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fallenangelics · 2 months

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Hiding From The Missus

PAIRING | Alastor/Angel Dust

WORD COUNT | 1456

SUMMARY | After seven years of silence, Angel Dust had finally gotten word of a familiar someone showing their face again. Going to where all clues point, he's met with some surprises before finally finding what he had been after.

RATING | Teen And Up Audiences

WARNING/TAG(S) | No Archive Warnings Apply, Overlord Angel Dust AU, Established Relationship

A/N | @rubra-wav created the beautiful banner below so go check out their content since they have some amazing stuff. @minidust093 loosely inspired this fic. I had already had the idea when I saw some of their amazing art so I just wanted to tag them so that anyone reading this could go and check them out.

EVENTS | @eclipsingbingo | Grabbed By The Chin

AO3 LINK | Read Here

The suit that Angel Dust wore was fitted to the curves and extra arms of his body. Though it wasn’t uncomfortable, as he walked across the pentagram it made him miss the loosness of his favoured dress. It didn’t matter though as he didn’t plan on spending too much time out, just a quick stop by one of the new establishments under the guise of scoping it out before he could return to his luxurious house.

Treading up the small hill near the end of the pentagram, Angel’s eyes fell on the large building at the top of it. Ghosting his eyes across the overly red building, he took in all of the extra renovations it had undertaken, such as the pirate ship that stuck from one side of the building and the radio tower that was spiralling out. His eyes stayed locked on the radio tower for the remainder of his walk, all the way up until he was knocking on the door and could hear the footsteps of someone coming to greet him.

“Hello,” A short blonde woman cheered excitedly as she threw open the door, staring up at Angel with stars in her eyes. Something in the back of Angel’s mind was itching at him, telling him he had seen her face before but he couldn’t quite place a finger on it. “And welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! You’re Angel Dust, the Mafia Demon, right? Are you here to begin your path to redemption?”

“Ehh, not quite,” Angel spoke with as little enthusiasm as he could muster, having seven years of excitement sucked out of him just from the display he witnessed. Deflating slightly, the blonde woman still looked at him with a radiating sense of joy that Angel couldn’t help but wonder where she stored it. “I’m here for other reasons. Think of this as a business opportunity.”

“That’s great,” She exclaimed, shoving the door open wider to invite him in. With a hand reaching out, one of the blonde woman's hands latched onto Angel’s making him flinch back at the sudden contact. It wasn’t every day that people came running at the opportunity to grab onto Angel, not when they realised who he was at least. The woman took his reaction in stride as she beckoned him in, trying to show him the way. “Let me introduce you to our hotelier. He’ll be so happy to meet you.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Angel muttered as he stepped into the hotel for the first time. Taking it all in, just like the outside, there was an excessive amount of red, the colour coating almost every surface. All the furniture and wallpaper was old, fabrics peeling and stuffing spilling out of surfaces. Angel wouldn’t be caught dead staying in a place like this or even wandering near it if he was certain they were harbouring something he was looking for.

“Angel Dust?” A voice called out, sceptic as they called for his attention. Turning to face whoever had caused him, Angel’s face brightened a minuscule amount before he even faced the Sinner, recognising them from their voice alone. Just as every other time Angel has had the pleasure of running into the Sinner, he wore his usual tophat, bow and suspendered pants, all of which were laced in red. “What are you doing here?”

“Just lookin’ for some new investments,” Discarding the blonde woman momentarily, Angel Dust gave his full attention to the much shorter Demon. “Didn’t know I’d find you here, Whiskers.”

“Wait,” Their attention was then pulled away from a new voice, one Angel didn’t recognise this time. Spotting a woman even shorter than Husk adorning a lot of grey and a glare on her features, Angel couldn’t help but sigh as more time was wasted. The scowl on her features twisted as her eyes flicked between them both. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah, he also knows Niff,” Husk supplied for him, filling in the two unnamed girls in the room. Both of them gave him a confused stare, unaware as to how Angel could’ve known the both of them. Just by Angel’s looks alone it was clear that he was well off since coming down to Hell. Trying to connect the dots as to how he had met two Sinners who had sold their souls just wasn’t adding up. “Wait, do you two not know who he is?”

“He’s the Mafia Demon,” The blonde woman repeated, though there was a spec of hesitation in her words now as she examined Angel’s tall figure.

“What?” The shorter one exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took in Angel’s calm and put-together appearance. Marching over to the blonde woman, she grabbed onto her arm and pulled her in close, whispering in a shouted way, “You let another Overlord in here, Charlie?”

“He wanted to invest in the hotel, Vaggie,” Angel was guessing Charlie spoke to who she had called Vaggie. Again, the name Charlie rattled around in Angel’s head but he was still yet to put a title to the name or the face. “This could be really good for business if everyone knew we had two Overlords helping out.”

“Or it could scare them all away,” Vaggie rebutted, letting go of Charlie to instead glare at Angel. The heat in her eyes did nothing to get under Angel’s skin, just making the Overlord let out a huff in annoyance as he was subjected to this bickering until Charlie was able to move on with this little tour and take him to the hotelier.

“I don’t think that’s going to matter,” Husk cut in, stopping Vaggie from going even further down this over-paranoid rabbit hole. “Not when he’s Al-”

“What’s all this commotion about?” A static-filled voice sliced through the room, putting an end to any discussions. Chills broke out along Angel’s spine as he turned to face the newcomer to the conversation. Setting his eyes on him, Angel was glad he decided to give this rundown hotel a look since it was in fact harbouring the Sinner he was in search of. “My, what a wonderful visitor we have here.”

“Alastor,” Angel mused, voice sweet and sultry as he left his spot to saunter over to the Radio Demon. The deer smiled up at Angel in a genuine display, the sight blocked by Angel’s being as he got closer. Lifting one of his many hands, he slowly placed it on Alastor’s cheek, giving him time to back up if he needed to. When he didn’t, his head tilting to rest in the gesture, Angel trailed it down to where he was grabbing Alastor’s chin and tilting his head up so their eyes could properly meet. “Smiles… Where the fuck have you been these past seven years?”

In seconds, the sweetness that had been previously wafting around Angel dropped and a cruel and harsher tone took over. Grip tightening on Alastor’s chin to the point where his nail dug into the flesh and almost pierced it with his claws, blood ready to begin bubbling out. One of Alastor’s ears twitched, his smile hardening as he grinned up at Angel, ready to diffuse the situation.

“What’s going on with those two?” Vaggie murmured, pointing an accusing finger at the both of them.

Hearing her voice, Angel let go of Alastor’s chin and instead reached up to grip one of Alastor’s red ears. Pinching down hard, Angel pulled Alastor in step with him as he turned the both of them around to face the small group that was watching their untouching reunion. In a deadpan Angel announced, “He’s my husband.”

