#again; if there was conscience there required of a good person: their words would have been different after not seeing him for 2 years

[blindtaleteller]

Well yes and no...? Remember that; the 'reason' they did have to mistrust him? Was the fact they were committing another act of treason going there to retrieve the banished by Odin Thor, in the first place: during a war that was still running because Thor and they did commit the first 4-6 counts of treason: for which even they admit in previous scenes; was at the very least punishable by death. And they did this, while Loki was interim King, as set in place by Frigga --who reminder was queen, conscious, alive and very much capable of making sure the roles were reversed as far as caring for Odin in that state went, too. And they knew this.

Not saying they're evil no, but they're pretty arrogant, lacking in conscience, lacking in self awareness and self ownership; or actual loyalty to more than one of the two princes in that equation.

Evil no, shitty people, shitty friends; and a bunch of arrogant dismissive pricks given they did know these things both before and after, treated him in that way anyway: and still pretended like he was in the wrong for doing exactly what he should have done under those circumstances as Thor and they themselves made them? And still carrying on in that flavor even in TDW, with their own personal betrayals and that longer list of official treason on the table trying to bring the one who re-started that war back to the table against both kings at that point still not acknowledged? Absolutely.

Not that Frigga is any better abstaining from putting in any of that input Thor's way, or owning her part even two years later either. It isn't very hard to see where they get that crappy take; or how Thor after 1000-1500 years thought genocide was still an answer from ages ten and up; when Odin's king and Frigga's queen, setting those lies and examples in place and never correcting them.

Not an excuse, either way. They're grown ass characters, who are over a thousand years old; if they're Asgardian. Funny ha-ha presented or not, if they were good people, that flavor of conscience would have been there... and maybe an apology or three. But instead, he's their scapegoat still; and they double down it with that 'suspicion' in TDW to continue the issue on rather than any of that.

Not evil on the blackest terms no; but that is a shade of it when that's also a friend and someone who fought next to them for those years too, and probably saved their asses as often as it went the other way: so 100% evil no. But definitely a darker shade of it than a simple grey or beige, making those choices as who they are with the background they have with Loki in particular. Especially counting back two to three years from 2013 when TDW took place.

Also tags.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for removing my friend from our editorial team for our student publication club due to her actions?

I (F26) recently graduated from community college after a long and difficult academic journey due to my disabilities. As I was in college for many years, I became very involved on campus and became a recognized and dependable student leader. Unfortunately, this often resulted in campus leadership coming to depend on me to take up the slack left by other students, which is exactly what happened when I was asked to became the leader of our campus student publication club editorial team. It wasn’t necessarily that I was forced to accept the position, but that the organization would fold if I didn’t take it on and that would be a great loss to our campus community.

Once I assumed the position, I attempted to rebuild the rest of the editorial team so we could begin accepting student work to be published in our virtual magazine. One person who stepped up readily was the club representative from the previous semester (F50ish), who I quickly bonded with over our shared struggles as disabled women who had faced ableism on campus. She also provided support in all the planning and prep that went into revitalizing the organization, so when it came time to accept submissions again I was more than ready to publish anything she wrote.

Then unfortunately, I read her work. Although we had often commiserated about various campus issues and the inefficiency of the student government, I did not expect that to translate over to what I can only classify as defamatory hit pieces against multiple people both in campus leadership and among the student body. Although I understood many of her grievances I felt that these articles (that went wildly outside of the pre-established length we had agreed upon for article submissions: 6k words), I knew I could not in good conscience allow them to be published.

However, when I attempted to address these concerns with her and give her the reasons why I could not publish them, she seemed to tune me out entirely. She also implied that I was being a hypocrite as I had been very passionate about the publication serving as the student voice of campus, but I don’t feel that bad about stifling the voice of someone who decided to straight up attack her fellow student leaders and label them “incompetent shithead teenagers.” I myself have had multiple issues with the people she launched her multi-page rants against, but I would never attempt to formally publish an 10k word call out over petty little interactions.

After she brushed off my concerns, I was forced to push back the day our team decided on the final submissions for publication due to finals and graduation. I had hoped I could have time to prepare to press the issue again at the end of the summer, but alas another issue came up.

I had been very clear on what was not allowed for publication in the magazine when we were reworking the submission guidelines. Two of the biggest rules barred the publishing of anything pushing specific belief systems and also required that all submissions be taken only from the student body. These seemed simple enough rules to understand, and all of the editorial team voted and agreed upon them. However, I received an email from a mysterious person outside of our college who was demanding that we publish his article for “the good of the community.” When I looked into what his article might entail I discovered he had a very detailed post of his desires to rid the earth of religion and all religious individuals which set off more than few alarm bells in my mind. I firmly established that we would not be publishing his work as he was not a student and it was not eligible for even a review by our team, then I asked him who had referred him to our magazine. At which point he mentioned my friend.

At this point she has violated the rules we established in our organization manifesto, mostly that we specifically would not encourage or promote the publication of works with facist or hateful ideals, and the writing of this man definitely ticked off those boxes. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt and hope that she and this man had simply fallen into the same progressive circles and she had not seen the islamophobia and antisemitism in his belief system, however the writing is quite literally on the wall of his Facebook page. I also feel very hurt as she knows I am Jewish and even being contacted by this man made me feel incredibly unsafe after seeing what he had written.

I feel like the only thing I can do now is formally propose to remove her from our team, but she was such a huge part of the rebuilding of the group I feel like it would be an incredibly asshole move after all she did for the club. Despite everything, she is still a good person and incredibly helpful friend and I would hate to hurt her over this. She has struggled with so many things in her life and I know it has shaped her worldview in a way. I would hate to see her feel rejected by this after all the love she poured into the club.

What are these acronyms?

[amandacanwrite]

The Violet Thread of Fate ||

Reluctant Mentor Gale x Unskilled Wizard F!Tav

Length || About 4,000 Words

POV || Dual Narration, Third Person

Warnings || Descriptions of viscera, age gap (about ten years, both adults)

Summary || After waking up on the craggy shoreline of the sword coast, Elinna and Gale reunite with a new common ground.

A/n || I am feeling sort of on the fence about Gale's eagerness in his attraction to Elinna, but I also feel like it's still at least somewhat in character for him--after all in any playthrough you can wind up being blindsided by his feelings for you since he is usually so subtle about his affections. I also just think it's so fun to get the internal narration of Gale's attraction. He always seems so put together, polite and proper. I just love to see a man precariously balancing his carnal desires with his conscience and desire to be a good man. I hope you like it, I know things feel a little slow right now, but I'm planning on taking some creative liberties in the next couple parts. Please also lemme know what you think if you read it! I am absolutely tinkerbell and need the dopamine to live

Chapter Two: A Nightmare, An Awakening

Read Part One Here • Join Tag List Here

A Nightmare

Elinna thought she had died; thought the disintegration of her bodily form was the end of her short, unremarkable life. Much to her surprise, though when her vision once again returned to her she realized she had merely been spirited away somehow.

It took a few moments for her eyes to properly focus. When they finally did, she almost wished that the contact with the tentacle had killed her. It would have been far preferable to where she had wound up.

She found herself locked in a great chitinous pod, looking through smeared membranous glass at what she could only suppose was the nautiloid she had tried to escape from. 

Yes…death would have been a far preferable fate to becoming a mindless thrall on a mindflayer ship. As she squinted through the clear panel in front of her and saw what appeared to be a brain walking on four spindly limbs, she realized that her fate could be even worse than regular enthrallment. 

The minutes she spent entrapped in the pod felt like hours. A miserable limbo of wondering what would be coming next for her. What if she was already marked for turning into an intellect devourer? What if the enthrallment had already been put in place and she could simply be ordered to do something whenever a mindflayer so wished it?

She couldn’t just stay here. She had to move.

She tried, in vain, to wrench her arms free of the fleshy brindings within the pod. The sinuous tendrils only tightened more and more, leaving her fingertips throbbing and tingling from the blood flow being cut off. She tried to move her feet next and her boots sloshed in some sort of viscera at the base of the pod. She did her best not to vomit as the viscera eked some ichorous fluid into the fibers of her clothing and through the porous leather of her soft-soled shoes. 

The last thing she needed in addition to all of this was to be covered in the contents of her own stomach–empty as it was.

The shock of panic cinched tight around her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. And as she struggled to get her lungs to fill, she also struggled to think. 

“Calm down, Elinna,” she told herself. “Think about what you’ve read. Think about what you know.”

What did she know about Illithids? They were hivemind organisms. They required high-moisture, high-humidity environments to protect the mucosal membranes of their skin. They primarily fed on the brains of their prey and used psionic energy not only to fight but to control their biomechanical machinery. 

She craned her head forward to look for some sort of control panel–something that could get her out of this cocoon of horror. 

As she did, a valve-like door opened on the far side of the room, revealing a dizzying network of corridors. And…and one of them. A mind flayer. 

Elinna went dizzy as her heart thumped in her temples. She watched in horror and sickly anticipation as it levitated toward something in the center of the room; a cistern of sorts from what she could see. It waved a four-fingered hand and the vessel opened, revealing a golden, glowing brine pool that may have been beautiful if Elinna didn’t know precisely what it was. 

The mindflayer coaxed one of those disgusting tadpoles out of the amber liquid and levitated over to Elinna’s pod. She recoiled away from it as the pod opened, turning her face away from the creature and squeezing her eyes shut. She knew exactly how mindflayers reproduced, and she was not interested in getting a first hand experience with ceremorphosis. 

She didn’t have much of a choice, though. Even without the parasite, the illithid was able to compel her to stillness. 

It was an atrocious violation of her agency; surreal and nightmarish in the worst ways. Her mind was fully intact as the creature made her muscles release the tension they held and coerced her eyes to open. Her body was still and calm, but her heart was racing like a trapped rabbit’s. She watched uselessly as the tiny creature floated closer to her. She cried to cry out as it latched onto the orb of her eye and started to wriggle and squirm until it could find purchase beneath her eyelid. 

She was silent. Infuriatingly, horribly silent as the creature continued to burrow its way into her skull. 

Her pulse hammered in her ears as she screamed inside her own body, begging herself to fight, to tear her own eye out rather than let the process of ceremorphosis take place. 

But her body was still as the tiny parasite worked its way into her eye socket and back into her brain. 

Elinna lost consciousness as she felt the unsettling pressure of her brain matter being displaced to accommodate her unwelcome guest. 

When she awoke next, she didn’t immediately know where she was. She only knew that it was loud and it was cold. The sound of air ripping past her pointed ears is what brought her back into full consciousness, and though her eyes were open, she wasn’t actually seeing at first. 

There was a vast expanse of stars above her, the smell of salty air, the lingering cling of something far more acrid–like the smell of burnt sulfur woven into her clothes. 

She tried to parse what was going on, it felt like she was sinking into the ocean–but if that were the case, shouldn’t she not be able to breathe? 

Then she saw the burning wreckage of the Nautiloid and everything came back to her. 

The travel to Waterdeep, the encounter with Mr. Dekarios, the parasite and…

And she was falling through the sky! 

“Not again!” she cried as she stared at the ground rising to meet her with startling velocity. “No, no, no! I will not–This is not how I die!”

It didn’t go very well the last time, but it wasn’t as if she had any other ideas of what to do. She scoped out the approaching shoreline, selecting one spot and earmarking it. After choosing a point on a craggy cliffside, she shut her eyes and tried to gulp in a breath before it was whipped out of her mouth. 

“Inveniam Viam!” she shouted. 

That strange, surreal feeling of not moving, yet being in a different place came again, only this time it was followed very quickly by the feeling smashing into the ground beneath her, square onto her back. It wasn’t a far drop, perhaps only a few feet, but it was enough to hurt her. She blinked up at the sky above her, the glow of the stars somewhat dampened by the flaming wreckage of the nautiloid as it loudly crashed into the earth just a few moments after her.

She ached as she stood and looked out over the cliffside she’d misty stepped to, seeing the vast expanse of an unfamiliar coast crawling with intellect devourers and the blazing with fires choking out great plumes of black smoke. She dropped to her knees, feeling utterly defeated. 

She had no idea where she was. She had no money. No food. Not even a change of clothes with her. She didn’t even know where she was–and she knew she was more than a little directionally challenged. 

Her keepers at The Scribes Nest had told her not to leave; had warned her that there were dangers in the world. That she couldn’t hope to survive on the knowledge she’d amassed from books alone. That the lives of wizards often ended in folly. 

She knew this, of course. She’d read extensively about every wizard she could find and more than half of them were done in by their own curiosity. 

But the ones who hadn’t been rendered themselves undone…they were amazing. Elminster and Blackstaff. Lorroikan and Sammaster. Karsus and Dekarios.

Wait….

Gale Dekarios–he’d been touched by the tentacles, too!

And if she hadn’t died, then that meant he probably hadn’t either. If she could find him, if she could just appeal to him for one favor…maybe he could help her get back to Waterdeep. Maybe she would have an opportunity to prove to him that she could be a good apprentice; that she was worth the trouble of taking on as a student. Maybe he would know how to get rid of the tadpole squirming in her brain. 

But none of that would happen if she just sat there on her knees and despaired. 

She would need to get back up and put one bloody boot in front of the other. 

She would have to be brave and she would have to trust that Mystra would guide her to what came next. 

An Awakening

Hells…it just had to be a pocket dimension that saved him, didn’t it?

They were tricky little things–a slice of wild magic that functioned like an oubliette; a place to put things to be forgotten, or to be summoned at a different point in time. He’d used a few in his time, but never for more than storage during travel or to hide the occasional failed potion. He’d thought once that he might use one when it was clear that the orb would no longer be sated by the magic artifacts he consumed; discussed the idea with Tara before she requested not to speak of it until necessary. 

“I don’t like think of that eventuality, Mr. Dekarios,” Tara had said to him. “I know I tend to be pragmatic…but it makes me far too sad.”

“Focus,” he scolded himself as he looked around the darkened pocket. He needed to find an opening–or at least find a way to make one, failing that. 

It was a mistake that he’d even ended up in one in the first place. A mistake that stemmed from the first mistake when he’d tried to help that girl. 

If he’d had any sense, he would have let her run and gone straight to help his mother and make sure Tara would be okay. He could only hope that they were still safely nestled at his childhood home in Waterdeep. At least he’d not seen either of them during his wanderings about the ship. 

But then the spelljammer had lurched and started falling out of the sky, and he’d grabbed onto the strongest strand of weave he could find and followed it here. The unfortunate side of that, of course, was that the strength of that thread is precisely what made this particular pocket realm exceedingly hard to get out of. And the parasite so rudely deposited into his brain was not doing wonders for his ability to concentrate. 

He held his hands up and closed his eyes, attempting to feel out the strands of weave in this darkened place. Wherever he’d been transported to, it felt very far away from Mystra indeed. Like whatever reality he’d blipped into was one almost entirely devoid of magic at all. 

He focused a bit harder, the tadpole in his head wriggling with the effort. He continued to focus, trying not to think too hard about the unnerving sensation. Finally, with some challenge, he managed to pool some magic together. It felt similar to trying to collect enough morning dew on a leaf to drink.

There came a crackle, then a tear. Not nearly large enough to fit himself entirely through, but enough that he could get an arm out. 

Perhaps with at least one hand in Faerun, he could channel whatever remaining weave he needed to fully escape this dark corner of nothing. 

A sheen of perspiration shone on his brow as he felt around outside of the oubliette. He could feel the familiar moisture of coastal air and it sent a wave of relief through him. He wasn’t far from Waterdeep at all, then. Or at least he’d hoped as much. 

Perhaps he could just appear on the main road and hurry straight to his mother to make sure that she and Tara were alright. 

He was trying to grasp onto the weave when he suddenly felt the soft, almost tentative brush of fingertips on the palm of his hand. 

A person! Perfect! There was no better way to anchor a teleportation spell than to another living soul. It would be a little complex to explain that, though, and he was sure a mysterious arm poking out of wherever he could reach was more than a little unnerving so he settled for simplicity instead. 

“Hello?!” He called through the tear in the fabric of space and time. “Is anyone there? A hand? Please?”

He felt the hand withdraw for a moment, then it returned with what he assumed was the person’s other hand. One closed tightly around his fingers, the other grasped a bit higher, accompanied by the sensation of fingertips curling into the fabric of his sleeve. Small, gentle hands. Not small enough to be a child–but perhaps a woman. 

He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath, allowing himself to feel the energy of the stranger on the other side of the opening. He tapped into it, smelling the faint, sweetly lactic scent of peaches; tasting on the tip of his tongue the light flavor of…honeyscotch candy. If Mystra’s energy was violet in color…this energy was the color of the sky during sunrise…a gradient of lilac, rose and cerulean.

Pretty… he thought to himself before slamming the heel of his hand to his brow. 

Focus you touch-starved buffoon.

“Whatever you’re doing is working wonders!” he said encouragingly. “I think if you just give me a good pull, I should come right out!”

The stranger pulled and he joined that effort by pushing himself through from the other side with what remained of that pooled bit of magic he’d gathered together. 

Finally, he flew out of the pocket realm like a cork from a bottle, regrettably landing right on top of the poor woman who had helped him. 

He was quick to shift his weight so he didn’t put the entirety of his considerable heft on the poor thing. Yet, his creaky knees slowed him down when it came to properly getting up. Then again…he couldn’t deny a certain reluctance to rise. He hated to admit it, and if anyone ever asked him he would deny it to the grave…but it was pleasant to feel the soft curves of a woman against him. A year was such a long time to be without it, and to feel warmth beneath him again…

It was a lascivious thought not becoming of a gentleman, he remembered, but one that occurred almost automatically much to his chagrin. 

