Ninety-nine percent of the time, in my experience, the hard part about creativity isn’t coming up with something no one has ever thought of before. The hard part is actually executing the thing you’ve thought of. The devil doesn’t need an advocate. The brave need supporters, not critics.
“Girl, I’m all
for dressing for comfort but I’m ninety-nine percent sure you won’t make it
past the bouncer in those.” Your suitemate, Kara, raises her perfectly trimmed
brow, not bothering to hide the silent judging as she stares at your sweatshirt
and pajama pants as though they’re something entirely alien compared to her
skin tight glittering red dress.
“Yeah, uh, I’m
not going. I forgot I had a project to work on… It’s due three days from
now.” The last part, thankfully, manages to convince her as you wave your phone
in the air as indication that you’ve just found out from your friend; the open
chat says it all.
Or at least
you hope. Because the blue bubbles of the message sent to you definitely do not
mention any pending project or anything close to college matters. The only
guarantee you get of her not seeing the text is her state of half-blind as she
refuses to wear glasses outside of lectures, that, and one of the contacts are
missing. She hasn’t gotten around to visiting the optometrist yet.
sure.” Krystal grins knowingly as she walks out of her room, having heard your
earlier statement. “Ken texted me saying Jin had something come up too.”
Kara lets out
a not so subtle, ooh, that turns into an aww, followed by a
teasing, “When’s the wedding?”
PJ Liguori is one of those people that are nearly impossible to comprehend. Ninety-nine percent of the time his mind is in another dimension, off somewhere volcano zorbing or star hopping or dreaming up other amazingly bizarre thinks. The most incredible thing about him is that he’s able to put all of his ridiculous thinks into physical form, making videos like “Colour Bandits” and “Galaxy Hand” and “The Forever Train.” Sometimes his thinks come so far that they’re nominated for Emmys, and even then he can find wiggle room to improve and create. To summarize: PJ Liguori is a gift to humankind, and his imagination is a galactic force to be reckoned with.
The Devil went down to Paris, he was lookin’ for a soul to steal Saw Blaise Pascal hunched over a scroll and he said “Let’s make a deal. I’ve heard you play the fiddle; well, I’m a fiddle-player too So I bet your soul against a fiddle of gold, cause I think I’m better than you.”
Said Pascal: “Monsieur Le Diable, I can sing and I can dance And I’m better than you - yes, I’m sure it’s true, ninety-nine percent plus chance And that fiddle of gold, well, if it were sold, it could feed me pretty well But there’s infinite disutility out of any chance of Hell
So my calculations tell me that my answer must be ‘Non’ Now take your poisoned deals, say au revoir, and get thee gone.”
Pascal, set your gains as X, and make your losses Y Estimate your chance of winnin’ and cross-multiply On one side, P sub win times value (fiddle made of gold) And on the other, P sub loss times soul!
Well, smoke comes out of the Devil’s ears, but in his heart he knows he’s beat Since he can’t get a soul he switches his goal, cause revenge to him is sweet And he says “I’ve been outwitted, sure, and I guess I’m leavin’ soon But I’m still your guest, and I’ve one request: lemme fiddle you a tune.”
The Devil puts down his fiddle, and now Pascal takes up his. And he plays a tune he’s been workin’ on, and it sounds a lot like this:
Fire on the mountain, run boys run One one one one two one one Three three one one four six four One one five and fiddle some more.“
Says the Devil "It’s infinitely bad to end that song and dance And I won’t tell you why, and I probably lie, but can you really take that chance?” Blaise fills with trepidation as his calculations all turn out the devil’s way. And they say in the Paris catacombs, his ghost is fiddlin’ to this day.
He’s playin’: “Fire on the mountain, run boys run One one one one two one one Three three one one four six four One one five and fiddle some more.”
Hiccup sat naked in his room, another student rode his cock hard, begging him to knock her up. He was all to happy to oblige. He gripped her hips and held her close to him as he came, flooding her fertile womb with his cum, surely impregnating her.
He let her collapse to the bed and went to go make a drink. He reflected on his situation. After a plague had killed off over ninety nine percent of the world’s men, things had been done to ensure the survival of the human race. Polygamy and polyamory was not only legalized but encouraged. And the Breeding Academies were founded. These elite Academies catered to the elite, the smartest and/or most genetically perfect girls in the world. They were prestigious colleges that girls could attend for without paying a single cent for tuition, books or food. In exchange, they offered up those wombs to Hiccup and those like him, perfect specimens of masculinity that had been deemed in some way exceptional, and had extremely desirable genetic traits that would be bred into humanity en masse.
