#This language was invented to fuck with outsiders

[y-rhywbeth2]

Elves: Language/s

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index[tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest. Frankly these posts may get updated now and then. etc]

Physiology and quirks | Names & Clans and Houses || Pan-Cultural things: Social life | Time and 'Growing Up an Elf' | Homes | Language | Art | Entertainment | Technology || Elven 'Subraces' still a wip || Philosophy and Religion & Pantheons || Half-elves | [WIP]

I have a weak spot for fictional languages and a compulsive need to poke them with a stick and babble about it. It was this or get sucked into trying to build actual headcanoned conlangs out of this nonsense. So.

If your character has elven on their character sheet: no they don't, the elves are just humouring you. No PCs actually learned this istg.

'Are you still putting off that elven subrace post?' YES.

The 'Elvish' you put on your character sheet as a language proficiency - or Lalur ('the Singing') in Elvish - is actually a pidgin tongue akin to Common, a 'simple' trade tongue that allows elves from various backgrounds to communicate. Elven languages tend to be varied, sometimes to an extreme extent. Drowic altered rapidly due to adapting to Underdark survival and meddling from the church of Lolth, and each drow city has a different dialect; and the Lythari dialect is utterly unlike any other.

As per the advice in Drow of the Underdark (1e), it's a perfectly valid choice to simply cherry pick words from canon glossaries and invent your own elven languages and dialects.

'Standard' Elven seems to look like this: 'Ai armiel telere maenen hir.' 'Qu’kiir vian ivae, qu’kiir nethmet. Ivae marat vand Cormanthor. Mythal selen mhaor kenet. Qu’kiir vand tir t’nor' Very big on diphthongs and ' .

Menzoberranzan Drowic looks like this: 'Khaless nau uss mzild taga dosstan.' 'Kyorl jal bauth, kyone, lueth lil Quarvalsharess xal belbau dos lil belbol del elandar dro.' They like their hard double consonants along with their dipthongs.

And the Lythari dialect looks like this: 'Na kwast wahir athu kyene wekht unarihe.' Seem to be a lot of 'clipped' sounds.

Put a moon elf a drow and an elven lycanthrope in the same room and tell them they have to use their mother tongue and they're not going to get anything done. A fluent speaker of the standard surface elven can make out about 14% of drowic by linguistic overlap, but nothing more, and such applies to other elves: a group of green elves and a migration of aquatic elves that encountered each other once had to spend time breaking down language barriers to talk to each other.

Usually the structure of elven languages flows like English, because the writers aren't actually making a genuine conlang. And then sometimes it really doesn't which makes trying to mine vocabulary and grammar annoying.

As well as spoken languages for daily communication, there are complicated mystical formal languages like Seldruin and 'High Drow' which is used by powerful spellcasters (High Mages and High Priestesses of Lolth respectively).

Elves also utilise alternate forms of communication like sign language and a sort of braille on a regular basis, even if abled. Drow are most known for their use of sign language (its lack of verbal component in particular is useful in the open Underdark, where making a noise is extremely likely to guarantee your death) but surface elves also use it, and use of 'braille' was promoted by moon elves for the sake of the visually impaired and blind, though many sighted elves also use it for secret messaging. Drow in particular make use of it for that, but they're hardly alone.

The alphabet elves use to write in Elven and Common is espruar, created by moon elves and adopted by other elven people (likely due to the amount of wandering and mixing the early moon elves got up to, pre-Crown Wars).

Comes in two variants, the latter of which is the most usually seen:

There's also an older variant of pictograms used by early elves that were 'predecessors' of the Thorass alphabet... which also might actually double as music instructions.

Seldruin is written in a distinct and basically extinct alphabet called Hamarfae.

Elven includes at least six grammatical tenses not found in the languages of shorter lived races to accommodate the elven understanding of time. While it hasn't come up in canon, with the Seldarine being ambiguous about gender elves should probably also have more complicated grammatical gender as well.

Just about every word in Common has about ten or more potential translations in an elvish language, each with a slightly different nuance which may be context sensitive as every word in elven appears to have several meanings within itself. Sort of like there's a word for every facet of a concept or thing, depending on what about the topic you specifically want to discuss.

Want to talk about the winter this year? Two words that will get translated into 'winter' in Common are Loress and Orth. Loress means winter as in the aspect of the season as a period of dormancy, slowing down and hibernation and winter's effect on plant life, you'd probably use it to discuss gardening and crops. Orth means winter in its aspect as a period of danger and consequences (closed roads and frostbite and death by exposure). But in common they just say 'winter.'

What you stress and how you use it will give you an entirely different sentence.

For general elven: Ar means great, Cor also means great, Selu means great.

Cor has connotations of 'grandness' and 'monarch,' carrying connotations of highest authority, and possibly a sort of peak: the highest point its possible to reach, and maybe culmination and fulfilment.

Ar also means 'sun,' probably the colour gold (since teu means silver and moon), as well as connotations of a high rank and the responsibility of guardianship and/or guidance judging by the title 'Arakhor' (ar + akh (duty-need) + or (woods) - the tree guardian, grandfather tree, the one who protects the woods)

(Thus gold elves, the Ar'Tel'Quessir have a name that communicates that they are the people of the sun (by golden appearance and affiliation with Labelas Enoreth), the 'highest' of the People, and they are those with a duty to look after the elven people and their ways.)

Not sure about selu, it places an emphasis on a translation into 'high' and it mostly crops up in connotations of High Magic. Usually gets contracted to sel, like 'Seldarine.'

And then, by changing the stressed syllable, a word has a different meaning.

For example 'Cormanthor,' 'Cormanthor,' and 'Cormanthor' are three different words!

Combining Cor = 'Grand/great ' + Manth = 'Promise/vow,' apparently with connotations of hoping/having faith in the promised outcome + Or = 'Wood,' 'place,' probably also 'copper'

Cormanthor means 'the King's Vow Forest.' Referring to the forest of Cormanthor.

Cormanthor means 'Place of Great Promise.' Referring to the capital city of Myth Drannor, Cormanthor.

Cormanthor means 'Ruler of the Forest True,' and 'King of the Oathlands,' was the green elven title for the coronal (king) of Cormanthor. Apparently when stress is taken of manth and or they combine meanings to get 'faithful-wood/land' or 'oathland'

And then there's 'Cormanthyr' which is a different word altogether whose nuance can be translated as 'the Fulfilment of Promise' and 'Culmination of Hope and Faith' simultaneously.

Also sometimes seems like nouns double as adjectives.

Theur means 'shield' and 'unbreakable,' 'unyielding.'

Aegan means 'physical strength' and 'strong.'

Plurals are just come in so many variants.

Vel -> Vael Sig -> Sige Or -> Ora Athil -> Athila Quess -> Quessir

[bibleofficial]

the dark side ? british tourists still not realizing what drowning is

[bomberqueen17]

tone indicators

I reblogged this post without adding any commentary bc queue and not a lot of computer time lately but like okay here's the thing about tone indicators:

they're yet another in-group set of coded speech. like an inside joke, or a meme, or a conlang. if you are in a group that uses them, they're great and perfectly comprehensible.

but if you don't happen to have come from inside a group that uses them, they are exactly as exclusionary as any other heavy jargon or inside joke or acronym. I mean have you ever listened to soldiers talk? The US Army communicates in heavily jargon-ified speech, liberally laden with acronyms, so much so that it's a self-referential joke to make up obscene or deliberately-obfuscated ones to slip into official reports since the sorts of people who'd kick up a fuss about obscene language won't understand them.

It is exactly the same thing. Except that's exclusionary on purpose, and tone indicators are exclusionary in effect but tout themselves as inclusionary.

So if I, an outsider to this, am reading along, and after a sentence, there's a / and then between one and three letters, that is not enough information for me to use to look it up.

This is absolutely inaccessible if you are not alreadhy in the group that uses it.

I wouldn't mind if the people who used them were just like 'oh ha sorry jargon, i'll try to explain if it's not clear, sorry i forget you guys don't know them' just like any other inside joke or meme or whatever.

But I was in a discussion with someone on a Discord and when I was puzzled about them including these weird slash-acronyms after their statements they were like oh how nice for you that you're not neurodivergent and don't need to use these.

Uh no. The opposite actually. I'm the kind of neurodivergent that needs context. I handle being excluded from conversations very poorly. And that's where I get pissed off, that people seem to be holding these up as the new be-all end-all of Finally Solving The Problem Of Ambiguous Tones In Social Interaction. The hell you are, kids. They're just another layer, and I'd say the worst one yet, out of many many many attempts to solve this exact problem. They are fundamentally inaccessible. Don't mistake the fact that you learned them (somewhere, in some context inaccessible to me) for them actually being universal.

Considered against the many different solutions that have been offered since text-only speech was invented, tone indicators stack up as among the very least-accessible of the lot, since they contain so little context in and of themselves-- if a key is not provided then they're totally inaccessible, and are exceptionally difficult for non-native English speakers, and in general require so much memorization or cross-referencing as to be prohibitively hostile to outsiders.

And that's fine, if what your'e doing is just meant for talking to your friends. But don't come into my conversations and berate me for not having memorized whatever incomprehensible set of acronyms you've newly-decided are the new universal truth. And what drives me the most insane is how many of these acronyms someone has now decided to assign a whole new meaning to are acronyms that are well-known and already existed and are in heavy use. So if you try to look them up guess what you get! is it gonna be the newly-created version or the one that's been in use for fifty to seventy-five years??

For one, P.O.S. has had a specific meaning in written and spoken English for a really damn long time and if you call me a piece of shit in the actual language I speak I am absolutely not going to interpret your conlang as having intended something nice. (YES REALLY THEY'RE USING THAT ONE TRY TO GUESS WHAT IT MEANS. NO. NO! I know. Fuck! That's wild. Absolutely the fuck not.)

[alwaysanundertone]

Why try? | poly! marauders x fem! reader

angst / fluff

CW: brief mention of bully, negative self talk, some cursing (?) I think that’s all :)

word count: 1.4k

note: it’s my first mini series and English is not my first language, just wanted to say so in case you spot any error :)

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4 coming soon

“Why are they dating me?”

That’s the question that kept flashing in your head 24/7 for the past week.

It all started when you were sitting with your group of friends in the Ravenclaw common room. You had just returned from your secret date with the marauders; even though they wanted to love you in public, you didn’t. It was silly, really, but you didn’t want all of the backlash that it would inevitably come from dating them.

You knew, deep down, that if you were to love them in the open, everyone would be confused as to why they chose you. They were the marauders, for god’s sake, even you had doubts about this… thing that you had been going on, god only knows what everyone else would be thinking.

So you invented an excuse. You told them that your brother was protective over you, that you didn’t want to cause them trouble. You could have been spending more time thinking about a better story: your brother couldn’t care less about your wellbeing, let alone who you dated. It didn’t matter what he really thought, though, because they believed the lie.

It hurt to have to lie to the boys that you were growing fond of, but still, years and years of bullying made you this way. You never really viewed yourself as someone worthy of affection, let alone of love. You never really liked your physique, you hated your nose, you wished you had something special about your physical appearance but you couldn’t find it.

Even your personality didn’t seem worthy of being known, or at least you thought so. You were an A-student, but only because you studied hard. You had a lot of hobbies, sure, but you weren’t exactly good at them. All of this to say, you didn’t deem yourself worthy of their attention.

Now you were sitting with your friends, chatting, and of course, of fucking course, they had to start talking about james.

