hated, and she stuck her tongue out at him. His eyes flicked to it immediately, and his smile slipped for a fraction of a second. He wrenched his gaze away and back to the bottle in his hands, barely larger than his little finger.

“It’s not just used as a drug, it’s a really valuable potion ingredient too,” he said.

Dracaena laughed. “That's better. So we sell it to Pippin?”

Sebastian shook his head. “He’ll want to know where we got so much… even a single bottle of this would raise eyebrows.” He pursed his lips, and Dracaena found her eyes drawn to the shape they made. “The only way to sell this would be outside of Ministry regulations. If we own up and say we found it to anyone on the right side of the law, the Ministry would confiscate it, and maybe we’d get a ‘well done’ in the Daily Prophet or something. Now, I don’t know about you, but if someone asked me whether I wanted to take a risk and the result was fifty grand, or do the ‘proper’ thing and get a thank you if I’m lucky, well, I know which one I’d pick.”

Dracaena nodded slowly. “You make a good point,” she said. “But it’ll be dangerous. We should probably take it back to the castle and hide it somewhere until we know what to do with it.”

“Don’t tell Om-” Sebastian began, but Dracaena poked him hard in the ribs and he yelped with a pained laugh.

“Have you learned nothing? If we don’t tell him, he’ll find out anyway, then be upset we excluded him,” Dracaena scolded. “I’m telling him the moment we get back and Fig’s out of earshot.”

Ominis slumped on the sofa, his head hanging. His voice had returned to its monotone state, but for the first time, Fig was glad of it. He thought he’d heard the worst kinds of neglect when Sebastian had told his story (though he suspected Sebastian hadn’t quite told him everything), but the horrific abuse the young Gaunt had suffered at the hands of his family chilled him to the bone. It was a wonder he was even alive, and the story had only reached up to when Ominis was four years old.

“Marvolo used to put me on a broom for fun,” he said, speaking to his knees. “One might think that’s a brotherly thing to do, but once my feet left the ground, I had absolutely no idea where I was. I didn’t have my wand or even the barest hint of magic at such a young age, so I had no way of telling whether I was two foot from the ground or twenty. He used to love sitting in the sun with a book, listening to me screaming for help. It was music to him. He always did it when Aunt Noctua was away, because when she caught him at it, even my father couldn’t stand in the way of the beatings she’d give.”

A tiny flicker of a smile passed his lips. “I suppose it’s funny in a way, looking back on it. She used to frighten the daylights out of Marvolo, but I wished she wouldn’t sometimes. He always hurt me worse after she twisted his ear of whipped his behind bloody. I do miss her.”

“When did she pass?” Eleazar asked, gently.

“Oh, many years ago now. I think I was six when she stopped coming back.” A flash of pain crossed his face, swept away almost instantly by the carefully neutral expression he so often wore. “Ten years… I can hardly believe it.”

Eleazar raised a hand as if to place it on the young man’s shoulder, but he thought better of it. Ominis was a bit funny about being touched, he shied away from contact from almost everyone. Indeed, he’d only ever known Ominis to accept a brief hug or pat on the back from Sebastian, though he did seem perfectly content to lean on Dracaena when they studied. Not that this surprised him, she was a warm and likeable young witch, able to get on with just about anybody.

He tilted his head as Ominis sighed slightly.

“I apologise for going on so, sir, I don’t want to talk your ear off,” he said, his voice still low and dull. “It must be a frightful bore to listen to me complain so.”

“Nonsense,” Eleazar said. “It’s good for the soul to get things off your chest once in a while.”

Ominis shook his head slightly, turning away, and Eleazar bit down on a swearword. He’d been doing so well, and now he was pulling away again! He drew a steadying breath. Patience, Eleazar, let him go at his own pace.

“I could make us another hot drink, if you like?” he offered instead. “Perhaps something other than tea? A coffee, perhaps, or a hot chocolate? I might even have a little firewhisky on hand if you’re in need of a pick-me-up?”

Ominis huffed a soft laugh. “No thank you, sir,” he said, lacing his fingers together and leaning back until he was resting properly against the back of the sofa, his hands in his lap, his head pillowed, his crystal eyes gazing unseeing at the ceiling.

“Did you know that my parents tried everything they possibly could to fix this?” he said, waving a hand at his eyes, before it fell back into his lap. “Everything, I’m told. Gold no object. There was no Healer too expensive, no shaman too far away, no treatment too experimental.”

Eleazar, who had been about to take a sip of coffee, froze, the rim of the cup touching his lip. The darkness in Ominis’ voice chilled him to the bone, and he dreaded hearing what was to come next.

“None of it worked,” Ominis said, his head lolling a little to the side, his eyes closing. “All of it hurt. They’d make me sit there for hours, trying all these different spells, making me drink potions, rubbing poultices into my eyes…” he shuddered. “I think if I wasn’t blind already, I’d have lost my sight for all that they did. Apparently one of their experiments fused my irises together, not that it made any difference to me, but it made them treat me more like an outcast. ‘At least people will know right away that you’re broken, boy, and won’t trouble themselves with you.’ That’s what my father said when it happened.”

“Ominis,” Eleazar began, but the young Slytherin seemed oblivious to his presence.

“They used to give me a piece of chocolate once they got bored of trying to fix me.” He said. “I was never in the mood for it, I was usually in too much pain to think about eating anything. But they forced me, told me I was being ungrateful. I never could stand the taste of it after that.”

Eleazar shifted guiltily, thinking of all the times he’d made the trio a hot chocolate before sending them off to bed, the warm treat a favourite of his as well. Ominis had always accepted with polite thanks, and usually left more than half his cup undrunk once the other two had scoffed theirs. The few times it had been empty, the cup had been spotless, and Eleazar suspected he’d vanished the contents so as not to offend.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Ominis, what you’ve endured is terrible. I don’t know how someone who was hurt so badly by those that were meant to love you has turned out to be one of the most well-mannered, kind people I know.”

If Ominis registered the gentle compliment, he didn’t react to it. Instead, he sighed.

“It gets worse,” he said gloomily. “Once I got my wand, and had practiced enough with it, they decided to let me join in on the family sport, something I’d always been curious about, until I found out what it was. Marvolo had always called it ‘hunting,’ and I suppose it was, in a way. The thing is, what they were hunting was muggles.”

“Ah, shit, they’re still in there,” Sebastian said, his ear pressed to the door opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. “Can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s mostly Ominis talking.” He flashed Dracaena a grin. “Told you it’d work.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. She’d been anxious about Ominis’ declining mood for a good while now, and she got the feeling he desperately wanted to talk about it, but didn’t know how to start. She was wise enough to know she was ill-equipped for helping him considering the little she knew of his past, no matter how much she wanted to be the one he bared his soul to. “But enough about that for now, where the hell are we going to hide the moonflower essence?”

“Shh!” Sebastian flapped his hand at her, glancing nervously along the corridor. “Anyone could be creeping up on us!”

“Revelio,” Dracaena said, her wand revealing nothing but them. “No, there’s no one.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust the portraits,” Sebastian muttered. “Gossips, the lot of them.”

“I guess we could hide it in your dorm?” Dracaena suggested, eyeing the bundle of robes Sebastian was carrying, the crate of essence hidden within.

“Why mine? If anything, we should hide it in yours, everyone loves you and would believe you if you said you didn’t know what it was or where it came from,” Sebastian argued.

“Because I can get into your dorm, you can’t get into mine,” Dracaena said. “If one of us is indisposed, the other should be able to move it pronto, don’t you think?”

“I could get into your dorm if I wanted to,” Sebastian muttered, then his cheeks flushed. “We can’t just keep carrying this around. Maybe if we just hid it in a suit of armour or behind a tapestry or something?”

“Too exposed,” Dracaena said. “We can’t risk someone stumbling on this. Knowing our luck, I bet Peeves would find it.”

As if he was summoned, the colourful poltergeist zoomed around the corner, cackling madly, his arms full of star charts he’d clearly just stolen. He pulled up short in midair with a screeching noise as he saw them standing there, and his little black eyes narrowed in malicious glee.

“Oooh, it’s feeble Fig’s new adoptees!” he cackled. “Up to no good, it seems to me, thinking a professor dad will save your skins!”

“Don’t,” Dracaena said, grabbing Sebastian’s wrist as he went for his wand.

Seemingly disappointed by their lack of reaction, Peeves glowered, his beady eyes lighting on the bundle of robes in Sebastian’s arms. His grin almost split his face in half when both students tensed.

“Oooooh, what’ve you got there? Is it foody or drinky, or something much more naughty?”