In order to enter the academy, a girl needed either near-perfect grades or to undergo genetic screening to test for any imperfections. If none were present, she would be allowed entrance regardless of academic performance. Girls who met both requirements were given preferential treatment.
The school had no dress code, and nudity on campus was allowed, even in class or out in the open on the school grounds.
He was shaken from his thoughts when a knock sounded at his door. “Come in!” He called.
Are You Trying To Seduce Me? (Charles Xavier x Human! Reader)
Warnings: Fluff, smut, some language?
Deep breaths y/n…
Taking a necessary breather, you walk over to the handsome professor in the white long-sleeved buttoned down dress shirt, dark brown vest and black pants. You really had been staring at him ninety-nine percent of the night - he was just so beautifully gorgeous and perfect you couldn’t understand how a man like him could even exist.
(Requested by Anon) (Part 1 of this imagine here) (Part 2 of this imagine here) (Part 3 of this imagine here) (Part 4 of this imagine here) (Part 5 of this imagine here) (Part 6 of this imagine here) (Part 7 of this imagine here) (In relation to where this actually is in the timeline of these imagines it would be before she tells Caius she’s in love with him but after the friends stage, probably the first time she realises she might be falling for him).
“What are you staring at?” Demetri asked looking perplexed as he followed your line of sight to where your highly concentrated gaze rested on a motionless Felix.
“This might sound crazy but I am like, ninety nine point nine percent sure that Felix was a gladiator.”
“Seriously?! Come on!” Felix yelled, his unshakeable volturi guard persona flying right out the window, as he threw his arms in the air in disbelief. “I am the only person you haven’t been able to weasel any history conversation out of and you just guessed right?! No way. Who told you?”
“Wait I was right?!” You asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. “Sweet!”
“Who told you?” Felix asked again somewhat more subdued and even a little pout-y now his ‘big reveal’ had been ruined.
“No one told me!” You shot back feeling slightly insulted. “I used my powers of deduction.”
“Oh do tell?” The large guard responded the look of disbelief still etched upon his face.
“Well firstly you’re freaky huge, like seriously hulk sized.” You pointed out only to be cut off quickly.
“So is your dad.”
“Who I happen to know was born in 1915. You’re old dude, like, super old.”
The rest of the assembled guard for the day who were awaiting the arrival of the three kings grumbled under their breaths.
“I’m not that old.”
“Yes you are. Like, if you had died you’d be dust now. Maybe not even dust. Maybe the dust ants had eaten and shit out. Like, ant faeces.” The look of disgust that crossed his face quickly dropped for a strange half strangled look as he began to make odd motions. “You’d have been through the intestines of so many ants…” Felix’s motions became so desperate that if he wasn’t a vampire you’d have thought he was having some sort of seizure. “You are literally old enough that your dessicated body, if you had died, would have been just a massive huge pile of- what?!” His motioning had become so erratic it was actually becoming quite grating.
A small throat clear behind you soon told you what though. Closing your eyes for a brief second as you contemplated your own stupidity you slowly turned to find the three volturi kings, clearly the oldest vampires around, standing behind you. Marcus looked slightly bemused, Aro was practically beaming for someone you had just called ant shit and Caius, well, Caius did not look impressed. At all.
“Okay so…so you know that I didn’t mean you right? Like, that doesn’t apply to you at all.” You gestured wildly as you spoke. Caius merely arched an eyebrow. “Okay so if it did you would be like… an attractive piece of ant faeces. Jesus.” You slammed a hand to your forehead as Aro’s amused giggle burst forth. “You’re all vampires so someone please just kill me, quickly.”
It turned out Caius had not called upon Jane to kill you, thank the lord. Instead he had called upon her to help get you ready for a ‘surprise’ which involved you being dressed in medieval clothing. To say you were confused would be understating things entirely.
When you were eventually released from Jane’s clutches you met Caius at the entrance to the Volturi lair. Considering you hadn’t been outside except the one time you went to buy clothes, you were mildly intrigued from the get go. Whatever you’d expected, what you got was so much more wonderful.
It turned out Caius’s surprise was your first date. You were attending the festival Volterra held every year celebrating the medieval times. Caius had tapped into your love of history and been planning this in secret for weeks. He stealthily dodged around the shadows of the city during the daylight hours whilst you explored everything and anything that caught your eye, every now and again looking for the blond vampire king to run and tell him about something amazing. From the awesome crafts to the souvenirs you wanted, right down to how awesome the sparring and medieval entertainment was. It was like living a dream. When night fell it only got better. Finally Caius could come out of the shadows and join you.