“I really don’t get how he can be so oblivious about my flirting”

This caught your attention. The girl talking wasn’t exactly your friend, however she shared her room with Emmeline, one of your best friends, so she started hanging out with you. Still, you didn’t know about this flirting until now. You chose to listen quietly.

“… I mean, I even went to his game wearing his damn number on my back. What do I have to do in order to get his attention?”

“I don’t know Aurora… Rumor has it they are all dating some new girl, though nobody knows who she is! They saw them hanging around near Hogsmade, but nobody saw her face. I really thought they didn’t want to include anybody in their relationship”

“Another girl?” Both you and Aurora exclaimed at the same time. This. This was a rather embarrassing situation.

“What Y/N? Decided to join the conversation?”

“Yeah, didn’t take you as a marauder fan?”

This is why you should learn to keep your mouth closed.

“What? Am I not allowed to be curious?”

“Yeah, not like they’ll ever consider you.” Em stared at Aurora blankly, you were sure your face was showing every little thought that was slowly, but surely, starting to crawl over your consciousness, making you doubt yourself.

“What? Don’t look at me like I’m the evil guy. It’s nothing personal, Y/N, but you are just a normal girl, they seem like the type to enjoy someone more… special?”

And that’s when the doubting started.

“Yeah… I think I’ll go study now”

You excused yourself, while you clearly heard Em starting to get angry at Aurora, but you just couldn’t take this.

It was one thing to doubt yourself, but if even your friends thought the same of you, maybe you were right, maybe you should just stop bothering them.

You ran to the library, to the farthest corner. Staring at the rain pouring outside your window, you started to do the one thing you were really good at: self loathing.

A hand made you jump.

“Hey there dovey, didn’t mean to scare my girl”

Remus was looking at you with that loopsided grin of his that made your stomach flip. He called you ‘his girl’, even though you weren’t official, your heart swelled.

“Hey Rem” You tried to smile, you really did, but for some reason your facial muscles couldn’t bring themselves to work. His face immediately fell.

“What is going on?”

You could have just told him.

Maybe you should have.

But you really weren’t one to just talk about problems, you preferred to just pretend.

“Nothing! Nothing I- I just-“ You stopped for a moment. Great job, Y/N, you were doing such a great job! You took a deep breath. “Nothing, I’m just a bit stressed about herbology? You know I’m not the best at it”

He seemed to believe you. “Well, we can study together then?”

Again, you should have said yes.

“I’m sorry I just- I mean, we hung out earlier? Aren’t you tired of me?”

He frowned. “No? Why would I be? Sirius and James are napping, I was actually looking for you? I feel like we hardly ever have some alone time together”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to talk about every little doubt crowding your mind. But you couldn’t, your tongue twisted.

“Oh…”

“But I mean, if you want some alone time I understand!

You simply nodded.

“See you around Remus”

“Okay then? See you around?”

He turned, stopping for a minute, likely pondering if he should just go away or stay to talk. He decided to leave.

You fell even further on the armchair, your mind flooded with doubts.

You sat at dinner, exhausted. You have been spending the whole afternoon running through the endless possibilities as to why they were willingly spending their time with you. Were they making fun of you? Were they just bored? None of your answers made you feel any better about yourself.

Now you were staring at your plate.

“Hey Y/N” Em looked quite concerned. “Are you alright?” You nodded, she frowned.

“If it’s Aurora who got you so sad, don’t worry, I kicked her ass”

You snorted at that. “No, don’t worry Em, everything’s alright. You know I get like that when the winter nears”

She nodded. It was exhilarating how everybody seemed to believe your lies.

Throughout the whole dinner, you sensed three pair of eyes burning through your back. You decided you couldn’t stay a minute longer under their scrutiny, pretending to eat, pretending to have fun. You simply stood up, exiting the Great Hall.

A hand grasped yours, making you jump.

“What’s up with you lot today? Trying to induce a heart attack?” James snickered, tugging your wrist and making you end up in his arms.

You noticed Sirius and Remus looking at you, the latter still sporting the frown he had in the library.

“Just wanting to check up on you. Moony here was quite worried about you, said you seemed sad. Is everything alright?” Sirius searched for your eyes, while you looked at your feet. “Did we make you uncomfortable in any way?”

“No, no it’s not that”

That’s it. You really were stupid.

Remus quirked a brow. “So you are sad about something.”

“Well, you know… the rain.”

James looked like he was about to laugh. “Well yes, it rains quite a lot in Scotland?”

“No, I mean I get quite moody when the weather starts to worsen” At that James hugged you.

“You poor thing, you should have told! Wanna come in our dorm and have a cuddle?”

A cuddle did sound nice, but then again the doubts started to flood your mind. They already had to spend time to someone as uninteresting as you, the least you could do was try to not be a burden.

“No, sorry I just want to take a shower and have some alone time, you know?”

They seemed worried. James looked like a lost puppy, not understanding why you were so suddenly trying to create space between you and them.

Sirius nodded. “Okay love, but if you change your mind you know where to find us, yeah?”

You wanted to cry. To actually sob into their shoulders and word vomit every single mean thing that you told yourself in the last six hours. Instead you just smiled, waved, and ran to your room.

And so began the worst week of your sixth year at Hogwarts.

[wufflesvetinari]

ok fine, wyllstarion rec list

the demons bade me write this. i have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings and a fabulous bookmarks list. come with me....and you'll be.......in a world of pure wyllstarion nation

note that this is like. an intermediate/advanced, 201-level list. i am trusting you, and assume you've already read asidian's body of work. you've read nothing is safe. you're reading Nothing Like the Sun &etc. Really anything that appears on the first two pages when sorting by bookmarks/kudos is disqualified due to pre-recognized excellence. (you could, however, go read them again)

are you back? good. now read:

"We Happy Few" - @geometea. listen to me. listen. i am looking deeply into your eyes. read this fucking fic. it's hard to shill without spoiling anything, BUT: wyll is a still-pacted grand duke. he used to have a bunch of unresolved romantic tension with astarion and now hasn't spoken to him for 15 years. now take that premise and add body horror, beautiful ominous surreal images, and SURPRISE BIG EMOTIONS. just trust me on this one, guys

"Crossed Blades" - @rebelontherocks. this is a...i think i have to call this a cozy sex romp. wyll and astarion are married, wyll is a busy duke, astarion needs more enrichment, astarion invents a very silly sex game by roleplaying teenage-wyll's smut books. wyll is So Deeply Into It. i love this fic for its characterization, its banter, and its commitment to paralleling character psychology to what sounds like an absolutely wild in-universe smut series (that is sketched with an impressive amount of detail and care tbh??).

"Comfort" - @acephalouscreature. short and sweet. wyll is injured and everyone expects astarion to take care of him. luckily, astarion has a dastardly plan to fake feelings for wyll by thinking about his feelings for wyll. you sure fooled them, astarion!! also featuring: astarion trying to figure out how to comfort someone by thinking about horses

"False Compare" - @jellyfishline. i'd recommend checking out their work generally, but i fell in love with this one first. wyll writes a sonnet! astarion is mean about it until he isn't! deeply in-character with an emphasis on how each of them communicates affection. gorgeous prose

"how to escape the torment nexus" - @ushauz. this series is incredibly unique, set in a fucked-up bad end where wyll is a lemure, astarion is still on the run from cazador, and almost everyone else is dead. where this really shines imo is wyll's POV: he's been through literal hell, doesn't remember his life, and is wading through his unconscious attachment to astarion like a foreign language. (side note also read Heart of Stone for a great lae'zel character piece)

"An Acorn in the Moonlight" - @anonyhex. this is one of the first wyllstarion fics i ever read and it has a special place in my heart!! it's particularly cathartic to read for Wyll reasons, including him actually getting to Have Emotions about what Ulder put him through. and they are so sweet with each other!!

"temporal displacement" - @purplecatghostposts. ok this came out like. yesterday but listen, i LOVE outsider pov of an astarion who's learned to show affection somewhat, seen from the eyes of someone who doesn't know his history and has no reason to suspect All Of That. and when that "outsider" is a dying 20-year-old wyll who just saw astarion step out of a time portal. well.

"nothing to make a song about" - @grey-wardens. for when you want something meaty and casefic-adjacent, set in a post-canon where wyll is the blade and not the duke (for once). contains bonding on the road, getting romantically snowed in together, and Symbolic Fetch-Quests.

i am also watching closely: "One of Those Prince-Types" by @lesbianralzarek and "sigh no more" by @tomorrowsrain. both are one chapter in and promise to be meaty, with execution that already feels very very promising

SPECIAL MENTION TO "Like Death (or Birth)" by The_Dancing_Walrus, which has some fraught implied background wyllstarion and is just generally completely baller. astarion kind-of sort-of accidentally adopts yenna, who got fucked up by her time as a potential sacrifice to bhaal. it works! i promise it works

[veritas-scribblings]

puddle - @jegulus-microfic - words: 519

James gets the baby wet (He’s not a gremlin, Sirius says, rolling his eyes, though Regulus doesn’t understand the reference and therefore doesn’t appreciate Sirius’s wit) and Regulus is irate, because he doesn’t want to have to bathe the baby for the second time that day.

It’s raining outside and they’re leaping through leaf piles, splashing in puddles and making a veritable mess of themselves because James is an idiot like that. James’s second wind of childhood, Sirius calls it, it’s your fault you’ve always been a nerd who’s afraid of the outdoors.

If we were meant to be outdoors, Regulus says, they wouldn’t have invented indoors.

Regulus tugs his gloves and beanie and scarf on, wraps his coat tightly around himself and braces against the wind. It’s an absolutely miserable day. Grey skies. Harsh wind. Thunder clouds looming. He’s sure he’s going to catch a cold, and he’s going be a terrible grump because he loathes being sick and James will take the full brunt of it because of course it will be James’s fault.

James, however, burns so hot that any germ, virus or bacteria simply seems to evaporate upon contact with him. At least the baby inherited his immunity to literally all and any kind of illness in existence. They were lucky like that.

Regulus scoops the baby up and examines him closely. Elio is three now, an absolute menace who hasn’t stopped moving since he learnt to crawl. A trait, Regulus thinks, that he also inherited from James and one that’s forever being enabled by Barty, who thinks a little menace is exactly what Regulus needs.

Sirius had been furious at James for months when he had learnt that Regulus had accidentally fallen pregnant (the potions were meant to have safeguarded and protected against that). Getting Sirius Black’s little brother pregnant had triggered the first and only true fight they’d ever really had, and one that James had thought their friendship might not actually survive. Of course, James hadn’t at all helped the situation when he’d joked to Sirius about his ‘super sperm’. Capable of surviving hostile attacks by potions, capable of surviving anything, he had said.

Because James Potter always has bad timing.

‘Fucking stop it, you arsehole!’ Regulus cries out when James throws an armful of wet leaves in his face. In his arms, Elio cackles and claps in delight. Because he’s a little menace who enjoys watching Regulus being tortured.

‘Watch your language.’ James reaches out to cover Elio’s ears (which are already covered with fluffy ear muffs). ‘He hears enough of that from Barty.’ He takes Elio from Regulus and kisses his forehead, and then leans over to kiss Regulus.

The wind and the rain are cold, but James is warm. So warm he burns hot. There’s a bell on the baby’s beanie that tinkles when he shakes his head, a little bit squished between them. He reaches up a hand to pat James on the face, pushing James away. 

‘Hot chocolate! I want hot chocolate! Marshmallows! Now!’ he demands loudly, because of course he does. He’s Regulus Black’s son. 