“Aww,” Charlie very quickly cooed despite the situation, earning a blare of static from Alastor.

“Why don’t we move this to the privacy of my room, Dear?” Alastor attempted to wiggle his way out of Angel’s grip, one of his tentacles coiling around Angel’s arm to try and yank him off, though Angel stayed strong in not letting Alastor out of his grip.

“Oh, so you made yourself nice and comfy here before tryin’ to track me down to let me know you were back?” Angel scoffed as he pulled on Alastor’s ear tighter, practically shouting into it as he lowered himself to speak into it. “Let me guess, you were gonna go start shit with Vox before even droppin’ by to let me know you weren’t dead.”

Alastor’s response couldn’t be heard as the pair of them were engulfed by shadows, transported to wherever Alastor desired. Behind them, they left two bewildered girls and an amused Husk at seeing his boss get a good yelling at. Sucking a calming breath in that didn’t work in the slightest, Vaggied said, “What. The. Fuck.”

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theteasetreads · 1 year

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Here is a list of stuff I love/recommend from writers I think are neat. Please be sure to check out their blogs and their other stuff too! I will be updating this list the more I find stuff I love.

*this list is arranged in alphabetical order

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+) 💝 = fluff 💔 = angst 👀 = suggestive/implied smut

❧ @collecting-stories ↳ I am not sure if this writer is currently writing for Daryl at the moment, but I ADORE their Daryl content! Be sure to check them out, and maybe you'll find that they write for some other characters you like, too!

❧ @devnmon ↳ Rye is one of my pals, and they just so happen to write some of the best Daryl Dixon fanfiction ever. Like, ever. They write some of the sweetest, sauciest, sexiest smut I've ever read, and their writing style is just amazing. I am so bad at describing this kind of stuff, but trust me when I say that they are essential reading if you like Daryl Dixon x Reader!

❧ @haruhey ↳ So much has been said about Haru, but I truly cannot express how amazing their work is. Not only do they write the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering smut on this planet, but they also put so much care and detail and love into their writing. I love how they put tons of effort into creating a real relationship between Daryl and the reader character. It's truly spectacular. Please check their stuff out if you haven't already.

❧ @normanplusdaryl ↳ Ari is just starting on her writing journey, and boy is she already turning out to be another ICONIC addition to the Daryl Dixon x Reader family. I love the way she writes Daryl, how he's true to his character and does/says things I actually think he would do/say. That is a really hard thing to do! Plus, she writes angst super well, and, once again, that is not an easy feat.

❧ @starlessea ↳ This writer's work pretty much introduced me to the world of Daryl Dixon x Reader. In fact, her series, Here Comes the Sun, is what inspired me to write my own series, and my own fanfiction in general.

❧ @weretheones ↳ Madi is not only one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funniest, coolest, most talented people you will ever meet, she is also a stellar writer who truly understands the complexities of Daryl's character and basically everything about him. She is truly the gem of Daryl Dixon x Reader. She is an icon, a star, a revolutionary. She rocks my world. Oh, and she is one of the best angst writers. Ever. I don't even particularly like angst, but Madi? She does it so well that it's not even angst, it's just pure art.

❧ Back to Black by normanplusdaryl | 💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions. ↳ Word Count: 2.5k

❧ Doctor's Orders by weretheones | 💔 ↳ Summary: When a sprained ankle takes you off run duty, the new girl goes in your place. Which would’ve been fine– if she didn’t have that brilliant wit, gorgeous smile, and effortless skill. But she did. And it was only a matter of time before Daryl noticed too. (Season 4) ↳ Word Count: 7k

❧ Gone For Good | Part 1 & 2 by weretheones | 💔💝 ↳ Summary: It was easy to lose hope when everyone around you started dropping like flies. When the flu hit, Daryl saw your optimism drain alongside your health, but it wasn’t until the brutal attack of the Governor that he lost his. ↳ Word Count: 9k (total)

❧ Hide Away With Me by haruhey | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. ↳ Word Count: 3.6k

❧ In Vino Veritas by haruhey | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: After a particularly rough run, Daryl wants nothing more than to shut himself away from everyone with you. However, he’d agreed days prior to be your ‘date’ to one of Alexandria’s welcoming parties thinking you needed someone to share the pain of new people with. Guilt gnaws at him the whole night and he gets wasted to numb the feeling, resulting in you having to carry him home. The alcohol in his system and the way that dress hugs you makes him particularly… talkative, and as the Romans say, in wine there is truth. ↳ Word Count: 30k

❧ Late To the Party by devnmon | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl has a knife kink. ↳ Word Count: 7.1k

❧ No Rush by weretheones | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl took his time with you. ↳ Word Count: 950

❧ You Deserve the World by devnmon | 💝💔👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl’s been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he’ll lose you. You show him every way he won’t. ↳ Word Count: 3.4k

❧ You, You, You by normanplusdaryl | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break. ↳ Word Count: 1.2k

❧ All You Got by weretheones | 💝💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

❧ Georgia by collectingstories | 💝 ↳ Summary: King County, Georgia. In a small town like that, where everyone knows everyone, people can get pigeon-holed into personalities that aren’t their own. Daryl Dixon was a troublemaker, a good-for-nothing, redneck kid who would grow up to be just like his dad. Drinking too much, smoking too much, and cheating his way through life. But Daryl isn’t any of the things people say he is and you’re willing to shoulder the burden of their judgement when you find yourself falling for him.

❧ Here Comes the Sun by starlessea | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you’re not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn’t like your singing, or that you can’t use a gun for shit - and don’t get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he’s found a best friend for life, and that he doesn’t actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Updated: 3/13/2023

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic

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trashworldblog · 25 days

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hi! I am currently writing 2 papers atm so this unfortunately has to be brief:

steven lim has had such a big impact in me, more then he will ever know. and i am going to try to articulate that now.

his choice to go from an Actual Engineer to his passion means a lot to me. in highschool i was one of those (assholes) who were just really fucking good at school. i really could have shot for a stable, high paying, grueling, passionless, sad career if i wanted it. but i didnt! im following my dreams to make videogame art and work in 3d modeling and animation, and i really love it. its genuinely a passion of mine, and ive met so many amazing friends and had insanely cool opportunities (i just finished a game for NASCAR! whaat??), and my future is looking so bright because of that choice to follow my passion. its so inspiring to see someone who is like you choose the path you chose, and see how it works out.

he has inspired me to explore different cultures from mine, and just learn what other peoples lives are like! im white, and i grew up in a small white suburb. i was (and am) ignorant on so much of the world. watching steven talk about his culture and bond with people over food has pushed me to reading books from others perspectives and cultures, learning languages, and generally just learning more from the people around me. love is stored in the kitchen, and im so grateful that he shares that love with all of us.

its no secret that watcher has had a huge impact on me (just Look at my blog lmaoo) they've comforted me when im at my lowest, ive made so many friends from this community, and everyday i get to log on and interact with you all, and that is a huge joy. without steven watcher wouldnt exist, and im so greatful that he stepped up and worked so hard for this all to exist. thank you so much steven, you deserve to be endlessly thanked for the priceless friendships youve given me.

ps: me and my good pal @shaniacsboogara have an elaborate inside joke that steven and her are sending birds to come and attack me and that has entertained us (and our poor mutuals who have to witness it) endlessly for over a year now. every time i hear or see a bird, i smile now thinking of steven, boog, and that silly silly joke.