He swooped towards them, dropping the star charts, his hands outstretched. Sebastian swore and dived to the floor, holding the robes to his chest. Dracaena stood over him, firing hexes at Peeves as he soared about her, trying to get to Sebastian. She swore herself as he began throwing things at her, vases, potted plants, portraits that yelled at their unexpected flight, and more. She drew the line when he pulled a fat tarantula out of his pocket and flung it at her face.

Dracaena yelped and whacked it away, and unfortunately, it decided to take refuge down the neck of Sebastian’s shirt. He flung himself into the air as though he’d been electrocuted, the bundle of robes flying away as he scrabbled for his collar, howling like a wounded wolf. Dracaena avoided his flailing limbs and hurled herself after the robes as Peeves shot forward, cackling. He caught one end of the robes and Dracaena caught the other, and the wrapped package came flying out.

“Accio!” Dracaena yelled, and it shot into her hands. “Depulso!”

Peeves was blasted backwards, vanishing through the wall with a yelp.

“Get it off get it off get it off get it off!” Sebastian yelled, kicking and slapping at his torso. Dracaena spied the poor tarantula making an eight-legged run for it into the shadows, but delayed saying anything, because at that moment, Sebastian saw fit to tear his shirt right off.

She raised a brow, admiring the freckles on his shoulders, the light dusting of hair on his chest and navel, the tiniest hint of weight around his belly. He blinked up at her, caught her staring, and they both went as red as Gryffindor.

“No spider,” Dracaena said, clearing her throat and nudging his shirt towards him with her foot, averting her gaze. “Look, we better get out of here befo-”

The door to the Room of Requirement opened, and Professor Fig poked his head out. His brows flew up as he caught sight of Sebastian sitting half dressed on the floor, both he and Dracaena blushing furiously. To her surprise, she saw that his eyes were rather red.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Fig said, trying to smile. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Uh…” Dracaena glanced at the package in her hands, then at Sebastian. “Actually, Elly, there’s something pretty serious we need to talk to you about.”

Sebastian swore under his breath.

The package sat on Fig’s desk in his office as he stared at it the following day. Dracaena had told him everything about what they’d found, and he’d advised them both, firmly, that as tempting as it was to sell it and get a lot of gold for it, it would only end up in trouble for the lot of them. He would have to take it to the Ministry. Sebastian set up a fierce protest of course, arguing a passionate case as to why they should do things his way as Dracaena sidled over to Ominis and gave him a huge hug that he eagerly returned, burying his face in her shoulder.

Fig had already had a word with Aesop and written to Minister Spavin, and most of the little bottles would make their way to the Ministry for a small reward, about a hundred galleons or so.

He chuckled softly. It wasn’t fifty grand, but it was something. The other would be tucked away in Sharp’s private stores for his more difficult potions.

His smile slid away as he remembered all Ominis had told him before Dracaena and Sebastian had their fight with Peeves. He hadn’t been able to stop himself weeping, hastily casting a Silencing Charm on himself as he listened to all the poor lad had endured. Endless abuse, mindless torment, even torture.

But listening to him had helped him. Ominis had strode to breakfast that morning with a smile on his face, arm in arm with Dracaena, Sebastian on her other side, the three of them laughing and joking freely. Dracaena had caught his eye and mouthed a thank you to him. Fig had raised his goblet, hoping against hope that his youngest charge would feel more comfortable coming to him with any problems he had in the future. The first step, after all, is always the hardest.

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #dracaena hoctina #Professor Fig #eleazar fig #Dad!Fig

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writermai05 · 9 days

Text

Arsonist's Lullabye

Chapter 5: To Someone From A Warm Climate

Summary: Y/n and Azula get to know each other.

Pairing: Zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated)

A/N: Hey hey hey guess who is not dead! My family flew in to come visit my sister and I in college, so I spent last weekend with them. There’s also a lot of crazy shit going on with the protest on my specific college campus, and I’ve been very hard on myself this week for not being productive, but when you’re in the middle of a debate over the lives of thousands of people, it’s hard to worry about the assignments and silly little fanfic you’re writing. Nevertheless, this chapter is here today, albeit a short one but I swear, shit is about to get so interesting.

Word Count: 686

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot. Lots of divergence from the canon story lol.

Warnings !: None I think.

The post game dinner had gone about as well as it could have. Yeah, maybe it was a little awkward, but for the most part, everyone had a good time. Toph was easily able to power through the tournament, giving the University team a trophy for their first game of the season. You almost wished that the weekend had been longer to process the information you learned on Friday.

The image of Zuko and Azula’s eyes flashed in your mind. It feels obvious that the two are siblings now. If their eyes weren’t enough, their black hair and intense aura should have given it away. As you take a seat in your shared sociology class, you notice Azula take the seat next to you once again. You catch her attention with a small smile.

“How was your weekend?”

“Oh, you know, just another thrilling weekend of staying in my dorm and avoiding all human contact.”

You raised your eyebrows, nodding in mock awe, “Riveting stuff.” Azula smirked, letting a puff of air out through her nostrils.

“Did you manage to do something less boring with whatever freaks you hang out with?”

“Yes, I did.” Before you could have a chance to elaborate, your professor began to start their lesson for the day.

After your first week, this routine began getting stale. Every class period you sat through the lecture, worked with a partner, got lectured some more, and then worked on your own. Although, the unofficial assigned seats had worked in your favor, because then you got to know more about Azula, who had promptly started to sit next to you since your first meeting.

“Interesting lesson, huh?” you venture, hoping to start up another hushed conversation.

Azula’s response is sharp and right in character for how much you know.

“Yes. So interesting that I’m trying not to fall asleep from the sheer excitement of it all. Yay social class!” You quietly chuckle in response.

“I mean there’s definitely meaning to it. Agna Qel’a is the most technologically advanced place in the Northern Water Tribe. When my family moved there for my mother’s work, it was a complete culture shock. Sedna, where I’m from, is a small city. There’s a saying that goes, ‘Take care of the land, and it will take care of you in return.’ But Agna Qel’a is magnificent, and it’s where the chief's royal palace is. It’s modern and gorgeous, but expensive.”

Azula pursed her lips, trying to sort out her own thoughts.

“Our capital city is similar, but probably way more grandiose. That’s how we do things in the Fire Nation. Opulence, and luxury, but mostly concerned with ourselves and no other nations. They’re practically irrelevant.”

“What was it like growing up?”

“The Fire Nation is warm, and never really changes as far as seasons go. Sun-kissed lands and a long, honorable history. My father owns a very large company. Agni Kai enterprises does its business around the world. Before, my brother was the one who was being groomed to take over for my father once he retired, but he chose not to. After he left, then it was all on me.”

Agni Kai Enterprises was no joke. You knew that they owned many smaller companies, and had stakes nearly everywhere in the world. From what you could remember, Agna Qel’a had several complexes owned by someone involved in Agni Kai Enterprises.

“You have a brother?” you asked, but you already knew the answer.

“His name is Zuko. Haven’t seen him since I was 10, and he was 12.”

Learning this new piece of information, your mouth dropped open. Eight whole years have gone by since the two have seen each other. No wonder Zuko had to ask Mai and Ty Lee questions. At this point, there was no avoiding it.

“I know Zuko. He’s in my other class.” Azula’s head turned so fast you thought she could’ve gotten whiplash. The look in her eyes was indistinguishable, except for the usual fiery gaze.

Azula pursed her lips and squinted, her jaw was tense. You were sure that if she clenched any harder than she would break her teeth off. “Well that’s…interesting. I assume that he and my uncle are still living above that tea shop, right? It’s been ages. Perhaps I should make the effort to go visit my dear Zuzu.”

#arsonist's lullabye #writermai05 #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko x reader #zuko x reader #aang #atla #atla live action #atla netflix #college au #modern au #katara #sokka #atla suki #toph #atla azula

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poorly-drawn-puppet-history · 1 year

Note

you won't post 1 headcanon for every puppet. you wont

i WILL. AND i'll do it in chronological order from appearance (more or less). but it will be under a readmore after the first season so i dont interrupt anyones scrollin

The Professor: i think in addition to growing a bit from Dino DNA(tm) he also has feathers now. just some feathers in there with his fur. maybe even molts and is miserable about it

Death: he plays guitar And piano, but just as a hobby. he's like a salaryman who had a garage band as a teenager and never fully gave up on the dream

Propeller: propeller SADSTUCK: i think he legitimately had to go to therapy for the britannica shit that happened. PH feels like it would be that realistic about mental health tbh

Big Pile of Diamonds: his mustache is fake. his greatest secret. his greatest shame.