[imagination-overreaction]

More tf2 ships lets go

Soldier x Demoman / Boots n Bombs

Starting off with a Demoman ship cause this man does not get enough love I think. These two enable each other's stupidity to an incredible degree. They're both geniuses in the art of reckless stupidity, and with their brains and hearts combined they could be making new inventions like "ultra turbo sticky-nade launcherator" and it flings them 8 miles in the air and they die instantly (but they both cheer and think it's awesome once they're revived and they do it again. Medic doesn't care, but he's getting a bit bored of piecing together the same two bodies over and over again). These two would become masters of destruction. I also can imagine them passed out on the couch on top of each other, or Soldier waking up to do drills at 4 am and Demo telling him to fuck off (Soldier can't help it, his love language is explosives and boot camp </3). I like them a lot.

Scout x Sniper / Speeding Bullet

I will admit, I am a bit of a Scout hater when it comes to ships... Actually I'm just a Scout hater in general. However, I do think the dynamic of "annoying little shit" plus "gruff weird guy" works. Scout is the type to press his partner's buttons for the funnies (although he does this with his friends as well) but given how he was in Expiration Date as well as the Cold Day In Hell comic (if I remember right), then he would be genuinely caring and considerate toward his partner's feelings. Scout would push his buttons, but an hour later he'd be splayed out on top of Sniper and rambling about his day. Sniper is more blunt and to-the-point with affection, I think. He'd bother Scout right back, of course, and he'd just as happily sit there and nod along to whatever the hell Scout is talking about. These two would stay up until 5 am together several nights in a row.

Heavy x Pyro / Bear Grill

Since it's such a rare pair, there's some debate on what the ship name actually is. "Russian Wildfire," and "Heavy Fire" are the alternatives I've seen after scouring the tags. I'd like to toss my own suggestion in with "Firing Squad," although that could probably work for other ships too. I personally really like the hc that Pyro is (maybe aro?)ace, and I think that works well with Heavy (I also hc it/they Pyro but any pronouns work for this lil guy tbh). Heavy would support his little maniac's vested interest in fiery homicide just ignore the fact that he says he's scared of them in Meet The Pyro that's not important right now, and I think Pyro would really like watching Heavy use Sasha (the muzzle flash would be really neat in Pyro Vision). Outside of battle, I can imagine Heavy taking care of his guns while Pyro talks to him and tells a (very muffled) story. Heavy would listen to it when it talks about all the wonderful things it sees during their battles, and Heavy would maybe defend it when the other mercs start talking about how terrifying it is... Maybe. They're still very concerning.

Engineer x Heavy

There is no damn posts about this. "Heavy Metal" is a slightly popular one but "More Gun" has been suggested a lot, as well as "Mechanical Literature." I personally like More Gun(s), and I honestly really like this ship, and I feel like it works really well for the same reason that they both work well with Medic--they're both relatively calm and amicable compared to the rest of the team. I feel like Engie and Heavy would be the parents of the team, telling people to go to bed before 3 am and not to explode things in the house (it doesn't work but they can try) (and Engie probably has been the source of one or two fires but not necessarily on purpose). These two would be sickly together. Engie'd be going "good morning Misha 🥰✨" and tap Heavy's shoulder until he leans down far enough to let Engie kiss him on the cheek, and Heavy would give a quiet happy hum as Engie whistles away and they make me sick. I love them so much.

I also think that Engineer would give Heavy some absolutely monstrous artillery as a gift. They absolutely enable each other's horrific acts of bloodshed. More Gun <3

Part 1 - - Part 3

[pumpumdemsugah]

No but really there's been such an uptick in people inventing sexist racialised stereotypes about Black women that literally don't exist and you're expected to see Black womanhood as so lowly you're meant to nod and agree. I've heard that where hairy which literally isn't our stereotype you're simply treating Black women as a dumping ground for undesirability, the discussion around femininity and being treated roughly ( so masculine) has turned into acting like misgendering is really normal for most of us and we're all concerned about femininity in the same way trans women are. That move felt less like connecting and people treating Black womanhood as interchangeable with every undesirable characteristic and stereotype because negroes don't have specific issues. More and more I see things that would have just been called racism or misogynoir being spoken about like some new terminal variant we have no words for when we do, open a fucking book

All this reminds me why it's a problem for insecure people to have a platform especially when it's coupled with pseudo-progressive language and isolation. Unless you have a firm grasp on reality and manage insecurities better, people like this are toxic voids who devastate everywhere they go. You have a responsibility for your behavior even when it comes from misery and oppression

It's obvious the women saying this are very isolated and sometimes a little dumb. You can open the window and check if it's raining outside before inventing shit about Black womanhood that literally isn't true.

[respocked]

I'm thinking about work anyway so fuck it

Star Trek Public Primary School AU 🛸 !

Kirk

-the headmaster!

-went into education because of his own unfortunate childhood

-has an uncanny ability to tell which student has a bad home life

-remembers everyone's name, even if you went to his school 5 years ago for 2 months

-misbehaving teenagers send to his office get some candy and a motivational speech that changes the course of their lifetime

-most days can be found hovering suspiciously outside of spock's classroom

-way better with older students, 12-13 - has absolutely 0 idea what to do with young children

-which is awkward when while waiting for spock outside his classroom he tries to make small talk with them (-so... son... read any good books lately? -i can't read!)

Spock

- teaches early education, 6 to 9 year olds

-greatly overqualified for the position, had a human psychology degree, interspecies child development degree, highly regarded in scientific community

-could be teaching university but prefers to spend his time sitting on carpets with children drawing clouds

-his class is extremely nontraditional - no desks, sitting on the floor, tons of meditation, classes in nature

-does not adhere to the program at all but somehow his classes always score the best on all exams

-turned down a position in a trendy montessori school for a public one

-parents either go out his way for their child to attend his class or request someone else - either from homophobic or xeniphobic reasons

Uhura

-the school's cultural assistant!

-also runs student exchanges with other countries and planets

-speaks every minority language that has representation in the student body

-also a substitute teacher

-she can give a super interesting lessons

-but takes 0 shit from students who won't respect her

-runs an extracurricular activity with spock when she teaches immigrant and refugee students to express their emotions with music

-is the best at pitching a project idea for funding, which is why her office and spock's classrom are the best equipped ones in the school

-spock's bestie, they hang out after work (gay/lesbian solidatity)

-still lives with her parents, they're super close

-wants to date but it's too boring compared to writing another lesson plan

Bones

-the school nurse! & in charge of nutrition

-teenagers are afraid of him

-small children absolutely love him

-takes his daughter to work and lets her draw with crayons on his important papers

-also constantly in spock's classroom, but to complain

-"damnit, spock! give them all the vulcan cuisine you want, but don't send them crying to me after they get an allergic reaction!"

-"meditation? maybe have them meditate on doing some real work for once"

-but when parents with pitchforks come to complain abt spock's methods he defends him like a lion

-he sends them piles after piles of scientific proof of why spock's method are actually the bestest and most efficient

-when kirk thanks him for stepping in he pretends like he doesn't know what he's talking about

Chapel

-teaches sex ed!

-the sweetest teacher ever

-one of those teachers that noone is intimidated by but noone disobeys because noone wants to makes her upset

-uses her Blonde White Straight Pretty Woman priviledge to convince reluctant parents to sign up their kids for sex ed

-goes All Out on halloween tho

-you know she is there, dressed like a witch, running an educational halloween themed activity! paper bats hanging from the ceiling!

-has gluten free and vegan candy in case the winners have a food sensivity!

-has a secret crush on Uhura and Spock both

Chekov

-teaches IT

-burned out miracle kid

-graduated university when he was younger than his current students

-lets students play roblox on the computers

-and teaches them how to torrent

-somehow noone from the faculty knows where he lives

-background check turns up nothing

-"did you know computers were invented in russia?"

-puts 0 effort in but somehow his students love him

-little girls take sneak photos of him to edit in a flower crowns

Scotty

-teaches a woodworking & engineering class and does janitor duties on the side!

-like kirk, absolutely 0 idea on how to treat younger kids

-strict

-has to be, no joking around power tools!

-but you know praise from him hits different

-will tell students he's proud of them when they make theit first little table

-can fix everything

-say "this interactive blackboard is broken!" three times to summon him

-marries to his career, teaching fulfills his paternal calling

Sulu

-teaches biology!

-rule follower

-stressed out about exams 3 years before his students

-not very inventive but everyone wants his class because there is a hamster in the classroom

-classroom full of houseplants

-if you agree to water them when he's away you will receive a 50 page manual on proper misting techniques

-not strict at all but will give a dressing down to a student who is seen treating a living thing badly

-can be bribed with plants

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHT: First-Date Jitters

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: It's time for your date with the beautiful stranger from the hospital, and you are beyond nervous. Still, you're already in too deep to pull out now, so, you jump into the cold water and learn how to swim.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, comfort, some first-date cliché behavior, mentions of domestic violence (in thought), foreshadowing (?), flirting, physical contact, suggestive language (slightly), Matt's charisma uniqueness nerve and talent

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: This flirty little shit won't leave my mind. Anyway, my plan was for this chapter to be one continuous chapter, but it got so long that I had to cut it into 2 parts (or this beast would have been 10k words). That’s why you’re getting a double update today. I tried not to put too much angst into this. It's still angsty, but there is a lot of comfort for the angst and the hurt to compensate for it, and I think that's beautiful. I don’t know about the writing though.

Read Chapter 8: First Date Jitters here on AO3

Many questions naturally come to mind when one is preparing for a date. How will you get there? Who will pay? What could you possibly talk about that has a high chance of boring neither of you? The question you find yourself grappling with the most though is, what the fuck are you supposed to wear?

After spending years trapped in a cage, your self-confidence took quite a hit. You used to feel somewhat satisfied with the way you looked, but John always had something to criticize. Your weight, your hair, your facial features—nothing was ever good enough for him. After breaking down your walls and making you believe that you were the best thing that ever happened to him, he knew how to manipulate you best. At least he looked at you. You were grasping at straws, holding onto the vision of a man who was never real, and you forgot your worth along the way. 

“Wear that dress you borrowed from me and never gave back,” Claire says on the other end of the line. 

You sigh. You have been staring at your closet for an hour now, and you haven’t come further than picking out what underwear to wear. With shaky fingers, you reach for the dress. You know exactly which one she meant. 

“Are you sure I should wear a dress?” you ask. “I mean, it’s kinda cold outside.”

“That’s why they invented tights and over-knee socks. Oh, and maybe wear those heart-shaped earrings I got you for your birthday. They look good on you.”

You scan the dress with careful eyes. You’ve barely slept after getting home, and now your head is pounding. Earlier, you sent Matt a text, confirming the time and place for the umpteenth time, but as half-past two is inching closer on the clock, the unease is starting to creep deeper into your bones. 

You promised Claire not to cancel, but that doesn’t take away the fear and the sheer agony you feel inside when you think about all the things that could go wrong. Alone the thought of facing Matt’s gorgeous smile in a different setting than the hospital sends a shiver down your spine, and it’s not fully pleasant. 

But no. You swore you wouldn’t give John what he wants, and he surely would be punching the air if he knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He would celebrate if he knew that you just can’t seem to get over what he did to you. Then again, if he knew where you are now, the only thing getting punched would be you. He might even kill you. God knows he’s capable of unspeakable things.