“Hells,” he said. “Forgive me miss. I’m usually much better at this–and usually not so long sedentary that my limbs can’t keep up with my manners. Allow me to–”

He lifted himself up onto his elbows and finally laid eyes on his savior. 

It was the girl from before. What was the name? Elinna Inklynn. 

She stared up at him with wide eyes and a face flushed with exertion. How hard had she needed to work to pull him out of that portal? Seeing her so close now, he picked up on some of the qualities he’d missed in the dim light of the Waterdhavian evening. 

A constellation of mauve-tinged freckles dusted across her flushed nose and cheeks. In the daylight, her skin was almost pale pink. The soft swell of her lips sat slightly parted with a look of surprise. And her eyes…my those eyes were something to behold. Verdant as a sprig of mint and flecked with gold as if she had a vein of ore curling through the irises of her eyes. 

“A-allow me to help you up,” he finally stammered. “You’re not hurt are you?”

“Not by you,” she said somewhat breathlessly. 

He grunted slightly as he got back onto his feet, now allowing himself to think of the way her soft curves shifted beneath him. He reached a hand down and helped her back up to her feet as well, dusting off her theadbare apron and her slightly puffed sleeves. She was still flushed–perhaps dehydration or fever…or…

“You haven’t happened to have been on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, have you?” he asked. 

The flush could be a sign of the beginning stages of ceremorphosis. 

“I couldn’t have phrased it more repellently myself,” Elinna replied. 

“No use sugarcoating it, is there?” he asked with a smirk. “I don’t suppose you know what these little passengers will cause if left to their own devices?”

“Ceremorphosis,” she answered without missing a beat. “At least–if we don’t get it handled in a few days…”

Well, color him surprised. 

It wasn’t very often that ceremorphosis was talked about among the common man–it was even hard to find books detailing the finer details of the process. The girl may have been a poor magician, but she was clearly learned.

“Suffice to say, it is a process that should be avoided,” he said. 

“Agreed,” she said. 

It occurred to him that she was behaving…a bit stiff; almost aloof. The young woman he’d encountered in front of his tower had a bit more fire to her than this one did. Then again, they’d just gone through quite the harrowing experience. Both of them were covered in mysterious viscera, they’d been taken hostage on a mindflayer ship and well–the poor girl did just have a strange older man on top of her. 

The girl bit down on her lower lip and he found his eyes unconscionably glued to her mouth. She released her lower lip and he watched as the pale pink color returned to it, wondering idly what it would feel like to–

“Are we just—are we just going to pretend that I didn’t beg you to take me on as an apprentice and that you quite sumerilly told me to bugger off?” she asked. “Are we just going to be compatriots now?”

He blinked down at her, his mind catching up with her words. 

Good gods, he really was behaving like a lech. He didn’t know where this was coming from. Perhaps it was an undocumented symptom of ceremorphosis–this…uncommon desire he was feeling. 

Or maybe he was just, well, desperate. 

“Well, I take umbrage with that analysis. I don’t believe I told you to bugger off…At least not verbatim. I do try to not be a miserable ass,” Gale said a bit sheepishly. “But I hasten to point out that we do have a shared problem now–some common ground we didn’t have before. It seems wasteful to part ways at a juncture such as this, don’t you think?”

He looked around in the early morning daylight and frowned realizing that he didn’t recognize anything. “I certainly don’t know the area after all, and judging by the history you disclosed with me, you likely don’t either.”

“Well…no, I don’t. Aside from Waterdeep I’ve not been anywhere other than the Moonshae Islands.” she said. 

“And you seem to not have a very strong sense of location judging by our time in the alleyways,” he pointed out. 

“That’s true…so then… does that mean you’ll do it?” she asked. “You’ll take me on as your student?”

He grimmaced.

“No,” he said with not a moment’s hesitation. “Not a student–an ally. An equal. It’s best that we tackle this issue together, don’t you think? It makes no sense to travel separately when our searching will likely lead us to the same places. And besides that…”

Besides that, if he started to change into a mindflayer, he wanted to be sure he had someone nearby who could…put him out of his misery and get his body somewhere safe before it leveled a city. 

“But I could be more helpful if you teach me,” she pleaded. “I’d just be a liability without your help.”

“I have seen your magic,” Gale said with a bit of a teasing gaze. “And I don’t know if there is much I can do for someone who casts Misty Step with their eyes closed. It seems you’d be more of a liability with the magic than without.”

She blinked up at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“Oh, please,” he said. “You must know that it’s a spell that requires a clear line of sight.”

She shrank a bit. “I…didn’t know. No,” she said. 

“How could you not know such a thing? You must have read a scroll to learn the incantation,” he said. 

“I mean this with the utmost respect, but when is the last time you’ve read a scroll, Mr. Dekarios?”

He inhaled, lifting an index finger. Then he closed his mouth and looked off to the side. 

When was the last time? It must have been ages. 

“Well,” she said without waiting for his answer. “Most spell scrolls assume a certain basis of classical training, or at minimum an innate understanding of how to channel the weave.”

“I see,” he said. “I’m to assume you’re not a sorceress then?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she said with a sigh.

He clenched his jaw as he looked down at the younger woman. Gods, she really did need a teacher. Maybe he could at least talk to her about theory–or give her a few simple exercises for manipulating the–

No. No. 

He had more than enough on his plate without adding a poorly self-taught mage to it.

“Elinna,” he said. “Tell you what. I have a deal to offer–a concession if your like. If we make it through this and…make it out of wherever we are and back to Waterdeep, I promise I will introduce you to some colleagues that will help you get your start as a novice wizard. How does that sound? Fair?”

To his great surprise, she still looked disappointed by that answer. The girl really was an ambitious thing–coming right to his tower to seek his tutelage and no one else's? The poor girl had no idea what she was trying to sign herself up for; a depressed, anti-social, explosive wizard. A depressed, anti-social, explosive and impatient wizard. As far as teachers went, he was not the best candidate for the job.  

“Alright,” she finally said. “Let’s see if we can go find a healer together…or maybe some other survivors…of a bath.”

“Oh, to find a bath,” Gale agreed. “Ah, but–before you think you’re journeying with most ill mannered a man–”

Gale gave the young woman a slight bow. “Thank you for pulling me out of that stone.”

When he stood up to his full height again, the young woman was smiling at him, her pretty viridian eyes crinkling at the edges. She tucked a pale copper strand of hair behind one of her delicately pointed ears and looked a bit sheepishly down the craggy shore. 

“Ah–it’s almost a dead end over here–I think there might be more ground to cover if we cross through the wreckage…but I didn’t want to do that on my own,” she said. 

“A wise choice, I think,” Gale said. “No telling what you would have run into. Not to imply that you can’t hold your own, of course–”

“No, you’re right,” she said, looking away from him a little timidly. “I’ll feel better with you there–it’s nice to have a friend.”

He huffed a soft breath and found himself smiling at how willing she was to call him her friend.  Even after all the ways he had been a bit of an oaf to her, he felt in her he had found a bit of a kindred spirit. Someone else who sought camaraderie in perhaps…unworthy places.

 She looked up at him and bit the swell of her lower lip again. “Shall we go then?” she asked him. 

He gestured to the road ahead. “After you,” he said with a magnanimous smile. “Consider me your ever faithful guard dog, ready at the first sign of trouble.”

She snorted a little laugh and shook her head. 

And as he followed after her, for the first time in the last year, he hoped the pang in his chest was because of the orb.

Taglist || @auroraesmeraldarose @thoughts-of-bear @cherifrog @puckprimrose @drabblesandimagines

[shu-box-puns]

You wanna be one of them (Tsu’tey x Reader) Act 2

Previous chapter <-- Act 2 --> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Word Count: 8243

Summary: In which Tsu’tey has his love crisis.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

Tsu’tey was in love with an idiot, and they were going to kill him of a heart attack before he even got around to telling them. 

No sane person would throw themselves into the path of an angry palulukan for an even bigger idiot. Perhaps it was a Sky Person quality, since Jake tended to make the same reckless decisions. Or perhaps he was just attracted to stupid. And frustratingly enough, he couldn’t find it in himself to be pissed or upset about it. 

His pa’li rode near the rear of the herd, expression set in a fowl scowl as he watched the pair of idiots in question keeping their heads down. Neytiri hadn’t needed to speak a word for him to fall into the back, content to keep his eye on the dreamwalkers whilst watching everyone’s backs. It was soothing to have everyone in sight where he knew they were safe and accounted for as it allowed him a chance to relax. 

A protective quality which had helped Mo’at and Eytukan pick him out as the next Olo’eyktan. A position he had been trained his entire life for. Even when Sylwanin died, he was still set to become the leader, only to take Neytiri instead. What would the people think of their future Olo’eyktan taking a sky person for a mate?

His face morphed into an expression of horror, his pa’li snorting uncertainty at the sharp twist of guilt and anxiety that knotted his stomach.

What about Neytiri? 

He looked to her now, sitting proudly astride her mount, bow in her lap, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice or at the slightest rustle of leaves. 

Sure he only loved her as a sister, and their courtship was heavily because of their duty to the clan, but he couldn’t in good conscience mate with her when his heart clearly belonged to another.

These thoughts plagued his mind as the group of four trudged back to HomeTree empty handed. They dismounted in silence near the river, releasing the pa’li from their bridles to wander until they were required again. 

Tsu’tey bowed his head respectfully to Neytiri as she grabbed Jake’s arm and began dragging the man away. He attempted to protest, calling out to Y/n in his alien language to which the hunter simply grinned and waved. Tsu’tey felt a flare of affection erupt across his chest at the easy slant of the avatar’s shoulders. How their tail swayed so cutely in the face of Jake’s middle finger.

They turned, pausing as their eyes caught on Tsu’tey. <”I didn’t know you could smile.”> They stated bluntly, making Tsu’tey’s private grin morph into yet another scowl before he swatted at them.

<”Go and be useful.”> He snapped instead of responding with a quip, pushing them towards HomeTree with his bow. 

They rolled their eyes, grabbing onto the shaft of his bow and dragging him with them. He allowed the casual touch, relieved that he would not have to find an excuse to keep them in his sights. With luck, his presence would deter them from doing anything fatal.

The evening continued like that. With Y/n carrying out tasks that other clan members asked of them, and Tsu’tey hovering nearby. Sometimes the na’vi they were talking to would take pity on him and assign him a similar job so he wasn’t sitting around uselessly. And other times, Y/n would find ways to divide up the simple chore so he could help out. 

It was sickeningly domestic and easy. The repetitive nature of their tasks and the soft din of the clan grew steadily louder as the hunting parties and the foragers returned from the forest, lulling Tsu’tey into a calmer mindset. 

Crouched before the fire with Y/n’s thigh pressed against his own, whilst the pair descaled fish, he could almost forget about the day's events. His eyes falling to half-mast as he lost himself in the repetitive motions of sliding his blade through flesh, skillfully removing bones as he went. 

<”Careful.”> Said the gleeful voice of the idiot beside him. <”If you get any more relaxed, you’re going to start purring.”>

<”You missed a strip of scales.”> Tsu’tey returned easily, making an effort to wake himself up.

Y/n hummed. <”So, why are you hovering again?”>

<”It’s the only way I can ensure you stay alive.”> 

<”Hey, I am not that bad.”>

<”I looked away for a couple of breaths, and you decided the best way to deal with that situation was jump /towards/ the dangerous predator.”> He stopped the motion of his knife to turn and catch their gaze. <”So yes, you /are/ that bad.”>

He kept plucking out bones, ears lying flat in embarrassment. It was not often he was so easily read. 

<”It worked didn’t it.”>

Y/n fell still. <”You’re genuinely upset about this.”> An observation. It was true but it made Tsu’tey feel surprisingly raw. He kept his head bent, refusing to meet their gaze. The teasing note in their voice had evaporated with the sentence. <”Tsu’tey, I’m fine.”> They said softly, a five fingered hand gripping his knee and squeezing.

Y/n huffed, their hand disappearing from his knee, and he assumed they would leave him be. 

Instead, they reached for his wrists, gently lowering the fish and knife to the pile he was crouched before. They take hold of the hand not covered in blood and guts, their expression open. Almost kind. Tsu’tey tore his gaze from that look, knowing there was a very real danger that he would start purring if they kept looking at him like that. 

<”It’s like you’ve learnt nothing. As if my teachings did not stick around in that thick skull.”>

Thankfully, the avatar remained oblivious as they took his hand and placed it - palm flat - against their chest. Tsu’tey eyebrows furrowed, confused until he felt the steady thump of their heart beneath his touch. <”That cat didn’t even hit me.”> They reassured him, unknowingly loosening something that had wound the hunter up tight

>_<

Neytiri found him in the roost tending to his ikran after the avatars had disconnected in their hammocks, and the clan had dispersed after dinner. 

She approached him as he scrubbed at a stubborn mud stain on his Mount's neck, lips pursed as he scowled up at the patch of dirt.

With a light touch to his shoulder, she effortlessly captured his attention, her voice firm as she stated simply, <”we need to talk.”>

Tsu’tey nodded, stepping away from his ikran to give her his full attention. 

Neytiri swallowed, seeming to gather all of her courage before speaking again. <“I wish to mate with Jake, once he has completed his training.”> For a moment there was silence. Besides the pair of them and the ikran, there was no one else in the roost. A fact Tsu’tey was eternally grateful for as his shoulder slumped and his heart suddenly unclenched. The relief that flooded him made him lightheaded. 

Neytiri studied his reaction carefully, as if expecting yelling or some form of reprimand. It took everything in Tsu’tey not to sweep her up into a hug.

<”I want to start courting Y/n.”> He replied with, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. 

Neytiri relaxed, smiling knowingly. <”I’m surprised you didn’t withdraw from our arrangement when they became Omaticayan.”>

<”It was too complicated.”> Between his duty to the clan and Neytiri, to the uneasiness of the people accepting a Sky Person into their midst. Although they had thoroughly proved themselves during their training and the months afterwards, it had taken the People time to truly accept Y/n as one of their own. When it came down to it, few still doubted they would stand with the clan if the Sky People declared war.

<”What changed?”> Neytiri asked easily. 

Tsu’tey waved her off, feeling like the question was too personal. He didn’t even know. One moment he was joking and hunting with his friend, and the next he was scrambling to grab that same idiot as they fearlessly launched themselves at a superior predator. Watching them literally slip through his fingers, and feeling his entire body wash with horror so intense he’d never felt anything like it before.

It was that day in the forest all over again. A wounded avatar, fearlessly throwing themselves at him in self-defence, and all his brain could think was ‘strong.’ Tsu’tey always knew he’d been attracted to strength, someone to stand beside him instead of behind. Someone he could rely on when he himself faltered, on the battlefield and off of it. 

<”Jake scares me with how reckless he can be.”> Neytiri admitted, pulling him from his musing. <”But he’s got a strong heart. He feels right.”>

Tsu’tey nodded along, amused by the far away look in her eye as she spoke of the man.

Decision made, Tsu’tey straightened, his strides were even, more confident than he felt as he approached his intended. She turned to him as he neared, her expression knowing as she held herself proudly, shoulders squared and her chin up. Absently, Tsu’tey admired her for her courage, for knowing what she didn’t want and being fearless in letting it go. In letting him go.

They would have to tell the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik later so the rest of the clan could be notified and decisions could be made for the future, but for now, it was just them.

With an air of finality, Tsu’tey placed his hands on Neytiri’s shoulders, her gaze locked on his, a mutual understanding passing between them. <”I, Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan, release you, Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite, of your oath to me.”> There was no dramatic shift in how he felt for her, but there was a relief of pressure from his shoulders.

Neytiri bowed her head. His hands dropped from her shoulders, and she mirrored his earlier stance, hands squeezing his shoulders as she inhaled a steadying breath. <”And I, Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite, release you, Tsu’tey te Rogloa Ateyitan, of your oath to me.”> 

And just like that, they were free. 

>_<

Unlinking was disorientating. The process took seconds. A single blink. And then you were transported to a new world. Your senses were dull compared to that of your avatar. The sounds of the machinery muted compared to the clear sounds of the forest.

The pocket compound was a quiet hum compared to the din of the main chamber during the evening meal. The smells were off. The pleasant hints of vegetation and chilled wind replaced by sterile halls and metal. 

Hauling yourself up and out of your link unit with a groan, you felt your shirt stick to your back, your head throbbing unpleasantly from long hours spent doing nothing.

You moved towards your desk before venturing into the next room, the whirr of Jake’s link unit providing some white noise. Pulling out a spare deodorant from one of the drawers, you found your gaze drifting to the stars peering in through the window. Pandora was gorgeous at night, although the soft glow of the forest was muted from this distance as well as the light pollution from the light behind you. 

You had only been gone moments, but you already missed it.

Forcing your gaze away, you screwed the lid back on the small tub, metaphorically doing the same to the mounting sense of yearning that was making your chest ache. Shoving the deodorant back into the drawer, you swiftly turned on your feet.

Grace and Norm were rustling around in the kitchen, the whirr of the microwave suggesting it was about dinner time. You noted Norm loitering by the stove, peering into the small machine with a bored expression. Dreading the tasteless meal to come, you flopped heavily into a vacant chair at the table, exhaustion making you groan.

“Long day?” Grace asked without looking up from her notes. She had taken over most of the table with her laptop and numerous stacks of papers.

“Again?” You parroted and Norm snorted from behind you. Turning to him, you repeated the question. “What do you mean again?” He waved you off as if it was too long winded a story to repeat. 

“Jake almost got killed by a thanator.”

Down the hallway the creak of wheels indicated Jake’s approach towards the kitchen. “What is it with that man and stupid decisions?” 

Norm simply shrugged, whilst Grace chuckled from across the table. “As if you’re any better Y/n.” She mused, snatching up a file from the stack to her right before carefully typing out the contents on her laptop. “On your first day you got separated from your team. Were lost in the forest for hours. Managed to get wounded AND fall out of a tree, almost killing Tsu’tey by flattening him, all before you took out a knife to finish him off.”