#steven lim appreciation week #steven lim #watcher #watcher entertainment

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infernothechaosgod · 8 months

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Should I make a video essay about epic mickey? (Rewrite)

i already made this post once but Im rewritting it becuse It looked too much like someone else's take And I have much more to say now that I thought about this post longer

So as we all know Theres alot of epic mickey video essays on youtube however alot of them Are beasicly Roasting the game as if it was made in 2023 in this weirdly sugarcoded way so you'll feel bad for liking the game but you'll also hear good stuff about it so you'll FEEL like it's good critisism but trust me its just the complement sandwitch

(complement sandwitch is when someone gives you a complement and Then critisism either deserved or not then another complement so you'll feel better...but it doesnt work too well with bad critisism lmao)

Theres alot takes about how The game doesnt look good enough and Im like...Good people, IT WERE 2010s! What do you expect? Not only computers could handle less then but also making games was VERY DIFFRENT and you never should come to a game from 2010s with expectations of good graphic, seriously never, Modeling and such were also very diffrent

Now I say I agree with some things The game could be a bit darker I think a bigger exploration of how oswald or anyone in fact feels about being forgotten Could be great, like it's horrifying and oswald Went from very beloved by audience to fully forgotten in a very short amount of time for a toon Also some concept arts Imo should make it into game and enemies could look creepier, also the morality system could be more effective like there could be a line saying "you notice oswald looks around more than usualy...prehaps he's looking if there are any witnesses around" Or something like that Like mickey litellary has a weapon capeable of erasing you from reality but also capeable of making beautiful things and fixing peoples problems i could argue it deserves more exploration

But the thing is...the game is amazing

It is, I hate most things from my childhood now becuse I went through critique era that im semi still in and I revisited things from my childhoot and most of them sucked lmao (being a writer I just cried from dissapointed sometimes) but epic mickey? It was still amazing, and 2d parts to this day look GORGEOUS The story is great and I do agree that the oryginal plot for second part should have stayed but it got replaced by a Still good idea

Also its so SO creative! It uses the fact the characters are cartoons to its fullest really theres no other game that I know of where you go into old projectors and where you can paint and erase your sorounding with accualy good explanation The mage was creative as hell its amazing

Also

The whole time you play youre suppoust to play for the plot not for the "gamer experience" Becuse it may suprise you but You dont HAVE to get all the pins and tickets, you can for fun But no one is forcing you to and whining about how long it took to 100% the game is not a good critique, you did this to yourself bro

The reviews or essays are often beasicly copypasted from eachother, I watched like 4 essays and reviews but it felt like one dude talking in 4 diffrent voices and repeating himself it's baaaaad

Epic mickey was a great game and it deserves a remake 200% and explaining how "it feel from its grace" isnt gonna be helpful

I wanna make a video about How there are things to change definitley (CURSE YOU WEIRD CAMERA) but its still a great game with some amazing plot And with great effect on younger audience at the time who played it

So help a boy out (again) and tell me do you think I should make that video essay? It may be long But I think you'll see it as a good thing haha

#epic mickey 2 #epic mickey #mickey mouse #oswald the lucky rabbit #video essay #Em #Em2 #Em deserves remakes fr #wasteland #cartoon

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lumine-no-hikari · 3 months

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #82

Today is a day of resting. For a variety of reasons, I decided to stay home and watch M explore the second portion of your story.

I must say, I feel privileged and honored to be able to learn so much more about your planet than was possible previously. The first time your story was told, we were given so few details But now…

We can see the foods the people of your world eat. We can see the clothing they wear. The instruments they make music with. The art they create. The architecture they use to build their homes and structures. We even know now that your planet has sign language, just like mine! In the course of witnessing this part of your story, I've been trying to drink in as much of the culture of your world as I can.

I think one of the things I'm most interested in is making note of the different kinds of food available in your world. Cloud said something about the standard SOLDIER rations being nutritious, but gross. I can't help but wonder, given how much of your life must have been controlled by the corporation that created and enslaved you, how much of your world's cuisine you've been able to try. Though it is known that you enjoy things like pasta, I can't help but wonder what else you've tried, and what sorts of things you like and dislike when it comes to food. Are there flavors you can't stand? Textures that you don't enjoy?

…For some reason, I think you might like things such as macaroni and cheese. Or maybe a burrata. Or maybe you'd like bok choy, pan-fried in a little butter and garlic. Or stuffed mushrooms? Garlic bread? Concord grapes?

There are lots of things in your world that we don't have in mine. We don't have Gongaga mushrooms or Magonga mushrooms or Banora White apples or any of the greens that chocobos like to eat. So I wonder if maybe there are some things in my world that your world doesn't have. If there are… wouldn't it be amazing if I could share some of those things with you? I wonder what you would think.

I see the art in your world. I can't help but wonder if you've ever tried to draw or paint. If you have… what have you created? And if not… what kinds of pictures would you make? I wonder if you'd show us.

I see the musicians in your world. I can't help but wonder if you've ever tried to sing or to play an instrument, or even to whistle a little tune. What melodies do you like? What words do you carry in your heart? I wonder if you'd show us.

I see the performers in your world. I can't help but wonder, with all your amazing physical prowess, if you've ever tried to dance. I wonder what it would look like. I wonder what songs might move you.

I wonder so many things. I wonder which beautiful things life can offer that you have yet to experience. I wish I could pull you away from all the ick you're accustomed to, over to where I live, just for a day (because my planet has problems, too), to show you all of the wonderful things you've yet to try.

Hey, Sephiroth? Once you're all done with doing whatever you gotta do to make sure your planet and everyone on it (including you!!) is safe, will you promise me that you'll try those things? And that you'll share your thoughts and experiences with someone who understands? I'd like to think that I would understand, but… I imagine that you ever reaching me is an impossibility, since… ya know. You're an art form here, and not someone I can actually talk to or reach at all or try to help… as much as all of this pains me in ways that I can't even begin to describe.

But… even if it's impossible, I'm still not going to give up trying to reach you. So please… please make sure you don't give up, either. Don't give up on loving the world and the people around you. Don't give up on learning new things and shattering old conditioning in favor of newer, better, and more loving ways of being. Don't give up on trying to truly live, despite all that has happened to you.