His name is too prominent in your mind: his face, his voice, his scent. You need to drown him out. You need to stop making everything about him. It isn’t healthy. And Claire was right when she told you that it’s a good thing another man—a good man, at that—is making you feel things you long couldn’t because you were too scared to allow yourself to feel even the slightest hint of affection. 

You have to honor your promise to yourself and see where this date might take you. Matt is gentle. He won’t mind if you’re a little nervous. Hell, he won’t even mind if you wear a pair of sweatpants instead of this stupid dress, but you can’t deny that you still want to put yourself together and appear in something other than a pair of medical scrubs.

The dress you borrowed from Claire is a good fit for your skin tone and body type, you can’t deny that. It has turned heads before. You wore it to one of the fundraising campaigns Metro General sometimes hosts—it was summer then, a lot warmer than it is now, and you were toying around with the kids that came with their parents in Central Park. You were in charge of the games that day. One of the firefighters complimented you, but he was respectful about it, and his partner even asked you for a drink, but you declined both of them. They weren’t your type, although they were nice. It’s a fond memory that momentarily eases your anxiety. 

Matt is nice, and he’s your type. You know he’s your type even after years of unlearning what your type even used to be. It’s not a coincidence that the two of you got along so well when you first met, and that he cared so much the other day when you got hurt. 

Fuck. You realize you’re going to need to cover your nose with concealer. Not because Matt would care—he surely wouldn’t—but you don’t want to be looked at weirdly by the barista of your favorite coffee shop. That would be embarrassing.

“Liv?” Claire’s voice breaks through your downward spiral. 

You snap out of it, throwing the dress on the bed. “Yeah, I’m here,” you mumble, working at your pajamas that you still haven’t changed out of. “I’m wearing the dress.” There is a certainty in your voice that surprises you. 

You want to wear this dress. You want to go out with Matt. And you want to turn his head, even if you can’t do it with your looks. Looks are hardly all that matters, anyway. You have to remind yourself that he sees your mind, hears your voice, and has a different view of your soul than others. That’s what matters. That is all that should matter. You just have to make sure that you smell good or he will probably be appalled, considering blindness comes with heightened senses. If only you knew how heightened they truly are. 

Your friend lets out a happy little, “HA!”

You shake your head, putting her on speaker, and changing out of your pajamas into the dress. You only have a handful of tights in your closet, and not a single pair of over-knee socks, but a pair of tights and your favorite boots should do the trick. 

“Trust me,” Claire says, “one look at you in that dress, you’re gonna turn that guy’s head.” She sniffles, and you wonder how much longer she is going to torture herself with that cat. 

“I’m not so sure my looks are going to matter much,” you say. 

“Most people say looks don’t matter to them, but unless you solely fall in love with another person’s mind, looks will always play a part in how we perceive someone.”

“No, I meant that quite literally.” You pull the dress over your head. “I’m only dressing up to feel good about myself ‘cause looks definitely don’t matter to him.”

“How can you be sure?” she retorts. 

You slip into a fresh pair of tights, some socks, and a pair of biking shorts underneath. “Did I not mention Matt’s blind?”

Silence follows your sentence. A pregnant pause. You said it so nonchalantly, you didn’t think anything of it. And why would you? It’s a part of him. It’s not unimportant—definitely not, considering that life works differently for him than it does for you—but it’s also not the only thing about him. 

“Blind?” Claire’s voice is slightly shaky when she asks.

You frown at your phone screen while slipping into your favorite boots. “Yes, blind,” you say. “Although we didn’t get around to discussing his condition. I mean, medically, there is probably nothing I haven’t seen or heard before. I just didn’t think of asking him, “Hey, how’d it happen? Is it complete blindness? Amaurosis? Congenital?” Even I know that it’s not appropriate to ask someone you just met about their medical history. It’s something he has to want to talk about, not the other way around. I don’t expect full disclosure from a stranger like I do from my patients. And we both know dating a patient would be highly unethical.”

“I—” she cuts herself off. 

One look at the time tells you that you’re already running late. If you want to catch your bus, you have to leave in the next five minutes. You slide the last of your heart-shaped earrings into your earlobe.

“Listen, Claire, if that’s all you have to say, I should go. I can’t miss my bus,” you say. 

Her behavior may strike you as odd, but your mind is currently preoccupied with other things. You can’t pay much mind to the tone of her voice or the pronunciation of her words, or there is a chance you might not make it to your coffee date after all because you will be stuck in another downward spiral of overthinking. 

She exhales. “I—okay, yeah. I’m sorry. It’s probably nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Go. Have fun. Just… be careful.”

The way she says it makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “I will.” Your eyebrows still furrowed in a frown. “I’ll call you later.”

The line clicks when you hang up, trying not to let the absurdity of the situation get to you. You have plans, and you have to stick to them. 

With a swift shake of your head, you touch up your hair and makeup, assuring that the discoloration of your bruised nose looks less severe than it is before you grab your coat, your bag, and your phone, and you make your way out. 

You’re not overdressed, but you still feel like you’re standing out of the crowd when you get on the bus. The bus driver pays no attention to you, and neither do the other passengers, but somehow all eyes are still on you. Maybe you should have gone for a pair of jeans instead? A longer dress? A shorter dress? Less cleavage? Maybe something a little less tight? A sweater would have worked nicely too, you’re sure. What if you get off at the next stop, hurry back to change, and arrive a little later than planned? 

Matt probably won’t be on time either. He wanted to meet up half an hour later. That sounds like the kind of guy who needs a little more time, someone who struggles to be on time. Or maybe he’s the complete opposite of the picture you painted of him in your mind, and Claire’s reaction has something to do with it. It makes no sense—it absolutely makes no fucking sense, and you should stop worrying about things that don’t make any fucking sense whatsoever, but you can’t. You are physically incapable of stopping the spiral on your own. 

Time stops when you overthink, and it’s only when more people start leaving the bus that you realize you have long missed the chance to get out, run back home, and change. You’re almost in the city, almost where your favorite coffee shop is located that you suggested to him and he agreed on, and there is no going back from here. 

You don’t know where to put your hands. They’re shaking. Your heart is beating out of your chest. The sweat in your pores is threatening to drip down your temples, it feels like, and you’re starting to worry whether or not he will be able to smell how nervous you are. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t swallow the lump in your throat because it has lodged itself between your esophagus and your larynx. It’s too much—too loud, too hot, too everything. You just want to turn around and run. You want to disappear into the ground, melt into a puddle, and stay there. 

When you look up toward the entrance of the coffee shop, he’s standing there. He’s on time. No, he’s early. The clock on your phone reads 2:28 pm. You wouldn’t have expected him to be so punctual. It scares you.

Your brain starts to secrete even more cortisol—should you run or should you fight? Fight might be the wrong word to use. It is more of a 'should you or should you not face a situation your inner demons don't want to face' dilemma.

The sudden wave of anxiety that washes over you mixes with a strange sizzling of excitement and a certain warmth that starts to build in your core. The feeling is much stranger than what you’re used to, and it makes you vibrate. Or at least it feels like you’re vibrating. Levitating. Dying. Maybe you’re having a heart attack.

Don’t be ridiculous, you think to yourself. You’re a doctor. You’re not having a heart attack. What you’re sure of though is that, if you start breathing even shallower, you will get a panic attack.

He looks good. Too good. His suit fits him perfectly. You wonder how much he spends to get his suits tailored so that he can breathe and move around freely, and still look fucking dashing whenever he sets foot outside. For someone who does mostly pro-bono work, he knows how to dress himself. 

Matt is standing away from the many people crossing the sidewalk. He’s supporting himself on his cane, his red round glasses framing his sharp features perfectly. He has the kind of cheeks you just want to squeeze, yet his jawline is sharp enough to cut yourself on it. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so his stubble is a lot more prominent. The locks on his head seem so soft, and he keeps the rest of him clean, too—you wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who has heightened senses due to the lack of one of the most crucial ones.

The way his muscles tense under his suit catches your attention. Your breath hitches again, and this time not because you’re nervous and worried out of your mind. His biceps are straining against the sleeves of his coat, and it seems like his chiseled chest is about to pop the buttons of his dress shirt, but it still fits perfectly enough to keep every sliver of skin hidden from the world. 

Taking a deep breath, you close the distance between you. “Matt?” your voice cracks when you call his name.

He tilts his head in your direction. It doesn’t even take him a full second, nor does he pretend that he has trouble making you out of the sea of people. He probably has done this quite a few times. You can’t blame him. He’s an attractive man. 

You wonder what would happen if he was yours. Women would still want him, and you would have to have faith. You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly jealous person, but the thought of having to compete makes your stomach churn. You feel so far out of his league that it doesn’t even cross your mind that you would be his as much as he would be yours, and it is no relationship if you feel like you have to compete with other women.

A part of you believes that he is the kind of man to pay undivided attention to the person he cares about, but who is to say that you are worth his attention? Who’s to say that he wouldn’t run at the first chance to be with someone less damaged, someone who’s beautiful in a different way, and someone who can give him peace instead of whatever mess you can offer him. 

But then he smiles at you, and your worries are momentarily forgotten. 

“Liv, hi,” he says. You shudder at the smooth sound of his voice. His hand reaches out, but he misses your arm. A slight frown finds its way onto his face as if he’s thinking to himself, ‘I’m usually better than this.’

You take a step closer. He finally gets a hold of your forearm. “I hope it’s you I’m touching and not some stranger with similarly soft forearms.”

Soft. He just called you soft. You have never been called that before. The giggle that escapes you makes you wonder where you left your brain this morning. 

The left side has turned itself off entirely, leaving the right side of your brain in charge. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. You’re already a mess. How are you supposed to survive the afternoon with him and only him? It feels like he’s staring right into your soul, which is impossible, but the glasses don’t give you insight into beautiful brown eyes, and that makes you wonder how he does it. How does he stare you down without actually staring you down?

You clear your throat. “No, it is me,” you answer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says again. The grin doesn’t leave his lips. He lets go of your arm, seemingly having oriented himself.

“Hi,” is all you can say. You miss his touch. It wasn’t even—or at least not mostly—because he wanted to touch you. He did it because there are so many people around you and he needed to know where exactly you stand. You can only imagine the anxiety that he’s feeling.

His smile turns into a smirk. “Hi.” He’s not making this easier on you. “How are you?” Matt finally puts you out of your misery.

What is the appropriate thing to answer? Good? Nervous? That you feel like you’re dying from a heart attack? Or that you miss his hand on your soft forearm?

“I’m–” you take a deep breath. “I’m good,” you say. “How’re you?”

He nods. “I’m alright, thank you.”

Your eyes flick down to the hand on his cane. He has his head tilted in your direction, his attention entirely on you. He adjusts his glasses. His smile turns into a softer expression of concern, and it makes your heart jump.

“You seem nervous,” he observes. 

“I guess you could say that,” you admit. You can’t even stop the words before they tumble out of your mouth. “I don’t usually do this. You know, go on dates.”

“Really? Oh. I kind of figured men were lining up to get even a second of your attention, or trying to, at least.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks again. “Oh, I—No, they don’t do that.” Your head is spinning. 

You always appear unapproachable, or so you’ve heard. You don’t know if it’s the way you look at people or the way you behave. Perhaps they get scared that they will burn themselves on your burning defenses. You wouldn’t put it past them. You have pushed what little advances people have made on you in the past two years away because you were scared of burning yourself, and you weren’t interested in trying to mend that. With Matt, that’s different.

If men were lining up to be with you, your first response would surely be to flee, and not because of your personal issues with the opposite sex. You would flee out of natural instinct.