“Again?” She replied, not bothering to look up from her work.

Leaned up against the stove, Norm had gone very still, whilst your face had split into a reluctant grin at the recollection of the hunter’s face when you’d whipped out that utility knife and tried to stab him. He’d easily caught your wrist and disarmed you, all whilst looking mildly peeved at the whole interaction.

“Am I hearing this right? You tried to kill Tsu’tey on your first day?” Jake laughed as he glided into the room.

“In my defence, I thought he was gonna /kill/ me.”

“And yet here you are, playing best friends and threatening to braid each other’s hair.”

“Y/n has always been a charmer when they wanted to be.” Grace agreed, reaching over to mess up your hair whilst you shoved at her hands. She laughed at your childish squirming before retreating back behind her computer screen. “They and the future Olo’eyktan have been chasing each other’s tails ever since.” 

“With what evidence?” You deflected.

You groaned loudly, kicking her under the table. “Can you drop that already?”

“You’re not dead for one.” Norm interjected.

“You haven’t been there, you get no opinion Spellman.” You dismissed without missing a beat, to which Jake immediately took up the challenge instead. 

Grace kicked you back twice as hard. “It’s hard to when the evidence is staring me right in the face.” She replied easily, “you’re so infatuated it’s disgusting.”

“He spends practically all day with you.” Jake added.

“We work well as a team.” 

Grace tuts. “I never took you as someone afraid of love, Y/n.”

Jake just shook his head before continuing on. “And he was waiting for you to turn up earlier. AND, he practically chewed you out for throwing yourself at the thanator earlier.”

“He did, until I saved his idiot ass. But that’s besides the point, Omaticaya do not mate with outsiders, looking at you in particular Jake. Neytiri already has commitments. And that’s not including the fact that we’re not here for the long-term. It would just end up hurting everyone involved.” You retorted, pulling the conversation back to an area you could control.

You scowled, “I’m not afraid.” 

Grace hummed, not looking convinced or agreeing with you. “But you’re right, all jokes aside, we are not of their world.”

Grace butting back into the conversation at that. “I thought you said Jake almost got killed.”

Your heart clenched despite knowing it was the truth. Despite repeating it to yourself everyday since you’d fallen for that gruff voice and scowling face. 

Even in the privacy of your own thoughts, it was hard to admit that you loved him. That you wanted that deep connection with him. To mate with the man you had chosen and spend forever with him. Because even in your thoughts, you knew it was something unattainable. You knew you’d always have one foot in either world; looking in but never around.

>_<

Mo’at and Eytukan had taken the news of Tsu’tey and Neytiri’s broken engagement reasonably well. With the Olo’eyktan storming off for several hours and leaving the young pair sweating bullets, whilst the Tsahik took one long look at her daughter and came to a fast conclusion. 

Which led to him and Neytiri crouching around a low burning fire in the main chamber, each attempting to create their courting gifts. The dawn was still young, with the hunting parties having left already, but Neytiri had already given up on her courting project. 

<”Thank you for being honest.”> The woman stated bluntly, addressing both of them before turning her attention to her daughter. <”I will speak with your father.”> Then she swung her gaze around to Tsu’tey. <”We will have to discuss whether you will proceed as Olo’eyktan or Neytiri’s mate will take up the position instead.”>

She was being frustratingly unhelpful, as per usual, as she excitedly told Tsu’tey all about her evening with Jake. They had progressed surprisingly far into their courtship in such a short span of time, with Jake allowing Neytiri to braid his hair the night before. The man was currently parading the new look around the clan, following Y/n around like a lost puppy. 

Tsu’tey tried not to scowl at his turned back. Instead focusing on carving an accurate atokirina into the hilt of the knife in his hands. He’d discovered the palulukan tooth not far from HomeTree and had brought it home to sharpen and attach to a hilt of his making. It was almost finished, and only required the last few decorative carvings to the hilt before he could present it - and his heart - to the subject of his affections.

Across the flames, Neytiri’s face visibly lit up, her posture straightening as Jake rounded the firepit to take the vacant spot at her side. Tsu’tey watched with an amused smile as the man sat down a respectful distance from the woman, only for Neytiri to purposefully shift herself into his side. Jake visibly stiffened, eyes boring into the flames as he avoided Neytiri’s fierce gaze. It was amusing to watch him suffer, whilst Neytiri grinned evilly, her tail thumping in silent victory. 

Although internally Tsu’tey was raging at the idea of Jake taking his lifelong position, he managed to bite his tongue and nod his understanding. 

She thumbed one of the beads woven into a front braid of Jake’s hair, the motion full of love that made Tsu’tey’s stomach twist, whilst Jake flushed a bright purple.

A hand on Tsu’tey’s shoulder brought his attention away from the couple, instead allowing him to focus on Y/n who had dropped into an easy crouch at his side. Their gaze had immediately fallen to the knife, eyes wide in interest. Tsu’tey tried not to preen too hard at the blatant show of intrigue. 

He made no move to conceal his work. Privately, Tsu’tey had always disagreed with the idea of secrecy within the courtship process. Why work for hours on a present his intended might not even like? He might as well ask their opinion as he went and ensure they loved it. 

He allowed their curious gaze to linger for a while, content to entertain them whilst he worked. 

<”How tall are you in your demon body?”> He found himself blurting when the half formed thought of creating them a necklace for their second gift came to mind. Beside him, Y/n had gone stock still, their hand freezing on his shoulder, but Tsu’tey couldn’t say he wanted to take it back. If he was going to do this, he was going to commit all the way. Avatar and Sky Person alike. And for that to work, he needed to create twice the amount of gifts, or at least, that’s what he assumed.

When the time came and he did gain the privilege of meeting Y/n in their natural body, he wanted to have a piece of himself already there. A necklace made by his hand would work perfectly. Small enough to remain out of the way, but obvious so as to tell others that they were already involved with someone. 

<”What?”> Y/n finally choked out, whilst Jake had gone very still across the fire. 

Tsu’tey shot him a warning look. Injecting the expression with enough venom to silently reassure him that he would retaliate if he got involved. 

<”Human?”> The word felt weird rolling off his tongue. 

<”Your demon body.”> Tsu’tey repeated, looking up to find an unnaturally neutral expression plaguing Y/n’s face. Their eyes searched his, looking for the joke, or worse, a trap. <”The one you disappear to when you close your eyes.”>

<”My /human/ body?”> They returned sharply, using a word Tsu’tey did not recognise. 

”Banshees? <Strange.”>

<”It’s easy to pronounce in english.”>

Y/n at least took pity on him, leaning back as they explained, <”it’s what Sky People call themselves.”> They fumbled for an example, the distant call of an ikran making their ears perk. <“Right, so you have ikran, right?”> He nodded uncertainty, unsure where this was going, <”well, they refer to them as> banshees.”

<”You still haven’t answered my question.”>

<”It’s just not really that important.”> They deflected, but Tsu’tey could tell they were withholding it for a reason. 

<”I can’t remember.”>

Tsu’tey narrowed his gaze, uncertain as to why he was being denied such an innocent piece of information. <”What? Why not?”>

<”Are we not friends?”>

<”Of course?”> They arched their eyebrow.

<”Then tell me.”>

And now Tsu’tey was confused. <”I just need you to describe yourself to me.”>

The avatar huffed in a way that Tsu’tey knew meant that he’d won.

<”I can’t show you my human body. It is too fragile for Pandora.”> 

<”Why are you so invested?”>

<”Just tell me!”> He finally snapped, eyes narrowed.

They began simple, describing themselves in details that Tsu’tey could understand since he’d only ever seen snippets of humans from a distance. They showed him roughly what their height was in comparison to their avatar, they described the hue of their eyes, the tones of their hair, the state of their hands. They depicted their typical attire, how they carried themselves, mapping out old injuries and aged scars, all of which he absorbed greedily. 

It was more than he’d asked for, and he was grateful for it. It would be easier to construct gifts to their taste with this additional snippet of information.

They settled in more comfortably, turning away from the flames to give him their full attention. Tsu’tey drew his gaze away from his work, eager to not miss anything. 

As their rambling diverged off the original topic, Tsu’tey listened with mild amusement as they began complaining about the exo packs they were forced to wear whilst exploring Pandora. Telling him about how the air of this planet was too dense with carbon dioxide and easily overwhelmed their lungs if they breathed it in, to which he felt compelled to interrupt. 

If these ‘exo-packs’ were so crucial, surely he should learn how they work. As their future mate, he should possess the skill to step up if it were required.

<”Show me.”> He said simply, and they stilled again. He seemed to keep surprising them today. <”I want to learn how it works.”> 

They made a show of looking down at their weapon’s belt and loincloth. <”I don’t have one on me.”>

Tsu’tey tutted as he rose fluidly from his crouch, slipping his knife back into its sheath whilst he set aside his courting gift. <”You said you’re in a new hideout. Up in the Hallelujah Mountains. Yes?”> He pressed, motioning to said mountains on the horizon. They nodded as they rose to their feet. <”There’s still plenty of daylight left.”>

They agreed easily enough, following his lead towards the double helix staircase after biding a quick goodbye to Jake. He issued a half-assed challenge at the base of the helix, to which they grinned and immediately agreed, going so far as to shove him aside and making a head start. Tsu’tey laughed at their boldness before jumping after them, effortlessly climbing faster and making it to the rookery before they cleared the fourth level.

In companionable silence, the pair saddled their ikran before taking to the skies. It was still early, the forest only just waking up. The skies clear and the sun bright on the horizon. With a whoop, Y/n took the lead guiding the pair in the direction of the Hallelujah Mountains.

>_<

When you got into the link this morning, this was not how you envisioned yourself returning to the compound.

As the small, silver unit came into view on the horizon, you slowed the speed of your mount to warned Tsu’tey of the other people you were sharing the compound with. He nodded along, content to follow your lead as you began your descent towards the open strip of grass. 

Landing your ikran near the other side of the cliff, you slid off with a comforting pat to your mount’s snout. Striding across the short distance towards the compound, you absently remarked on how small the helicopter felt now that you were almost as tall as it. 

Crouching down near the compound doors, you knocked lightly on the metal, aware of your superior strength in this form. Tsu’tey approached slowly from behind you, eying the building with clear mistrust. 

One of the windows shifted as someone peered out. You smiled with a wave, unable to make out their face as they dipped out of sight just as fast as they’d appeared. You didn’t have to wait long, as you heard the hiss of the airlock and shuffled back to make space for whoever was coming out. 

Decked out in an exo pack, Grace poked her head out of the compound door. ”The hell are you doing here?”

”Tsu’tey wanted to learn how to put on exo packs.” You replied simply, motioning to the hunter over your shoulder. Grace followed the motion, visibly stiffening as her gaze found Tsu’tey looming nearby. ”Would you mind grabbing a couple and a silicone dummy?”

She nodded despite her confusion, disappearing back inside to rummage through the storage. 

<”Humans are very tiny.”> Tsu’tey commented with no malice. 

<”And fragile. So be careful.”> You warned, offering to help Grace with her load as she stumbled back out of the airlock with the equipment you needed. 

Together, you laid out everything on the grass not far from the compound, Tsu’tey sat crossed legged across from Grace as the older woman launched into a brief explanation on the exo packs. She pointed out the different pieces and dismantled and rebuilt one for Tsu’tey to observe.

Then she strapped one to the face of the dummy and instructed him to remove it. He crushed it easily between his forefinger and thumb, making his tail thump in annoyance. Grace laughed before replacing the mask, instructing him towards the straps at the back of the mask and how they worked. 

It took plenty of trial and error, with a small pile of ruined exo packs building up behind Grace, some beyond repair, but most could be recycled into spare parts. But eventually, Tsu’tey learned how to get the old exo pack off, before Grace challenged him to strap a new one on. 

It was fascinating to watch how engrossed he became in the task. Ears pricked in curiosity as he messed with equipment much too small for his large fingers, navigating the fiddly compartments with a growing sense of familiarity. 

“Stealing from your friend? Now that’s low even for you.” You lightly pushed her, rolling your eyes. 

Whilst he worked, you caught Grace’s eye, to which she looked pointedly at your arm. “Now I know for a fact you can’t weave. So what sorry sod did you steal that off of.” She mused, ignoring how Tsu’tey’s ears flicked towards the conversation, even as he continued to focus on the task at hand.

“Tsu’tey actually made it.” 

Grace raised her eyebrows but said nothing else. Her eyes drifted back to Tsu’tey who had almost gotten the exo pack back over the dummy’s head. You followed her gaze only to find Tsu’tey glaring daggers at her and the woman refusing to back down. 

You internally debated starting up a fresh conversation to distract them from one another, but you were terrified of either of those gaze turning on you. 

>_<

“You’re such a mum.” You jabbed, “it was a gift obviously.” 

In the weeks that followed, Jake passed his rite. 

You’d heard his triumphant whoop echoing from the branches of HomeTree as the new hunters returned home. Grinning to yourself, you helped prepare the evening feast whilst Eytukan and Mo’at climbed the helix staircase to greet the newest additions to the tribe. 

The rest of the members began to tuck in before anyone came down from the rookery. The main chamber falling into its usual rhythm of chatter and crackling flames. Finding yourself a vacant spot further away from the staircase, you knew when the hunters emerged as a triumphant roar erupted from all the clan members. 

Joining in with gusto, you watched as Jake made his way through the assembled na’vi, receiving back pats and calls of congratulations as Neytiri dragged him along by the arm. He looked good in paint. His hair had also been restyled, accented with braids and beads which looked significantly better than the rat tails that used to hang around his ears. It was definitely Neytiri’s handy work, you knew for a fact that Jake couldn’t braid. Nor did his human body have hair to practise on.

Tsu’tey found you before too long, taking the space opposite you, his leg guards still strapped on after a long day of climbing the mountains and gliding around on his ikran. 

<”How were they?”> You asked by way of greeting, pushing the serving leaf closer for him to pick at.

<”That is good.”>

<”My students performed excellently. As was predicted.”>

<”And Jake?”>

<”Almost plummeted to his death, but as you can see,”> he motioned to where Neytiri and Jake had disappeared off to. <”Eywa does not wish to take him yet.”>

Tsu’tey did not respond. He seemed to come to a conclusion as he confidently reached for his belt once again and pulled a knife free. Your eyes zeroed in on the thanator tooth blade before gliding down the smooth, wooden hilt. It looked like it had taken days to carve, sharpen and construct. And fuck was it an attractive blade. From the alluring glint of the tooth to the heavily detailed handle, you couldn’t even fathom the amount of hours it would have taken to acquire the materials, let alone make them into something new.

<”Something on your mind?”>

He jumped as if he’d forgotten you were there. You narrowed your gaze. <”Did you do something?”> You deadpanned, mentally preparing yourself for anything between leaving the saddle on his ikran to straight up murder. 

Judging by the look on his face, he was definitely preening. Then again, so would you be if you had managed to craft something on the same scale as this.

<”It’s gorgeous.”> You breathed, leaning closer to examine it further. Tsu’tey held it out to you, encouraging you to take it from his hands with a firm nod of his head.

Tsu’tey hummed, not reaching for the food like usual. That in itself was off putting. Refocusing your attention, you realised he was acting strange. Almost skittish. His hand reached for something at his belt, only to rethink his actions and for it to drop back into his lap. You frowned.

It was perfectly balanced and fit like it was made to be held by your hand. 

<”Jesus, how long did this take you?”>

Tsu’tey shrugged, going for modesty, but you could see the pride oozing off him in waves. His ears had pricked cutely, whilst his tail swayed as an obvious sign of glee. 

Tsu’tey’s tail stilled. His happy swaying was abruptly cut off as his eyes snapped open, pinning you in place with a look that could freeze over the north sea. 

<“So when are you going to give it to her?”>

“Huh?” He breathed dumbly.

Behind him, someone audibly winced, shuffling in closer to their family group. Tsu’tey paid them no mind. 

You tried to play it off with a laugh, assuming he hadn’t heard you beyond the compliment regarding his craftsmanship. <”When are you giving it to her?”> You repeated, smiling encouragingly when his expression did not change. The longer he stared at you with that blank, unreadable expression, the longer you felt yourself grow uneasy. <”This is for Neytiri, right?”> 

He was the one who looked unsure now. Eyes skittishly fluttering all over your face.

You broke eye contact, turning the knife over and over between your palms. In every sense of the word, it was perfect. A much better fit than the measly weapon strapped to your chest, or your old utility knife.

<”Thank you.”> 

<“No.”> He snapped, making you jump at the sudden harsh tone. His eyes flashed, ears falling from their tall swivel. <”It is for you.”> He continued quieter, his tone losing its harsh note. 

He nodded, seeming to finally relax. <“Good. Your one is an embarrassment.”>

You huffed, leaning across to give him a playful whack to the shoulder, which had a smile breaking out on his lips and his tail thrashing again. Whatever had been brewing between you seemed to evaporate in the wave of the familiar gesture. 

As Tsu’tey reached for some food, you busied yourself with unsheathing your knife from the sheath strapped across your chest. You’d made it yourself during your early weeks spent at HomeTree from a rock you’d smashed open and a smoothed down slab of wood. It had served you well until now. Sliding the new one in in its place, you grinned at the perfect fit. 

Tsu’tey shared your smile as he nodded slowly to himself, ears pricked and his face relaxed. 

Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Mo’at picking her way back down the double helix stairs, Eytukan’s hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. The Tsahik spared him no attention, her gaze driving into your soul despite the large, open space between you. You could’ve sworn she was smirking, but you /knew/ that Mo’at did not smirk. 