He showed you all his favourite parts of the city, he took you to watch the fire jugglers, he danced with you to the medieval music. He even brought you insane amounts of medieval food to try. He’d exchanged a heck of a lot of euros for some grosso (medieval coins) earlier in the day and he was teaching you the ins and outs of spending them, right down to how to haggle in Italian.
Caius practically lit up whenever you passed the artisans and you began to think that perhaps he’d done more of the paintings around the castle than he admitted to which of course, it turned out he had. Watching Caius get animated and passionate about something as wonderful and unexpected as art had you slowly becoming mesmerised by the regal vampire. The attire suited him, he looked enchanting in medieval clothing (which you were sure was probably original), and you could only imagine how happy he’d been in the medieval period, free to enjoy it without the fear of death from the common illnesses of the time.
Caius made sure to show you everything, he catered to your every whim, holding your hand in his the whole of the night, making you smile and laugh and genuinely smiling back at your jokes making you feel as if you could conquer the world. As the sounds of the festival began to fade away when you strolled back to the castle around midnight you felt a bubble of endearment and gratitude well up within you. Caius had really thought this through. He’d made the day special and perfect. Everything you could possibly want. Although it scared you to admit it, even to yourself, you were beginning to realise you might just be falling for the burgundy eyed vampire as you watched him talk with passion and excitement displaying happiness you had only ever before imagined on him.
Happiness really suited Caius. Who would’ve guessed that one?
All to soon it seemed you ended up back at the door to your rooms. It was slightly awkward for the two of you, usually this would be where a date would end but as you shared a room you were left standing outside a slightly awkward air surrounding you, should you say goodnight…go in together…maybe go in one at a time…? You looked down at your entwined hands, body turned fully to face his as he used his free hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I hope you had a good time today.” His voice seemed to set your blood aflame.
“It was perfect Caius.” You tilted your head to look at him, your (e/c) meeting his cool red orbs. “Thank you.”
“I’d like to do it again sometime, take you out that is. If-” For the first time, you saw Caius Volturi nervous as he fidgeted with your entwined hands. “If you’d be agreeable that is?”
“You know…” You’re lips pursed into a barely suppressed grin. “I think I’d like that.”
Using the fire which seemed to be coursing through your veins as a confidence booster you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on his cool, firm lips.
“Goodnight Caius.” You whispered, finally dropping his hand and pushing your way through the heavy wooden doors.
You didn’t know how long it took him to come into the rooms after you, but you were guessing a good while. You never heard him enter. A small spark of hope shot through your body, perhaps that was a good thing. You didn’t think you’d imagined the zing when your lips touched… you hoped you hadn’t at the very least, because in a word that date had been … paradisical and Caius well… there was no way you could possibly compare that man to ant shit.
Ronan is ninety nine point nine percent sure that’s not true.
October 31st. Halloween. Obviously. Adam is trying to raise the dead.
He looks around, and there’s a sound.
There’s a guy standing there ― the kind of guy whose very presence demands attention. Frankly, he looks more like the kind of guy that ought to be raising the dead than Adam ― Adam is dust colored, wearing a frayed red sweatshirt and a Coca-Cola t-shirt, because not everyone is made of money and he is what he is ― but this guy ― he’s got a shaved head and a hooked, cruel grin, and there’s an intricate, dark tattoo that’s clearly visible on his shoulder and yeah, he looks a lot more like the kind of person that would be attempting necromancy on a particularly auspicious date. Yeah.
“Hey,” he says. Adam’s mouth goes dry. Of course. Of course this asshole has to have the kind of voice that makes his knees go weak.
“Hey,” Adam says back. Keep your chill, Parrish. Just trying to raise the dead over here.
“What are you doing?”
It’s not what it looks like, is the first thing that crosses his mind. But really ― it is. He’s got a trowel and a grease-stained bag of McDonald’s on the dirt next to him and is currently getting ready to slit his wrist to bleed on the grave so that the dead will have something to rise from. He settles for, “It’s probably not as bad as you think it is.”
There’s a pause, a stormy silence from the dark figure next to him. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing then it is.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” It’s a challenge, when Adam asks. What does this stranger know exactly, and how can he use it?
The stranger shrugs. “Raising the dead.”
The first time he meets Adam, it’s in a graveyard on Halloween.