Matt clears his throat. “I’m terrible at getting hints. If I’m making you uncomfortable or you think you made the wrong choice by coming here, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving,” he says.

He’s giving you a choice—an out. That alone makes the blood in your cheeks spread faster, and your palms start sweating. You don’t want to go. 

“No,” you quickly shake your head. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure?”

You reach out, boldly so, and take his hand in yours. “Yes. Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask. 

Matt swallows thickly. His Adam’s apple bops as he tries to get rid of the lump in his throat. His fingers twitch when you wrap your own around his and place them against your forearm again. If you look close enough, you might even see a soft sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

The silence persists for a few seconds. “No,” he answers then. “You simply have a way of, um...taking my breath away.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” He tightens his grip. His lips open, and he stammers for a moment before he finds his words again. “I find it refreshing. It’s not often I meet someone who can knock me off my feet, so…” Breaking off into a chuckle, Matt lowers his head to adjust his glasses once again.

The way he’s fidgeting with his fingers tells you that you’re not the only nervous one out of the two of you. Maybe the fact that you render him speechless affects him more than he lets on. He seems like the kind of guy who likes to be in control because he feels like he has to be or the world might end. You know that feeling all too well.

It would be so much easier if he wasn’t so charming, but if it were easy and he wasn’t so charming, you would still feel utterly alone in this life. New beginnings are supposed to feel better than an unhappy ending. New beginnings are supposed to offer a chance at happiness, and even though you are a little late with trying to find your way back to civilization after keeping yourself locked in a cage of someone else’s making for so long, there is a chance now. A chance that you have to take. 

The easy way out would be to turn around and forget you ever met him, but Matt deserves better, and so do you. The easy way out would hurt too much.

You lick your lips absentmindedly. He sucks in a sharp breath. You’re a lot more sensitive to the behavior of others than a normal person would be. Is he attracted to you? Do you turn him on? Those are questions that make your head spin worse than it has been ever since you laid eyes on him.

“I’m sorry,” you break the awkward silence, your voice breathless. “It seems like the feeling is mutual.”

Your confidence is starting to build, convincing you that you can do this. And maybe you can. You’re not leaving him cold, that much is sure when you take a moment to analyze his body language.

His thumb brushes over your forearm. He seems so much more experienced than you, and he keeps his composure in a way you can’t relate to. You are dying inside, and the blood is pumping in your cheeks while leaving the rest of your body cold. Except for your very core; you can feel the heat starting to spread through your core, shooting between your legs just from the way he touches you. 

You thought this would be an innocent coffee date—you were wrong. Your body is as desperate for a physical connection as your soul yearns for an emotional connection. It’s a strange combination of needs that hits you at once and with full force. And it is all directed at him. This guy you barely know but has turned your head every single time you have met him. 

You’re fucked.

Matt smirks, as though he knows something that you do not. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmurs. 

“The fact that you knocked me off my feet?” you ask dumbfounded. You’re glad he can’t see your face because that would be utterly embarrassing. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “that.”

You want to scream, 'God, you’re hot,' but you would rather not embarrass yourself in front of him like that. His smirk makes it hard to focus, but if you don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon on the sidewalk, staring at him while he holds onto your forearm, one of you has to start moving.

“Do you want to go inside?” you ask.

“Yeah. Lead the way,” he says. 

You gently slide his hand from your forearm into your own. You wish you could see his eyes right now. Are those beautiful hazel eyes with emerald specks in them sparkling? You saw how expressive they were when you patched him up. They were unfocused and pained, but they also reminded you of an array of stars. It’s probably unintentional, but his eyes give away how he’s feeling at any given time, and that, to you, is one of the most beautiful qualities he could possess because it means that he’s real. He can’t lie because his eyes would give them away. 

His glasses don’t make Matt hard to read, but they sure make you miss the universe you got to stare into a few days ago. It felt like a privilege.

He keeps his cane pressed tightly to his chest, using the tip to check the small radius around him while he holds on tightly to your hand, trusting you to guide him where he needs to go without putting him at risk. 

“Door,” you tell him as you make your way into the café. You hold it open, and he uses his cane to make sure he doesn’t accidentally bump into you or the doorframe. 

Just as you’re about to enter, a couple comes at you. You twirl around, placing a hand on his waist and pulling him a bit closer to you before someone can bump into him. He raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” he exclaims when the couple apologizes for not looking, and he tilts his way back in your direction, Your hands are still on his waist, standing closer to you than ever before. His cheeks flush. Got him. “Thank you,” he stammers, but not without letting out a chuckle that resembles a small giggle. 

Your heart melts, and you damn Matt Murdock for not only being a walking wet dream but for being so kindhearted and adorable. And why does he smell so good?

“No problem,” you answer breathlessly.

“It helps that one of us isn’t blind, huh?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s a big responsibility if you’re seeing for two, so I try to take it seriously.”

His giggle turns into a laugh that comes deep from his chest, but it still sounds like a soft symphony you might hear playing on a spring day. “Yeah,” Matt says, “You’re taking it very seriously.”

“I’d call myself your knight in shining armor, but I believe that comparison is outdated and wrong since you don’t need saving.”

“I wouldn't mind being saved by you.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a startled breath. “Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

He smirks. “I wouldn’t get anything out of making you blush, but I do enjoy hearing the smile in your voice whenever I compliment you. So, maybe that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh.”

“Your smile sounds nice. Beautiful. It’s how I, uh, see you. And you’re calm. I—the world is often too loud, you know, and your voice is a welcome distraction from all the, uh, noise. Helps me relax. If you know what I mean.”

If he keeps talking, you are sure that you will pull him closer by his waist and kiss him. You can’t remember the last time you have felt a need quite like this one. And you have never wanted to kiss another human being more than him. Why? Just because he’s nice to you? No. He’s not just nice to you. You probably would have run by now if he were just nice to you. 

Matt is genuine, which seems to be his personality trait, and it makes you feel somewhat important again. Like you’re worthy of whatever it is he’s giving you, not constant pain and suffering. It’s strange and new, and it is still terrifying in a way, but once you let it happen, it’s a lot more gentle on your soul.

“Fuck me,” you curse under your breath. “We haven’t even sat down yet.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“So, does that mean I can still buy you a coffee?”

“Now more than ever,” you blurt the first sentence that comes to mind. You look at him as if he is a rare species, and you’re painfully aware of that.

Can he read your mind? Whenever you look at him, it seems like he knows just what you’re going through. He tries to hide it, but it’s almost as if he’s already inside of you. Not in the way you want him to but in a way that makes you feel vulnerable, but you still would surrender all of you to him if he just asked. 

Your hands slip from his waist. 

“After you,” he says, grabbing a hold of your arm again.

“Right,” you mutter. “After me.”

The line isn’t long.  You get behind a few other people, Matt’s hand still tightly clasping your bicep. 

“I just realized that they don’t have a Braille option for the menu.” Your eyes dart around the room, but the only visible menu is the one hanging above the counter. 

You’ve been here more times than you can count, but you never actively paid attention to how accessible it all is—which is not at all. 

Matt chuckles beside you, his breath tickling your ear. “Read it to me,” he says. His voice is soft, quiet, and kept low so only you can hear him.

You shiver. Your lips suddenly feel drier than the desert. You won’t survive this day, you’re sure. He’s going to kill you.

“R-read it to you?” you stammer as if it is such an outlandish request. It isn’t. You just can’t process it properly, not when he’s so close to you and he smells like he does. 

He doesn’t have a strong, overwhelming scent. The cologne he’s wearing only has a slight whiff of sandalwood and nature, but it’s nothing too overwhelming. Of course, he must have a sensitive sense of smell as well. He probably uses scentless soap and shampoo, and the cologne he uses might even be the only scent he can stand. What you smell on him must be his natural scent. Clean, soft, warm—you’re obsessed with it. You’re addicted to it.

Matt nods again. “Yeah, read it to me,” he repeats.

“Okay–” you take a deep breath, and you begin to recite the options you already know by heart. Coffee, cold drinks, tea, lunch options, and snacks. 

He listens intently to what you have to say. “I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Did you decide that now or did you know that from the beginning?”

“I may have already known,” he says with a smirk.

“Then why did you ask me to read it to you?”

“I like listening to your voice.”

When you suck in a sharp breath this time, you manage to conceal it better. “That’s cheesy,” you retort, trying to match the tone of his voice but failing miserably. Flirting over the phone proves to be much easier than in person, especially with a man like him. 

“Is it still cheesy if it’s the truth?” Matt asks.

You look at him, staring at your reflection in his glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “The truth can be cheesy.”

“That’s true, but I made you smile. I’d consider my cheesiness successful.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t. Can’t deny it makes me feel good though.”

You exhale again, even more shaky than the last time. All you can see is yourself in his reflection. Before you can answer, the couple in front of you finishes their order and moves on to the other end of the counter, allowing you to step forward.

“Hi,” you say to the barista behind the counter. “Could I get two regular lattes and two muffins, please?”

Matt smirks beside you, not at all fazed by your ignorance of his antics. If anything, it spurs him on further, and he tightens his grip on your arm. Deep down, you know that he is doing it on purpose, but at the first sign of you being uncomfortable, there is no doubt in your mind that he will stop. But you’re not uncomfortable; you’re merely flustered beyond relief. To him, that’s a good sign because it means that you’re in this and not with one foot out the door—and you wouldn’t want to be, anyway, which is much scarier than the prospect of turning around and remaining alone for the rest of your life. 

A bit of fear goes a long way, but there are still walls that he has to break through. Walls you won’t let him through so easily, but you also know you can’t keep him at an arm’s length forever. Eventually, the truth will come out, and you’re not quite sure how to deal with that revelation before your date has even taken off.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred

[yoihoshi-maki]

Reyna no last name was found outside a top secret World government building when she was 1 year old, years later she has now became the richest and the most feared spy in the government even tho she is only 16, with the government injecting a chemical that can give her fast healing and reflex’s, she became the top spy with the help of her friends( 5 friends) she saved the world on multiple occasions. Now with a new threat not on the world but more on Max Verstappen and his small family, the government sent her to watch over them, what she didn’t know about this, was that she will find the love of family the warmth of it and the love of an actual lover.

Name: Reyna

Age: 16

Birthday: May 21 2007

Occasition: Spy

Nationality: Korean

Knowledge: She was trained in every field of science, mathematics, languages, English, combat, and weapon training

Title: mother of women, spy of century, the most savage woman, The North Star, the she-devil,

Lines

“i don’t make the same mistake twice…..I make it four or five more times just to be sure”

“when Life gives you lemons, squeeze them in people’s eyes”

“its called karma and it’s pronounced ‘‘haha fuck you!’l

“ you know……slapping is an option….…right?”

“ I am her favourite godmother go suck a dick if you think otherwise”

“remember when I said Oh I am so in love with you?……..No okay me either”

“ I don’t care I claim these People as my children”

“ Twinkle twinkle little Shit I hope you get hit by a truck “

“ I know how to swear in 21 different languages “

“ you would think people would invent fly cars but no we are stuck on the ground “

“ you want my honest opinion …..you look like a rat”

“ ……SHIT IS THAT A ROCH…Oh wait it’s just you”

“ So who’s dieing today”

“ someone better being dying because it better be worthy of me stopping my show”

“ Hold on guys I need to take a shit”

“ Well, you have two choices, either you tell me who is sending you or I could stick this thing, sooooooooooo far up your ass that your whole generation line will feel it every time they take a shit got it?”