>_<

The party lasted late and long into the night, so you were not overly surprised when there was hardly anyone around the following morning when you linked up. After descending the spiral staircase to the main chamber, a nervous energy fell over the few hunters who were already awake. 

There was no chatter today. The main chamber of HomeTree was eerily still.

Tsu’tey was nowhere to be found. Whilst Mo’at and Eytukan were not in the plaza as they usually were. The sudden break in routine had your hair standing on end, some deep rooted na’vi instinct warning you of an impending danger.

But you were safe. You were beneath HomeTree, far away from the Sky People and any other form of threats.

Shaking the feeling off, you decided to busy yourself. Tsu’tey couldn’t hide forever - he was clingy like that - so you just had to find something to do until he showed himself. Stepped out of the shadow of HomeTree, you made your way towards the river where the pa’li grazed. 

The atmosphere out here was not so stifling, the sunshine helping to ease the previously sombre mood. Or so you thought.

You’d barely made it onto the path that led away from HomeTree when you noticed Jake and Neytiri walking hand in hand towards the tree. You gaze narrowed, unused to seeing them so forward with their physical affections to one another. Against your will, your legs stopped walking as you observed. 

As if sensing you needed a push to slot the pieces together, the wind decided at that moment to pick up, wafting the smell of sex and togetherness straight at you. Your eyes bugged, connecting the distinct smells of Jake and Neytiri.  If you were blind, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart.

That thought throws you as an instinct that isn't your own knows what it is. The words echo in the back of your mind. Short. Simple. 

They had bonded.

>_<

Jake would have been on cloud nine if he hadn’t just witnessed the destruction of the Tree of Voices. According to Neytiri, they should be basking in the presence of one another and enjoying their newfound closeness through the bond, not internally panicking about the bulldozers which had gotten far too close for comfort.

HomeTree was eerily still as the newly mated pair rushed towards the main chamber with the intention of warning the Olo’eyktan about the approaching attack. The pair had barely gotten into the shadow of the massive tree when a fuming Y/n stormed up to him out of seemingly nowhere. He had taken one look at that expression before his stomach had dropped with fear sharper than any bulldozer.

They took one look at him, nose twitching unnaturally. Then their expression hardened, similar to those first few weeks of him being around HomeTree. 

Neytiri had also stopped walking, her expression perplexed as she watched the scientist visibly attempt to calm themselves.

“When I said don’t, it wasn’t a fucking challenge to get it on as quickly as fucking possible.” They blurted, tail thrashing. Jake very much wanted to run. He felt genuinely in danger.

When a hand caught his ear in a vice-like grip and began dragging him out of HomeTree, he briefly contemplated unlinking and begging Trudy for a rapid getaway, but decided he wanted his knife on him if anything went wrong. “That hurts!” He whined instead, confused as to why Neytiri was just laughing instead of helping him. 

They didn’t bother offering a response and instead dragged him out into the sunlight despite his best attempts at wrestling them off. His ear was on fire, eyes watering. Somehow it was worse than being at knife point. 

“What the fuck are you playing at?” They snarled, letting go of him with a shove that sent him sprawling in the dirt. Thankfully, they’d dragged him away from the main path to HomeTree and into the undergrowth to the side where there would be less witnesses. His blood chilled at the connotations of that thought. 

Y/n was still fuming, hands twitching at their sides as if to reach for a knife, but Jake mentally noted that they weren’t wearing their weapon’s belt, odd, they never took that off. “We are /visitors/.” They hissed, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. “As much as we wear the skin and decor of the clan, we do not belong here.”

They smack him upside the head again. “Exactly! You didn’t.” 

Anger flared to life in his gut. “Stop talking to me like I’m a kid.”

“Then act like a fucking adult for once in your life.” They returned sharply, giving him a harsh thump to the head as if to activate the rest of his brain cells. His expression remained pinched, defiant. Y/n returned it with such venom he almost wanted to back down. “What happens when the programme closes down Jake?” His heart plummeted as their expression morphed into something more neutral.  “What about when they rotate us home?”

He fumbled for a response. “I didn’t-.”

"And Tsu’tey-" they cut themselves off with a groan. "I know that you hated him, but stealing his intended is several steps too far Jake."

Their expression held a thousand words. “Why do you think I never took a mate after my rite?”

“I didn’t-”

"Look, I can explain." 

"It better be fucking impeccable." They threatened, “I've got eight months of training on you in this body, I can and will kick your ass.”

“What? No!"

“Then unlink so I can beat your ass.”

“Don’t make me come over there Jake. I will unlink right here.”

“I’m not doing that either.”

“Look, I get that you’re angry. This looks really bad-”

“I am beyond angry Jake. What the hell were you thinking?”

"Who?" 

"They aren't intended anymore!" Jake hurriedly, supplied. Y/n froze.

"Tsu’tey and Neytiri. They broke it off." 

Meanwhile, Y/n had frozen up. Their brows furrowed, whilst Tsu’tey watched on with an expression of pure glee. Jake wanted to smack him. 

They turned to Tsu’tey, their tone dead serious and still festering with poorly concealed rage. <"Is it true? Your engagement?"> 

To his credit, Tsu’tey did not cower, and instead responded with a simple, <"yes."> The tension bled out of the scientist, whilst Tsu'tey's grin grew, preening at the act of someone defending his honour.

Y/n back off, physically retreating a step or two. "Then I apologise, Jake."

"You don't have a very high opinion of me do you?" 

The leaves behind Y/n rustled in response to his declaration as the pair in question finally stumbled upon them. Jake sagged in relief. Neytiri was immediately at his side, checking him for injuries with swift passes of her hands over his body.

"You're unpredictable. And stupid." They responded without missing a beat. And Jake couldn't exactly fault them for that observation.

Jake was about to bite back a not so kind retort when Neytiri effortlessly hauled him back to his feet. “As touching as this is, we must speak to the Olo’eyktan. It's urgent. The Tree of Voices has been destroyed." 

“I needed to get rid of it for fear of stabbing him.”

“You were planning to stab me.”

Tsu’tey was still grinning as he handed them back their knife belt, "I found this in the bushes." 

“In my defence, I thought you were in your rebel era.”

“Shit. I forgot about that part.” Jake admitted before he could stop himself.

>_<

In the language of the na’vi, there was no word for lie. In a world like Pandora, there was no room for treachery or deceit. Only a clear line between right and wrong. 

Your heart pounded as you glanced between Jake and Neytiri, the telltale scent of sex and togetherness that suggested a completed bond making you want to gag. Warning him against mating with one of the clan members hadn’t been a fucking challenge. 

But that wasn’t the main issue. The issue was the destruction of the Tree of Voices and Jake trying to explain Quaritch’s plan. 

The clan was deadly silent as he finished his rushed explanation. The tension mounting as Neytiri stared at Jake as if she didn’t know him. 

Their earlier ease with one another had evaporated. Jake's body tensed up whilst Neytiri looked devastated.

<“What are you saying Jake? You knew this would happen?”> Neytiri asked, her hand on Jake’s shoulder, trying to get him to look at her instead of her father. Her expression was searching as she tried to understand what he was getting at. Tried to grasp the concept of him being a double agent. 

You shifted in your spot half a step behind Tsu’tey, catching Grace’s eyes across the small semi-circle. This was a delicate situation now, one Jake could throw into chaos with a few wrongly placed words.

You felt the colour bleed from your face. What the hell was he thinking?

You stepped closer, ears pricked as if that would help you understand. Tsu’tey to your left mirrored the action, somehow still between you and Jake. <“You knew?”> He accused, his face ablaze with fury. You could see his hand twitching at his side, a sure sign he was going to draw his blade.

<“Yes, but-”>  Jake replied hurriedly, sensing he was about to send the entire encounter into a tailspin.

Neytiri abruptly tore herself away from him. Your stomach dropped at the pure agony twisting her features. <“I trusted you.”> She whispered, voice shaking. Then she hardened, her posture stiffening, her expression warping into a ferocious snarl. <”I trusted you!”> 

The hunters observing the scene reached for their bows.

Thankfully, he seemed to grasp the kind of situation he was in because he visibly steadied himself before responding. His expression was open, honest. You could see the fear glistening in the depths of his eyes. Noticed the shake of his hand as he grasped his mate’s hand on his shoulder, his tone soothing as he replied. <“Look, the Sky People sent me here, to learn your ways-”> 

Mo’at made a grab at her daughter’s arm, trying to pull the woman away from Jake as if he were the threat.

Tsu’tey stepped up, face contorting into a cold snarl.

You grabbed his arm when you saw the genuine fear spreading across your friend’s face as Jake instinctively backed away, unaware of the waiting hunters at his back. <”Okay, lets all just calm down.”> You commanded, dreading the look on Grace’s face when you found her in the crowd. “Jake, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed in english.

The steady grip you had on Tsu’tey’s forearm was ripped away as the hunter turned on you. Eyes burning with enough hatred to make you want to bare your neck. You remained firm, knowing that because of association you were also an enemy in his eyes. 

“Did you know about this?” Tsu’tey demanded accusingly. His expression was not of your friend, but of the next in line to the clan, ready to defend his people at a moment’s notice. 

“What?” 

“Did you /know/?” He repeated, almost shouting as he got up in your face. You held firm, refusing to back away or back down as you sternly met his gaze. 

Shoulders back, spine straight, you snapped in fluent na’vi. <“Of course not.”> You bared your fangs, ears pinned flat against your skull. Jake shifted behind you, and you waved your hand at him. Silently ordering him not to intervene. <“I’ve spent every hour here, helping the clan. Doing my duty. The only time I return to the compound is to eat and sleep.”>

Tsu’tey maintained eye contact, chest heaving. You dared not blink. Hunter to hunter, neither of you moved. Then his body lost its tension. He found what he’d been looking for in your gaze and he backed down with a nod.

“Grace!” Neytiri yelled, straining against the harsh grip Mo’at had on her forearm. You spun in the direction she was attempting to run in to find Grace’s avatar collapsed onto the floor. A couple women rushed forward to try and bring her back, but you recognised the unnatural stillness of an uninhabited avatar.

“Shit.” Jake cursed, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“They found us.” You breathed, barely loud enough for you to hear yourself. 

“The Sky People?” Tsu’tey asked, his hand found your shoulder and gripped tightly to draw your attention back to him. Numbly, you nodded, heart pounding as your hand found his arm and held on for dear life.

Behind you, Jake was also visibly panicking. He tried to draw everyone’s attention back to him long enough to explain, but he struggled to get the words out. His na’vi was breaking up as he stuttered through a poor explanation. <”You have to leave.”> You could barely understand what he was saying before his voice cut off, body stiffening and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He went down like a rock.

Distantly, you heard Neytiri screech his name before she tore herself from Mo’at grip and ran to him. 

You were next, you realised. It was only a few steps past his link to your own. 

<“Listen. Listen to me.”> You pleaded, turning to Tsu’tey. His eyes flickered to the collapsed bodies of your colleagues before giving you his full attention, expression grim. <“The Sky People have found our compound. They’ll be coming for HomeTree next. They will show no mercy.”>

Anguished shouts erupted across the hollow chamber. You wanted to roar with them, but there was no time. 

You turned to the Olo’eyktan who had been watching the exchange wordlessly from Mo’at’s side, his expression unreadable. Tsu’tey did not tear you away as you stood before him. Nor did Mo’at order you removed. For now, for these few precious seconds, you were still one of them.

The symbolism of the bow at your back and the beaded armband encircling your bicep still held strong. You were still a hunter pleading to your leader. And for now, he would listen to you. 

 <“Olo’eyktan, you need to evacuate everyone who cannot fight.”> The People roared their disapproval, but Eytukan silenced them with a hand. He nodded once. It gave you hope. <”They need to go somewhere safe, the warriors-”>

Your body gave a lurch. Tsu’tey’s grip turned painful as your muscles locked up. Your vision blurred and your pupils lost focus. 

Mentally, you clawed at your hold over this body, fighting with all you had not to wake up as you felt strong hands pulling at your shoulders, slowing your descent. Someone was yelling your name. 

But you were leaving. Drifting away. Your consciousness slipping. 

You came up swinging on the other side. Grace was yelling from across the room as an RDA officer restrained her. Jake was out of sight, and Norm was also being held down. Your fist connected with someone’s temple as you screeched a war cry that should not have been possible with human vocal cords.

Previous chapter <-- Act 2 --> Next Chapter

[yellowkitkieran]

In My Plans (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: NSFW! Kieran tries to break things off when he gets news of his transfer, but you refuse to let him.

"I'm going to Spain."

Though you're good at hiding your emotions, the pain that flickers across your face is unmissable. It is there and gone, replaced by a bright, genuine smile by the time Kieran has blinked. 

"Baby that's great! You'll get tons of playing time, and you won't have to worry about getting called up for scotland. You'll be a shoe in! They won't be able to say no when they see you scoring more goals than any left back in the prem."

Your hands settle on Kieran's chest, though the gesture provides none of the usual comfort. His stomach has become home to a roiling ocean, complete with thunderclouds and boisterous waves. He's contemplated this all week, trying to decide the best course of action. Spain isn't just a short train ride away like Newcastle would have been. Spain requires a plane, and multiple free days for you to dedicate to visiting him. With so much on your plate already between finishing your degree and hunting for the perfect place to start your career, Kieran can't be selfish. He cannot expect you to set aside what precious little free time you have for him. He cannot, in good conscience, ask you to move with him either. So in his mind, there's only one option. 

Kieran takes your hands in his, cool against his clammy palms. Despite the lack of options, Kieran doesn't want to do this. It will hurt you both, but in the end he believes it to be the right thing to do. So he kisses each of your fingertips one by one, purposely avoiding the question he is sure to find in your eyes. But per usual, you know him too well. His silence speaks volumes, practically screaming his discomfort. You read his mind, plucking the thought from his head and giving it a life by voicing it. 

"I'm not leaving you." 

Kieran sighs, dropping his hands to rest on your waist. Even now, on the brink of losing you forever, he is powerless to keep from touching you. You are his comfort, his person, the one he wishes to be with forever. It's a shame that it has to end this way, but it's best for you in the long run. 

"A full season is a long time to ask you to wait for me-"

"I don't care," you interrupt, firm and unyielding. "You're in my plans Kieran- I know your gaffer let you down when he said that but… you know I won't. I'll follow through. I'm not gonna run away just because I can't see you every day. I love you too much for that. Do you really think I would give this up so easily? That I wouldn't fight for us?" 

The hurt carried on your words is nearly too much for him to bear. "I cannae ask you to wait here for me. I'll be in Spain, you'll be here for school… it's not fair to ask you to wait. I think it's best for us both if we don't drag this out.."

If he's being honest, Kieran has been waiting for this moment. When he's dated in the past, his partners have always left when things got hard. Distance like this isn't something many people are willing to overlook, even in the face of once-in-a-lifetime love. 

"Kieran-" 

"Look, I dinnae ken when I'll be able to come visit, and I know you won't let me fly you out every weekend-"

"Kieran."

He powers on, ignoring your chastising eyes as his hands begin to tremble. "It's too far. It's too long. We can't- I won't let this wreck you, I won't be responsible for that. Maybe if you're single when I get home, we could see about trying again but I don't expect you to be." His world is irreversibly changing and he doesn't like it. He likes the idea of causing you pain even less, though. 

"Kieran. Stop." 

Kieran's eyes are wild like that of a frightened deer. He flinches when your hands come up to his jaw, then settle on either side of his neck. Pulse frantic beneath your fingertips, Kieran searches for any reassurance in your face. He is wound tighter than a cornered lion, set to lash out at anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. 

When your lips meet Kieran's brow, he nearly sobs. "I don't want anyone else." His body shakes when your mouth slowly makes its way down the bridge of his nose, and he lets a tear fall when your kiss soothes his soul. "I want my Kieran, my bold, witty Scotsman and no one else." It's a ghost of a kiss, nothing more than a quiet promise, but it is enough. "Distance doesn't scare me, we can make it work. But losing you? That's terrifying. My worst nightmare." When your fingers thread into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, all of Kieran's fears leave with his exhale. 

"I'm staying," you murmur, holding his gaze when he finally looks up. "I can look after the house for you, sleep here a few nights a week… It'll be nice to be in a place with so many memories when I miss you." Kieran draws strength from your unwavering voice. "I'll keep things clean, make sure it's not so dusty that your allergies act up when you come home to visit." 

Kieran uses his grip on your waist to pull you into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. Your weight comforts him like it always has, the same way a weighted blanket helps some with their anxiety.  You use the pads of your thumbs to collect the moisture on his cheeks before giving him a proper kiss, one that Kieran finds the energy to return by tilting his head up to meet yours. 

"I love you." Kieran tucks his head in the crook of your neck, arms like a vice around your waist. He's afraid if he lets go, you'll realize your mistake. He is terrified that you might change your mind and walk out his front door without a second thought. He needs you, probably more than you realize. He shouldn't be so attached after only six months, but losing you would feel like playing with a missing limb. 

"And I love you Kieran, so so much. I love you so much that if I wasn't in my last semester, knee deep in my dissertation, I'd drop out and follow you to Spain."

"I wouldn't let you." Kieran shakes his head, nose rubbing your neck as he does so. The sensitivity causes you to squirm, rewarding him with a whiff of your peony and rose perfume. It's the one he picked out for you a few weeks ago, the glass bottle engraved with your name and the date of your anniversary. He loves the way it smells on you, complimenting your shampoo and creating his own personal bouquet that he'd gladly enjoy every day. 

Your voice drops to a conspirators whisper, your breath hot on his ear. "I'd quit in secret darling. You wouldn't know it until I showed up at your doorstep in Spain with everything I owned in two cases."

"Two cases? That's all you'd need?" 