God: he actually really likes to dance! unfortunately next 2 no one will do it since... The Incident

Train: does he not have a better name... maybe put a mr. in front of there... anyway he feels betrayed by the U.S. since they gave up the train model for highways/interstates and the motorcar industry. gets REALLY heated about it

Mt. Vesuvius: has a bunch of speeches given by famous latin authors and orators memorized, but sometimes he mashes them up without realizing/misattributes which one was written by whom. old man moments

Hatshepsut's Goose: can't remember what their gender was in life. that's fine, they love being a nonbinary icon. AMAB (Assigned Mummy at (em)Balming)

Clipped Coin: dodges the spool's wrath by being unflappable and so down to earth despite his apparent success. truly the king of staying in his own lane

Olympic Torch: hes a cranky piece of shit and only really enjoys sporting competition. he was complaining about being in the group puzzle photo so god just picked him up and he went ffffffffffine. okay. ill smile for 2 seconds

Gay Oars: i think they Also went to therapy, mostly relationship counseling, and now they are back and better than Ever. unbreakable bond. im abt to pen a whole ass comic series about them getting married in purgatory

Policarpa's Spool: still thinks of himself as a spy type, but there's only so much spying he can do in... purgatory. of course, his primary nemesis is the treasure chest.

Lake Donner Snowman: idk if this counts as a headcanon per se but in my very short list where i recast the puppets as famous singers, he is ABSOLUTELY voiced by Weird Al Yankovic.

St. Nick's Wet Bones: sort of taking the whole purgatory thing in stride. he kinda feels like he's in retirement! now he's a minor agent of chaos who's looked after by his darling Pickle Boys

Beast of Gevaudan: i was so sad when the infinitiger wasn't real, i wanted them to have a cooking show together so badly and destroy the horse's self-esteem. i love him. hes so abominably french

Stool of Gold: well-traveled, well-read, literally just as sensible as the Book or the Oars, but finds the chaos entertaining to spectate.

Ziryab's Oud: I think that the puppets have divvied up the whole Wondrium Arena and all have designated Living Areas, and he has a whole dressing room filled with shitty costumes he can't even wear. every time someone knocks he answers like hes on MTV's Cribs.

Bye Bye Brothers: they live in the orchestral pit and treat it like a secret lair. only other Murderer Puppets are allowed in. EXCLUSIVE club

Flower Boat: GNC Icon. this is a flower boat stan account. jenuinely a wholesome, emotional vessel doing their best to pitch in.

Molasses Horse: you can wash him as much as you want, that shit always just comes back somehow. the book theorizes it's psychosomatic at this point, since they're technically only souls at this point.

Tiny Piece of Wheat: bro i bet they went through SUCH phases after finding out about the professor's death. like all five stages of grief and then four more that have not yet been discovered by humans. dw kiddo, u got Grandparents incoming

Emu: the type of guy to fistfight you and then help you up. laid back but ready to throw down at a MOMENT'S notice. has no beef with the Wheat, but generally avoids them to keep from any Upsets.

Treasure Chest: has a little list of get-rick-quick schemes he wants to test, but has no way to in purgatory. he has one braincell bouncing around in his head like the DVD logo

Scabs & Pus: they get to hang out with the Bye Bye Brothers in their little club :) they're gross dudes to look at and be around. but they are ultimately harmless and friendly and just happy to be included.

Book: i love da book. I think he lives in the music library backstage and finds librettos for stageplays/musicals to pitch to the group to put on, as well as produces their little TV shows.

Birch Trees: since they share a root system, they have a telepathic link and communicate without even speaking, which is fucking creepy as hell when one or both of them just start laughing out of nowhere. they probably enjoy acting sinister

Asmodeus: he worked HARD on his song for the show!!!!! i think he's a bit of a ham sometimes when he gets the chance. also his goat head bites literally anything that comes close on reflex.

The Devil: while everything he does is to get souls, it also feels like he wants for positive and is less an Enemy of God and more an Irritating Coworker. in my brain they have a whole Tom and Jerry thing going on.

I don't have anything for the Fake Puppets the Substitute impersonated, but im planning on drawing some infinitiger soon bc he was my fave for sure

The Substitute: this is PURELY crack but i think it would be hilarious if he had voice commands like some tech does. i want him to climb back in the window and ryan just yells XBOX TURN OFF and he vanishes.

Dino Dad/Dinosir: i think even after he gets to the present and learns about all kinds of rocks and gems and crystals he Still just loves a big old rock he can lay on and sun himself with. like a dad and his armchair. doesnt gotta be fancy, just has to be comfy.

Dino Mom/Dinosara: i think she would be REALLY into the fake tv shows the puppets in the Wondrium Arena make. and they'd probably Love to have her as a fan. i think both the professor's parents are Hella popular.

#THIS FELT LIKE RUNNING A MARATHON. I FEEL LIKE IM BEING TESTED BY THE FANDOM. I dont expect anyone 2 read all this but if u do u get a kis #puppet history #the professor ph #the substitute ph #gay oars #watcher entertainment #headcanons #ask answered #peer review? peer support? p #EDIT: if u saw me forget someone no u didnt<3

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pathetic-gamer · 3 months

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I've been thinking a lot lately about the broad conversation about things like "artistic merit" and "real literature" and just the general idea of certain types of writing having greater worth than others, and especially the pressure that idea puts on amateur/beginner writers like me to only make things that are clever or profound.

I am a firm believer that as long as something makes you want to read and gives you enjoyment and enrichment, it's valuable. But many people read a subtext into that idea that what I really mean is it's acceptable for "those" people (less formal education, less academically minded, etc) to read and enjoy so-called airport novels, but not for "people like us." That, if you're capable of reading and discussing highbrow art and literature, you shouldn't bother with anything else, never mind garbage pulp fiction. Certain books are simply never worth your time, certain authors are off limits for anyone who wants to be respected, etc. etc. (I think even a part of me believes that, and therefore that nothing I write is really worth anything. I can't count the number of times I've been completely deterred from writing because of that.)

To this, I say: my partner's grandfather was a professor of Shakespeare for 25 years. He taught all kinds of other literature and writing classes, not just Shakespeare. Now, in his retirement, he reads mostly pulp mystery novels. James Patterson, Tom Clancy - that sort of thing. They're fun to read, he says, and part of the appeal is that there are so damn many of them that he'll never run out.

I don't see him very often, given that he's in his 80s and lives two thousand miles away, but when we do get to visit, he and I have great conversations about reading and writing while playing Scrabble (which I always lose). Last time I saw him, we talked for easily half an hour about the first act of King Lear. In the same conversation, he told me the only way I could possibly be wasting my own time is if I stopped writing meaningless things for fun. Even if I thought what I was writing was useless or silly, he said, even if the only people reading it are the four friends I do little writing exercises with, I'm adding joy to my own life and thus immeasurable meaning to the world.

The act of telling a story is what matters, not how well-written it is or if it subverts the genre or how effectively it surprises its readers. Tropes and clichés aren't a bad thing, predictable plots aren't a bad thing. You don't have to be profound or even skilled for your writing to have merit, just tell the story.

So anyway, that makes me feel much better about everything and I thought I'd share. If my octogenarian respected scholar and former professor of Shakespeare grandpa-in-law can enjoy James Patterson without shame, then I can write whatever silly drivel I want and still call myself a writer. Fin.

#writing stuff #literature #writing #☕️🥧#neil gaiman please get in here and agree with me so i dont feel like a fool lmao #anyway. this has been your regularly scheduled Tumblr User Pathetic Gamer Gets Long-Winded post

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einsteinsugly · 6 months

Note

do have weirdly specific headcanons for eric and donna?

Tis. Lots (disregarding T9S here; my verse be canon). :)

*Donna mostly buys Eric's clothes, bc he feigns ignorance when it comes to clothes shopping, and he buys too much fandom stuff. He also buys his underwear too small.

*They share sweatshirts and flannels.

*Eric's favorite Aerosmith song is "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing." It's Donna's least favorite.

*Eric thinks "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran fits them perfectly. Donna is notably skeptical.

*Eric constantly compares himself and Donna to Peter Parker and Mary Jane. And to Paul and Linda McCartney.

*By the time they reach middle age, they're strangely comfortable with farting around each other (literally).

*They occasionally compete to see who is the cooler parent. Donna almost always wins.

*They travel a lot during their college years. Eric wants to visit every Star Wars filming location.

*Eric is not a freaking Star Wars professor, but is a history teacher in a poverty-stricken area, so he can help others. Donna is a journalist, and they work together on occasion. Eric has good stories, and he's become some sort of an amateur photographer/photojournalist.

*Donna shifts Eric to the left politically, and Red really doesn't like it. It's the only thing Red doesn't like about her; her politics.