I know you feel out-of-place and alone, but… if nowhere else… you can have a home in my house. Because my house is where lots of misfits go. It's a place where anyone can be safe. So… as impossible as it is, you're still invited. You're invited to be in a space where no one, no matter how different they are, can belong. You can belong. Don't give up. Please. I'll keep calling for you. I'll keep trying to show you as many beautiful things as I can. You're not alone.

I'll write again tomorrow. Please stay safe out there. Please come back to us in one piece.

Your friend, Lumine

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icabod-i-s-cariot · 1 month

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On this (honestly spur of the moment) side account I made to kind of interact with discourse that I felt was too adult for my “main” of sorts, I’ve mostly been perusing around the hh and hb critical scene and while I think a lot of you have great criticisms, I think a lot of it is just spite.

And to those who have been attached to the project and are disappointed by the final product, I completely get it — you likely feel like you’ve been personally let down and that a lot of potential has been squandered, that a lot of what you wanted to see is not there. It’s easy to kind of trap yourself in this cesspool of dissatisfaction and underwhelment, I’ve been through it before, so I come with an offering.

After having seen the show as an outsider, I had this nagging sensation that I had witnessed similar media before, but I could not remember what it was. Then I remembered it, so.

If you want content that plays with similar ideas, aka sins, hell and religious critique, please read Ava’s Demon. It is an indie comic about a young girl and the demon that has been locked inside her and slowly ruining her life from the moment she was born. It has amazing artwork, great character designs, diversity and most of all; an emotionally provoking and powerful story.

I think everyone has gotten caught in this cycle of hatred, and I don’t think you can really criticize artwork with just hatred, you have to do it because you love art, and you love it’s possibilities. Spite is just gonna get you trapped in an unending spiral and I’ve seen this happen a lot in critical spaces — being critical is not the point of the problem, it’s the disdain and often times it’s also a sense of arrogance people develop towards the works and the people at the center of them. I get that there’s a lot to hate — I hate it too, but you can’t really work to criticize something with only malice. So, I recommend everyone read Ava’s demon, it’s not a perfect piece of work, but I think rereading it reminded me of the limitless potential stories like this have, and I think other people need that, to put all this energy into something positive. There are other works of religious commentary with a supernatural and fun twist out there too, I definitely don’t know them all, but I think Ava’s demon is worth more attention, especially with all of the interesting concepts at hand, and I’m definitely a fan of the work. I feel the artist behind the work deserves more support as well, to whom this work is very interconnected to their own life.

I have no real clue why I’m saying this, maybe it’s just because I tend to run in critical areas of a community and I always notice when it starts to teeter into going too far, maybe it’s because I’ve caught myself in this cycle at least more times than I can count. It’s important as an artist or as someone interested in the arts to remember what you love about art, getting caught up in flaw will only make things worse. You have to take both in a balance.

#hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical

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fandomscraziness22 · 1 year

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duplicitous - a Kanej gala heist

i freaking loved this idea from our artist @bubble--berry, and their art is soooo amazing!!!! so i’m glad we got to write this! co-authored by me and @desidarling123

Inej docks The Wraith in Ravka’s port, only somewhat happy to be on land. It’s been almost a year since she’s been in Ravka, and the sight of so many joyous Grisha out and about is a bit startling. The nation’s port is busy with preparations for the Harvest Festival set to commence in a mere two days.

She’s here at Kaz’s request – though calling the letter a “request” would be like saying Jesper “mildly enjoys a game of chance.” Inej has known Kaz long enough to determine what is a request versus what is a demand for her unique skill set. And this letter, short and to the point, had been a thinly veiled command for her to meet him at the bustling port of Udova, ready for a job. Inej knows the newly appointed Queen and her prince consort are to be at the festival – however, that is where her knowledge starts and ends. And if there was one thing Inej didn’t miss about working with Kaz, it was his complete lack of willingness to divulge information that most would deem necessary knowledge.

Nevertheless, her crew is a well-oiled machine, and Inej is soon ready to disembark. Many of her crew members have family in Ravka, and she’s given them an extended leave to go and visit them. Those who aren’t from Ravka have either made plans of their own or have been invited to visit their friends’ homes, so Inej is left to her own devices for the week of the festival.

According to Kaz’s very brief letter, her identity is that of ‘Isla Rooj’, a lesser-known Mercher who has traveled overseas from a small town in order to witness the first festival under the country’s new monarch. She is to meet him at a tavern called the Ptitsa-Sinitsa, where they will be staying for the duration of the festival. As she makes her way through the busy streets, she wonders what Kaz could possibly plan to steal amidst the Ravkan festivities.

Well. That’s not exactly right. She’s got a few ideas, actually. Inej imagines the job has something to do with the amount of powerful and influential people gathering in the city. These gatherings bring with them a horde of secret information, not to mention loud displays of wealth and power.

But Kaz has most of the Barrel afraid of him already, and he’s working his way steadily through the few who still disobey, so… it’s not like he’s lacking anything, on his end.

So it must be for someone else. But who?

keep reading on ao3

Inej supposes she’ll have to get her answers when she sees him. And despite her annoyance at the circumstances under which it’s happening, her heart skips a beat at the thought of being with Kaz again. It’s been far too long since she last docked in Ketterdam, having been kept away by the constant slavers she’s been thwarting and the terrible weather of the open seas. She’s successfully kept in touch with Jesper and Wylan through their joint letters to her, and with Nina, who, despite often being out on assignments, keeps Inej updated whenever she can. There’s even been a scarce exchange of letters between herself and Kuwei detailing the latter's continued studies as an Etherealnik within the Little Palace. But Kaz has been oddly silent during her most recent voyages. His letters have been few and far between, and whenever they do come, they’re often undetailed and impersonal, a far cry from his first few letters to her. Not that Kaz had ever been forthcoming in that way, either in writing or in person, but his letters had become much more distant, which had hurt her more than she’d care to admit.

It still doesn’t change the fact that her heart belongs to him — an undeniable truth she had realized long ago – and that she’s excited to see him, even if she does also want to smack him over the head with his own cane. Kaz can be obtuse when it comes to understanding his own feelings, and even worse with expressing them. Though the two of them have progressed at their own speed, Inej can’t recall anything bad happening the last time she saw him that would prompt such a stark change in his behavior. Kaz Brekker may not always need a reason, but he sure as hell always had one.

I’ll just have to find out for myself, she thinks as the sign for Ptitsa-Sinitsa comes into view. The tavern itself is packed, much like the various buildings around it, with people from all roads of life coming to see the Queen’s festival. Inej skirts around a group of excited Ravkans and notes a few poorly-disguised Fjerdans on the edges. Of course, an event like this would be crawling with foreign spies. None to worry about yet, but she vows to keep an eye out anyways.