"I'm a light packer." Your cheeks rests atop his head and Kieran feels the last of his fear drain from his overworked muscles. "Mostly it would be the shirts I've stolen from you and some photos in one case, and the other would be filled with books and trinkets. I don't need much to survive, aside from you."

Not for the first time, Kieran is eternally grateful for how adept you are at switching off his brain. When he finds himself on a proverbial ledge, you're the one he wants to have to talk him down. When he feels the weight in his boots, you're the one that reminds him to take them off and shake them out. Your voice is the only one that can quiet the 'what ifs' in his head, leaving behind a garden of promises to be redeemed in the future. 

It might be a purr that Kieran lets out when you card your fingers in his hair again. Whatever it is, it's something born of unfiltered gratitude. Never has he loved someone as hard as he's loved you. He didn't dare dream that someone could love him with the same intensity, let alone someone as perfect for him as you. Kieran could conquer the world with you at his side, his rightful queen who cradles his heart in her hands. 

Kieran feels your cheek lift with a smile when his lips trail over your shoulder, left exposed by the well-worn neck of the shirt you stole from him. He rests his forehead on your damp skin, wanting nothing more than to melt into you until he becomes nothing more than a part of you. 

"I love you." Though he's muttered the words a dozen times in the last hour alone, it still doesn't feel like nearly enough. He wants the seriousness of his love to strike you like cupid's arrow, the heart shaped scar forever serving as a reminder of the man who will one day make you his wife. 

"You keep saying that…" your arm encircles his head, keeping his mouth on your skin. "Why don't you take me up to bed and show me how much you love me, Key?"

Kieran doesn't need to be told twice. Strong fingers dig into your thighs as he lifts you up, reaching the stairs in three long strides. He takes them two at a time, not eager to find his own pleasure but eager to help you find yours. Tonight will be about you and only you, and proving himself worthy of your unwavering love. It won't hurt to give you something to think about while he's gone, either. 

Flicking the lights off as he enters, Kieran sets you in the center of his bed with a tenderness you've come to love. With previous lovers you found yourself craving things hard and fast, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. But with Kieran? You'd beg for hours with him, each artfully placed kiss or drag of his fingers against your skin leaving you with an insatiable craving for more. 

Your head tips back when Kieran lowers his mouth to your throat, his downy lips leaving shining kisses on your heated skin. You're already desperate for him, desperate to touch and be touched by this god of a man. You know he'll be especially soft tonight after his earlier vulnerability, and somehow that only turns you on more. 

"I love you," he murmurs, accent impossibly thicker than the last time he said it. His brown doe eyes see straight through you, penetrating right to your soul. Something tugs in your chest, heightening your desire and stoking the fire in your gut.  

Sliding your fingers in Kieran's hair, you tug hard until he gets the idea and kisses you properly. It starts soft, nothing more than a peck, but the second his tongue darts over your lips you open for him, wanting him to explore your mouth until he's mapped every bare inch of you. His tongue doesn't fight yours but moves in tandem, complimenting you in the most basic and intimate way possible.

Your leg develops a mind of its own, hitching over Kieran's hip to beg him to come closer. He relents, allowing his hips to press against yours while you helplessly squirm under him. You need something, anything, to ease the ache that has already started in your core. 

Kieran correctly interprets the way you claw at his shirt to mean you want it off. You're left slack jawed when he throws the fabric aside, his bare chest on full display for you. Soft, teasing touches are your weapon of choice as you trace each dip and curve of muscle that makes up Kieran- your Kieran. The only man you ever wish to see this way. 

When your hand reaches the button of his jeans, Kieran's hand circles your wrist to stop you. "Not me- just you." 

Oh, you're in for a long night.

Liquid fire melts you from the inside out when Kieran eases you out of your bottoms and kisses his way down your abdomen. His hot breath ghosts over your folds, already slick with your arousal. 

"I love you so-" Kieran flicks his tongue over your bud, eliciting a moan from deep in your chest, "fucking-" another, harder this time, "much." When Kieran sucks lightly on your clit, your vision explodes with black dots. He's barely done anything at all and you're already whining, his name dropping from your lips like dew as he spreads your juices with his tongue. 

Kieran's chin shines nearly as much as his glazed eyes when he pulls away for air. "Taste so fucking sweet baby- I'll never get sick of it."

"Probably taste even better mixed with your cu-" You gasp when Kieran surprises you by plunging two fingers into you. He pumps them in the perfect rhythm, attuned to your body and what you enjoy. You watch, eyelids heavy, as Kieran sucks on his tongue, then opens his mouth and lets his spit spread over your cunt. 

Your incoherent moans take the shape of his name. 'Kieran' is the only thing you manage to babble out as he fucks you with his fingers, curling them to drag across your gspot with each pass. 

As the seconds tick by, your spine begins to arch. When Kieran adds a third finger you nearly explode- perfectly stretched and wonderfully fitted with just the slightest bite of pain from the fullness. Kieran moans against you himself when you sink your nails into his shoulders, begging for him to be impossibly closer. Muscle ripples under your fingers as he works his own in and out of you, searching for the release he knows you're teetering on. 

You're right there, right-

Kieran's free hand snakes up your stomach to toy with your breast, pinching and squeezing your nipple. That last push of pleasure is all you need to ascend. Mouth open in a silent scream, you unravel around Kieran, his fingers continuing to fuck you through your high as you struggle to breathe. They go still when you suck in air, filling your lungs with sweet, salty scented oxygen as you start to come down. 

Kieran leaves his fingers where they are, kissing the insides of your thighs while you come to. Your heart races for a fair few minutes, though eventually you find enough of your wits to smile at what just went on.

"I that think-" You shake your head, words jumbling in the aftermath of your release. "I think that proves how much you love me. God, Kieran- you're perfect."

You whine when Kieran withdraws his fingers. That whine quickly turns into a moan when he licks them clean, cheeks hollowed to lap up every last bit of you that remains. "I don't think it does… we're gonna need three more rounds at least before I believe it."

And really, who are you to deny him?

"Better get to work then Tierney," you grin, settling back on the pillows and spreading your legs further, "Because the sun is setting. Tick tock."

[2dboisloyal-devotee]

Might I request platonic yandere Garry (ib) with a g/n reader? Maybe reader fills a similar role as Ib, possibly Garry's snapping point is after the doll room? ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Sure, anon, hope you enjoy!

Thorns in The Flesh

>)~ Headcanons/imagines

TW: yandere, obsessive and overprotective behaviors, paranoia bordering delusional, guilt trip, yadda yadda the usual

Proceed with caution, I don't take responsibility for any younger ages reading.

Where to begin with this guy... there's nothing wrong with him, he's barely slipping by though I feel, it won't take much for him to just snap even before the doll room scene. It would just take a turn for the worse from already bad situation if you're his friend who accompany him to the art gallery.

How you act towards him will have a big influence for sure, but you still could able to stop him do some things (like kicking the mannequin head if you manage to convince him that it might get him cursed and it's unwise to harm the art gallery's alive properties. From there, he'll have the conscience to not kick the blue doll later on.)

For him to be more overprotective, you might have to be clumsy/get hurt too much even if you're by his side. Do you think he could just stand back and let you get hurt again while in his watch?

He can get really annoyingly fussy over your being and justifying what you deem as too much is only for your own good. The art gallery isn't just the one making him crazy, it is just really that crazy.

“I'm sorry, but if it were safe from the beginning, I wouldn't have to do this...”

The art gallery may notice this and is going to have a field day from this, being more aggressive in their games.

Cue making him look like a maniac from how much he has to be by your side whenever and whereever, it's suffocating on how he always have a hand to get hold of you whether it be on your should or holding tightly your hand that you can feel his palm is cold or sweating most of the time.

If there comes a time to do a puzzle which only requires one person, he will only waste time by just fretting over the ways he could do it together and make it possible with his efforts no matter how (maybe you could make him stop...)

When you decide to discuss about it as gentle as you could to him in the safe room, you can only hope to make him less worried (can you?)

You're currently sitting while leaning on the side of a book shelf, his coat draping over your back before you decide to speak up.

“Hey, Gary... Aren't you tired? ...you should rest for a moment and save your energy.” You frown, brows creasing with worry.

In the middle of his pacing back and forth, he stops suddenly, kneeling to see you at your eye level and holding your shoulder. “Listen, (name). Please hear me closely, do you know why we're here only to suffer at these things' mercy? We're here as the victims, and don't get me wrong, while this room looks safe... I don't trust it a bit.”

“But, Gary, we're two people. I'm not going to just let you do all—everything you know? In turn, I could keep watch while you re—”

Gary stares with widening eyes like he just heard you said the worst offense ever in the whole world, he shakes his head slowly despite words streaming out his mouth. “Nonononono you-don't-know-how-things-could-get-bad-here-anytime! I wouldn't be able to rest knowing you might possibly be in danger even in this room I wouldn't be able to live with myself what if you get injured or worse ... ”

Things will be awkward between the two of you and while he may get more quiet and cold the more time passes, you can't miss his still-overbearing acts like a watchful guard dog. He wants you to only listen to him as he's the only one who knows the best for you. The solace to be away from him is beginning to sound tempting even in this place...

Especially after someone's arrival who just run into you, he's... not so subtly emanating a thick yet sharp silent hostility.

The yellow haired girl looks stunned for a moment to find another another person despite how she just get knocked over herself.

“Are—are you okay, (name)??” There he starts again... Gary checks you everywhere he thinks you could get injured or something worrying.

“I'm fine, Gary... More importantly—” You're about to glance at the girl when Gary stands in front of you, looking at her as if she's the villain that she starts to get scared of him and backs off with the intent to run away but you soon call out to her.

“I'm sorry, are you okay? You must be another visitor like us, we were also looking for a way to get out.” You smile as if trying to reassure her and slowly approach her, avoiding how Gary tries to stop you in place. “You can call me (Name) and... This person beside me is Gary, what about you?”

“(Name)...” The girl gapes with awe at you as if you're the knight in shining armor and she quickly speak up in a giddy voice while offering her hand which you accept. “My name is Mary! It's so nice to meet you...! I, I was really scared... and alone... I was looking to see if there was anyone else too...”

“Don't worry, now that there's more people, we can work together and find the way out! Isn't that relieving to hear, Gary?” You muster up a smile, trying to ease the tense atmosphere between the two of them.

He has no time to care about some random suspicious passerby, be it a kid or old people—he has to restrain himself not ripping her hand off you right then and there when you return her handshake.

While he stands between you and her whose talkativeness only applies to you as you reply her with equal excitement (+ relief to have someone else beside him), his thoughts are wrecking havoc; what if she's working together with the people behind all of this? She may seem innocent but that could be a trick to lure you. She might wait for the perfect moment to strike. Don't trust her, donttrustheedonttrustherdont—

Every what ifs are passing through his mind and he's all the more deluded to believe she's out to harm you once you got separated from him by the thick vines coming out of a painting in the middle of hallway.

“(Name)! Are you okay!?” At this rate he sounds almost like hypervilanting, all the three of you are terrified for different yet similar reasons.

“I'm fine, Gary... Ho..how about you?” you ask.

“...I'm okay, everything will be alright, everything will be alright ... ” he keeps muttering as if possessed rather than saying it to soothe you.

Mary clutch your hand, whispering to you with trembling voice. “..I'm scared of him, (Name)... Can we just leave him? Maybe he needs to be left alone for a bit to calm down...”

You nod stiffly before telling Gary to not worry about you, since you won't be alone and have Mary.

An eerie silence falls down, then Mary decides to pull you, asking to go with her and trust him. Finally, you two leave him, who is now all alone.

He may be scared of being alone, but the fear he has over your safety is indescribable, he goes in the room on his left side hastily, searching for clues while at times staring the dolls that sit around the room with loathe before he finally exit through a hole behind the bookshelf.

On to the way to the doll room, we may see him succeed getting out from there and continuing the explore with Ib after the truth about Mary. He's right for once again, even scolding you a bit when you got too friendly with her.

Because Mary is mostly out of the picture now, Gary has calmed down quite a bit, realizing he may actually be too much after all and apologizing.

If we put the best end; Promise of Reunion, here after you escape with him from the fake art gallery out into the real one together and manage to restore the memories, everything should end there at a satisfying yet hopeful note.

It should have. So why is there a feeling of lingering dread and being watched again even now when you're alone after departing from Gary?

“I'm sorry...”

[kendrixtermina]

I've been thinking about it time & again, turning & turning it around in my head - like, even going back to some thoughts I'd had before this particular case, to make sure I'm not bending my morals here & being the worst kind of asshole. It's actually been nagging at the back of my mind since these ideas first became mainstream in the early 2010s.

But I just can't square it with my conscience to treat a miscommunication the same as, like... I've read many stories with with violence, threats or coersion.

Or even emotional manipulation, entitlement or pushyness.

I was thinking about this with the Melanie Martinez case, and that one's worse cause she was pushy & other people who consensually slept with her confirm that she could be pushy & insistent. But that's also a situation where she walked away with the belief that the other girl was simply convinced & agreed.

And in the story with Flake there wasn't even convincing.

It's so easy to say "if you really cared you'd notice". Lots of people are just really passive in bed. Some men hate it, some ask you to lie still - people might misread signs while drunk & that's why you (as in, the initiator, not the girl) should be careful with how much you drink.

But it just isn't the same. I can't call it the same word.

Threats, violence or even entitled demanding require a huge level of disregard of another person's autonomy & personhood.

A misunderstanding like this, however, or the person having conflicting feelings... It seems like it could just happen to anyone!

Could it happen to me? I hope not, of course. I do all the stuff you're supposed to to avoid it. But I'm not perfect. Hetero women may think they'd never be the one misreading stuff unless they actually mean to assault someone since in present society men usually do the initiating, but as one of those pesky bisexuals, and just someone who believes the best way to avoid becoming blinded, sanctimonious or entitles is to be aware of your own capacity for mistake or evil, I don't want to assume that I'd always get everything right because "im one of the good ones".

No one wants anyone to have an experience like this girl did, or at least i dont, & stuff like education on communication & consent & when-in-doubt-check-in-and-err-on-the-sage-side and centering mutual pleasure instead of the lock/key bullshit is so important. I'm FOR that. I WANT that. I don't consider this okay, or no big deal, or made up. I want a world where that doesn't happen insofar as the imperfect instrument that is human judgement can prevent it.

But how do we make it the standards, how do we promote it? I don't think declaring it rape, thereby putting it on the same level as Cosby, Weinstein or Trump stuff is the way.

I have never believed in "deterrent by harsh punishment to protect people" or "if you don't wanna be punished just don't misbehave" to dismiss fears of unjust or capricious punishment in any other context. I don't believe it when it comes to government spying. I don't believe it when it comes to death penalty. It's authoritarian. Not everyone who professes to be scared of false punishment or how anyone could just make up whatever about what their inner feelings were is just looking to excuse rape; there's insecure young men who are just afraid of messing up. (or heck, queer people, with how their attraction is often portrayed as predatory)

I 100% agree with the goal of minimizing "i felt I had to go along"/"just let it happen" type experiences as much as possible, but the question is how?

like crimes don't exist objectively; they are defined by people with the goal of creating good social incentives. We define and re-define crimes through history, and I'm no longer sure these recent pushs for redefinition have been a constructve ones.

With someone who would deliberately disregard the will of others, that's someone who probably won't engage in good faith & rarely changes their way; In that case, ostracism hammer is merited - they can't be convinced so they must be cut off from victims.

But communication fail isn't like that; those may be people who generally care & are willing to adjust behavior and the threat of the full punishment/ostracism hammer at the slightest misjudgement is more likely to drive them into the arms of extremists or grow resentful & isn't conducive to a working society.

You can't have safety guidelines too clunky to actually use or they will get ignored. It's like abstinence education or red tape. Drunk fucking (not unconscious but responsive/awake) will always happen; nonverbal initiation of sex will always happen. Most times all participants are happywith it.  And we saw in some of the Till stories that even a consistent habit of always asking "should we do this, should we stop, are you sure etc" all the stuff you're rightfully supposed to do to make the chance of it as low as possible, doesn't prevent some people having conflicted feelings or "going along".

I mean, I'm not doubting the girl's experience at all or dismissing the reality of her pain. but it's possible to feel shitty about an experience or find it traumatic without anyone having done a crime to you. What ppl find traumatic can be so subjective, and being dissappointed in how you reacted doesn't mean the other person automatically gets all the blame cause they cant read your mind. They did not "make you" be silent or give indication that they wouldn't listen, so how are they completely to blame?!

Like I realize this cannot be up to the perps, lots of indisputable rapists will say shit like how she "secretly wanted it". - if a girl says she said no, I believe her unless there is a track record of her making random shit up in the past. But if she explicitly says that she didn't say no or give any sign of distress, I see no reason to doubt that either & assume that her inner state "must" have been obvious.

The girl can't help having flawed messy human reactions either but like, will burning some guy on a stake make the trauma go away?

I just - I don't believe in fair world hypothesis and "if you do everything right no one ever feels hurt". I don't believe that doing your best will just automatically be good enough.

To be 100% clear: I don't blame the girl for feeling overwhelmed, but I also can't bring myself to blame the guy for misreading communication if she gives no indication of disliking what's happening. Or, like, both have nonzero responsibility (he should have verbally checked in and neither should have drank so much booze, for starters. ) but neither has full control of all the factors or can be exempted from human fallibility. Sometimes ppl mess up and it can't be 100% avoided & no one is the villain. People can only be judged based on the information they have, they can't be made 100% responsible for the inner state of others that they can't access if those others don't give indications of it. From today's perspective I can say he should have checked in verbally but I could not say that if I had not read about/been educated about why that can be so important/ how its common for ppl to not say anything etc. I might as well say "use a smartphone" to a person from the 90s.

