#pavonem

[lesamis]

11, 16!

thank you! 🌟🌟🌟

11: something you want to do again next year? 

at risk of sounding SUPER boring. i want to do the thing again where i regularly get up earlier than 8am because it makes my days feel better and longer without fail, and yet. and yet

16: post a picture from the beginning of the year 

stone hug i couldn’t look away from this january! i was completely spellbound by this sculpture

[cavepainters-archive]

pavonem replied to your post “do us/uk undergrad students do a thesis/dissertation at the end of...”

it depends! in some schools its required for all majors and for some its only ppl in the honors programs. at mine theses are only honors but everyone has to do some kind of capstone project

heroican replied to your post “do us/uk undergrad students do a thesis/dissertation at the end of...”

It depends on your major (USA) and what school you go to. My school all majors have to do either an internship or a thesis to graduate

oh ok!! if you guys dont mind a follow-up question do you know if ppl that don’t do theses struggle with doing MAs? 

[lesamis]

@pavonem hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet “[[MOR] !! one of my thesis advisors just emailed me and i’m shaking...”

congratulations!!

thank you!! <33

@alfiri hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet “[[MOR] !! one of my thesis advisors just emailed me and i’m shaking...”

omg wie cool!! Gratuliere!! :DD Die Juroren wussten einfach dass Katzen alles besser machen y/y?

bestimmt! :D in dem Sinne verschaffen Katzen gegenüber anderen Themen vielleicht einen unfairen Vorteil. viel zu positiv besetzt! 

[sapphicsapphos-blog]

paramountie replied to your post: im pretty sure ff.net is dying and that makes 13...

dying as in gone forever? if so I got a lot of fanfic to save

@pavonem no not deleting or anything just... its not updated as much anymore... all the newer fandoms are on AO3, and the hay day it was in when i was a youngster is far from over

[megarab]

Common Light- A Love Story

I dedicate this great work to @hanamom whose encouragement was vital to making this story a reality. I know how much Twilight means to you. You are welcome

 "Who's that?" Travis asked. Pacman looked up from where he was loading another round into his gun. "You mean Mitchell? He transferred here right before you. Sort of creepy actually." Travis agreed. No one should be that pale in Southern California. Or that tense. The man in question looked up from where he was clawing the head off the target dummy with his bare hands. His eyes met Travis's. For a second, Travis could have sworn they sparkled. * * * About three things Travis was absolutely positive. First, Wes is an asshole. Second, there was a part of him, and he didn't know how dominant that part might be, that thirsted for Travis's hot bod. And third, Travis was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. Also he was a vampire. * * * "I know what you are!" Travis said, barging into the break room. Wes slammed the refrigerator shut and guiltily wiped a sticky red substance off his mouth. "You didn't really think you could hide it forever, right?" Travis continued. "We're partners. I was bound to notice eventually." Wes stared fixedly at the ground. "You never eat, you never sleep, you have no friends. Not to mention I've never seen you step foot in a church." Wes looked up, eyes dark and fathomless. "Just say it." "You're a lawyer." * * * The ketchup missed Travis' hotdog and splattered on Wes' sleeve. They froze for a moment, eyes fixed on the blood-red stain. Travis took a shaky breath and stepped closer, heart pounding. "Does it torture you?" he asked. "The constant hunger?" Wes met his gaze, eyes brimming with barely contained fury. "This shirt is dry clean only." When Wes pummeled him to the ground and attacked him with condiments, Travis was still a little breathless. * * * Travis woke up to someone tapping on his trailer window. Pushing the curtains back, he saw Wes standing outside, moonlight highlighting his scowl. "What are you doing?" Travis whispered. "Oh, do you need to be invited in?" "What the hell is wrong with you?" Wes said, "We have work to do, a case to solve. Get up, I've found some new leads on the judge's son." Once they were in Wes' car and heading back to the station, Travis turned to Wes. "So you've been working extra hard on this case, almost like you have unfinished business...law business." Wes sighed as though many lifetimes weighed on his memory. "Tell me, Wes," Travis said, leaning closer, "how long have you been thirty one?" "What are you talking about?" Wes said, taking his eyes off the road to stare at Travis. "I looked you up, Wes. Partner at your law firm for who knows how long, then a detective in missing persons, and then in homicide? The timeline just doesn't add up. There's well preserved and then there's supernatural." "Actually I'm fifty two." Hot, Travis thought. * * * "Wes." "What." "Ask me to dance." "What." Music filtered from inside the country club to where they were standing in polyester vests and bow ties. Their coms were sewn into their sleeves. Travis felt like James Bond. "Dance with me, Wes," Travis said, "I never went to prom but I'm pretty sure this is how it works. Later we can sneak out the back and you can bite my neck." Travis accompanied this with a complicated eyebrow movement. "What the fuck." "Come on, Wes. Let me join your demon horde." "I don't have a horde. This isn't the fifteenth century." "You would know." Wes looked like he was about to say something snide about Travis's knowledge of history and his delinquent record when a car tore through valet parking, and they had to engage in a high speed car chase for a while. * * * Gun fire pelted the shipping crate, leaving bullet holes inches from their heads. Travis saw Wes brace himself with a steadying breath before taking a flying leap across the ware house hallway, returning fire at the Special Investigations officers. It was just like the movies. Wes also took half a dozen bullets to the chest but for a move like that, worth it. He staggered on the other side of the hall, shirt riddled with bloodless holes. Wes turned back to Travis, looking smug. Travis's heart skipped a beat. The officers were still coming closer, weaving in between the evidence shelves. "Hey, Wes," Travis said, seeing bags of white powder high on one of the racks. "Stormfront." Realization lit up Wes' face and he shot the rest of his bullets over the officers' heads. As the clouds of toxic material bloomed around them, choking the officers, Wes stepped towards Travis. They were so close Travis could touch his hand, but something held him back. "I'm dangerous, Travis." "I don't care," Travis coughed. "You're my own personal brand of heroin," Wes said, eyes watering from the haze. "It doesn't matter," Travis said. "We're partners." Wes smiled, and they made out for a while.