The second time, it’s in a gas station on November first.
Ronan can’t decide which is better.
Adam looks at the guy for a second. “You kind of ―”
“― hit the nail on the head?”
He stands there, knife in hand. He probably looks very threatening. “It ― it’s almost midnight.”
“So I want to raise the dead. Can you ―”
“I’m not going to let you do something illegal ―”
“― not strictly illegal ―”
“― illegal enough ―”
“― c’mon, I have to ―”
That stops Adam. Why? Gansey had asked him. Blue had asked him. He hadn’t answered. “I have to,” he says, even though now, it feels less like obligation and more like want.
“Who?” the stranger asks, nodding towards the grave. “Parents?”
Adam scoffs. “As if.”
“If it were, I’d probably have been the one to put them there.”
“Oh.” The stranger sits down. “Continue.”
Adam does ― picking up the trowel to dig a hole for the offering and placing the McDonald’s bag into it. He hears the stranger stifle a laugh.
“Christ,” the stranger says.
“What?” Adam asks, annoyed. “I can only do this once every thirty two years, so make it snappy.”
“You’re shoving a fucking Happy Meal ―”
“― it’s a Big Mac ―”
“― into a fucking hole to raise the fucking dead ―”
“― quite a lot of fuckings for just one sentence ―”
“― and I don’t know your fucking name.”
“Adam,” he says finally. “You?”
“Ronan. Lynch. Whatever. Call me whatever.”
“Hi, whatever. I’m Adam.”
Ronan grins, knife-like and cold. “Nah, man. Call me Ronan.”
Ronan ― he likes the aesthetic of his relationship with Adam. They go to abandoned churches on weekends for dates and hold hands while sitting on rotting pews and collect pheasant feathers for Adam’s rituals and they race in his car and this year for Beltane they’re going to guide his father’s cows through two tiny fires and ―
He likes it, is what he’s saying.
He’s just not sure that’s all he wants.
He tries to perform the ritual.
He tries, but ― everything ― it sort-of goes wrong. The clouds cover the moon, and the Big Mac’s soda spills before he can pour it with his incantations, and his knife isn’t sharp enough to make the cut.
When all’s said and done, Adam flops down on a rock. “Damn,” Ronan says. “Sorry, man.”
Adam sighs. “Yeah. It’s ― it’s alright. I can try to do it again in thirty two years.”
Ronan laughs. “You still gonna be doing this in thirty years?”
“Hope so. I’m the magician. It’s sort of ― what I do.”
“Got time for gas station coffee with all that?”
Adam sneaks a look at Ronan, who is dangerous and beautiful in the faded, grey moonlight covered by the clouds. “Yeah. I ― I think I do.”
“So,” Ronan says. “Do you ― think maybe we should clean up?”
Adam stares at him for a second ― then laughs. Of course the guy that asked him out for coffee after his dead-raising ritual had failed would be the only guy who would ever ask anyone out after attempted necromancy to want to fucking clean up afterwards. “Sure,” he says, and he feels as light, light as air because Ronan ― no, this ― it’s going to work.
They pick up the Big Mac and Adam’s knife and try to fix the gravestone so that it stands upright again, and Ronan packs in dirt with the tiny, tin trowel while Adam holds the gravestone upright. He wipes off the knife and stands up. His jeans are probably filthy and covered with damp earth, but Adam ― he could care less.
“Let’s go,” Ronan says. “And we’re taking my car.”
Adam hadn’t expected Ronan to have a bright orange Camaro ― maybe a Prius, or a minivan, or a Corvette, or a BMW ― and Ronan laughs at the surprise etched into his face. “I borrowed my friend’s.”
“This friend ― Richard Campbell Gansey the third, right?”
“Right,” says Ronan. “How do you know him?”
“Um,” says Adam. He’s still startled by the sudden appearance of Gansey’s car. “I think I’m his magician?”
“That ― explains a lot.”
“Who are you?”
“His poet,” Ronan says, and his voice fades off, like the fog above them. “In a way.”
They drive to the only gas station in Henrietta that’s open twenty four seven and Ronan is fast ― Adam doesn’t think he’s even briefly lightened up on the gas pedal, and his hand is on the stick shift and after a pause, Adam puts his hand there too.
The moment ― yeah, moment ― is only interrupted by the squawking sound from the back of the car. Adam jumps. “You have a raven. You have a fucking raven,” he says in disbelief.
Ronan laughs. “Meet Chainsaw.”