I just can't bring myself to think that for this moment of misjudging her reaction, he's now the same as someone who would threaten another with a knife to get his way - it just seems too cruel to me.

It's unfair that she had a shitty experience, too. But I don't think shitty experiences could be 100% prevented even if no one on earth ever took the slightest lick of risk ever again, that's just outcome bias/ just world fallacy.

[advancement-made]

i m he dmeoen tht coeme swnehen ppl cal its naem or seoemtihgn i doent knwow haow the fuckiggn qoeuet goeas leaeve me aleoen aened taek thease woerd as shostaeg thsis wotek 30 MINTUETS THSIS TIEM

On the one day Unskilled chose to be completely and legitimately certain that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen, something out of the ordinary happened. Which was a pretty sad statement about their life.

The screams of acid melting bones were dull with the earplugs in. Extermination day was just the same few actions on repeat. Walk. Shoot and/or stab. Wait for demons (or demon, but generally speaking it was plural.) to die. Repeat.

Occasionally, after creating corpse after corpse, Unskilled felt a pang of jealousy run through them. Lucky fuckers. What they wouldn't give to die. Yet another sad statement about their life.

Clearing out kills number 873,673 through 873,789 they turned to leave, before hearing a rustling behind the counter. Unskilled sighed inwardly, reloading their gun and walking to the sound's source.

Taking aim, as if on autopilot, (which is probably because they were on autopilot) they were about to pull the trigger for kill number 873,790 before they hesitated. Broken wings. A fallen angel. Vance. Emotions, memories, et cetera. Nothing they haven't refused to acknowledge before.

Still, this was different. Unskilled and Vance were friends, or as close to friends as they would let him get. They couldn't treat him like kill 873,790, as just another demon. Unskilled's rapidly vanishing conscience could only offer so much leeway.

As they calculated their moral standing if they pulled the trigger, the silence drew on, for seconds, minutes, potentially hours, before Unskilled coughed. "So," they began. "Hiding behind cabinets now, I see." There was no malice in their voice. Just a plain statement.

Noncommittal shrug of reply. "Extermination day." Vance said. "You know how it is."

Unskilled almost felt offended at that. Almost. But maybe, just for the sake of novelty for today and nostalgia for years prior, they would stick around. Conversate.

"Yes, we're basically the same. You hide behind counters and I hide with earplugs."

"And with a gun pointed at the other person's face," he not-so-subtly remarked.

They huffed, and lowered the gun. An eyebrow raise from Vance made Unskilled drop it, and a side eye from him made them kick it about 10 feet away.

"Is this good."

"Perfectly fine. Now we can talk with me worrying about you stabbing me with one of the swords you're legally required to carry instead." Despite the biting words, Vance didn't seem angry, so Unskilled sat down cross legged.

"I'm not getting rid of those."

"Yeah, I know."

The silence drew on once again, until one of them spoke once more.

Vance fidgeted with his clothes, trying fruitlessly to seem like he was okay. Quite frankly, he wished Unskilled would just stab him and get it over with. But that would just be too easy, wouldn't it?

"So. We meet again, huh. Feels..."

He trailed off. He wasn't sure how it felt. He also wasn't sure how to have a conversation under these circumstances, but he saw no option but to try.

"I... was actually just contemplating going out there to get myself killed..."

Why did he say that? That's not the kind of thing he would've ever admitted to someone else. But somehow, he thought, this case was different than any other.

[gareleia]

Had Worse

Chapter: 3/6

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Word count: 5299

Relationships: Edward Elric & Heymans Breda & Alphonse Elric

Tags: 5+1 Things, Pre-Canon, Mild Angst, Edward Elric Is A Little Shit, Alphonse Elric Is A Little Shit, Heymans Breda Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Language

Summary: Where the fuck did the Colonel find this kid?

OR

5 times Edward said 'I've had worse' and traumatized his poor innocent coworkers with his Tragic Backstory, and 1 time he wasn't able to (to everyone's relief)

Read on AO3

Breda was, by his own admission, the reasonable member of the team. Not to be confused with The Sane One, because somehow between Mustang and Hawkeye's PTSD, Fuery's obsessive tendencies, Heymans's own issues and Falman's, well, everything, that specific title somehow went to Jean of all people. And one knew their team was in deep shit when its one prized (mostly) mentally healthy individual was the chainsmoker.

But alas. Who was Heymans to throw stones at his coworkers for their character defects when he himself lived in a glass house? Right, the reasonable one. As in so much that anything he did or said had been a calculated move made for a reason.

Sometimes that reason was plain, simple and obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain. Other times he had to forcibly remind himself to dumb down explain the thought process behind a decision before following through with it, so as to not set in motion the wrong chain of events due to his misinformed allies' misguided interference.

Ah, the dreaded human error. The one factor no one could ever fully predict, the bane of all strategists. Which was why Breda strongly preferred the structure and predictability of chess games to diversity of human behavioral patterns. A set, if very large, number of possibilities, specific moves assigned to specific pieces and as much time to think as one would ever need (at least, if their opponent was serious).

He'd never had a chess piece set the board on fire and grin at him cheekily as if he didn't just put months of careful planning in jeopardy and gave Heymans copious amounts of overtime for a goddamn bagel of all things-

Never let it be said that bagels weren't a very important part of being alive. Just that prioritizing an immediate easy-to-ignore physical need over the bigger, much more pressing issue that required attention and time to resolve was unwise. Impractical and subjective in a way that he couldn't in good conscience declare stupid, because it was just plain human nature at work.

Again, Breda had only ever claimed to be reasonable. Not nice or sweet or delightful to work with. He did put in the effort to get along with his colleagues, obviously, if not because he genuinely like (most) of them, then to prevent workplace drama from disturbing the status quo. He had to have some degree of understanding of human psychology and interpersonal relationships to efficiently factor them into his plans, and at the very least he could always put on a smile and let people think what they wanted about him.

That was exactly how his greatest defense worked. In his experience humans always assumed things about each other without proper evidence; always looked for faults and defects in everyone they met, either to reassure themselves of their superiority or to assess if the other person was a threat. And it was much easier to put up with people when they thought they had the upper hand.

It was easy to expand on, to work with; a neat little trick he had perfected over the years, letting his opponents think they knew his weakness. A blind spot so obvious their lazy minds would take the easy way out, wouldn't ever dig deeper. Heymans had spent years perfecting his brainless meathead act until that was all everyone would see unless they were specifically warned about him.

(Besides, that little momement of realization when it finally dawned on them how severely they had miscalculated was always amusing as hell. And Breda never once said he was above normal human pettiness. A little schadenfreude wouldn't hurt them any more than his successful operation already had, after all.)

If it hadn't been playing right into his hands Heymans would've started to get offended a long time ago. Necessity of the disguise didn't make it any less unpleasant to hear others refer to him as 'the fatty' or 'the big, dumb hunk'. His ego could take it though. He had thick skin.

(Alright, he should stop talking to Jean for a month or two, just in case his atrocious sense of humor is contagious.)

And it wasn't like he was actually overweight anyway. It wasn't exactly Heymans' fault he inherited his father's large bone structure. And he had a perfect amount of body fat even if he did narrowly fit into the higher part of the healthy range. In his youth he had spent some time thoroughly researching the medically recommended fat to muscle tissue ratio, diets and workout regimens to find a way to keep his body in as close to ideal physical condition as possible. He could bench press Fuery, for god's sake! He had nothing to be ashamed of!

Alright, so maybe he had his insecurities. Human brain was tricky like that, irrationality couldn't be completely avoided no matter how hard one tried. Breda could admit to himself that he was unhappy as long as he understood that the distress had no basis in reality and wasn't in any way logical. Therefore, there was no reason to examine it closely or pay it any mind. It was going to pass soon and without consequence.

(And yes, he knew what rationalization was. He knew what he was doing. He was fine.)

Knowing that intellectually, however, did nothing to revive his appetite. And after he had spent a whole hour in the morning preparing a healthy, delicious homemade lunch! What was the point of getting up early if he didn't even get to enjoy the results?

Maybe he could still-

Breda felt a tickle of nausea at the thought, the tell-tale sign that his body wasn't going to cooperate at the moment. There wasn't any use in forcing the food down his throat if it was just going to come right back up.

Well, he looked down at the box with contempt, I'll just have to eat more at dinner.

And what was one skipped meal against years upon years of healthy habits? Sure, he had problems sometimes, but Heymans knew his body and knew himself, had been checking obsessively the latest medical publications for new dietary tips, had exemplary health as per the last three annual exams, he was fine. He could do it.

Everyone had bad days. He wasn't slipping, it was just one lousy meal. He wasn't a stupid teenager anymore. He knew what he was doing, he wouldn't compromise efficiency-

(It started with a rebellion, purely out of spite. A fuck you to his father, a raging bull of a man in physique and personality.

It started with an "I'll never be like you! I'd rather starve to death!".

It started with a feeling of control and empowerment.

It didn't end there.)

-He was fine.

"You guys just go on without me." Breda smiled and he didn't miss the way the Colonel's eyes narrowed for a second. "I'll have my lunch here in the office. I brought food from home."

"You can still eat it in the cafeteria." Mustang pointed out unhelpfully. "Don't you want to spend some time with your friends? Catch up on the gossip without Lieutenant Hawkeye's gun on you?"

"You know me, Colonel, I'm not big on gossip. I'll just enjoy some peace and quiet while you're gone."

"Yeah, Bastard," came from the desk in the corner and it took everything Heymans had in him not to cringe. "Not everyone here is addicted to the sound of their own voice!"

And when Edward Elric was making trouble, Alphonse, ever the peacekeeper, was never far behind.

"Brother, that was uncalled for! He wasn't being mean to you this time! He wasn't even talking to you!"

"Well, he's been a dick to me all day! Putting me on desk duty, making me redo those stupid papers I had already turned in! He deserves a good punch in his dumb face, and I'm not even wrong! He never shuts up!"

Perhaps tellingly, nobody disagreed.

"That's still mean, Ed! And you wouldn't have had to rewrite your reports if they were legible in the first place! And turned in on time! And written on-"

"Shut up, Al, can't you see I'm working?!"

The Flame Alchemist flinched and looked around in obvious confusion and then widened his eyes, as if realizing something. Finally, his hand went up, fingers in perfect position for a snap. Everyone sat straighter, suddenly paying much closer attention to their surroundings and the suspiciously tense officer.

"Bad news, everyone." the Colonel said gravely, eyes searching for something on the floor. "We have a rodent in the office. I just heard a little mouse squeak."

And so they dissolved into another petty argument, and Breda had to wonder, not for the first time, how many children were actually present. Fuery and Falman visibly sagged in relief, having been understandably alarmed by their boss' dramatic shift in behavior and not yet fluent enough in Mustang-speak to recognize when he was pulling their legs.

(Well, technically, he'd been mostly pulling Fullmetal's leg - fuck, the automail - too much time with Jean!)

One deceptively quiet click of the gun was all it took to shut down the commotion, including the raging alchemist; the snickering Colonel; Alphonse, who had been trying to reign them in since day one; and Jean, who had recently taken to egging them on for his own amusement, switching sides until they finally decided to gang up on him.

"Sir." Hawkeye had this incredible ability to deliver an entire monologue, reprimands, warnings and death threats included, all without saying more than one word or changing her facial expression.

"Ahem, right." Mustang coughed and was out of the door in less than a second. "Have fun here, Breda. Don't forget to eat."

Heymans recognized the warning for what it was.

"I will, Chief." His smile was a bit more genuine this time. I'll be fine.

"Actually," Fullmetal scowled. "I'm staying behind too. The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can go do something actually useful, like looking for a Philosopher's stone."

"But Brother!" Alphonse protested, echoing Heymans' thoughts. "You need to eat! It's not healthy to skip meals!"

"I'm not skipping lunch, Al. I'm just putting it off for a couple of hours. I've only got four of these suckers left and afterwards we'll go and grab something, okay?"

Great. That was just... great. Breda was left alone with two whole kids and no one to turn to if something went wrong. And something already had gone terribly wrong if they were there in the first place. Children in the military, who had thought this was a good idea? And why the fuck was Heymans stuck with them now? He should've just went to the cafeteria, pushed himself to swallow a few bites and then thrown it up later. Problem bloody solved.

Since the Elric brothers joined the team four months ago, Breda had been... uncomfortable. He tried hard to push through and not let it show, to be as patient and friendly as he could, but there was just no denying the truth. He didn't like kids in general and he definitely didn't like the Elrics.

Edward was a loud, demanding selfish brat with no regard to any rules but the ones he felt benefited him. He was irresponsible, disruptive, incapable of staying still unless literally forced to, impulsive, disrespectful-

Well, sue him. Breda had a lot of pent up anger, but he wasn't going to take it out on the source, so it wasn't anyone's business. He'd usually channel it into a workout or some very aggressive vegetable cutting.

And the younger kid wasn't much better. He wasn't loud, but he was unnerving. Too still, too impossibly strong for an eleven year old. He was just plain creepy and had an irritating habit of guilt tripping adults around him, or acting all 'cute' when he obviously wasn't.

And the only somewhat logical reason for wearing that armor was to protect the boy, which brought out an interesting question: why the hell was the kid even there?! His older brother had enlisted, sure, but Alphonse was a civilian and had no business being on military property or having access to classified documents! By law he should've been escorted out and put into school and Edward should've been reprimanded both as his legal guardian and as a soldier sneaking a child on the base! And for worst case scenario, couldn't he afford a bloody babysitter?!

"Lieutenant Breda?" Came hesitantly from behind him.

"What?!" Heymans snapped, half startled and half enraged and much louder than he expected, accidentally tearing up the document he hasn't been reading for the past ten minutes.

The armor boy flinched and squealed out an apology, while his brother leaped out of his seat, also startled but already halfway into the fight mode.

"Got a fucking problem with my brother?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant!" And there he was again with the cutesy act and guilt tripping. Brenda wasn't buying it. He wasn't. "I just...! I'm sorry, you looked tense, I wanted to ask if you're okay!"

Fullmetal was watching with not-quite-murder in his eyes and Heymans didn't need to be a mind reader to know what was being silently telegraphed to him. Don't be a dick to my brother, or else.

"Well that's... nice of you, Alphonse." Breda said amicably. "I'm sorry too. I'm having a bad day and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I apologize."

(It wasn't him. He wasn't like his father. He didn't look like that man, didn't act like him-

Except every time he looked closely into the mirror, it wasn't himself Heymans saw, and that made his stomach turn. He wasn't any better and he should've starved on the streets.

This was why he didn't want children. Their cursed line was going to end with him and he wasn't going to let another child suffer like that. Not because of him.)

"Damn right you shouldn't have." Elric senior sneered  and came up to Heymans' desk, crossing his arms. "What got your panties in a twist anyway?"

"It's nothing." Breda swallowed the rising bile and started massaging his temples. "At least, nothing you could help me with."

Who was he kidding, he wasn't going to have dinner. He didn't deserve food, not after this.

"Why aren't you at lunch break?" Edward continued his interrogation. "Is there, like, a rule that one of you have to stay in the office and it's your turn?"

"Of 'us'." Heymans corrected, not quite believing the words himself, but still feeling the inexplicable urge to say them. "You're one of us now, so you'd technically count if that was the case. But no. I just wasn't hungry."

Which was a problem far more complex than a child could understand, but he wasn't about to pour his heart out to anyone regardless. Even the Colonel only knew the basics.

"So what? You're really gonna miss out on food like that? Is that a city boy thing, or...?"

"Brother, it's none of our business!"

"I grew up mostly in the country, actually, thank you very much." He bristled, feeling a little insulted.

"The fuck does 'mostly' mean? Where are you from?"

"Ed, Lieutenant doesn't owe us his life story!"

He didn't. He found himself speaking anyway.

"My parents were a part of a circus troupe. A tightrope walker and a strongman. We traveled a lot, performing in different cities, but stayed mostly out in the country, at least in the summer."

Fullmetal still looked angry, but Breda could see it in his eyes, the ever-present childish wonder. One of the few good memories he had about that circus was people of all ages coming together with the same look of amazement on their faces. That cheerful, carefree expression that made even elderly folks appear young and full of life.

"Wow, really?!" The metal brother sounded excited too, and although it was impossible to see through that armor Heymans could clearly picture the boy shifting in glee. "That sounds awesome! Did you get to pet lions?"

"The lions smell." He made a face at the memory. "All the animals smell. And they're predators, no one ever let me near them, not that I wanted to. They're basically just bigger, meaner cats. With claws."

At the mention of cats he had the dubious pleasure of watching the armor almost literally melt as the kid inside started rambling about the wonders of having kittens.

"Must've met a lot of cool people too, huh?" Edward asked, not bothering to pay attention to the rant he'd probably heard a thousand times over. Heymans could sympathize.

"Yeah. You wouldn't believe it, but that's actually how I met Jean."

"Havoc? Seriously?"

"Yeah. His family let our troupe stay at their farm in Renberg when I was nine. Spent a couple of weeks there before moving on to the south. Haven't seen each other again until we became classmates in the Academy, and he decided that it was fate and we were destined to become best friends."

"That's bullshit." Fullmetal scoffed with surprising conviction. "I don't believe in destiny."

Neither did Heymans. Because if he did, he would have stayed in that goddamn circus and followed his father's footsteps into the thankless job and eventual long, miserable life of heartbreak and alcoholism.

(Ain't no God that'll look after you, boy, his Pops told him after picking up a half-starved street rat and turning it into a man. You've got to grit your teeth and do the job yourself.)

"Erm, Lieutenant?" Alphonse perked up. "Since you traveled, you must've tried a lot of different foods too?"

His insides tingled uncomfortably. Could they be done with this conversation? He didn't want to talk about eating.

"Well, yes."