There’s also some Kaelish folk around, evidenced by their bright hair and loud voices ringing out over the crowd of people eating and talking.

Finally, she spots Kaz at a table near the back with a plate of smoked cod and skillet bread and heads towards him. He’s wearing a hat she knows he hates, but refuses to get rid of. All the better a disguise, she supposes with a sigh. Kaz looks up from his food, and although his face doesn’t change, the edges of his eyes grow softer at her approach.

“Isla, good. You found it,” he says in greeting. Inej smiles warmly at the sight of him, her overwhelming happiness at seeing him in the flesh overriding her annoyance for the time being.

“Of course. It wasn’t too hard, your instructions were quite clear. Did you have a good journey?” she asks, sitting down opposite him. His body relaxes, a sight Inej doesn’t see often, though she knows he’s still on high alert to their surroundings.

“Tolerable. I took Rotty with me, as he’s the best sailor I’ve got now, and the man wouldn’t shut up about how he needed to be back in two weeks’ time for the annual plink-drop competition.”

Inej rolls her eyes. “Trust Rotty to stick to routine. He loses every year, I’m not sure why he bothers to play anymore. One would think six straight years of losses would make the whole thing not enjoyable, but alas.”

They fall back into familiar territory with ease, chatting harmlessly whilst they eat, all too aware of the many eyes staring into the backs of their heads and ears tilted ever-so-slightly in their direction. Once they’ve had their fill, Kaz guides her to their room where they retire for the evening. It’s definitely one of the nicest places Inej has stayed in for a heist of any kind, with a double bedroom, a small lounge area in the front, and a balcony looking out over the port.

Once they’ve inspected the room and secured all entries, she takes a seat next to Kaz on the plush red couch. “Who’s bankrolling this one?” she asks without preamble.

“Our friend, the demon.” Kaz’s voice is dry, but Inej can sense the humour in Kaz calling someone else what he himself has often been named. “He’d like us to relocate a foreign dignitary's documents.”

“Your friend, you mean. I’ve not become as well acquainted with Nikolai on the sea or land, despite his many roles in his country.” Kaz has kept her informed of the former king’s whereabouts, such as he knows them, but news travels slowly at sea (as opposed to rumors which spread like wildfire), and it hasn’t been a top priority for Inej.

“In any case, he asked me to get some documents a Fjerdan official will be carrying.” Kaz’s face is set into scheming mode, and it once again makes Inej’s heart stutter. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed seeing him in his element; a slight smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Inej shoves that thought away. Not the time, she admonishes herself. “What kind of documents?”

Kaz eyes her carefully, as though hesitant to say. It’s a strange look on Kaz; he’s never hesitant about anything. Careful, yes, but not dubious. Not like he wants to hide the information from her.

Inej keeps her gaze steadily locked with his, unwilling to back down until he relents. “It’s the instructions for a drug to render any individual catatonic in seconds. They plan to use it in hunting Grisha, and selling them to slave traders in Ketterdam.”

Saints, she thinks. Her mouth goes thin, mind racing, because of course things wouldn't stay good for her. She’s been bringing down slavers and saving people with surprising speed and efficiency (surprising only to those who don’t know the Wraith from Ketterdam’s rooftops), and her name is getting around through rumors. It makes sense that the twisted people who trade in human lives would look for new ways to get easy captives.

“Is that why you didn’t inform me in your letter?” Inej asks, half hoping that he will catch on to her annoyance about his lack of general communication in the last few months. Kaz nods in answer to her question, and Inej decides to let it go for now, sitting back against the couch in contemplation. “I assume you have a plan,” she says, and Kaz nods once more. “Tell me.”

“The Harvest Festival begins in two days. The plan is, we sneak in as guests and find the official with the documents. My plan is to steal them, leave in its place instructions for a … friendlier alternative, so as to not arouse suspicions, and make our getaway.”

“So simple,” Inej says with raised eyebrows. She’s used to Kaz only sharing parts of a plan, so it is a miracle that she even gets that much of an outline all at once. (The mention of a friendlier alternative, one she somehow doubts is as friendly as he implies, also has her curiosity piqued). Still, she knows he’s got backup plans galore, and Inej trusts him implicitly.

Kaz gives her a begrudging twitch of his lips. “For now, yes. We have two days to find clothes and fill in some additional details. Get some rest, and we can begin in the morning.”

The next two days pass in a blur of planning, laying low, and shopping. The formal gala that is set to open the Festival requires nicer dress than the two Dreg members usually wear, and Inej gleefully picks out a range of horrific colors and patterns for Kaz to try on (which he declines in a variety of ways: with an eye roll, a smirk, a sarcastic comment, or outright disgust).

His reactions do nothing but spur her on, and for those small pockets of time, she is simply a girl shopping with a boy she likes; she’s living a future she had only imagined for herself as a small child in her family’s caravan, excited for a whirlwind romance with the perfect man as only a little girl can imagine.

The thing that truly drives her fantasy home, however, is the moment Inej spots an honest-to-saints lehenga, one of her people’s favorites for fancy occasions. She’s never worn one, having been deemed too young by her mother before…everything. Traditionally, they are worn most often at weddings and official gatherings, held once every five years where all the Suli come together to celebrate and tell stories. The sight reminds her so vividly of her mother that her heart aches as she reaches out to grasp at the fabric. The lehenga she holds in her hands is made of well-made silk, embroidered with intricate floral and paisley resham. It is obviously worn, but has remained in good condition.

Inej runs her fingers over the pieces and marvels at how this seems made for her. It’s her favorite shade of purple, the detailing done in neat rows. The lighter fabric of the shawl flows over her, and Inej trembles as she realizes that there’s nothing stopping her from buying and wearing this to the festival tomorrow. When she tries it on in the small stall of the dressmaker’s, her mind works quickly to pick out places for her knives, how the skirt doesn’t limit her motions, the way she can tie the shawl part of the lehenga in specific places to keep it from being a hazard if she should need to run.

A thought occurs to her then. She remembers distinctly the coy look the older girls would get once dressed in their lehengas, the heavy blush riding on their cheeks, as they’d wait for their lovers to see them decked out in their finest, playing teasing games for minutes if not hours on end, before not-so-secretly escaping with them into a dark corner somewhere, far away from the rest of the caravan.

It’s such a silly, random memory to come to mind, but suddenly it’s there, in her heart: a desire to have Kaz look at her like a boy in her caravan once might have – as she could have been, maybe, if her life had turned out the way it was supposed to.

Yes, she has made her peace with who she’s become, the feared Pirate Queen of the Seas. But in this moment, she feels a strong pull back to who she could have been. Inej feels strong and beautiful in the lehenga, and although she thinks Kaz already knows that about her, she wants to hear him say it. She wants it to be acknowledged openly, for him to take off a piece of armor that he’s kept clutched firmly to his chest since she left Ketterdam.