*Donna tries to buy a book/magazine that she thinks Eric will like in order to have some alone time. It spectacularly backfires, and Eric talks about the book/magazine with her instead.

*After Eric discovers that Luke and Leia are twins, he researches to see if he and Donna are related. They're thirteenth cousins.

*After Star Wars Legends starts in the early 90s, Eric constantly compares himself and Donna to Luke and Mara.

*Donna jokes that if they ever have twins, they should name them Luke and Leia. Eric is far from receptive.

*They live abroad for a little bit, before having kids.

*As teens, they fall asleep during a drive-in movie, and end up waking up in the middle of the night. The parents are not pleased.

*They watch Abbott Elementary together.

*They hog the basketball hoop from the kids.

*Eric sends Donna cat memes when she's having a rough day at work.

*Jackie, Hyde, Eric, and Donna all get super close when they have kids.

*To their grandkids, Eric is Poppy, and Donna is Mina.

*After they retire, Eric wants to buy a sailboat and travel the world together. Donna is far from receptive; she'll be trapped on a boat with him, all the time.

*Donna honks the horn "for" Eric, if she thinks he's not being an aggressive enough driver.

*Eric loves playing Sudoku, but Donna calls it Su-dork-o.

*****

Author's Note: The bold ones are the ones at least partially inspired by my ED-ish parents. The italicized one is based on me and my mom.

Oh, and the sailboat one was a headcanon sans my parents, until my dad literally mentioned it once. And my mom wasn't all that receptive.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #eric and donna #eric forman #donna pinciotti #jackie and hyde #red forman #my essays #i answer a thing #i probably have more somewhere in my brain #i have more #my verse be canon

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celebrity-conductor-asks · 2 years

Note

Perhaps we could get to know each other as friends? Now that we're on good terms?

(😇 anon)

⚔️: You… still wish to be friends? Even after all that happened?

🛡️: … Well, I think you two are on good terms now, so… why not?

⚔️: Eh. I suppose, sure. We can be friends as long as you don’t pull something that’ll annoy me.

🔽: Achievement: friendship

⚔️: Shut your mouth muppet.

🔼: Hm. You know, it’s not a bad thing to make friends. Since I heard you guys lack anything in that department as it is.

⚔️: I-I… Was it really necessary to call out our personal problems like that?

🔼: Oh. Right, I apologize!

🛡️: Eh… But in a way, we do sort of have SOME friends back in our home region.

🔽: What? Are you referring to the retired and new Champion of your region? And also that Rockstar Piers who’s looking after you both and that one Professor that one of you has a crush on.

⚔️: … I thought we promised we’d never speak of that again-

🔽: We didn’t promise anything.

⚔️: … Can we make a promise now?

🔽: No.

⚔️: … How did you even know all this? We never told you any of this, except mentioning Sonia here and there.

🔽: Your brother talks a lot.

⚔️: BROTHER-

🛡️: h e y -

🔽: Plus… I feel like those guys are your acquaintances, if anything. You at least interacted with each of them like, twice or something. And nothing more.

🛡️: Well… in some of those cases, sure. But not for Master Piers and Ms. Sonia. Granted, we’re not exactly close “chums” with them. It’s not like we go out every weekend to talk. But we do know each other. Master Piers watches over our behavior, and we help Ms. Sonia with her studies. Helping people we troubled was part of our punishment.

🔽: And what about that assistant?

⚔️: … Hop? He still doesn’t trust us-

🔽: No no, the other assistant. The one you used to mess with the Professor. What happened to her?

🛡️: Oh! Her…

⚔️: Hm… From what I heard, she's been helping people, like what we’re doing. Mostly helping with the Pokemon Day Care or that… muddy researcher with her fossils. But in the watch by ACTUAL authority, though. Not by Spiky head or… her.

🔼: … Alright, I’m glad it’s finally confirmed that we have two fugitives living with us on the subway. I’m calling the cops-

🛡️: Woah woah! I can assure you that we mean no harm or trouble! Spiky head and Ms. Sonia already know we’re here! We keep in touch with them via our Rotom Phones!

🔼: Hehe. I know. I’m just messing with you two. You already told me this before.

🛡️: Oh… right.

⚔️: … Plus, it’s not like calling the police will do any good. Even if we abandoned our throne, we’re still royalty by blood. We can quite literally make the police arrest YOU instead, just for looking at us funny.

🔼: … I’m aware. But now, answer this. What are you two doing here? Why are you here? And why are you staying?

🛡️: Well, there’s two answers for that. One being that this is for vacation purposes. To… you know, explore areas outside our region.

⚔️: … And second being for helping the Professor with her research of Pokemons that aren’t in Galar. Such as… Buizel, Zebstrika, Eelektross-

🔽: Wait, Eelektross isn't in your region?

⚔️: … No?

🔽:

🔽: Your region sucks ass.

🔼: Emmet-

⚔️: … Anyway, she’s already doing her own research in the Crown Tundra. While Hop is in the Isle of Armor. As for us, we’re here in Unova to seek Pokemons that aren’t in Galar.

🛡️: … Basically, we’re here for both vacation and research reasons.

🔼: Okay, but why stay here on the subway with us? Shouldn't you royals be somewhere else that isn't a subway? Like... a rich hotel or something?

🔽: Because friendship-

⚔️: No-

🛡️: … It’s mostly because we have no idea on what we’re doing.

🔼: Alright, fair enough.

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon black and white #ask #shielbert #sordward #emmet #kudari #ingo #nobori #subway bosses #subway masters

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?

hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger

this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.

(2k WHOOPS)

The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.

After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.

Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?

It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.

(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”

“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”

“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.

Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”

Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)

(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)

(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.

“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”

“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”

Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”

Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”

“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”

Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)

The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.

Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.

Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.

Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.

It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.

It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.

Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.

He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.

When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.

“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.

“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”

Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”

“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”

Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”

“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.

Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.

“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.

There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.

(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)

(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)

(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.

“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”

The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.

“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.

“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.

“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.

Is that too much to hope for?

He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.

Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--

Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?

Oh shit.

Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.

Oh. Shit.

#asks #one more ficlet in this universe and i will have No Choice but to piece them together somehow on ao3 #there was supposed to be a bit where one of his students is like 'oh i didnt know you were a father!'#and obi-wan is like 'im not a father'#and then he plugs in his laptop to pull up the powerpoitn for the day #and his background is a picture of luke and leia #not even doing anything theyre just sleeping peacefully in his favorite armchair hugging the same book #anakin had sent it to him #with the text that they were taking turns playing Obi-Wan and Student #but the game was so boring they fell asleep #KUWSK

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yourfinalbow · 3 years

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Loki Finale Thoughts: (Heavy Spoilers; Slykie negative & Pro FrozenInTime; Mostly positive, in case you want to stay away from anything Loki critical.)

[ It was better than Supernatural, so, slight win? ]

-First of all, the quotes during the opening was AWESOME?! I genuinely enjoyed those few seconds of listening to a lot of the more memorable Marvel lines.

-The clock jumpscare was so funny. With Scott Cawthon's recent retirement, that scene is the new face of horror. (Though yesterday a friend of mine actually suggested the "crack" theory that Ms. Minutes was behind it all and for a second there I was like 👀)

-I know a lot of other people did too, but I called Kang and the VINDICATION that brought. I literally yelled (in my house full of sleeping people) when he popped up in his purple cloak with his fucking apple.

-Jonathan Majors was the perfect choice to play Kang. His little giggle was my favourite thing and this specific version of Kang was so much fun to watch. (Kang isn't typically known to be the most entertaining character, (compared to, say, someone like Doctor Doom), so this insane version of him is awesome and I really hope he comes back. Within minutes he started climbing the ranks of my favourite MCU characters.)

-I'm going to gloss over the Loki/Sylvie kiss. I blinked and then they were kissing and I just. They're the same person. It’s not my cup of tea, nor one I would ever brew.

-I've had thoughts since episode one that Sylvie is actually The Enchantress. The powers, characterization, and how she interacted with Loki seemed to fit better. PLUS LADY LOKI ISN'T BLONDE. I stopped thinking too much about the theory after a few episodes, because narratively I didn't think it would fit well with the current lineup of episodes and plot reveals, but her line about "I'm not you" makes me want to revisit that. (Unless I misheard?)

-HOWEVER. They didn't kill Mobius off which is obviously awesome. I had matches ready to burn Marvel Studios to the ground if it came to that.

-HOWEVER AGAIN. No jetski. No "wow". 0/10 nothing else matters. (/j)

-I was really cheering for Loki to run to his husband at the end. (Before I realized what was happening, I was 100% stage-whispering "Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss" like a childish middle schooler while Loki and Mobius were face to face.)