[paramountie]

002 + fraser

How I feel about this character: He’s a precious kindhearted cherry blossom and he loves people so much and sometimes he messes up and sometimes he steamrolls people and he doesn’t know how to ask for help and he just wants to make the world better and he wants to take care of everyone he’s a very helpful puppy and he’s my favorite fictional character ever

All the people I ship romantically with this character:<33 Ray Kowalski <33

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I wanna say Ray Vecchio but I feel like that’s too obvious. Although their conversation at the end of Some Like It Red is one of my favorite moments in the show. 

My unpopular opinion about this character: I’ve read some fics where he’s a Bad Dad/just doesn’t know what to do with children/cannot Deal with rebellious teenagers, but I disagree? Like, he canonically loves kids and is a really great listener/is good at seeing other people’s point of view, even if he doesn’t agree with them. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish that they’d made it canon that he is Not Straight At All. Because he is not straight at all. I also wished that they’d canonically given him a baby because I’ve read too many fics where he ends up Babyless and they destroy my poor heart. 

my OTP: Fraser/Kowalski, the Ultimate OTP, the Greatest Love Story Ever. Objectively.  

my cross over ship: hmmmmmmm I don’t know if I ship it but he and Jim Kirk would get along super well. They’d talk about flowers for like a solid two hours. 

a headcanon fact: There. are so many.

 His confession of love to Ray Kowalski is a long, elaborate speech that uses so many complicated metaphors that he ends up inadvertently convincing Ray Kowalski that he’s in love with Ray Vecchio and they’re planning to elope at the soonest possible opportunity. 

He and Ray Kowalski adopt twins named Nora and Damian. The twins’ biological mother is a notorious art thief.

Demisexual!!! Not cis!!!!

Dief is actually an immortal guardian who vowed to protect Fraser and all his progeny after Fraser rescued him from that bear trap.

and many more!

[paramountie]

ok i just got back from work and saw this SO wintersnixon + 41

Your little sister likes to say that your old house was haunted. She used to see ghosts sitting in the bathtub.  

“They were pretty nice,” she told you once, “Sad, though.”

This is all you can think about as you sit in the driveway of your new home. It’s a nasty, battered husk of a house, worth a hell of a lot less than what you’re paying for it. But it’s somewhere. It’s better than sleeping on your sister’s couch. It’s better than moving into your parent’s place back in Nixon, New Jersey, with its hundreds of bedrooms and its cold, dead hallways.

At least a ghost won’t ask you about your failed marriage.

-

The temperature is always low in the far left corner of your living room. There’s a chair there, an especially comfortable one, but you know better than to sit in it. Your mother always taught you to be a good host, even if your guest isn’t one you can see. Even if your guest is probably just a product of drinking too much and never sleeping enough.

-

Sometimes you see him, in the corner of your eye. Behind you in the bathroom mirror. A vague shape at the end of the hallway. You can’t tell what he looks like, not really, but you can make out some of his features.

You see red hair, once, glinting in the sunlight that’s making its slow way through the curtains. When he opens and closes various doors, you can almost count the freckles on his pale hands.

You see bits and pieces of his face. Half a smile. The edge of an eye.