So Inej buys the lehenga, keeping the purchase a secret from the boy she came with. He’s never bothered about her clothes before, and he doesn’t break that streak when they reunite, both carrying bags with their new clothes. She drags Kaz along to buy jewelry to complement the outfit, forcing him to purchase new cufflinks for the suit he’d picked out for himself. For her part, Inej is immediately drawn to a set of golden earrings and a matching tikka, and doesn’t let herself second-guess the decision, purchasing it quietly while his eyes are elsewhere.

She can be devious in her own right, and finally, this festival is something she can look forward to.

They do not – cannot – enter the gala together. Cannot, because, as Kaz had explained to her, should their covers come into question, both need some modicum of plausible deniability.

(She hates that he’s right about that.)

But maybe that’s for the better. Without him by her side as she gets ready – he leaves their shared room early, claiming one final errand to run without her – she finds herself able to gather some much-needed nerve. To put on her battle armor, so to speak.

It helps to start with her knives first – she carefully straps those to her legs, murmuring prayers to each Saint as she fixes them in place.

(The lehenga, however tempting and beautiful it might be, is still a hard sell. It reminds her of the home she used to have, the life she used to live. But she’s determined to reclaim that piece of her that was stripped away.)

So Inej runs her fingers over the embroidered edges once more. The obvious care that was put into the details suffuses her with a much-needed sense of calm.

Yes, it would’ve been nice to have him here, to help her with this part.

But she’s always known, deep down, that this is something she has to do alone.

So she pulls herself together. The skirt goes on first, her trustworthy knives disappearing beneath the heavy layers. She works the blouse on next, lacing up the back of it securely, ensuring no wandering fingers will take it apart. Finally she wraps the dupatta – a gorgeous, shimmering, delicate thing – over her shoulders. A fitting last touch, the cherry on top.

She’s relieved to find that she still looks and feels like herself, beneath it all. Even if that’s not what anyone else will see.

It paints a perfectly duplicitous picture, in the mirror. A glittering, distracting facade on Ravkan soil.

And if this night goes the way she hopes – no one else will ever have to see what lies beneath.

—---------

So she enters the gala alone.

Well, correction – the gala doors have not officially opened yet, so she’s here in the large banquet hall that serves as a makeshift waiting room alone.

That is unusual in and of itself, but that’s by design. She doesn’t look like a working girl (not that any would have been allowed in at this kind of event), but she does pique some immediate interest amongst the well-dressed attendees in the room. Inej firmly ignores it, choosing instead to take in her surroundings.

It’s a magnificent hall, if darker than she’d expected. But the low light will work to their advantage, and it gives the event an air of mystery. The floor is a rich, dark wood (perfect for hiding stains of all kinds, she thinks grimly) and the furnishings are ornate and well-worn. There are small candles everywhere, reminding her, counter-intuitively, of the inside of a church.

If only this could be as safe.

Inej turns now to scan the crowd, and mercifully, most eyes have since fallen off of her, the thrill of novelty long gone. But she can pick out a few who stand out, their movements not quite casual. And just like that, her previous suspicions are confirmed: they’re not the only ones with their own agendas on the loose tonight.

That’s fine, expected really, but it adds a lovely new wrinkle to their mission: not only do they have to swap out the documents, but they have to make sure they’re not observed by anyone else looking to do the same thing. Of which there are likely several.

That’s her job for tonight, and just as well. She can handle it, easy.

Now as for the man of the hour. Their diplomat – where is he?

The Fjerdans are difficult to miss, generally speaking. She’s looking for someone who, by Kaz’s description, is a tall, blonde, older gentleman, one who’s covered in military regalia. Currently, nowhere to be seen.

That’s when, of course, she feels what can only be described as someone’s gaze on her.

Inej turns, and there he is: Kaz Brekker, looking quite unlike she’s ever seen him before. He’s dressed in a more traditional Ravkan-style suit-coat, a stormy grey-black color, but it’s the look on his face that stops her where she stands: there’s a hunger, a greed on his features she’s never seen before. Never directed towards her, anyways.

It’s so much coming from him, a man who never tells her bloody anything if he can avoid it, but it doesn’t scare her like it probably should. Instead, it sends a thrill down her spine, tilts her world on its axis.

He’s looking at her as she could have been, yes, but he doesn’t see it that way, she realizes. There’s no bitterness in his eyes, no lingering regret over what had been taken from her.

No, for once there’s just pure, unadulterated want from the boy she loves, the feeling it evokes is every bit as magical as those starlit caravan nights she’d always dreamed of.

And yes, maybe that exact dream had been stolen from her past, but every choice she’d made since had brought this part of her life back to her, even when she’d thought it impossible.

The world kept changing, just as they both had. This could change, too.

It’s what emboldens her to draw closer to him, all covers be damned.

He meets her as if he can read her mind, the two of them moving into a secluded, dark corner. (Some things, perhaps, always stay the same.)

But this part will be different. Because she has a question she needs answered, and she knows when to pull her advantage.

“Why didn’t you reply to my letters?” She doesn’t let her gaze leave his, can feel the way he suddenly stiffens beneath it. His eyes avert from hers, on some faraway point on the wall.

“I wrote you letters,” he responds slowly.

But it’s not a complete answer, not really. He’s leaving out something, he most certainly is. So she waits until he looks at her again, eyebrows raising in an unspoken question.

Kaz’s eyes bore into hers, daring her to look away, but Inej has held many a contest with him, and he can’t scare her away this time. Once, the challenge might have frightened her, but she knows his feelings are something he doesn’t feel comfortable expressing outright unless she pushes.

So she does.

“Why didn’t you reply to all my letters? I heard more from Nina than you this past voyage.”

A brief moment of hesitation, then –

“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me.”

Inej snorts. “I always want to hear from you, even when you’re being an insufferable idiot about it.”

The boy lets out a small laugh, and the sound lifts Inej’s soul into flight. Kaz doesn’t laugh easily, and she treasures each and every one she creates in him.

He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for whatever admission he is about to make. “I…thought that hearing from me might be too much of a reminder of the life you left behind. I didn’t want to pull you under the weight of Ketterdam once more.”

She’s startled, not having expected that at all. It’s complete nonsense, of course, but she’s touched that Kaz is worried about that. Inej knows he has his demons, and his course of action is to fight through them by sheer force of will and by conquering the streets of the city that never gave him an inch, but she isn’t like that.

“My demons are strong, yes...but Ketterdam has never been a reminder of that,” she shares, willing him to realize that when she said Ketterdam, what she really means is Kaz Brekker.

The boy who saved her from a living nightmare, who had bought her freedom with the last of his funds, and who had been willing to let her leave him behind to fulfill what she was born to do.

But she’s not leaving him behind. Not now, not ever again. Not even if he wants her to.