"What was the best dish you ever tried? We're, um, making a list for the future, so I wondered..."

Edward looked pained for some reason.

"My grandfather's jambalaya, that's for sure." Not even a question. "He has a little place in Fotset, if you ever go that way. It's made with rice and a bunch of other stuff, like meat and vegetables, it's to die for. He taught me to cook, but I could never get it right. I swear I follow the recipe to the letter, but it doesn't come out half as good. Pops says mine 'doesn't have the soul', whatever that's supposed to mean. I guess I should try selling my own soul, see if that works."

That got him a laugh, which was better than screaming. Fuck, Breda couldn't deal with screaming children. Especially not when he was so close to vomiting.

"...And the worst thing?" The brat snickered.

That also wasn't a hard question.

"That would be a tie between schwarzsauer and dandelions."

"Schwhat now?"

"Schwarzsauer." Oh fuck, just the memory of that thing was vile. "Fort Briggs' signature dish, tried it once in North City. I'm not picky, but I couldn't even finish one bowl of the stuff. It's a blood soup."

"A blood soup?!"

Heymans grinned at the twin exclamations of horror.

"Yup. Word is, the Briggs soldiers each have to defeat a bear with their bare hands as a right of passage, and then drink it's blood. North City capitalized on the rumors and made a tourist attraction out of it. Though, they tend to use pig blood, I think."

"What kind of person would want to eat a fucking blood soup?!"

"What kind of person would go up to North City as a tourist?" Countered Breda.

"Our Teacher would. She said she went up to Fort Briggs when she was young and lived in the woods for a month. In winter." He called bullshit. "Brother, do you think Teacher would try the blood soup?"

"Oh, I think Teacher would make it, Al. With a bear, like the Briggs' guys. And she'd like it."

"...Yeah... She would..."

Both boys shivered, which looked weird on Edward, who so far had been pretending he wasn't afraid of anything, and doubly so on Alphonse, whose armor should've been incapable of such things.

"Also," Fullmetal remembered something. "Dandelions aren't bad in a salad, if you're hungry enough. Should've boiled them if you couldn't handle the bitterness."

"When did you eat dandelions?"

"We ate a whole lot of weird shit, man. Dandelions are tame. You ever tried eating a belt? People say leather is edible, but no one mentions how it's not fucking worth it. Unless you're desperate."

"Which we were." The younger boy reminded. "And it wasn't that bad, brother."

"Yeah. We had worse."

What the hell could be worse than eating a leather belt, Breda pondered silently. Why would these kids be so desperate they tried eating dandelions and clothing?

"Remember when Teacher started training us? I tried eating ants, now those were the worst. Sour as all hell and they just kept biting me!"

"And you tried to eat me too, Brother!"

"Oh, would you drop it, Al? I already apologized! I was hallucinating from hunger! Besides, you tasted like shit too. And shoved me. Still better than ants though- ouch!"

The armored finger poked Fullmetal's side and the kid squawked indignantly.

"You take that back, Brother! I do not taste like shit!"

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"No I-"

"Enough!" Heymans barked and the office returned to the blissful peaceful quiet. "Thank you. Don't you have reports to finish, Edward?"

The boy groaned dramatically and sauntered over to his desk with his brother in tow.

"Ugh, sure. I guess I'm stuck here for a while."

He shouldn't ask, Breda knew. But the temptation was there and even if he wasn't sure he believed the children, he still told them enough about himself that he felt justified asking for the same courtesy. Alchemists were all about equivalent exchange, weren't they?

"So, why did you eat ants?"

Edward, predictably, jumped at the chance to avoid his paperwork.

(Some days he thought Edward and Mustang were fighting so much because of how similar they were.)

"Our Teacher left us alone on a deserted island for a month at the start of out training." He called bullshit. "She left us a knife and a riddle to solve and sent a guy from her shop to harass us randomly."

Alphonse joined in.

"Mason is a great guy and he was looking out for us in theory, but in practice he just scared us a bunch and stole all our food."

"Yeah! And were already fucked since we couldn't fish or hunt without alchemy, and Teacher forbid it for the entire time, so we only had a bunch of weeds, berries and two little bird eggs."

"So, at one point we were lying on the ground and complaining, and Ed found some ants and tried to eat them!"

"And it was a mistake!"

He called BULLSHIT.

"Sure, okay. And the belt?"

At this one the boys went silent. Alphonse turned to Edward, and the latter lowered his head in contemplation. Then he looked back at his brother with a raised eyebrow, and the armored boy shrugged.

"Well... You know we're from Resembool, right?"

He was aware of that, yes. He'd even been there once with Havoc as they sneaked out from the farm to visit one of the girls Jean had a crush on. Resembool and Renberg were practically next door neighbors, as far as small towns went.

"Shortly after... our mom died" Oh god shit fuck it was that kind of story why did he ask. "Ishval happened. Lots of soldiers passed through 'borrowing' supplies. And the harvest wasn't good that year to begin with. A draught happened. And the sheep started to get sick."

"It was a shitshow, everyone was struggling." Fullmetal bit his lip. "Our closest neighbors had been helping us at first, but they went to war and left Granny to take care of their daughter and the family business. Which wasn't doing great either, since nobody wanted to get automail so close to the border. Can you imagine, if something happened and they were down a limb or two?"

"Something did happen, Brother. The train station got bombed."

"Yeah. So our one supply line got cut off and what little economy we had had basically collapsed."

"People tried to help each other, but everyone had their own families to feed, and what little they had to spare they'd rather give to their own kids than a couple of random orphans."

"Yeah, funny how everyone was all nice when mom died, saying how 'Trisha was like a sister to me' and 'you could ask me for anything' and then gave us the finger when we asked for a meal or two."

"Brother!"

"What? Am I wrong?"

They stared at each other for a good minute, arms crossed, before Alphonse finally gave up and starte giggling.

"You know I won't be the first to blink, Brother."

"Well that's 'cause you're cheating!"

How would he even tell if Al blinked with that armor hiding his face?

"It's not cheating! It's called 'using natural advantage'!"

"...nothing natural about it." Finally mumbled the older boy, lowering his head so his face would be obscured by his hair.

Then he sighed and turned back to Heymans.

"So, after a while it got... pretty bad. We once managed a week on one can of soup, some moldy bread and a squirrel. The trick was eating brinner right before bed so the hunger pains didn't stop us from sleeping."

"Why didn't you..."

"Use alchemy?" Ed finished quietly.

Breda nodded.

"It was before we met Teacher, so we didn't know nearly as much as we do now. We learned from books in our father's study, but he only had some beginner stuff with the very basics - I guess the rotten bastard had initially planned to stick around and teach us - and a whole lot of, like, university level books that we couldn't understand without context. It's like teaching a kid to add one plus one and then throwing calculus at them. No matter how smart we were we couldn't just pull knowledge out of thin air."

"And while we did know a few circles to make or fix some simple stuff, none of our neighbors liked alchemy, so we couldn't trade it for food."

"We tried."

"And we also tried making fishing rods, but there wasn't much point, what with the drought."

"And because everyone else had the same idea and they got what little fish there was. Greedy fucks."

A shitshow indeed. At the time Ishvalan Civil War began Breda was on a lengthy medical leave, staying with his Pops at Fotset. He had to wonder now, while he was laughing with his grandfather and eating like a king, were these kids boiling weeds to survive?

He didn't deserve that food. He should've stayed hungry-

"But, anyway, we made do with what we had and it got better soon. Sheep recovered and people got more creative. Train station was repaired and shops started opening back up."

"Right! We pawned some of our furniture and got enough money to buy some fresh bread, it was so good! I still remember the smell."

"Yeah, it wasn't that bad. Really helped us with Teacher's survival training later on, so. It's all good. We're good. Any more questions?"

About a million.

"Just one." He settled. "What is a brinner?"

Alphonse started laughing. Edward's face went completely red.

"Shut up, Al! It's not funny!"

"Yes it is! Brother," He paused to laugh some more. "Brother and I argued a lot about what to call our meals, since we ate once a day. Ed said that we had dinner because we were eating in the evening before bed. And I said that the first meal was always breakfast, no matter when we ate it. And since neither of us wanted to give up-"

"We settled on a compromise." Fullmetal finished, gritting his teeth.

"No, Ed, you settled on a compromise. I settled for realizing that my brother is an idiot."

"Your older brother! You're supposed to listen to me!"

"So you agree that you're an idiot? And I'll start listening to you when you stop calling breakfast a brinner! It's not even a word!"

"It is if I say so!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

God, did they ever shut up?

The god in whom no one present in that room ever believed actually did answer this time. Although, not in the form of a lightning bolt that had put Breda out of his misery, like he himself hoped.

The salvation came in form of a loud grumbling noise, not unlike Heymans would picture a dying whale screaming. It originated, however, from a much smaller creature.

"Well, shit. Guess I shouldn't have skipped lunch today. All this talk about food got me in the mood for some dandelion salad. And pork. I really should finish with the reports soon, you guys have fun."

Was the boy actually going to eat dandelions after this? Breda knew hunger, saw what it did to people on the streets, but the only times he himself was deprived of food had been intentional.

After Pops had found him on the sidewalk, having had just fainted in front of that little restaurant, he'd been very baffled by Heymans' refusal to accept anything but water. Once he got the whole story out, the man had been absolutely furious, spent literally hours screaming at the boy about how stupid and selfish he was being. It was the first of many times when Pops had scared Breda into not throwing his life away, and the lessons learned from that old veteran would stay with him until the end.

"Never waste food, Manny. Food is precious. Children are always starving somewhere. If you ain't gonna eat it, share it with someone else."

He looked down at his bag where the box stayed, unopened. The bile was gone, replaced by a gaping hole in his stomach. It hurt too much, too perfectly to be filled.

He couldn't eat. Not yet. He couldn't-

Never waste food.

-but someone else could.

"Ed?" he called. "You can have my lunch, if you want it. It wouldn't wait until the end if the day anyway."

"Really?!" Fullmetal brightened up considerably. "You wouldn't mind?"

"I'm not hungry." liar "It's not dandelions and pork, but I have fried chicken and there's some arugula in the salad, I think it should be kind of similar? Also, buckwheat."

"Oh fuck yeah, you're the best!"

Heymans was many things, but above all he was a reasonable man. And he supposed it would be reasonable for him to once again try to master that elusive jambalaya recipe, as a personal challenge.

As reasonable, in fact, as it would be for him to bring some of it to work next time the Elrics were in town. Just in case he decided to spend his lunch break in the office again.

And if he just happened to have brought more than he could eat on his own, well...

"Children are always starving somewhere."

...it would be perfectly reasonable for him to share.

"Hey, Al, since I skipped breakfast this morning, does this still count as one or is it already lunch?"

"Well, you're eating someone's lunch, Brother, at lunch break. I'm pretty sure you're having lunch."

"But earlier you said that breakfast is breakfast no matter the time. Why can't I have breakfast instead?"

"Ed. If you don't shut up and eat your food, you're going to be wearing it."

"So why don't we settle on a compromise..."

"Ed."

"...like mature almost-adults we are..."

"Edward Elric, I'm warning you."

"...and call it a lunfast?"

"..."

"..."

"Brother, I'm disowning you."

[bopinion]

2023 / 22

Aperçu of the Week:

"The greatest enemy of knowledge is not the ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge."

(Stephen Hawking - British theoretical physicist and astrophysicist at Cambridge University)

Bad News of the Week:

With the Manhattan Project, mankind has already opened Pandora's box once. For there will be no way back to a time before nuclear weapons. Despite knowing better, the lid will never be put on the box, because there will always be people who see an advantage in it: personal preservation of power, deterrence against real or imagined threats, signs of national strength and other superficial egoisms. We will never get rid of this curse. And exactly the same thing is happening again now. With artificial intelligence. Says Warren Buffett, too.

The scientists can't be blamed for this. It is in their nature to test the limits of what is possible. And if the goal of their research and development is also economically attractive, there will always be someone to fund their work. It started with shopping recommendations in online stores. It continued with the analysis of movement profiles. And today, AI in insurance companies is already making decisions about who gets which rate at which conditions. All based on bare numbers, so 100% objective.

In a way, the great advantage of human intelligence is the equally human retarding moment. It is called conscience. Doubts are good, because they let humans think again, risk a second look, weigh things up based on personal experience. Artificial intelligence does not have this control mechanism. It decides purely on the basis of facts, coldly, ruthlessly. Example: how would artificial intelligence decide if the power fails in a hospital and the emergency generator only has enough electricity for one system. What would it shut down - itself or the life-support systems of patients in palliative care who were doomed anyway? Exactly.

The statements from critics - and there are many among them who have been or are in AI development themselves, such as Sam Altman, the head of ChatGPT creator Open AI - calling on policymakers to act are serious. Once again, technical progress is much faster than regulatory requirements. Still, for example, the handling of fake news and hate speech in social media lags far behind. But this time there is (even) more at stake: the control of the human over the machine.

Joachim Weickert, professor of mathematics and computer science at Saarland University, lists four areas of risk: Upheaval in the labor market, even for highly skilled professions. Destabilization of societies through disinformation. Loss of control, intransparency and one-sidedness. And finally, the damaging independence of AI itself - by simply taking command itself, fully aware of its own superiority. Almost 40 years ago, we were introduced to the central machine instance Skynet in the cinema. Let's hope it's not "I am back!" one day in reality.

Good News of the Week:

I am a child of the Cold War. Germany and Europe were divided. In school we learned what to do in the event of an atomic bomb explosion and subway stations led to bunkers. The world seemed clearly divided into good and evil. Nevertheless, I took to the streets against the stationing of Pershing missiles, found the "nuclear sharing" frightening - to this day, we Germans do not know where the U.S. forces keep how many nuclear weapons in our country. Neither do we know about Great Britain and France. Creepy.

Then came the turning point. Warsaw Pact and Soviet Union collapsed, the war of systems seemed to have a clear winner. And nuclear weapons were to rust away uselessly, serving only as a fetish of Arab and East Asian rulers. With Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping, there are now two men in power in undemocratic states for whom nuclear weapons are a perfectly normal utensil of geopolitical interests.

And the United States is not very squeamish about its words either. In the future, the United States should be able "for the first time in your history, to deter two roughly equal nuclear powers," says national security adviser Jake Sullivan. And, "one of our greatest nonproliferation successes in the age of nuclear weapons has been extended nuclear deterrence, which gives many of our allies the assurance that they don't have to develop their own nuclear weapons." In short, living with the bomb is again (or still) quite normal.

At this point in Sullivan's speech on Friday in the White House press room, I would have preferred to get out of it and would have expected unpleasant dreams for the following night. But then I was surprised: In light of the New START nuclear arms control treaty, which expires in 2026 and which Russia suspended four months ago anyway, Sullivan called for talks "on how to deal with nuclear risks beyond 2026" so that no new conflicts would arise.

And then came a double whammy: first, the U.S. called for talks "without preconditions," and second, it directed that call to Russia - and China. And thus, for the first time, acknowledges an equal footing. Therefore, the talks will happen. I am not naive, there will be no large-scale waiver with reciprocal controls that everyone would then abide by. But whoever made the statement "Where there is talk, there is no shooting." was almost always right.

Personal happy moment of the week:

My son returned yesterday from a vacation in Italy with his mother and sister. Where he was not only willing to risk a glimpse of nature and culture, but also went swimming for a whole two hours every day. And today he left with my father for a week-long bike tour, from Koblenz along the Moselle to Luxembourg. And he has already declared that he will also make a detour to a church or castle worth seeing. In addition, he not only tanned his skin in Italy, but also overtook my wife in height. So in every sense it means: he is getting big.

I couldn't care less...

...about the further rapprochement of the Arab powers Saudi Arabia and Iran. This time in the form of the establishment of a naval alliance. Officially it is said that this is the only way to bring security to the region. Iranian naval commander Sharam Irani declares: "Then we will witness our region being liberated from unauthorized forces." This can only mean the U.S. naval base in Bahrain. A common adversary is apparently enough to bridge fundamental differences - in this case, the Shiite versus Sunni faiths of Islam. Unfortunately, this will do nothing for democracy or even human rights. On the contrary: The oppression of women, for example, will be cemented even more firmly.

As I write this...

...a mixture of full moon, everyday worries and Monday horror keeps me from sleeping. Well at least I'll get my blog done, which I didn't get around to finish yesterday / Sunday.

Post Scriptum

On Saturday was organ donation day. A topic that urgently needs more attention. Because about 8,500 Germans are currently waiting for an organ transplant, for kidneys, for example, about eight years - too long for many. And in 2022, only 900 people donated an organ. Theoretically, people are much more willing to donate, but bureaucracy is the main obstacle: many relatives don't even know what the deceased person's position is on the subject, and there is often no valid identification. The so-called "objection solution" would put an end to this, as the donation would then have to be actively and centrally documented. But there is currently no majority in parliament for this. And at least one person dies every day in Germany - avoidably.

[brooklynislandgirl]

💋 It is hardly a secret as to how fond Mischa is of bestowing a kiss or several upon his sprite. It requires scant more than for dark threads of silken hair to be scooped aside, a curve of neck offered in beguiling invitation. The more human press of lips to warm Beth's skin, send her heart kick, kick, kicking. Not only to prepare for the other kiss he will bestow. In the graze, in the blooming flush, Mikhail breathes in her life from between cold, parted lips. Treasures it as a tickle upon back of barren throat, motes of stardust in which he can only bask and borrow, before exhaling and returning the magic to its rightful owner.

Except Beth still grants him domain upon that delicate throat, and Mischa kisses her once more, and it all begins again.