“ your too kind to me…”

“ you love me?…..”

“ let my family go!”

“ P I am back with new stories!”

“ thanks…..dad”

“ mom what are you doing?”

“ max and Kelly adopted me so I will forever love them “

Aiden: I have an idea, how about we kill them

Reyna: Aiden no

Aiden:Aiden Yes!

Reyna: Did it hurt when you fell-

Lando : From heaven? Wow, I didn’t think you were such a flirt-

Reyna: No, I meant when you fell down the stairs.

Lando: ...

Reyna: You just laid there for 3 minutes .

Reyna : What’s the dumbest thing you believed as a child?

Lando: That naptime was a punishment.

Oliver: what’s on your mind love?

Reyna:………… arson

Oliver: okay that’s enough phone for today

Lando: I can't imagine what Reyna is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

*reyna in the back holding a pan over her head ready to smack an opponent*

Emma: drop it!

Reyna: b-but-

Emma *glares*

Reyna: your no fun* throws the pan away hitting the guy by mistake and walked away*

Reyna : When I get Doordash I order 20 Cheeseburgers at a time and heat them up throughout the week so that I don’t have to pay the delivery fee multiple times.

Oliver: I hope you understand how food poisoning works.

Reyna : I hope food poisoning understands how I work. I never met a burger i couldn’t eat.

*reyna walking around with Penelope*

Reyna: so you see P, that’s why you shouldn’t date yet

Penelope: I am only 6

Reyna: oh….well never too early!

Oliver: you need a kiss?

Reyna:*hugging him tightly* yes please

Reyna:*beating a enemy agent in the verstappen home*

Max:*walks in* what are you doing

Reyna: preparing for when P gets a boyfriend

Max: let me join

Max:*cuddling with Reyna* your so cute

Reyna: *half sleeping* I could break your spine in 51 different ways

Max: I know 🥰

Reyna: so you’re telling me that these girls find a rich person and fell in love for the first time?

Penelope and oille:*nods*

Reyna: sign me up

Oille sighing dreamily with a love sick smile: I think I am in love

Auther leclerc: call the doctor

Reyna: *watching Emma holding a brick over her head ready to hit the ex boyfriend of Kelly* “ drop it”

Emma:*pouts* but-

Reyna:*glares* if I couldn’t then you can’t

Emma: asshole

Reyna: * walking in the wrong apartment, stopped dead in her tracks seeing two people having their’fun’* I am so sorry!!! KEEP MAKING BABIES I SUPPOSE!!!* runs away*

Max: Reyna Verstappen! Come down here

Reyna: ………I swear I didn’t eat the last donuts

Oille: I love you

Reyna: thanks bro I love you too

Reyna: Can I have 2 straws with that milkshake?

Oille : Aww-

Reyna: With 2 straws, I can drink it double as fast!

Ollie: when I look in your eyes I see little stars

Reyna: ………..thanks?

Ollie: Are you ready to commit?

Reyna : Like, a crime or a relationship?

Ollie: So... what would you do if you were in bed with me?

Reyna : Depends. Is your bed comfortable?

Ollie: Yes.

Reyna : I'd sleep.

Ollie: Reyna and I are no longer friends.

Reyna : OLLIE THAT IS THE WORST WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT WE’RE DATING!

Ollie: I’m in love with you.

Reyna : We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Ollie: I know.

Reyna : Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

Ollie: My hands are cold.

Reyna : Here, let me hold them.

Ollie: My lips are cold too.

Reyna : *covers Ollie's mouth with their hand*

Reyna : I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness—

Ollie: Hi.

Reyna : *melts down in a flustered heap of softness*

Reyna : I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning.

Ollie: This is a lie.

Ollie: I'm literally dating them. This is a lie.

Ollie: THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS.

Enemy agent: *tells his sad life story* I wish I was dead

Everyone:…………

Reyna: *crossed arms* I could throw you off a building if you wish?

Everyone: !?!! what no! Reyna! Reyna Verstappen! Baby no!

Ollie: baby you need therapy

Reyna: what! He wanted to die I am just giving him a push!

Max: well she is right-

Everyone: Max no!

Kelly: Max Verstappen!

Max: *hands Reyna a ring* I need you to promise this to me, that you will wait until your marriage to have………sex

Reyna: I am only 16!?

Max: promise me

Reyna: fine

Max: good I will be doing this for P too so-

Emma: we have something to tell you…

Reyna: who died?

Emma: what-

Reyna: you’re pregnant!?

Emma: how-

Reyna: is someone in the hospital?

Emma: you got it on the second try-

Reyna: I AM GOING TO BE A GOD MOTHER!?

Emma: how- yes

Reyna: I am a trained spy I know everything

[spacelazarwolf]

Hi. So I sent the first ask saying I'm aroace and that you're not the only person who thinks the manifesto is bullshit. I've read your post about it and thank you for articulating that because I was Way Too Tired to try myself and I wouldn't have been able to really tell much of anyone anyway.

To your point about it sounding like they don't think romantic attraction actually exists, I thought so too and a friend found this on their blog

(tumblr dot com /aromanticmanifesto/711278164387758080/angelofmusings-blood-on-my-french-fries in case anyone wants to check context. it's full of more of that ridiculous psuedo academic language that makes my eyes hurt despite over 7 years at uni)

Anyway yeah the idea that romantic attraction doesn't exist is just so fucking ridiculous and the assumption that it's "the naturalizing power of amatonormativity" and also "inherently violent" is just insulting and queerphobic. My ex was in love with me. The choices she made to avoid treating me with unkindness, manipulation, or violence, were the choices she made with love. Not in spite of it. The reason I'm trans/ace and yet haven't been sexually mistreated is because my ex chose to treat me with care because she loved me.

Some of the politics is interesting, but none of it is about aromanticism. Treating aromanticism like a political stance that everyone can and should enact on a personal level is bullshit. And queerphobic.

literally!!! it reads like some neoliberal (who doesn’t see themself as a neoliberal bc libs r bad but in name only) from portland who has never spoke to a queer person outside of their (probably very white) social circle accidentally stumbling upon the concept of anachocommunism and then like. thinking they invented it????? and somehow have this completely new and inventive idea that no one has ever had before, and it’s all because of their aromanticism and definitely not because queer communities tend toward communal outlooks on life and tend to be anti capitalist. and like, this isn’t the first time a 21st century queer person has acted like they invented a concept that’s centuries old and it sure won’t be the last. but it was absolutely fucking wild to watch someone say “yeah we should have communes and communal farming and do community care and mutual aid. aromanticism created this btw.”

[aloysiavirgata]

Thanks to @numinousmysteries for tagging me! I had never checked these stats before!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

92

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

484,620

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written for Hannibal, Battlestar Galactica, The Fall, and The X-Files, but only The X-Files at this point.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Parting Glass (smut)

Animus Possidendi (dark smut)

The Common Fate of All Things Rare (casefile, cowritten)

Lacuna (casefile)

This Her Fever (cancer arc)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes and no. Not like I should. I am so deeply, truly grateful for every single one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I killed William in Inhaling the Different Dawn, but that wasn’t at the end.

Maybe Where The Vines Cling Crimson? Scully’s cancer comes back and her fate is ambiguous. And I had Scully kill Emily in Alabaster Stones. But I think that was the right ending for both of them.

As a mother? A Basket of Reeds, where Scully gives William away. I can’t even reread it without a lump in my throat, man.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Tent of Shelter is fluffy and lovely gets a lot of love, and was inspired by a STUNNING manip by @avocadoave but I personally think In The Gale. It’s the one that, to me, feels the most like a grownup relationship of two people processing some trauma. I think that’s an ending that’s happy and also real - like “I don’t love being broken, but I can survive being broken with you.” Two abeyances that lean…

Foxfire for similar reasons. I real love that little story, which I wrote thanks to @perplexistan

I’m 43. I’ve been married for well over two decades and let me tell you that young love is a gift and mature love is a craft.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Some! And that’s really great too, that people read words I wrote and felt so passionately that they left me words about those feelings. What a strange but profound compliment!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. PWP isn’t my personal taste so even though I wrote a LOT of smut for the old pornbattles at LJ I wanted the smut to still tell a story.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I can’t say it’s especially crazy, but Fern Hill is a Mulder/Stella Gibson crossover. There are a few little ficlets with XF/Silence of the Lambs crossovers in my Inbox Prompts series.

Oh fuck! Wait! I wrote a Fall/Hannibal/XF crossover called Anthemoessa where Stella, Scully, and Bedelia all meet. Okay that’s it. That wins.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Years ago. God, isn’t that sad? To need positive reinforcement that much?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It was SUCH a compliment!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have - The Common Fate of All Things Rare

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mr. Virgata and me. Followed by Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, who literally invented the word. ❤️

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Fisher King

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do pretty good banter and my education makes me pretty good at the sciencey bits.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get too lost in descriptions and I try too hard to be clever. I do my best to self edit but sometimes I reread things and I’m like oh my GOD SHUT YOUR PRETENTIOUS ASS UP.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve done it for Bedelia and Hannibal in Italian. I’m not sure I understand the question?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

TXF, my one true love.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t know that I have a favorite per se. I am most proud of the ones that challenged me to do something outside my comfort zone. Samson is one of mytop fives even though it’s Mulder/Diana. I think I did a nice job. I also wrote Pair of Aces/Double or Nothing which is Scully/Byers.

But I do really love the world of Petrichor and Singing of Mount Abora, and I like the cases.

[aclowntiny]

Hii! First of all, congrats con 600 followers, you deserve that and so many more, I'm literally in love with your work :) I was wondering if I could request a San scenario with the following prompts (from the lists you reblogged):

“Urgh, why do you always insist on doing nice things for me?” “Because I enjoy it.”

“Can’t you just accept when people do nice things for you?” “No, I can’t.”

“The only reason why I’m letting you get away with shit like this is because I like you, you dense fucking cabbage.”

I was thinking kind of best friend au, but they both have feelings for eachother, BUT, they're both in denial about it. You can decide how the rest goes, thank you so muh in advance!! ~

yELLS thanks sweetheart 🥲 in love with my work whAT 🥹💕 thank you for being here with me! I love this request so here is your SAN-ario 😄 ps: look up the definition of mon petit chou I dare you

Mon Petit Chou- Best Friend!San x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 2282 | Best Friends to Lovers | Warnings: language, mention of drinking but no actual drinking lol, slightly suggestive?

You weren’t sure when the fuck this all started, just that you hated it with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

Your life had been peaceful, safe, mundane even, and so help you if you’d ever complained about it you were going to invent time travel just to go back and smack yourself one in the face for it.

Somehow, against all common sense, bro or whatever codes, and hope of joy you’d developed feelings for your best friend. The two of you had known each other for the past four years, meeting in your final year of high school at the dance of all places. Neither of you dated then, so you were there in a state others perceived as ‘alone’, each of you seeing it as with friends, with the while school, and leaping into the fray of energetic dancing. And that was how you ended up doing the cupid shuffle together and, for some reason, the old YMCA routine. You’d shook and jumped to Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off and the legendary Amor Fati by Kim Yeonja, all the simultaneously memed and beloved songs you could dream of. Some people assumed you were a couple and you two burst out laughing as you told them you’d literally just met. Like, you exchanged names after they said that.

San was easy to talk to, especially after seeing each other in sweaty teenage abandon first. He was no pressure, no butterflies- until now, for some forsaken reason, when your heart had decided to abandon all reason and beat like a mother when San pulled you into a hug or smiled that dimpled smile you’d looked at countless times- why was it special now?