“You are a part of the life I want to keep, Kaz,” she says simply. “So don’t keep yourself away from me.”

“Or what?” he says, and though there's a challenge in the low pitch of his voice, she can also see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. It’s a look that makes her want to do to him what those older girls would do with their clandestine lovers, mission be damned. One day, maybe.

“Or I’ll have to steal you away, of course,” she retorts, and there’s a fully-formed smile on her face, one she’s certain doesn’t hide her inner thoughts in the slightest. “After all, I learned from the very best.”

Around them, the crowd starts moving with a shout – the gala doors have finally opened, praise the Saints! – but neither pays it any heed.

Kaz nods once, gaze never leaving hers, before slowly moving his arm upwards to hover it in the air between them in an offering. Not everything, but enough.

As long as he reaches for her, she will always reach back.

So Inej slowly, gently wraps a henna-covered hand around his outstretched arm. She feels Kaz stiffen momentarily before forcing himself to relax, feels a warm surge of pride at the effort made.

He’s doing this for her. They both are.

So together, arms linked, they push through the heavy wooden doors and enter the gala.

It’s finally time for real work to begin.

But, Inej knows, there’s no one else she’d rather have at her side.

#six of crows #soc #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #gala #fancy dresses #fanfic #fanfiction #gvbbrmbfic22 #gvbbrmb22 #post canon #fluff #slight angst

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lets-talk-spirituality · 6 months

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Honestly I appreciate your posts and you! Just know there is someone out there who supports you and the amazing things you do.

Much love

Honestly. This is so touching. I’m so 🥹

You know, when I started this blog, it was after about a year of the universe telling me to share what I know with people. But I was so scared to put myself out there. I still am. I’ve thought about trying to put myself out there in so many ways so many times, but it just doesn’t feel safe.

Tumblr gave me anonymity and that allowed me to cut off this piece of myself and share it somewhere it could be detached from me. Having me own it boldly, it’s a huge step in healing.

I think some of this struggle to claim attention, space, visibility is tied up in the feminine collective that has been silenced throughout human history. But some of it is my own personal stuff too.

Anyway, all that to say, this blog has been such an experience of growth for me that I feel eternally grateful for. It’s helped me learn my abilities, it’s given me so much confidence in myself and proof that I am intuitive and I can trust myself.

Sometimes we become the self we dream of by becoming.

And what I mean is that so often we think we have to be there before we arrive when really all we have to do is show up. Through the process of creating and defining this blog, through the insights it’s given me, the friendships, the community, it’s been extremely healing for me. It’s been a process too. I haven’t always handled everything perfectly.

But it really has been a very affirming experience overall and I just feel so grateful to everyone for gifting that to me. When celebrities thank their fans, that’s what they mean. It’s like, if you guys didn’t read my words, they would never get to transform into knowledge. That’s the beauty of community. When others perceive the thing, it gets to become something else. My words can’t be all they are until the reader sees them and internalizes them and makes them apart of them selves.

When you come to my blog, you let my words blossom and grow inside you, you let my years of pain and struggle have a bright outcome by becoming something that helps someone else. Sometimes, most times, we need others to complete the story. Certain parts of me were finally allowed to bloom, to become what they were called to be, got to live out my, and its dream. It’s a beautiful thing. Kinda makes me cry.

I felt called to express this vibe to the blog. Maybe some of you are holding back because you are scared to share your art and others not come through to complete it. But they will find you. Your creation will transform through others and you will witness it and you will cry too. Trust yourself. Share yourself. Don’t worry how or when, just show up and shine.

I am better for having interacted with all your energies, energies I would’ve maybe never come across any other way, so thank you for this message and all the vibes you guys send this way. Just cup overflowing right now. Mahalo nui loa.

**Mahalo in olelo Hawaii is not just thank you. It’s more the essence of living in so much gratitude you willingly provide servitude. Some concepts, I’ve found the Hawaiian language just explains better. Kuleana, for example. I willingly and lovingly clean up my beach when I see trash on it, because I feel so much gratitude for the life and love she gives me, that it truly feels like the least I can do. It doesn’t feel like a burden, but something I barely mind doing. That sense of responsibility is what kuleana means. And I serve my kuleana from the spirit of Mahalo. This blog is my kuleana, just like caring for the island is my kuleana. When I say Mahalo to you guys, I’m saying with gratitude. It’s a gift that you allow me to share with you**

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mloyan · 10 months

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small sketchdump featuring mostly watercolour sketches from recent travels to update this old tumblr - it feels a little odd to think that this specific place has been around for so long - 12 years ish.

i'll just be babbling below about what's been going on, sort of, have a nice day if you simply keep scrolling :)

this panel is mostly flashes i made as a tattoo artist but also some research for a lithography print i got to make with talented independent art publishing house azulil in Marseille (well, I drew on a slab of stone, and they explained and did the actual printing which was amazing to witness), here's a link to my print in their shop so you can see bigger pictures than on IG: https://azulil.com/eshop/007-peaudepierre2-vitoriavilela-iriso-9mrgm-3sala-jjmmd - it is h u g e (56x76cm) compared to what I usually draw (A5 and smaller) so that was fun. please do check out all their work, and the other artists they work with, it's humbling to be a part of all this.

another humbling thing: i've done around 860 tattoo sessions (excluding touch ups) ever since i started this thing three years ago. baffles me a little a lot that people have trusted me that many times to put my drawings on their skin, and some have been returning clients right from the beginning. it feels unreal that i'm able to make a living off my drawings, and borderline insane that i get to share this on a daily basis with people who make the effort to come see me.

this job comes at a price, like any job, and i definitely need to take a real break some day, one without worrying about bookings and guest spots and potential tendinitis and all the usual physical and mostly mental health stuff, but i wouldn't change it for the world. if you're a friend, someone from the family, one of my past or current client/supporter, thank you.

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starkstruck27 · 11 months

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Tag game: Stranger Things Edition!!

I was tagged by my bestie @oopsiedaisiesbaby. Love you!!💚💚

1. Ride or die ship (your otp): Harringrove

2. Most annoying ship: Mileven

3. Second favorite ship: probably mungrove (bonus points if I get the best of both worlds and it ends up as harringroveson)

4. Favorite platonic relationship: Either stobin or elmax. They're both amazing <3

5. Underrated ship: gonna go with elmax again for this one. Or Keg Boys. I feel like they don't get as much love as they deserve.

6. Overrated ship: normally I would say steddie, but I also love them, too, so I'm gonna say ronance. I can see it, but at the same time... meh?

7. One thing I would change in canon: a lot of the random, unneeded deaths. Bob, Billy, Alexei, Benny, Barb, Chrissy? I feel like none of those needed to happen for the plot to move along, and even if they did, like they didn't have to make them like an "Oh well, they're dead :/" thing. Like, they didn't deserve that. And even if they didn't do that, the way the other characters reacted to the deaths was kinda shallow, too. Like Nancy losing Barb would broken my heart a lot more if they didn't use her mourning as a plot device to make her lose Steve and hook up with Jonathan.