-Not sure what to think about (plot wise) Mobius getting his memory wiped. I'll have to go back and watch when it's not 3am before I form any sort of proper thought around it/what it means. But in terms of what I actually think of it, MARVEL I'M STRIKING THE MATCH. YOU BRING HIM BACK HERE OR ELSE. Mobius deserves everything and more and he needs his memories for that.

-They're very clearly setting up for DSMoM/Loki Season 2 (Season 2!) and I think they did a good job of bridging the gap they needed to, without the cliffhanger seeming forced.

-I've seen a few complaints about it being rushed. I'll definitely have to do a rewatch where I'm not high on adrenaline and scream power. (Monster's Inc. style ofc ofc.) As your local research professor on Bucklemming, I can usually pick out things like bad pacing, but I actually didn't think it was too bad? (Considering there was a lot going on and considering a lot happened and considering this episode was only as long as the others.)

-Also! I didn't think the exposition heavy beginning was a drag. Learning about Kang/the multiverse/his hints at the other versions of himself were all easy to follow but still very compelling. And especially with the cuts to Mobius (my beloved) and then back to Kang (my other beloved) it went by rather quickly and wasn't boring.

-Then again you could show me Jonathan Majors!Kang buying oranges at the grocery store and I would be entertained.

-I'm curious what Ravonna's up to. Since she talked about finding free will, my prediction is that she'll find another (darker) Kang and meet up with him. In the comics she starts out as his enemy but eventually becomes an on again off again love interest. (Yes, you head me right. A slowburn enemies to lovers fic.)

-It'll be interesting to see where we go from here! I actually really enjoyed the show, and I'm one of the trashcan blogs who didn't think Loki was super ooc in the series. (Though I am Ragnarok critical.)

Just my thoughts! (Come tell me yours?)

---

#LokiLiveBlogging was my disaster tag for the night.

I was on a ft call with my best friend @p0is0n3d-r4ts and we woke up both of our houses together. (They're currently passed out and still on the phone as I'm writing this.)

There was a lot of screaming and a lot of confused shouts and a lot of snorting, and if you want to do any of those things, (or all three!) definitely feel free to hit me up! My askbox is always open, and anon is always on!

Now I'm going to read Loki AoA or continue writing my Loki/Mobius fic until I pass out.

#I made a stupid amount of posts about Kang.#But every single one will be treasured.#Marvel #MCU #Loki #Loki spoilers #Loki TV series #Loki positivity #AntiSylki #FrozenInTime #Lokius #Loki finale #'Talky talky talky'#Also my eyes are going fuzzy as I'm typing tags.#That's how tired I am.#Long post

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marvelyningreen · 3 years

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Gone Fishin’

Father’s Day 2/2

Peter Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

-🎣-

Even Peter could barely believe how long he’d sat still – like, actually sat still without zipping off to get something else done while he waited – in the garden behind the school. Sure, it’d only been about twenty minutes, but that was an eternity for him.

Oh, looked like the waiting was over. Peter caught sight of Erik walking down the back stairs. Perfect.

“Hey!” he called out.

As Erik glanced in his direction, Peter decided to be polite and walk over to him and a normal pace.

“Not going on that mission with the others?” Peter asked.

“Several world powers would rather prefer that I didn’t,” Erik said dryly, “So, no. I remain in retirement.”

Peter grinned. “Great! That means you’ve got the morning free, then, right?”

A suspicious look crossed Erik’s face.

“I suppose I do,” he said, and it almost sounded like a question.

“Well, come on! We’re burning daylight here.”

Peter grabbed Erik’s arm with one hand, bracing his neck with the other.

“Peter, I don’t-”

He took off without giving Erik a chance to finish his thought. This was only sorta kidnapping, considering this guy was one of the most powerful mutants on the planet. If he absolutely wanted to leave, Peter would take him back to the school before he could, who knows, yank out all the iron in his bloodstream or something.

Peter came to a halt where he’d left the gear earlier that morning. Thankfully, it was all still there. He wasn’t sure somebody would want to steal a bunch of borrowed old fishing gear, but dumber things had happened. He slowed back down to normal speed, making sure Erik didn’t faceplant before releasing his hold.

“- know what you’re getting at,” Erik finished, just a little dazed. “Where on earth are we?”

The little lake was a few miles outside of town, just below a dam. When he was running errands one day, Peter heard a couple of older locals discussing it as a good fishing spot. It was secluded enough – just a little access road leading to a small boat launch, without even a fishing dock. Peter kinda figured that, for as much time as Erik spent at the Xavier mansion years ago, he’d probably never been down this way.

“I heard it’s a good spot for fishing,” Peter said. “And it’s boring to go alone, so…”

“Fishing,” Erik repeated flatly.

“Yeah.” Peter paused. “Unless… you’ve got something else going on?”

He held Erik’s gaze for a second, certain he was going to demand to be taken back to the school rather than be forced into a trivial outing.

But Erik just sighed. “Alright, then. What do you fish for?”

“Me? Validation, mostly.” Peter laughed, then broke off, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Right, sorry. The professor said I should stop using self-deprecating humor as a defense mechanism.”

“That… certainly sounds like something Charles would say.”

Welp, that couldn’t have gone worse if he’d tried. Peter busied himself with checking over the fishing poles, and took a second shot at answering Erik’s question.

“Bass, I think,” he said. “At least, that’s what people say. I’ve never actually caught anything. I get bored after five minutes, y’know?”

He grinned, handing Erik one of the poles. Erik took it with an expression of complete exasperation.

“Why on earth did you drag me all the way out here if you don’t catch any fish?” he asked, massaging his forehead.

“Wha-? What kind of a question is that? Fishing is fun! That’s the sort of thing that people do on… on days like today, right?” Nearly blew it again right there. Peter turned away. “Where did I leave those worms?”

“You didn’t bring any,” Erik said flatly.

“I… oh.”

Shit. At a loss, Peter stood motionless for a second, staring down at the now-useless assortment of fishing gear. He’d made a mess of things, like usual. Well, nothing else for it now. He straightened up, turning back to face Erik with a smile.

“That’s fine!” he said cheerily. “I’ll just run back and-”

“Peter, wait,” said Erik, grabbing his arm as he went to turn away again. “I know.”

Erik released his arm and regarded him in silence. Panic was setting in. Was this the plan? Peter couldn’t remember how he’d wanted this conversation to go. He shifted his weight, rubbing at the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to appear casual.

“You, uh… You know?” he floundered. “What, exactly, is it? That you know?”

“I know that you’re my son.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. Erik was hard to read to start with, and Peter couldn’t begin to figure out what he was thinking. Every chaotic conflicted feeling Peter had had since he was a kid washed over him at once, and sent him reeling inwardly.

“You, uh… Huh.” Peter’s mouth felt as dry as chalk. “I didn’t think you… did.”

“Of course I know,” said Erik. “How could I not? Do you think I can look at you and not see your mother in your face?”

Peter suddenly found it very hard to meet Erik’s gaze.

Ever since he’d put two and two together himself, Peter had worried that he reminded his mom too much of Erik, that even looking at him would bring up painful memories for her. So hearing that Erik saw something of his mom in him, too… It made him happy, honestly – but it was hard to know how Erik meant it.

“I kinda figured, uh…” Peter frowned for a moment, struggling to find the right words. “When I was a kid, at least, I kinda figured that you knew about me, and you just didn’t want anything to do with me because I was always such a screw-up. But I wanted you to care, I guess.”

With a flick of his wrist, Peter sent the stone sailing across the water. It didn’t skip even once, just hit the water with a dull plunk and sank to the bottom. Wow. What appropriate imagery.

“But then Cairo happened,” he went on, “And when they told me everything that’d happened to you, I just… I knew it was the wrong time. With everything you’d lost, I couldn’t. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’m making a mess out of this, I know. It’s just… maybe there won’t ever be a right time. I didn’t want to wait too long and be too late, y’know?”

A breeze, barely cooler than the hot June sun, skated across the lake. Ever since Peter hit his late twenties, it’d gotten so much easier to match the pace of the rest of the world without getting impatient. Not now, though. The seconds he waited for Erik to reply passed at an agonizing crawl.

“You’re right, you know.”

Peter’s gaze snapped back to Erik as he finally spoke. Erik watched him for a second more, smiling sadly.

“I wouldn’t have been ready to hear it then,” Erik went on. “I want to thank you – for giving me time to grieve.”

“If you need more time, that’s okay,” Peter said hurriedly. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I just-”

Erik shook his head. “I think I’ve made you wait long enough. You’re already a better man than I’ve ever been, Peter. Please understand that I don’t say this lightly. Your unflinching courage, the hope you bring to those around you – these are things to be proud of.”