Sure, you’d always acknowledged he was good-looking, but in the way people talked about celebrities outside their preferred gender- just acknowledgement, nothing deeper. But suddenly you found your brain rushing out from under you like a yanked rug, wondering what his lips would feel like against yours.

And dammit, you were dead-set on never finding out.

Making a move at that point would be platonic suicide, torpedoing the best friendship you’d ever had, and frankly you’d lost too many with age, time, distance, drama to do it again. And not with San. Even if it was like life’s Master Ball and you only got one forever friendship, it was going to be San. You’d already aimed and pitched, and no petty, new, frustrating as all get-out feelings were going to knock that off course.

If only San got the memo too.

Maybe it was simply a matter of increased awareness thanks to your nascent problem, but it was like he’d grabbed the knob full force and dialed all the charm and sweetness to eleven, sensing your pulse skyrocketing for a thousand tiny reasons you wanted to shoot down like clay pigeons.

It was chilly the other afternoon? Here, take his jacket. You forgot your sunglasses? Did you want his? What ring size were you? Here, compare to his- go on, just see if it fits. And by jove, you will never carry a single remotely heavy object again if Choi San can help it.

“Why do you always insist on doing nice things for me?” You groaned, head rolling to fix your best friend with a look.

“Because I enjoy it,” he replied simply, contentedly, the most plaintive of smiles on his face as he tilted his own head down for a brief respite on your shoulder.

Curse him and his adorable love of affection. “Well, ah, what can I do for you?” You spluttered, indignant at no one but yourself.

“It doesn’t have to be a transaction. I know you’ve had people around you make it seem like it is, but you don’t have to repay me. I know you’d help me if I needed it, too.”

Biting back a response about you surprisingly not actually needing him to carry your shopping bags, you just sighed and thanked him, shuffling along the mall tile with slightly less relish. He’d always been like this- selfless, kind, loving, and you’d always loved those things about him.

So when he sat you down at the food court, gingerly resting your bags on the shiny public-eatery metal seat adjacent to yours as he scooted yours back, what else could you do but smile and thank him? San asked you what you wanted for lunch, and you told him you didn't mind, to which he shot back that he didn't either. Then you told him to pick, and he told you to pick, and you both bickered playfully back and forth until you got tacos.

Ugh, just like an old married couple.

~

"Can't you just accept when people do nice things for you?"

"No," you crossed your arms in mostly-mock-obstinance, "no, I cannot."

"I swear, you'd make me pay you back if I bought you a candy bar," San rolled his eyes playfully, fixing you with a fond smile.

Because if you're always paying for me when we go out, you wanted to say, I can pretend it's a date. I can get it in my fat fucking head what it would be like to have you as my boyfriend and never get it back out.

"Money is designed to be exchanged for goods and services," you actually said.

"This isn't a service," he replied, putting an arm you didn't care was sticky with sweat around your shoulders, extending the water bottle toward your hand, "it's me caring about you."

Hot from exertion as you were, you instantly melted under the warmth of his half-embrace, accepting the water bottle. "And you know I appreciate it. I'm just not used to getting cared for."

"Then I'm not doing my job!" Your best friend exclaimed, eyes glinting. "I'm always going to be here to take care of you, so get used to it!"

"I think I started figuring that out when you brought three different blankets and a plushie the first time I watched a movie with you," you told him with a teasing smile.

San's smile fell almost into introspection, getting a bit more serious, which you didn't expect. "You joke, but I mean it, (y/n)."

Almost against your will, your head nodded solemnly, though your own smile couldn't fade, in fact it widened dumbly as a side effect of your hammering heart. "I hope so."

And then, as if he hadn't said something so infuriatingly sweet, San patted your shoulder, stood up from his squatted position, and took your water-bottle-free hand in his, pulling you up, too. You could have sworn he gave your hand a squeeze, but it was so brief, maybe you imagined it.

"Alright, so are we dancing or what?"

~

Sometimes you wished you guys drank more. That you could hit the edge of blackout and do something you'd barely remember, nor regret, and butt so hard against the line it finally broke and reformed in less questionable territory. That some alien substance in your veins could be blamed for anything dubbed unthinkable, and you'd have already rehearsed any laughter necessary if San wanted to make middle-school ew, gross jokes as if your lips transmitted cooties.

But San was a lightweight, and neither of you enjoyed that scene. The two of you were more the types to get coffee twice in a ay and laugh too hard at stupid things like the word guava on a caffeine buzz.

"We're fun enough even without alcohol," San often joked to you.

So the drama-flick drunk confession, intoxicated makeout, was out. Best not to duplicitously offer a drink in exchange for-

"(y/n)? I think it's all done," San's voice cut through your mental spiral.

You almost had to shake your head out of it, vision having faded to a zoned-out blur, obscuring even the shape of his wide, tank-topped shoulders as he had bent over your car.

Now he was at your side, wiping his hands on a cloth like some sort of professional mechanic, not just your best friend who insisted you didn't need to pay someone like that just for an oil filter and a change. A change which had cost him the dove grey of his garment, something you could hardly help asking why he'd wear such a light color of for that.

"San, your top, it's all stained!"

As he tossed the rag aside, he tilted his head down, bobbing it in recognition of the black smudge marks. "Well, at least it wasn't expensive."

"I think I know how to get it out if you want. You could always go get a new-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, he was stripping, yanking the top off from the bottom hem and leaning against the knob of your garage door. Despite the clear invitation to go inside and, you know, do exactly what you just said you were going to do, surprised crossed your (very warm) face, effectively sealing you to the concrete floor. The only process your brain could perform in that moment was trying to figure out if you had the world's best or worst luck.

"Oh, uh-" Trying not to stare, your eyes very pointedly searched San's face.

Your best friend frowned slightly, expression halfway to the innocence you were used to, and somehow that almost made it worse. "What?"

"Just," you hesitated as you accepted his now inside-out tank top, skin-warmed fabric heating your hands, too, which you glanced down at beneath San's intent gaze, "didn't expect you to be this comfortable is all."

San crossed his arms, face falling first in shock, then shaping up into almost dark amusement as a different, more incredulous smile rose to his sharp features. "Are you kidding me?"

Oh, no. You made it weird. This was it. Or maybe he just thought you were doubting his friendship, which he shouldn't. Everyone knew unironically doing the YMCA bonded people for life. Or sharing blankets. Or...ah, crap. Not now. "No, it's great, I'm really glad you trust me. I trust you, too, you know. Maybe I don't show that enough, but that's why you know so much about me, and I really appreciate you-" Your rant suddenly fell short as your eyes betrayed you, drifting down slightly and absolutely ramming your train of thought into a wreck. "You know, always being there for me and being so thoughtful and pretty much being my favorite person ever-"

“The only reason why I’m letting you get away with shit like this, with seeing me like this," he motioned over his, well, quite fit torso, "is because I like you, you dense fucking cabbage.” The moment the words left San, his face fell into his hand, out of frustration or embarrassment it was hard to say. Probably more the latter, knowing how sweet your best friend was. He didn't use strong language...well, almost ever.

Train wreck take two. Not a single word rose to your mind, only sensations, for a solid three seconds, during which all you could do was stand there wide-eyed, venture a step towards San, two steps. Finally you spoke, feeling like an idiotic teen sitcom character as your dumb response left your lips. "You like me?"

"Yes," San sighed, posture deflating a bit against the doorframe, "I'm sorry. Sorry for the language, and just...I hadn't really planned on how I was going to say it, but it definitely wasn't like that. You deserve way better than that. I just... sometimes I feel like you like me back, but then I wonder if you're pushing me away. And you have every right to do that, especially if I've messed up our friendship, I can just-"

You cut him off, harnessing the motion of his lips for greater purpose against yours. San responded instantly to the kiss, hands cupping your face and pulling it deeper into his like you were air and he'd spent his whole life underwater. Your arms wrapped around those broad, bare shoulders, hands resting at the back of his neck.

"Wait, you like me?" Ok, you felt better about how dumb you seemed, as those were San's first words out of the kiss.

"Yes, you, what was it? Ah, yes. 'Dense fucking cabbage'," you quoted back at him with a merciless grin, arms tightening their grip ever so slightly.

"Oh, no," he winced, "that's going to stick forever, isn't it?"

"Yep," you breathed, leaning in for another kiss, the feeling of San's lips a hundred percent better than you could ever have imagined, so much warmer and realer and this time sweeter, sliding against yours like he was coaxing it out of you.

This time, upon pulling away you gave the side of his face a light, playful slap, enjoying the touch of his sculpted features against your palm.

"You're stuck with me now, mon petit chou."

San shook his head at the return of your devious grin, and you reveled in the blend of utter bliss and what did I get myself into painting his face as his hands snaked around your waist, twirling you in a little impromptu dance and dipping you down.

He smiled lovingly this time, sending your beating heart melting and surprise turning to joy across your own face. "As long as you keep being you and you'll let me do nice things for you now- no, scratch that, spoil you."

Keep being you. Holy shit, what a balm for the soul.

Cocking a brow, you shot back, "You spoil me and I embarrass you? Hardly sounds fair."

"All's fair in love and war," San responded, eyelashes fluttering.

You most definitely forgot to wash his top after that.

[strawberryybird]

ok fuck it. in honour of fire emblem: free real estate timeskip day, have some disability headcanons.

edelgard with crutches. thats it thats the post. done.

but also i absolutely think edelgard can have some mobility aids as a treat specifically for me, mobility aid user and edelgard enthusiast. i think the double-cresting she has going on means she has some level of chronic fatigue. use crutches babygirl <33 you know what? She can use a wheelchair, too. And a cane. All the mobility aids for my girl.

lysithea too, for that matter. I'm very fond of lysithea being the default recipient of Hilda's embellishment and decorating. I think Lys has trouble with her joints and uses braces, wraps, and ergonomic designs of things. Whatever motif Hilda has designed this month, Lys will give a test run.

Lys and her dislocating joints creating new spell-casting techniques by force of need and love of her craft.

Hilda's love for jewellery and decorating leading to her interest in the exact intersection of utility and design. Anything to stop people from having to put in so much effort to do things. That's atrocious. Use this, for Seiros' sake.

Magic users with Magic!Psoriasis in their joint extremities. Hands, feet, kneecaps, neck. Anywhere, really. Magic causing immune system reactions my beloved headcanon.

Claude takes out a new tangle from a new pocket in every class. where did he get them. why does he have this many. how did he get a new tangle in the span of the last 6 minutes. claude what the hell.

Marianne & Bernie having enthusiastic sign language chats in the tea gardens. Byleth makes sure to teach them every swear they've ever learned.

If Byleth has to step outside for a bit of air when they realise they're missing another memory from Before, no one makes a big deal. The world will keep moving with them, says Ignatz, who can't bear loud noises anymore.

Dorothea unabashedly handing in her essays on dyed paper, because the pink means the letters stop sliding around. Bernie made her a little quilted pouch for her green-lensed glasses.

Ferdinand making Edie nearly weep with laughter as he matches her pace on the stairs, threatening to have them all demolished for domestic terror and regicide.

Annette and Constance inventing the dicta-quill, creating ye-olde speech-to-text. Annie sends one personally to Lorenz, who lost his left forearm in the final battle. She gets 3 pages of effusive praise and thanks back. Their correspondence gets so long, that the post service starts charging their letters as parcels.

[cootcutebatkat]

Ford MBTI: INTP or INTJ?