You wish that you could draw so that you could pull the whole thing together into something coherent. But you can’t, so you just try to forget about it.

-

It takes him a year to start talking to you. It only takes him half a year to start laughing at you.

You’re not sure it’s him laughing, at first. You think the house might just be creaking. Or that it’s water gurgling through the pipes. Eventually you realize that houses don’t creak just when you’ve embarrassed yourself.

“You know,” you say, after the second time he laughs at you for walking into the kitchen table, “I didn’t take you for a sadist.”

He laughs again. You want to call your ex-wife and tell her that a dead man has a better sense of humor than she does.

-

Of course, you’ve talked to him since day one. Not about anything in particular. Just the same stuff you’ve been prattling on to yourself about since you were old enough to talk. Sometimes you remember your manners well enough to say good morning and good night.

One evening, he says it back, and you’re hardly surprised.

-

You’re not surprised, but you are oddly happy about it. That’s not a feeling you want to explore.

-

Sometimes you get a full sentence, but mainly it’s just fragments. He talks so quietly.

As times goes by, his voice gets louder. Or at least, you like to think so. You might have just gotten better at understanding him.

-

You tell him about your daughter’s birthday, about the gift you spend hours picking out for her. You tell him that you’re suddenly terrified that she’ll hate it. You never get to see her. You don’t really know her at all.

You tell him about the TV show you keep watching even though it’s awful. You tell him about how you’ve never made scrambled eggs without burning them, how on your wedding day you alternated between sheer, blinding terror and manic happiness. You tell him that you’re very good at missing obvious signs.

And somehow, he tells you about his family, about how the tenants who lived here before you never mowed the lawn, about how being dead is like being alive, only softer.

You think that there are questions you should ask him, questions that any rational person would ask him, questions about the afterlife and all of that nonsense. But you don’t want to ask him any of that. You just want to talk to him.

God damn it, it doesn’t make any sense.

-

You have to remind yourself to leave the house and talk to living people. You get coffee with your sister. You take your daughter to the playground. You have a terse, non-conversation with your ex-wife.

Your sister points out that you keep avoiding her gaze. You’re not used to taking in a person’s whole body at one time.

“You’ve ruined me for real people,” you tell him one night, and he doesn’t respond. You don’t know why. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say. Maybe you started talking in the wrong empty room.

-

He’s your friend, you think. Your best friend.

And that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s wrong on every level. You can’t be friends with a dead man. You can’t love a dead man. It’s no way to live. It’s not fair.

-

You start looking for a different home. You narrow your search down to new buildings. Fresh and shiny apartment complexes, in fresh and shiny areas. Before you decide on an apartment, you visit it twice to make sure it’s ghost-free.

-

You ask him if this is the coward’s way out. He doesn’t answer immediately.

Finally, in the middle of the night, just before you fall asleep, he tells you that you’re the bravest person he’s ever met.

-

On your last day in the house, you call your sister. You tell her to bring all her psychic friends over. You’ve got a ghost that needs to Pass On.

She comes over with three different mediums. You sit on the porch steps while they go about their business, and try not to gnaw off your fingernails. It takes hours, but finally your sister appears and tells you that it’s over. He’s gone into the “light”.

You have no idea what the hell that means. It’s sounds like a lot of nonsense. You just hope he’s happy. You just hope he’s someplace where you’ll be able to find him again.

-

The next day, you bring your daughter to your new apartment and let her draw on all of the walls. The day after that, you make a point of chatting with every person you pass in the hallways. On the third day, you call your ex-wife, your mother, and your sister in quick succession.

-

You are going to learn how to talk to living people again. You are going to become one of them, and stay that way. You don’t have any other choice.

[paramountie]

Meeting in Prison AU

prompt by pavonem

Year later, they would tell the story of how they met. How Tony was about to get his skull beaten in by a huge man with a dragon tattooed on his bicep, and Rhodey stepped in like a knight in a shining orange jumpsuit. How Rhodey thought he could just move on with his life after that. How Tony discovered that Rhodey worked in the prison library, and proceeded to check out the Hunger Games trilogy thirty-one times just so he could get a chance to chat with him. How Rhodey did not run away screaming after that. How Rhodey did not run away screaming at any point in the relationship.

They would tell the whole epic tale, down to the last excruciating detail. There would be certain sections that their audiences preferred, of course. The story of how Tony had somehow managed to set up a candlelit dinner in the prison bathroom was always a fan favorite, even if Tony always seemed to skim over the fact that Rhodey had completely refused to eat anything in that disgusting place.

It was, Tony insisted, probably the most romantic story ever. One day he was going to write a book.