Peter looked away again, falling back on his usual self-deprecation.

“I don’t… I mean-” He broke off suddenly as he felt Erik grip his shoulder.

“I know that I’ve hardly been a father to you, and for that, I am sorry. But I’d be proud to call you my son, Peter.”

Dammit, he didn’t think he was gonna get choked up over this. But whenever he’d thought through how this conversation would play out, it always seemed to end in rejection or indifference. That Erik might actually, honestly be proud of him was something Peter had never really considered.

Peter sped up for just a second – just long enough to wipe at his eyes without Erik seeing – and then cleared his throat to steady his voice before answering.

“I’d like that,” he said. “If, y’know, if you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Erik smiled, releasing his shoulder and taking a step back. “Now, run off and get us some worms. It sounds like you’ve got more fishing experience than I do, so you’ll have to teach me.”

With a grin, Peter sped off. Part of him still kinda expected to find the shoreline empty when he got back, but no – Erik was still there waiting for him.

Him and his dad having their first ever fishing trip. Huh. Peter couldn’t think of a better way to spend Fathers Day.

#peter maximoff #erik lehnsherr #dadneto #x men fanfiction #xmen fanfiction #xcu #fox x men #Peter’s like ‘it was either this or golf. and I really feel like golf would’ve been a mistake’#purely theoretical knowledge of what to do on father’s day #the poor guy #XP

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thebreakfastgenie · 3 years

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why don't you like stanley? i think he's a little aggressive so i don't think he could be MY therapist but im pretty josh did need someone to cut through his bullshit

Just in case this was unclear, I like Stanley Keyworth, I was talking about the first Stanley, from The Crackpots and These Women. I don't have anything in particular against him, I started calling him a bad therapist mostly as a joke I think, it's been so long I don't even remember, which is probably kind of unfair of me. I thought the way he said "why aren't you dead" was sort of... harsh? And also, he tells Josh to take off his coat, and at the time I first watched that, I had recently had a professor tell me to take off my coat during a meeting because I guess she thought by keeping it on I was mentally ready to leave and I was like I'm just cold!! so I projected that onto that scene lmao.

I also think the First (not flat) Stanley is just... not very good at dealing with Josh, which to be fair is a difficult thing to do, and probably more Josh's fault than his. It's not just that Josh was seeing him for an unspecified length of time without disclosing how his sister died, Stanley just doesn't push him that much on the NSC card which absolutely is something he needs to be emotionally available for. I love this scene, but it's kind of a classic Aaron Sorkin therapy scene, and while "Joanie and Toby and CJ and Sam" isn't the worst example of the Sorkin Freudian Slip, it still feels forced to me. Aaron Sorkin writes therapy scenes like someone who has been to therapy, but he has some very specific ideas. I feel like Stanley has kind of an old-fashioned demeanor, like the therapist at the beginning of Girl, Interrupted, or the old guy in the failed therapist montage in Good Will Hunting. And while I'm sure there are still therapists like that, it's just not something I love to see or respond to. It's also worth noting my grandmother is a retired therapist and my mother almost got a PhD in clinical psychology and I was raised to believe many areas of psychology are "fluffy." I think there's a real contrast between First Stanley's attitude and treatment style and what we see later from Stanley Keyworth, as well as Will McAvoy's therapy scenes in the Newsroom.

It's important to me thematically that Josh didn't have a very successful therapist/client relationship with this guy, because it makes his "I like you" with Stanley Keyworth in Noel more impactful if he's tried therapy before and this is just the first time it's clicked. And I don't care about Season 1 Stanley at all, so I can just throw him under the bus, lol.

Also his office is so big and I think it looks stupid.

#me: i don't remember #me: here's a hyperspecific memory from 7 years ago #i did make a post about it at the time tho it's on my blog somewhere

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july-19th-club · 2 years

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i’m a curious/terrified sophomore in college contemplating the future, and i was wondering how you became a librarian? which area, what did you do in undergrad, how did you decide on that career—the cliche stuff. i’m looking into archival and information studies mostly bc i think libraries and museums are cool af places academically and socially, and the evolving media landscape does interesting things to them but like… is that motivation gonna cut it?? how does one Go About figuring this out lol

weeellll im gonna tell you first off that i did not major in anything library related, and the main reason i have my job rn is luck - so i dont know if i can really answer your questions. i majored in creative writing and english, and was/am intending to publish novels. after college i managed to get a part time (like, VERY part-time, like 15 hours a week part time) at a small-town public library (like VERY small; it was two rooms and i was one of two employees). but i learned the computer system and the basics of shelving and patron interaction there and when a position opened up at a nearby slightly larger library (like, three floors and thirty staff members at the time) i was able to apply and i got the job on the basis of the fact that i was the only one of the candidates who already was familiar with the computer system. then i worked part-time there for a year or two, got laid off during the early pandemic, got brought back after a couple months and offered a full-time position because we had a number of elderly employees who were retiring, and got put in charge of donations and memorials with no prior experience in either and spent the last year and a half in a constant state of flying by the seat of my pants. because we now only have about 12 employees, it's a very everyone-does-everything all-hands-on-deck situation and the only thing i don't regularly do around the library is story hour or the children's floor.

so in some ways what you do in college doesn't have as much bearing as you'd think on what you do later in life. if i want to advance any further at work and head a department or order books, i would need a MLS, and at least at my library the board pays for any online classes you take to round out your degree. but i feel like i'm busy enough already that i don't want to try to fit in college work again if i'm not physically at college. most of the people i currently work with did not go to school for library sciences - the people i work with at the circ desk were a newspaper photographer and a fine arts student, respectively, and downstairs in children's we have a former architecture professor and a woman who mostly did childcare before becoming a children's librarian. everyone where i work who has their MLS degree got it online while already working at the library.

SO i don't know if that's encouraging or the opposite...i think whatever it is that you're aiming to do, focus on the practical aspects of the job. if there's a local library or museum that has open part-time positions near where you go to school, see if you can apply. or see if your school does work-study at the college library. what you learn just working there can act like an apprenticeship of sorts, and you can use it when you do get your degree to say "I have experience with X cataloging system" or "I know both Dewey and Library of Congress filing systems" or what-have-you. and since you're interested in archival stuff, know that's gonna be very different from what i do, and the college library might be a better place to find practical experience in it. but i do think that a degree can only take you so far, and having concrete "i worked here for x many months, i know how to do x specific thing or use x specific tool" will be way more valuable when you look for a job in your field. then any future libraries/museums/etc that you apply at will see not just that you're *interested* in the work but that you know *how* it works, and you could jump into a position with minimal training.

i...hope this helps? i realize it's not exactly the answer you were looking for, but it's the information i have. and it's a fun field to work in, even at the local public level where it's mostly confused patrons trying to figure out how their wifi hotspot works and very little poring over old texts for obscure references. and having phrases like *evolving media landscape* ready to go never hurts.

#yeah but i just kinda fell into this job #and now i have no time to write! but if you didnt want time to write and you just wanted to work in a library #it's good work if you can get it

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watchingspnagain · 3 years

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Meet Mace

Hi, I'm Mace, and this is my Intro Post. Ab Spectando Condito and all that. (I sometimes channel Livy when I'm nervous, don't be alarmed.) And I'm nervous because my memory is absolute crap so I can't actually remember all the details here, even though this all started only, like, two years ago. It's also hard to wrap my head around the idea of trying to describe this thing that Lor and I have started (created?) and how and why it has become so important. So, well, bear with me.

Okay, here goes: For years friends had been telling me that I *needed* to watch Supernatural; it was right up my street, they'd say. But I kept putting their recommendations aside, thinking that, sure, Dean from Gilmore Girls is in it and he's adorable, but that other guy looks like a frat boy cliché, and overall the show seemed like it was probably Buffy but with Dudes (and I LOVE Buffy and will brook no substitutions or messings-with The Buffy). Eventually I decided to give it a try anyway, a decision wholly based on how hilarious the memes were. Maybe the non-Dean guy (His name is Dean? *His* name is Dean? Wait, no, that's not...but why tho?) isn't so bad? The first attempt didn't go well: my husband, who is so very not interested in SPN, was away on a business trip and I waited until my then-10yo son was in bed, crawled into bed myself, and started the first episode. At night. Alone. I made it 10 minutes before actually saying out loud, "NOPE" and turning it off. Cripes, that first episode (and most of the first season, really) is actual, full-on scary! I mean, what. Why have Handsome Boys making Hilarious Quips on a show that I can't watch because I'm too scared?! Sort of rude, to be honest.