This has been the fucking crutch of my existence for a while as I still desperately trying to understand Ford completely. Rather than do my very important homework, I wanna explore Ford’s MBTI type as it is all I can think about. Who is this man? How exactly does he operate? Can people, including fictional characters who feel so damn real to me, be sorted into personality categories so easily? Am I overthinking this? And, something that I haven’t even considered, is he another type altogether?

Well, I can start with what we do know about Ford.

He relies far more on logical reasoning and decision-making over emotional ones. While both types do feel emotions, obviously, feeling functions are decision makers that value morals, beliefs, and feelings over logic. The difference between INTJ and INTP is how such decision functions operate. And before I bother explaining them, I would rather observe Ford some more. Or, more accurately, write about him to get a clearer picture.

He’s heavily introverted, preferring his own company over others, and is even a bit anti-social, considering his disdain for the general populations, such as the people of his hometown and of Gravity Falls. He believed them to be very small minded, simpletons even, and either needlessly stupid, cruel, or both. While we have seen him attempting to branch out and desire socializing, the results aren’t usually pleasant, thus encouraging isolation. Still, the quantity of them is considerable, such as the lightbulb for the family (requiring him to notice its absence and to consider solving the problem, even if it doesn’t affect him in the basement), coaxing Stan to join a game of DD&MD, and even his ruminations about talking to girls if he succeeds in building the portal.

He’s extremely inventive, often taking unusual paths such as using fire to shave his face or concluding that Gravity Falls’ weirdness concentration is the result of something outside of their dimension. 

The more I write, the more certain I feel that Ford is an INTP and I will explore why. I might explore him as an INTJ but not now. Not when the former is more fitting. I should also explore how Ford depicts an unhealthy INTP and is often in a Ti-Si loop. Not to mention, we’ve seen him the most in stressful situations, such as the fights between him and Stanley, the reopening of the portal, getting kidnapped for nefarious reasons twice (Probabilitor and the Security Drones), and Weirdmaggedon. Considering that MBTI is all about tendencies and preferences, it makes it difficult to consider Ford’s functions. But as I’ve explored his character, I am still confident.

Dominant Introverted Thinking: Accuracy, Logic, and a Wealth of Knowledge

Relies on multiple premises before finalizing on a decision. This one is seen best in The Book of Bill with Ford’s pro-con list about calling Stan to him. Whereas Extraverted Thinking (Te) is more about efficiency and heuristics (general statements), Introverted Thinking (Ti) opens up to possibilities, preferring to not assume right away what the answer is. Just because it has happened several times before doesn’t mean that it’s likely to happen again. There is always the risk of inaccuracy, something that Te isn’t entirely opposed to as it is more flexible. This is why Ti is often associated with extraverted perceiving functions, which are more adaptable. However, such reasoning in this function stack only applies to logic, not ethics and morals. Another way to overcome this rigidity, however, is to move past the binary… by creating more categories! Hey, it’s better than the all-or-nothing approach!

Those who use Introverted Thinking are often very precise with their words, which is seen in Ford’s writing and use of abstract language (“Sometimes the strangest things are right under our noses… And our feet in this particular instance!”) and his corrections on grammar (that Weirdmaggedon scene still feels more out of pettiness rather than a true desire for correct grammar to me, though. …Eh).

Ti Users are also prone to literal thinking, looking past context, or assuming that their conclusions are truly accurate and/or shared by the common populace. Not only did we see this when Ford comically assumed that “Batch out for Will!” was absolute nonsense (who is Will? And batch isn’t a verb, it’s a noun!), but also, tragically, when he assumed Stan’s actions at the Science Fair were intentional. 

Over all, Ford’s most natural function is his judgment of probability, accuracy, and reasoning, desiring above all else to understand the world and beyond.

Auxiliary Extraverted Intuition: There’s an infinite amount of possibilities and they’re all valid!

To bypass the rigidity of Ti, extraverted perception functions come in to give counter arguments, to encourage exploration. In Extraverted Intuition (Ne), this type of thinking is very divergent, exploding with a million ideas that almost appear random, even though they truly aren’t. Rather, via the use of Introverted Sensing (which we’ll get to), Ne is constantly inspired and eager to explore the unconventional and improbable, no matter how illogical they seem to be. While both Intuition Functions connect things on an abstract, metaphysical level (such as word play or analogies), Ne doesn’t settle on only a handful of ideas the way Ni does. Ni is more profound yet narrow-minded while Ne is more explorative but flaky. 

Ford’s Ne is best seen in his twelve PhDs. While a PhD is more about depth of insight in a subject, like Ni, the sheer amount of them lends to Ford’s need to explore all the ideas, especially things that are statistically improbable and, therefore, challenging his Ti. He adapted to the weirdness of Gravity Falls quite easily and, in a childhood flashback, Ford offered strange and wonderful ideas about ghostly pirates or mesoamerican gold in a shipwreck he and his brother founded. Not to mention his own quirks and rather out-there behaviors, like he switched from one thought to another. This is also seen best in his journals, full of rather unorganized ideas and observations and jokes, and in his hobbies such as DD&MD (it’s full of risk and imagination!)

Tertiary Introverted Sensing: The Details and The Past

A perceiving, learning function, introverted sensing (Si) is all about reviewing past experiences and comparing them to the present, favoring the tried and true over the unconventional (unless you’re an intuitive type). INTPs use this function as a way to support their frameworks and decisions, to play, to balance things out, and to correct what their more natural functions have noticed or created. This function is best seen in nostalgia, noticing fine sensory details and changes to the environment, recognizing physical patterns, perceiving bodily sensations, history, yoga and similar exercises. Unhealthy Si can often manifest as obsessive and perfectionist, or alternatively, extremely absent-minded or difficulty holding onto information on seemingly minute details. It’s no wonder that ENxPs are often associated with ADHD.

Unlike Extraverted Sensing (Se) which is in the moment, flexible, and adaptive, Si is less so as it keeps an internal record, hence why those with strong Si often have good episodic and visually detailed memory and consistent schedules. In fact, Si users tend to navigate through life via nostalgia as each and every sensory experience reminds them of previous ones, another reason as to why they favor the past and the familiar. Si users are also quite good at drawing on detailed connections between sensory inputs, such as comparing how the red of an apple is like the red of a shirt their old friend wears or how it’s not as red as the other apples they’ve eaten so far or as juicy. 

Nostalgia is seen in every type, but is valued and expressed differently. And, as someone who personally lacks in my top four function stack, I have difficulty understanding it myself, hence why I had written so much about it.

That’s why Ford’s examples are starting here, so hopefully you, dear reader, aren’t too lost. Ford’s Si is best seen in, again, his journals, helping to reorganize information to later review upon and ruminate, but also in his tendency to hold grudges (aside from his Inferior Fe, which we will get to, I promise). Ford also exhibited this in his exercise routines, use of yoga and meditation, and rather quick recovery of injuries. He didn’t seem all too opposed to having a metal plate installed in his head nor tattoos, both of which sound rather uncomfortable. Not to mention how he was willing to hand over his body to Bill during their friendship. It’s clear it wasn’t always this way as he was much clumsier and unathletic as a child, but as he grew older, he developed his tertiary function (quite typical in mbti typology!) and became comfortable with the sensory world, although not fully wisened to it the way more expert Si users are. His loathing of sleep and absent-minded tendencies best exhibit this. In essence, Ford gradually became more like Mabel as he grew.

Inferior Extraverted Feeling: The Needs of the Many (Can’t Stand People, Can’t Be Without Them)

Inferior functions are so damn hilarious if they didn’t sabotage us at nearly every turn. Many times, such functions are likened to that of a toddler. We love them, but we also hate them and are extremely annoyed by them. We hate the specific function within us, within others no matter their position, the general concept of it, but occasionally, it will bat its big, wet eyes at us and coo in its most enticing, adorable lisp ever. We let our guard down and wham, we’re burned out again. But unlike a toddler that needs an adult, we need the inferior function. This results in constantly repressing the function like a spring, until stress demands our attention and distracts us, causing the spring to be let loose and bounce all over the place, inwardly and externally.

Feeling functions, as I’ve said before, is best associated with how we decide upon moral or ethical decisions. Introverted Feeling (Fi) is similar to Ti in that it prefers accuracy and consistency, but it is directed to the self and to what is felt right. As an introverted function, it is also narrower but deeper, less flexible but more withstanding, and is a very loyal function, refusing to compromise or back down in the face of opposition. In short, Fi is about long-term satisfaction with the self and the heart, not wanting to live with regrets because they sacrificed their morality for something.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe), on the other hand, is more adaptive than Fi, willing to conform to social norms for the sake of harmony. Relying on heuristics of the introverted perceiving functions, Fe will approach people with a general attitude (typically, people want to be treated this way), unlike Fi which prefers a “treat people how you want to be treated” ideal. As you can see, both are actually quite fair and empathetic.

Fe users also tend to value belonging the most, often defining themselves by an external role such as a job or relationship title (ie. husband, student, teacher, etc). And while it’s a judgment function and not a perceiving one, Fe users are often easily influenced by others when it comes to emotions, resulting in a difficulty to understand their own unless it’s laid out externally. This is where Ford’s journaling and outbursts come in. (note, this is a general observation in mbti typology!)

For inferior Fe in Ford and emotional regulation, it’s best seen in two clips; when Stan interrupts Ford’s game with Dipper and when Ford tries to reason with Dipper who is panicking about his past association with Bill. In both, Ford is visibly attempting, and struggling, to keep calm while his emotions are reaching their tipping point. He yells at both Stan and Dipper and then attempts to gather himself for both his own and the other’s sake, trying to keep a calm atmosphere in the room. 

As for his desire for independence from Stanley, it may be due to how emotionally loud he is, overriding Ford’s Fe radar and muddying his own feelings. Not only that, but as an intuitive with no Se in the top four and a tertiary Si, Ford could only read himself through his bodily cues, something that had to be accrued over time to fully understand. This may also explain his need for isolation as well.

But the biggest crux of them all, the most withstanding theory on Fe, is Ford’s prioritization of humanity and others over the few/the self and his high concern with his image. Both of which he flip-flops between and struggles to find a middle ground. 

For his self-image, Ford has been well aware since day one that he is not like the others, that he is a freak. While an Fi user in his situation would also feel incredibly alone, they would also relish in their uniqueness, making it a point of pride and feel at ease within their own authenticity and consistency. Rather than being understood, what’d they rather have is validation and acceptance for who they are, even if no one gets them. For Ford, an Fe user, he truly does want to be understood and, more importantly, belong. He has often wondered if there is a place where weirdos like him fit in, not something an Fi user would really desire. But as this function is the lowest of the bunch, and Ford has also been bullied and ostracized since day one, Ford holds an incredibly low opinion of humanity, defying logic for the sake of pure, nonsensical conformity. 

And yet, he still puts in a huge amount of effort to polish his self-image, making it accurate to himself and his best qualities, but also palatable to outsiders. This has more than likely resulted in Ford’s obsession with being worthy enough to become part of the patron of sciences, just like Nikola Tesla and Einstein. And his obsession with burying his journals instead of ridding them entirely (as well as his Ti demanding that such knowledge must stay preserved no matter what).

It’s late and I want this posted. So I might edit this later or better yet, reblog it with some editions. Or create a separate post as a continuation. I ain’t gonna proofread this because I’ve planning and putting this concept for a longggg time and I wanna kick that habit rn. Fuck it we ball!!! Sorry if it's not organized well