Gansey is happy for them, Ronan knows. It just ― sometimes it comes out in skeptical questions and raised eyebrows. You met how? You did what? Of course, he doesn’t say anything, just judges silently while him and Blue go on normal dates to the movies and don’t kiss and he brings her home promptly at eleven.
Either way, uniqueness is inherent in both of their relationships and maybe that’s why they work.
The gas station. Three in the morning, November first.
Ronan has his mouth around a straw and his tongue is bright red. There’s an icy film of water over the cup. Adam hadn’t expected him to purchase a gas station quality cherry slurpee.
He sips at his coffee while the cashier gives them suspicious looks, and Ronan sucks at his cherry slurpee and asks Adam what he does when he’s not trying to raise the dead. “Fix cars. Go to school.”
He’s pretty certain that he’s not imagining the change in Ronan’s expression at that. “Cars, you say?”
Adam grins. This, he’s certain, is the start of something good.
The first time Ronan kisses Adam, he tasted like a cherry slurpee and his mouth was ice-cold. They stood in a gas station with a condescending cashier and the scent of gasoline on their wrists, their clothes. Adam kissed him back.
i am a small child
sitting on the shoulder of the world
and taking notes.
all these real things
made for real people, life-sized
dolls navigating the world
carrying their bodies forward
by the weight of their bones,
atoms are ninety-nine percent
a myriad of lives crushed by
the burden of their concreteness,
failing to realize
that we are all walking on air.
Introduction: It seems like everybody in the fandom is writing their own long post about Kaitlyn this week. I feel like I should too, but she’s been my least favorite character since Book One, so I haven’t experienced the same emotional upheaval everybody else has. So I think I’ll talk about something I’m curious about:
What would be unforgivable for you?
Sort-of recap: In Book Two, we watched as the whole fandom (or at least ninety-nine percent of it) turned against James, or was at least super disappointed in him, when he tore into the main character for allegedly lying (NO I DIDN’T LIE JAMES) to him about Professor Vasquez. But everybody seems to have forgiven him now and some people, including myself, went on to choose him as Book Three’s love interest. Does that mean we’ve forgiven him for not giving us a chance to explain ourselves?
Main question: The in-game love interests have put us through a lot. So my question is this: What would be unforgivable for you? What line would your Choices love interest (or friend) have to cross in order to never be able to receive your forgiveness?
Possibilities: There are two answers I’m anticipating hearing. The first is cheating, the second is violence. Both are understandable… but what if they apologized? What if James cheats on you with Yasmin, tells you, then apologizes and says it will never happen again? What if Kaitlyn does? And what about Kaitlyn’s blatant disregard for your well-being? After all, you were knocked to the ground AND almost trampled and she didn’t seem to care at all. What if Zig accidentally hits you in a heated moment and is instantly (and genuinely) sorry afterwards? What if Chris… um, sorry, Chris, but these other three are being more dramatic at the moment in my opinion, so I can’t think of a comparable question for you 😆
A place to think: Yes, our choices are limited by what options are provided for us in the game. And yes, sometimes we choose options we wouldn’t in real life because it’s a game and it’s fun to act like somebody else since it’s all fictional. Choices is the kind of game that can be played and enjoyed by both a younger and an older audience, and the visual novel aspect, being immersive and expansive, provides a safe way to consider this kind of topic without the risk of real-life trauma.
More questions: What are the things that you would forgive inside the game, but not forgive outside the game? And what are the things that you would NOT forgive both inside and outside the game? What if there were apologies and promises to never do those things again from the characters? Will you forgive pretty much anything as long as they apologize sweetly enough?
Personal comments: Eh, James barely apologized for his Book Two nonsense. I just chose him for Book Three ONLY because it seemed pretty boring to play a romance story without a romantic interest - but in reality, my character still hasn’t forgiven him for just cutting things off without even asking her for her side of the story first. He didn’t have to keep on seeing her, but to not even listen to what she had to say showed that he didn’t acknowledge her as an equal partner in the relationship, which was not acceptable.
Final note: While I’m curious to see what people are saying… well, as silly as it sounds, I’m also partly asking out of… well… concern? This latest The Freshman chapter is showing certain sides of certain characters, and while I completely understand choosing story options for fun because it’s a game, I just wanted to emphasize that if your current/future friends and/or love interests in REAL LIFE act in ways that mirror these fictional characters’ hurtful and/or alarming actions, please be very careful! (And I know that you’re perfectly capable of telling the difference between fiction and reality - I just wanted to write this somewhere public for my own peace of mind 😆)