8. Something canon did right: the character dynamics. The way they had the kids fighting over petty shit while bad things were happening, how Dustin didn't have a dad so he latched onto Steve as an older brother type positive influence, the way Hopper had to get used to being a dad again and ask Joyce for help? All of that was just beautifully done.

9. A thing I'm proud of creating for the Fandom PLEASE BRAG ABOUT YOURSELF I WANT TO SEE/READ YOUR ART: All of my works on Ao3, but probably my favorite (at the moment) is my fic So Give Him Inches and Feed Him Well or my six fic series Cool To Hate.

10. A character who is perfect to me (wouldn't change a thing): Max, Lucas, Dustin and Will. They're all so sweet and funny and I love them.

11. The character I relate to the most and why: normally I would say Billy, but lately it's been more Max. She's stuck in a house with a jerk of an older brother who goes off like a volcano over the littlest things, though most of the time he's dormant unless he wants to annoy her, and she has to witness him and the only father figure she has fighting all the time. Getting into screaming matches, sometimes getting physical, and while in my situation it's more the son causing problems for the father, it's still bad. The only reprieve I get is when I'm out with my friends, and even though I still care about both of them, I'm starting to lose that love for one of them (in her case Neil, in my case my brother) because of how they treat everyone else and acts like everything is normal afterwards.

12. The character I hate the most and why: Karen Fucking Wheeler. How she can go from being a concerned, doting mother in season one to pretty much a sexual predator in the span of a few seasons, I'll never know. I could understand if she cheated on Ted and went after someone her own age, but the fact that she went after a boy no older than her daughter just makes me sick. And yes, Billy flirted with her, too, but come on. He's a misguided 17-18 year old abused kid looking for any kind of affection wherever he can get it. And Karen is the adult. She should fucking know better.

13. Something I've learned from the fandom: How to politely disagree with people and kill them with kindness. That's why I have an anti's ask pinned to the top of my blog, because I want people to know that I don't care who or what they like, so I'll respect them, but if they come onto my blog actively trying to start shit, I will not fucking stand for it :)

14. Three tags I seek out on Ao3: hurt/comfort, Fluff and Angst, and enemies to lovers.

15. A song I strongly associate with my otp/favorite characters: I made a whole playlist dedicated to Billy, so.... but if I had to pick -

For harringrove: In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier or Don't You Dare (Make Me Fall In Love With You) by Kaden MacKay

For Billy: Far Too Young To Die by Panic! At The Disco, Beautiful Girls by Van Halen, Bella by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Cherry Pie by Warrant. Also pretty much Guns N Roses' entire discography.

So, everyone I usually tag for these has already done it (I think), but on the off chance you didn't, I'll tag @thissortofsorcery and @half-oz-eddie , as well as anyone else who wants to participate!

#tag games #stranger things

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hoursofreading · 1 year

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Let me not beat around the bush anymore; let me tell you now what I didn’t have the presence of mind to say then. I’ll start with what universities are not for. First, they are not for perpetuating the ruling or elite class. Second, they are not for achieving social justice. Doubtless they do perpetuate the ruling class; many institutions do this. And probably they could do more to bring about social justice. But those things are not what they are for.

Third, universities are not for making money—though they do call for careful financial stewardship. Fourth, they are not for producing better citizens. Fifth, they are not for producing happier human beings. If I had to measure the worth of my classes in my students’ subsequent civic virtue or life satisfaction, I couldn’t afford to lose touch with most of them after graduation. I am sometimes saddened when I lose touch with them, but it never causes me to wonder whether their education was worthwhile.

Those five points cover basically all the criticisms levied against the university, which means all the critics who said it was not doing its job had failed to identify what its job was in the first place. But that is step one of the criticism process. You can’t be failing at what you’re not in the business of doing.

Now I grant that the university is easy to misinterpret, because its innermost parts are hidden from view. What’s visible is who gets in and who is excluded; the fates of its graduates; clashes between townies and gownies; five-year completion rates; public-relations catastrophes; IRS 990 forms. If you go on a campus visit, you see the buildings, but not what happens inside them.

If you tried to understand museums by sitting outside and studying the demographics of who enters and exits, you might conclude that they existed to perpetuate the elite, and that they should work to achieve more social justice. Perhaps they do in fact do too much of the first thing, and should do more of the second. Nonetheless your research would be missing something very important about what museums are for, something that requires entering the museum, and looking at the art.

That doesn’t really get the pundits off the hook, because they tend to be college-educated. The real scandal, if I may, is the fact that so many people who attended one seem to have no idea what it’s for. So let me come out and tell you what a university is for: a university is a place where people help each other access the highest intellectual goods. A university is a place of heterodidacticism.

An autodidact is someone who learns best on their own, by teaching themselves things. “Heterodidact” is a word I made up to describe the rest of us, for whom learning and knowing is a social activity.

While the college-admissions scandal was happening, I was teaching a class on Aristotle’s scientific system. What a crazy thing to teach or study, you might think. Hasn’t it all been surpassed by modern science? No. But even if it had been, it is truly amazing to witness the birth of scientific thought. Aristotle was the first to conceive that the changing, sensible, empirical world around us could be rationally systematized, and he did this in opposition to a tradition—beginning with Parmenides and culminating in Plato—that insisted such a project was in principle incoherent. Aristotle proved that science was possible. His works—Physics, Parts of Animals, On the Soul, On Generation and Corruption, etc.—taken together, constitute the most ambitious intellectual project a human being has ever undertaken. And he succeeded to an astonishing degree—his most radical moves against his contemporary interlocutors are the ones we’ve most tenaciously internalized.

I’m going to make a confession about that class: I did not know the material I was teaching very well. Aristotle’s natural philosophy is not my specialization, and I intentionally chose readings I was least comfortable with. Minutes before I walked into the classroom each Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, I had been buried in commentaries and confusion. There was so much I did not understand about Aristotle’s arguments against atomism! But time was up, and I had to get in there and say something. If you were in that class, you probably thought what I said sounded pretty good, pretty coherent. Actually, it was. But that wasn’t all me. I was looking at the students’ faces, noticing how they paid attention when I was making sense, noticing when they didn’t follow. Their interest drew me out. I listened to their questions and reframed the argument on the spot; sometimes an objection was so devastating I had to reorganize a whole lecture on the fly. Sometimes, when I just plain didn’t know the answer, I asked the question back at the class.

Teaching involves a sleight of hand in which the part of the student is erased, and the teacher ends up getting all the credit. Actually that’s a point from Book 3 of Aristotle’s Physics: he says the teacher isn’t teaching if the student isn’t learning, because teaching and learning are one activity.

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