And that was it for, I think?, a couple of months or so. Then - and this is one of the places where my memory gets foggy (I tried three times to type that correctly and the first two came out as "goofy" and honestly yes that too) - the watching of SPN was mentioned on another site I spend much amounts of time on. I suspect Lor remembers the details much better than I do, but somehow we starting talking about how we both had been thinking about watching SPN for a long time, but hadn't actually done so because past attempts on both sides had resulted in fright and flight.

Now, Lor and I have been friends on that other site for several years, but never before really corresponded much outside of that site's chat-like forum section. I pretty much admired her from afar, as it were, and held her as a Fantasy BFF in my daydreams - she was (and still is to this very day) cool and *so* clever and smart and had (and still does to this very day) such a brilliant knack for turning a phrase and I admired (and still do to this very day) her wit and snark and general amazingness, but, again, mostly from afar. So when we somehow decided to try again with Supernatural, but this time together, I was ridiculously excited. I had no idea, though, just how life-changing that decision would be. We bonded, it seemed, almost instantly over our love (second time is the charming one, I guess?) of the show and over discovering how much we have in common with each other. It's comical, almost, just how alike we are in all kinds of areas: similar childhood experiences, nearly identical (like, eerily so sometimes) tastes and opinions on all manner of things, and we're essentially twins in our list of Things That Make Our Anxieties Spike.

We started off watching the episodes separately (I think I was a little ahead of her for a bit? Gah - stupid faulty memory) and then typing up our comments and emailing them to each other, then responding with comments on our comments. And it quickly became one of the highlights of my days, getting those emails, reading through her clever and hilarious remarks, feeling pure glee when we had almost exactly the same thoughts - sometimes even typing the exact same phrases, word for word. This, then, at some point, evolved into watching the episodes at the same time and live-texting each other, which means that now we very often are typing exactly the same reactions, word for word, and then geeking out at how SAME we are in real time. Of course we have differences, too, but even those seem to complement each other: she's the Hufflepuff to my Slytherin; she's a Dean girl and I'm a Sam girl (well, and also a Crowley girl - Sam girl in the streets and Crowley girl in the sheets?); she likes Wuthering Heights, which slightly baffles me but, okay, because we both agree that MacFadyen is the best Darcy.

We had big plans to have a meet-up to watch the series finale together. See, we've never actually met in person. We became friends online, then became closer friends through this mutual SPN watch, but that's also online. And so I've never been face-to-face with my best friend. Because the meet-up for the finale didn't happen, of course. Because Covid, of course. For both of us, anxiety added a special sauce of NOPE to leaving the house this last year and we've both, I think, been pretty much isolated, staying home and not having much interaction with others outside the other members of our households. Which means that our SPN watching and our growing friendship took on an even greater meaning and importance for me. I'm honestly not sure that I could have handled the massive stress and anxiety of this last year without Lor's friendship. It just feels...natural, at this point, that I spend my days texting her back and forth about all sorts of things, the small and mundane to the big and important. Lor has become a huge part of my life and if a full day were to pass by without talking to her, I'd feel that loss fairly keenly. On some level it seems pretty bizarre that I owe such a debt of gratitude for this amazing friendship to a TV show, but here we are. This show, its characters, and the actors and writers who have made them so outstanding and special? Well, I owe them all incalculable amounts of thanks.

Anyway. So.

We're now on our second go-round with our SPN watching (because I think neither of us can now even begin to fathom a life in which we're *not* watching this show together), and Lor, (hello - did I mention she's brilliant and amazing?) low-key drops the idea that we should be blogging our live-text conversations. We've talked before about really wanting to have a record of *waves hands around* all this, and a blog seems like a great way to do that, regardless of whether anyone else ever reads it. I'm content for it to be an open and ongoing love letter to Supernatural and to our friendship, even if it remains a largely unread one.

And finally, here are a few Thing You Should Maybe Know About Me:

I'm a farmer's daughter with a PhD in Classics, a one-time professor, turned stay-at-home mom, turned part-time librarian, turned Classics prof. again, living in the Midwest with my husband, 12-going-on-80yo son, and a goofball of a golden retriever.

I love reading as much as I hate housecleaning, and I'll read pretty much anything unless the dog dies or the child gets hurt.

I also really like knitting and sewing and one of my very favorite things is to make ridiculously-tailored Halloween costumes for my son (thank the gods he's totally into it, too). I missed my calling to be a cosplay designer. Maybe in retirement...

I fall in love easily and fast and hard for fictional characters, especially the ones that are 1) evil and/or generally villainous, 2) tormented, 3) super smart and/or skilled, 4) filthy rich, 5) completely unattainable, and if they're all of the above, Holy. Damn.

#watchingspnagain #watchingspnagain intro #watchingspnagain mace speaks

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csykora · 3 years

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I sorry I have more questions know because that sounds like a really interesting background. How did you manage to jump from history major to nursing?

Questions are always cool. I’m afraid it’s not a very good story, but here’s trying:

(Warning for mentions of death)

I was born in a village of about thirty people, which used to be a quarry town called Sodom. The only business was the co-op which the quarry workers had founded. (There used to be one other: the bar, which was in the basement of the church. We’re efficient people.) Everybody sugared and most people raised cows, except for us. We kept sheep. For the first part of my childhood the cabin was lit with oil lamps, until my dad burnt it down.

Loving history was natural. I think partly it was home—wherever you go you can stumble into the cuts of empty quarries, the stones taken away for pasture walls that now hold trees, come out of those new trees to find a massive fat signpost maple that used to mark the old Montréal road. And partly I wasn’t a good reader, so I missed most children’s books and wound up reading a lot of secondhand books—discarded university collections of Arthuriana and fairytales, a translation of the Song of Roland, Tolkien and Lewis, lots of technical books on construction and crafts, that sort of thing.

I think I was raised to look for where people were. It’s a good idea to find your way in the woods. And I also knew I was outclassed in school trying to understand modern shit my classmates knew about: thinking about the ways people lived in the past seemed easier, at the time. Thinking about the things they felt is also easy for a weird kid. The books I had made the difference: Lewis knew his medievalism, and those texts didn’t gloss over the wildly different ways people used to see themselves and each other. The gender roles we know in America now are not the same as any other time. In some time and place, every sort of person has lived, and they’ve felt all kinds of things. It has nothing directly to do with my life, but at some point someone who looked like me could wear big gowns and be seen as feminine and precious without question, and knowing that is pretty cool. The story of Lancelot and Gawain has nothing directly to do with my life, but you can hear it and know that people in the past have felt grief and absolutely pathetic queer longing, and that’s pretty cool.

I was also raised by my dad, who had been a teacher and a public defender and several other things but was mostly a socialist. He retired after being given a terminal diagnosis when I was four, and pursued his passion of being a weird old woodsman. (Unrelatedly my pseudo-Uncle Dave who lived across the way was an Oxford Classics professor turned logger.) So I had no idea how careers were supposed to work. I found a college program with lots of scholarship at fifteen, so I just took a bunch of history courses, because that was all I knew about, and one EMT-B training course, because it was a great excuse not to sleep.

When my dad came out of remission, I realized that I was going to need to be his primary caregiver. The emergency training had made me realize how much of medicine amounts to doing stuff with your hands, and I can sure do that, but I had never been trained in the kind of wound care I was helping him with, so I quit my college and applied to nursing school.

In the end, we didn’t have that kind of time, and my dad died my first week of nursing school when I was eighteen. I finished the year because I was there, and then the program because I’d finished the year. If you all ever take any advice from me: try to pay attention when you’re going in a direction just because that’s the way you were going. My dad would say that when you’re lost you should start searching in spirals.

I started going into the school rink just to listen to the white noise of the machinery and keep not sleeping, which is how I completely accidentally watched a hockey game for the first time in years. I wound up watching the NHL and the thing you really need to know about me is that I watched every game of the 2015-16 Columbus Blue Jackets.

Then I started this blog, graduated, worked, realized I could go back to school while working, and now my hobby is writing historical Romance.

I hope this has answered your questions, unless you have questions about Arthuriana or the Chronicles of Narnia or the Romance novels I want to write about the plot to turn the crown prince of France gay or ‘80s hockey. For some reason no one asks me about Romance or the Chronicles of Narnia on this, my hockey blog

#not hockey #I’m sorry this is long #history is cool!

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entity9silvergen · 3 years

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My Oriented Aroace Headcanons From 8 Fandoms

Oriented Aroace is an aspec identity where someone does not experience sexual or romantic attraction but experience other forms of attraction in a way that causes another nonaspec label describing sexuality to feel significant enough to have a place alongside one’s aroace identity. For more information on this term, here is the info page on the oriented aroace subreddit and here is the wiki page on it.

Headcanon is a subbranch of fanon, meaning headcanon is something generally not accepted as canon but some fans choose to believe about the original content. In the queer community, it is common to headcanon characters as queer. Sometimes it’s with good reason, sometimes it’s just because we like the characters, sometimes it’s because we see something of ourselves within the characters.

Here are some of my oriented aroace headcanons.

1. Sai (Naruto)

This is by far my favorite aroace headcanon but I don’t talk about it much because I don’t want to support the stereotype that aromantics are heartless or that asexuals are traumatized. In Naruto Shippuden, Sai is a character who does not experience emotions after an illegal black ops organization killed his brother and brain washed him. He does, however, recover his emotions and learns to be very in touch with them. In Boruto, he is married to Ino and has a son named Inojin.

I headcanon Sai as pan-oriented aroace, possibly demialterous as well, but he experiences some degree of internalized homophobia and aphobia which leads him to pursue a romantic relationship with Ino. I don’t doubt that he loves her, he definitely does but I don’t think he loves her in the same way that she loves him. I wrote about this for Aromantic Writing Month. I believe that Sai initially started courting Ino because that was what was expected of him. Ino went along with it because she is attracted to him. At some point she probably realized Sai doesn’t quite feel the same way as her but they talked about it and continued their relationship as a allo-aspec qpr.

2. Rook Blonko (Ben 10)

Rook Blonko is Ben’s (work) partner in Ben 10: Omniverse. He is an alien from the planet Revonnah. When we see his homeplanet, we learn that he is very attractive by Revonnahgander and all the local girls are interested in him but he is bothered by it, only showing affection for one girl named Rayona. They end up dating later in the series. A couple villains show interest in Rook as well and he is usually bothered by it or has mixed feelings with no desire for reciprocation.

I headcanon him as hetero-angled aroace, specifically gray/ frayromantic and acespike. Gray romanticism means that someone is aromantic but can experience some kind of limited romantic attraction or experiences romantic attraction under specific circumstances. Frayromantic is essentially the opposite of demiromantic. Someone may experience romantic attraction that fades as they get to know the other person. Acespike means that someone is asexual but can sometimes experience spikes of sexual attraction.

If you have seen the show, you may know where my thoughts are coming from. Rook mostly shows romantic interest in Rayona before they start dating. Once they’re in a relationship, their feelings seem very platonic and their relationship is much like a qpr. This may be because of their age, lack of experience, or their culture but I’d like to imagine that Rayona feels the same way as Rook and they are in a qpr.

The only other character Rook has shown interest in is Isosceles Vreedle. He is briefly attracted her during a battle but doesn’t seem to have any intent on acting on his feelings (presumably because he is in a relationship). He seems to be aware that this is out of character for him, which leads me to believe that he is acespike.

3. Alain (Pokémon)

Alain is the star of the Mega Evolution specials and Ash’s main rival in the Kalos League. I headcanon him as gay-oriented aroace.

I don’t have much of a reason for this. Headcanons don’t necessarily need reasons but I’m still going to try to explain this one.

He never has any romantic interests in the show, probably because we don’t see much of him and his story is very focused on his Pokémon training. There are many characters who are solely focused on Pokemon training and that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re aroace but with Alain, I can’t really see him ever wanting to settle down or pursue a relationship though and he doesn’t seem like a women’s man.

His perfect life is retiring young from a decent battle career on a Pokemon ranch where he works as a Pokemon professor, giving out starter pokemon and providing a place for trainers to send their pokemon when their parties are full. He won’t have many visitors but maybe he’ll have a close companion to keep him company and help out with any projects he’s working on.

4. Toph (Avatar: The Last Airbender/ The Legend Of Korra)

Toph is Aang’s earthbending teacher in ATLA, the founder of metalbending in the comics, and Lin and Suyin’s mother in TLOK. I headcanon her as sapphic or trixic-oriented aroace.

Sapphic and trixic are both non-exclusive terms for attraction to women but sapphic is specifically for women and trixic is for non-binary people. Canonically, Toph is a girl but she is very free spirited and independent and I feel like she wouldn’t let something like gender limit her.

In TLOK, Toph does mention that she tried to have relationships with Lin and Suyin’s fathers but it didn’t really work out. I imagine that Toph is sex favorable and likes sex as kind of a fun way to enjoy herself but does not experience sexual attraction nor does she feel a need to have regular partners. Similar goes for romance. She is romance-indifferent but does not like it much.

The lesbian Toph headcanon is a popular one. Not really sure why but Toph seems like a ladies’ woman. She likes to have her fun and she just finds women to be better companions than men in these aspects. She doesn’t get attatched easily though and she’s not really into the commitment.

5. Korvo (Solar Opposites)

Again, I feel like this plays into a stereotype that I don’t want to support but these are my headcanons and I will do with them as I want. Korvo is an alien who is having a hard time adjusting to living on Earth. We know that his species has no biological sex and do not reproduce sexually but many of them choose genders, enjoy sexual activity, and pursue romantic relationships. I headcanon Korvo as bi-oriented aroace, possibly bi-electio aroace.

I have not seen the most recent season but in season 1, Korvo is mostly uninterested in anything outside of returning the ship. We have seen him in real no romantic contexts but he and Terry are co-parents of sorts. We also see him in a couple of sexual contexts. When he got zapped by a ray that removed his intelligence, he tried humping Terry and when he and Terry tried going to college, he remained on his side of his and Terry’s shared bed when Terry brought home sexual partners.

I don’t think Terry and Korvo are in a relationship or a qpr but am not completely opposed to the idea. My point was just that we know he isn’t repulsed by the idea of doing traditionally romantic or sexual things with someone who is masculine in nature. I think he could also appreciate what a woman brings to the table, as seen when he built a robot to fulfill the role of wife and mother in the house.

I don’t think Korvo is interested in a relationship but he does value the companionship and wouldn’t be unhappy with a partner. He may struggle to maintain a partnership but I don’t think gender would be much of a factor.

6. Todd Chavez (BoJack Horseman)

Todd is BoJack’s off-and-on best friend/ roommate. Canonically, he is asexual and heteroromantic (presumably, all we know for sure is that he is alloromantic). I headcanon him as straight-oriented aroace, specifically heteroqueerpatonic and panplatonic.

I love that Todd is canonically asexual and I appreciate that they showed an asexual character who is not aromantic. But, all of Todd’s relationships have that queerplatonic vibe. When he described the kind of relationship he wanted with Emily, it didn’t sound like a romantic relationship. What he had with Yolanda certainly wasn’t romantic. Maybe it was just the writing but Todd seemed most happy when his relationship resembled a qpr. When he was dating Maude, the lines between romance and friendship were blurry and they seemed very happy, and that included not doing traditionally romantic things like getting married.

I could also see Todd as greyromantic. For him, I feel like having a label isn’t really that big of a deal. Being able to say he was asexual was a big deal for him but he just wants to be himself and find whatever makes him happy. Sex and a traditional romantic relationship don’t really seem to be a part of that.

7. Silver Surfer (Marvel Comics)

Again, this isn’t one I talk about much because I don’t want to support the stereotype that aromantics or asexuals are inhuman or lacking emotion. Before becoming the Silver Surfer, Norrin Radd is in a relationship on his home planet and he does express interest in a few women after becoming the Silver Surfer. I headcanon him as straight-oriented aroace.

Some of it may have to do with Galactus’s interference. Maybe not. The Surfer doesn’t need sex or romance (no one does but you catch my drift) but he doesn’t really want it either. Sometimes it is portrayed from a sense of duty but we don’t really know what he’s feeling. He’s been one of my favorite characters for years so I may just be projecting but it feels right.

He can get lonely. He wants a companion but I don’t think he’d want a romantic one or even a queerplatonic partner. He’d be most happy with a friend and he’d get all the fulfillment he needs from one. A romantic partner might be a bit too much.

8. Gina Linetti (Brooklyn 99)

Gina is Jake’s childhood friend, Captain Holt’s assistant, and Boyle’s... something. I’ve seen a lot of headcanons that she is pansexual but I headcanon her as heteroflexible-oriented aroace.

Gina, like Toph, is just kind of doing her own thing. I feel like she’d be sex favorable and romance indifferent. Sex is fun, relationships are alright, she’s just living her best life. Men are nice, women are too. She’s just living life and rocking with whatever rolls her way.

When she has her daughter, she does want to settle down a bit but not with a man. She loves the kid and steps up to her new responsibility but she doesn’t let it change her. She’s still as wild and free and she doesn’t want or need anyone.

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