Out of the Bearded Barley || Accepting

Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit. Nietzsche writes far more eloquently than Bram Stoker, and every time she thinks about Dracula as a novel, she can hear Mischa scoff in disgust. He hasn't ever confirmed that Vlad Țepeș, former voivode of Wallachia, is or isn't an actual Kindred, but part of her suspects he must be to have garnered such distaste in her Malkavian's tone. She knows too that, though, that blood is life. The sheer control over himself is breathtaking, the cool and dry whisper of his lips on her skin, which itself lights up from within in the warmest kind of glow, prickling at the lack of his breath. She can't help but to partially close her eyes, and crane her neck to the side, offering herself up on a metaphorical platter. She wants to know if he can hear a siren-song in her veins, if it's as vibrant and gleaming as her aura would suggest to him. Unlike many mortals he might sup from, the preternatural vitality that thrives inside of her is potent, the difference between cognac and water, so he's said. When he drinks, does her mana fill up the dark places, the ones that yearn for the loss of the sun? For those minutes or hours, does Life scream and laugh through him? Mischa is very careful to turn her away from reciprocating. She asked him once, in a fit of pique, why he should do so and the sorrow that laced his every soft word has haunted her since. She knew everything in him ~Vitae, he calls it~ is pure quintessence. She could take it and use it to fuel her darker dreams, the ones that were soaked in fate, fortune, and even...the Wyrm-that-was, and not the monster it has become. But taking is betrayal, and specifically with her own sharp teeth, she runs the risk of losing herself not to him, but in him. In the madness that runs rampant even if she cannot see it. She would not be his sprite, his muse, but a thrall, pale and thin and lackluster. Where temptation stirs there's other things. Apples, pomegranate, anything laced with sweetness, regardless of how she might deny its ability to satiate her desires. The sensuality is exquisite but so too is its chasteness. Perhaps this is how sacrifice flows both ways between them. Between what is desired and what is forbidden and what each offers the other in their good conscience and capability The second time he chooses to Kiss her, she wends her arms around him, loses a hand in the thickness of his hair. And Beth stops thinking.

[localcatbehaviourguy]

Pinned Post

My name is Aaron, I'm a lifelong cat owner with animal behaviourism training (focused mostly on cat behaviourism) and some real-world experience helping cats and their owners figure out how to interact with each other. I've studied all kinds of behavioural issues and have diagnosed and treated quite a few in the field, though I am still relatively new at this. I also know quite a bit about dog welfare and some about dog behaviour, though not as much as cats, and I've studied on my own to learn a few things about exotics, though I'm not qualified to diagnose or treat those in any setting, even professional.

Disclaimer- I cannot, will not, and should not ever attempt to diagnose your cat here. Diagnosis requires actual real-life interactions with you, your cat, and your cat's environment, which includes any other animals or other family members, and many of the tests I run cannot be satisfied through simple videos or pictures. The most any cat behaviourist can accurately do online is say "Well, in cases I've experienced in real life, cats with these symptoms/behaviour patterns usually responded best to treatment for (behavioural issue) and here are some of the things they seemed to benefit from me doing," but I'm not diagnosing your cat. There's too much I could get wrong and that could lead you to treating your cat for the wrong thing and making the existing issue worse. If you need a cat diagnosed, take them to an IRL behaviourist who can interact with them in person to provide the best and most accurate care possible.

I am not qualified to diagnose health issues with physical causes. Think of me as almost a cat psychologist- a psychologist can't diagnose you with a brain tumor. This is why a behaviourist's first question will usually be "have you taken them to the vet over this," because it's best to rule out any physical causes before trying to treat a cat for a behavioural issue that may have a cause that I'm not qualified to work with. Take the cat to the vet first. If they give the cat a clean bill of health, then you take them to a behaviourist. In what I do, the vet's word is law. Physical issues are their wheelhouse, behavioural issues are mine. If they diagnose a brain tumor or whatever, that's something I am, again, not at all qualified to treat, so I can't help.

I also cannot and will not address issues of your personal cat's quality of life. That is something that always, always, needs handled by a professional who can actually interact with your cat to give you the information you need to make an informed decision. A vet will give you the accurate information so that you can make your choice based on what a professional who had actually interacted with your cat has noticed. There's no way I can give you an accurate answer in good conscience and it's not ethical for me to pretend I can. All of this is decided by people who actually interact with your cat.

I am also not qualified to work with exotics, even more minor ones like Savannahs. They're an entirely different thing I haven't been trained for and have only encountered once, and encounter I had to step back from because I was not qualified to help that cat. Some behaviourists, usually the older/more experienced ones, are qualified to help exotics, but I'm not one of them and will not pretend that I am. Exotic animal, you need exotic treatments. I'm strictly domestic. Properly caring for exotics would required specialized training that I don't have.

Well, what can I do? I can explain domestic cat behaviour, correct husbandry concerns, explain the importance of certain cat-related issues (interactions with small animals, outdoors cats, etc,) talk FACTS (not behaviour in a video, just the facts) about exotic animals, and answer questions you may have about your cat (I will tell you if something needs to be taken to an IRL behaviourist should that bridge be crossed.) I can, based on a fixed set of criteria, see if a cat video has anything that I feel is cause for concern, but I'm taking more of a "this is how this is wrong and this is how you can fix it" approach, rather than an "is this cute" approach.

No other discourse allowed. None. Zero. You want to talk human discourse? Send it to my main. I refuse to discuss anything that isn't animal-related on my blog. A few things to note

I am a transgender man

I am pro-euthanasia because some animals just need to be humanely put down

I am anti-outdoor cat and do not believe TNR or attempting to adopt out feral cats is effective or ethical

I am pro-zoo, sanctuary, reserve, ambassador animal, and working animal

I believe that exotics are not and cannot be (with maybe two exceptions in all of history) pets. If an exotic can't be in the wild, it needs to be at a zoo, reserve, sanctuary, etc. Not in your house.

I do not believe unprotected contact with megafauna is ethical. Zoos and exotic vets have safety measures in place because they know that a wild animal is always a wild animal first, and megafauna can easily injure, maim, or kill a human even on accident. If someone is interacting with megafauna or apex predators unprotected, they're stupid. Yeah, I said it.

I am firmly and unshakeably of the belief that all interaction with a wild animal needs to be handled by a trained professional. Yes, even pests like raccoons and foxes. Do not try to interact with them, don't feed them, don't do anything other than admire them from afar. Do you want rabies? Because that's how you get rabies.

I am firmly against any actions that habituate a non-domesticated animal to humans, unless that exotic is being cared for at a zoo and habituation takes place to avoid stressing the animal and help safeguard against potential incidents on the rare occasion someone does have unprotected contact with an animal.

Basically, unless you are a trained professional who isn't a fool, don't interact with non-domesticated fauna. Ever. At all. Period.

I'm big on rabies. I've seen it before- I was even once called in to treat a cat who had rabies, thank the gods I recognized it- and it's MAJOR. You will see plenty about rabies.

Vaccinate your animals

Cats are obligate carnivores who cannot survive a vegan diet.

Do not ever put a non-herbivore animal on a vegan diet. It will kill them.

I eat meat and believe that there isn't anything wrong with it when it's ethically-sourced.

I am pro-hunting within reason, pro-culling in ethical ways, pro-fur farming when done ethically, and extremely anti plastic fur or leather

Do not try this at home unless instructed to do so by an IRL professional.

[jdgo51]

When We Can't Walk Away

Today's inspiration comes from:

When to Walk Away

by Gary Thomas

"'When we can walk away from toxic people, we probably and usually should. But when financial necessity, work obligations, family relationships, or even the accomplishment of our God-given mission necessitates that we find a way to live or work with a toxic person, we can learn much by following Jesus’ example with Judas.

Jesus and Judas

Though Jesus often walked away and let others walk away, He obviously and clearly kept one toxic person very close to His side — His betrayer, Judas. Let’s focus on three key strategies, based on Jesus’ interaction with Judas, for how we can live with or work alongside toxic people without going crazy ourselves.

Jesus Didn’t View His Mission as Stopping Toxic People from Sinning

Maybe it seems more obvious to you, but it was startling to me when I realized Jesus knew Judas was a thief and never chose to stop Him. John clues us in:

One of [Jesus’] disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray Him, objected, ‘Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.’ He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it. — John 12:4-6

If John knew Judas was a thief, Jesus knew Judas was a thief. In fact, Jesus knew that Judas was worse than a thief. In John 6:70, Jesus said,

“Have I not chosen you, the Twelve? Yet one of you is a devil!” (He meant Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, who, though one of the Twelve, was later to betray Him.)

Jesus knew Judas was toxic. He could have stopped Judas from stealing and His future betrayal by kicking Him out of their group at any time.

But He didn’t. Why? Jesus kept the bigger mission in mind. To seek first God’s Kingdom, He had to raise up a band of disciples. He also had to die on the cross. He wasn’t waylaid by individual battles of piety with His disciples, as we are prone to do with people around us. Addressing Judas’s thievery would be like a neurosurgeon clipping someone’s fingernails. There were more important issues at hand. And

Jesus’ mission was not to stop everybody from sinning. This is actually a freeing word for believers. Your mission is not to confront every sin you hear or know of, even among your perhaps toxic family members or coworkers. Of course, if you’re a parent of a child still living at home, confronting sin is an appropriate part of spiritual training. But at extended family gatherings, with hard-hearted friends and certainly coworkers, our job isn’t to be “sin detectives” who discover how others are messing up and then unleash havoc by sharing our opinions with those who don’t want to hear them.

Jesus could have spent all twenty-four hours of every day trying to confront every one of His disciples’ sins. “Peter, put away that anger!” “Thomas, you’re still doubting Me, aren’t you?” “Thaddeus, you’re people-pleasing again. Nobody likes a suck-up.”

Instead, He focused on training and equipping reliable people. Focusing on others’ sin makes you focus on what’s toxic. Focusing on training makes you focus on what is good and on who is reliable. The latter is a much more enjoyable and ultimately much more productive life.

Because our goal is to seek first God’s Kingdom and righteousness, and to seek out reliable people in the process, we’ve got to let a few things slide right by us. That uncle who brings another woman half his age to Thanksgiving dinner? Not our problem. The coworker who had too much to drink at the office party? If we’re not the boss, that’s not our concern. Besides, one sin is never the issue. Alienation from God, shattered psyches, unhealed and unaddressed hurts — those are the real issues.

Feel free to enjoy people and love them without having to serve as their conscience.

When asked sincerely, speak the truth. Just know that merely witnessing sin in your presence doesn’t require you to act as prosecuting attorney, judge, and jury.

Jesus’ mission was not to stop everybody from sinning.

Keep the bigger picture in mind. Instead of upending the holiday gathering by making sure everyone knows you disapprove of what that child, cousin, uncle, or parent is doing, find a hungry soul to quietly encourage, bless, inspire, and challenge. Find the most “reliable” relative and invest in them.

Jesus Didn’t Let Judas’s Toxicity Become His

How much money would you spend to get an hour to ask Jesus all the questions you’ve ever wanted to ask Him?

What would it be worth to you to go back to the first century and spend an entire weekend with Jesus, watching Him perform miracles, listening to His teachings, participating in private conversations, watching Him pray and interact with others?

I’m guessing, if you’re reading a book like this, a whole lot.

All of which makes Judas’s betrayal seem all the more ungrateful. Jesus gave him a front row seat to the most significant life ever lived, and Judas sold Him out.

And yet at the Last Supper, when Jesus washed His disciples’ feet, Jesus made sure that Judas was still present. In a picture the sheer wonder of which leaves me in awe, Jesus used the two holiest hands that have ever existed, the two most precious hands in the history of humankind, the hands pierced for our salvation — Jesus took those exquisite hands and washed the feet of His toxic betrayer.

Even in the face of ungratefulness and malice, Jesus kept the door open to relational reconciliation. He loved Judas to the end, essentially saying,

“You can’t make Me hate you. Your toxicity won’t become My toxicity.”

Just as astonishing to me is what happened during the act of betrayal. When Judas walks up to Jesus to hand Him over to the soldiers, Jesus looks at Judas and says,

Do what you came for, friend. — Matthew 26:50

Friend? How about skunk? How about snake? Jesus said “friend” because Jesus didn’t have a toxic molecule in His body. There was nowhere for toxicity to take root. God is radically for people. He wants everyone to come to a knowledge of the truth (1 Timothy 2:4). As His followers, we also must be for everyone, even if we oppose what they’re doing. If we must live and work with toxic people, our call is to make sure their toxicity doesn’t become ours. We don’t treat them as they treat us. We don’t offer evil in exchange for evil. We love. We serve. We guard our hearts so that we are not poisoned by their bad example.

Jesus Spoke Truth to Crazy

While Jesus invited Judas back into relationship until the very moment of betrayal, washing his feet and even calling him friend, He never pretended that what Judas was doing wasn’t toxic. In fact, He warned Judas at the Last Supper that if he were to go through with his plans, things wouldn’t end well for him:

Woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born. — Mark 14:21

When Judas kissed Him in Gethsemane, Jesus replied,

Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss? — Luke 22:48

When working around toxic people, you don’t have to pretend they’re not toxic. You don’t have to pretend they are well-meaning but perhaps misguided.

The reason this is good news is that it helps preserve our sanity. Toxic people are experts at twisting things, making us feel crazy for admitting the truth (what counselors call gaslighting). But as followers of Jesus, we are committed to the truth because we are committed to Jesus, who said,

I am the way and the truth and the life. — John 14:6, emphasis added

Without truth as a refuge, interacting with crazy people can start to make you feel crazy. But God is a God of order. Craziness is a clear sign of toxicity.

This will sound like such a cliché, but I’ve found that extra praying brings some level of sanity to a situation that feels crazy. There’s something about spending time talking to and listening to the God of truth that restores sanity when you’re forced to spend time in a place that makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

As we trust that God understands all that is truly going on, and as we remember that God is the only one capable of bringing everything to account, we can rest in His understanding, promise, and protection:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. — Philippians 4:6-7

Takeaways

Sometimes we can’t walk away but have to learn how to live or work around toxic people. This will require us to become stronger than we’ve ever been before. Don’t try to control a controller. Work around them as you are required to, but don’t let their ups and downs become your ups and downs. Keep a healthy level of distance between the two of you. Keep first things first. Our job isn’t to stop people from sinning. Focus on investing in reliable people. Guard against letting someone else’s toxicity tempt you to respond in a similarly toxic fashion. We can’t control what toxic people do and say, but we can control what we do and say. Don’t allow someone who is ruining their life to ruin yours as well. Leave work at work (or family drama at family gatherings). Thank God that we never have to pretend crazy isn’t crazy. We live by the truth. We don’t have to pretend toxic people aren’t toxic; we just have to learn a nontoxic way of interacting with them."'

Excerpted with permission from When to Walk Away by Gary Thomas, copyright The Center for Evangelical Spirituality.'

[seekfirst-community]

The following reflection is courtesy of Don Schwager © 2023. Don's website is located at Dailyscripture.net

Meditation: When accusations are brought against you, how do you respond and where do you turn for help? The Book of Daniel tells the story of Susanna, a godly woman who loved God and his word. She was unjustly accused of adultery by two elder judges who had tried to seduce her. Since adultery was a serious offense punishable by stoning to death, the law of Moses required at least two witnesses, rather than one, to convict a person. Susanna knew she had no hope of clearing her good reputation and escaping death apart from God's merciful intervention. Daniel tells us that she looked up to heaven and cried out to the Lord for his help (Daniel 13:35). The two elders who wanted to sin with her had done just the opposite - they hid themselves from God's sight and they kept their secret sin hidden from the people as well. They brought false charges against her in revenge for her refusal to sin with them. God in his mercy heard the plea of Susanna and he punished the two elders for giving false witness.

Unjust accusations against Jesus

The Gospel accounts frequently describe how Jesus had to face unjust accusations made by the Pharisees, the ruling elders of Israel. They were upset with Jesus' teaching and they wanted to discredit him in any way they could. They wanted to not only silence him, but to get rid of him because of his claim to speak with God's authority. When a moral dilemma or difficult legal question arose, it was typical for the Jews to take the matter to a rabbi for a decision. The scribes and the Pharisees brought to Jesus a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. John writes that they wanted to "test" Jesus on the issue of retribution so " they might have some charge to bring against him" (John 8:6).

Jewish law treated adultery as a serious crime since it violated God's ordinance and wreaked havoc on the stability of marriage and family life. It was one of the three gravest sins punishable by death. If Jesus said the woman must be pardoned, he would be accused of breaking the law of Moses. If he said the woman must be stoned, he would lose his reputation for being the merciful friend of sinners.

Jesus then does something quite unexpected - he begins to write in the sand. The word for "writing" which is used here in the Gospel text has a literal meaning "to write down a record against someone" (for another example see Job 13:26). Perhaps Jesus was writing down a list of the sins of the accusers standing before him. Jesus now turns the challenge towards his accusers. In effect he says: Go ahead and stone her! But let the man who is without sin be the first to cast a stone. The Lord leaves the matter to their own consciences.

Pardon, restoration, and new life

When the adulterous woman is left alone with Jesus, he both expresses mercy and he strongly exhorts her to not sin again. The scribes wished to condemn, Jesus wished to forgive and to restore the sinner to health. His challenge involved a choice - either to go back to her former way of sin and death or to reach out to God's offer of forgiveness, restoration, and new life in his kingdom of peace and righteousness. Jesus gave her pardon and a new start on life. God's grace enables us to confront our sin for what it is - unfaithfulness to God, and to turn back to God with a repentant heart and a thankful spirit for God's mercy and forgiveness. Do you know the joy of repentance and a clean conscience?

"God our Father, we find it difficult to come to you, because our knowledge of you is imperfect. In our ignorance we have imagined you to be our enemy; we have wrongly thought that you take pleasure in punishing our sins; and we have foolishly conceived you to be a tyrant over human life. But since Jesus came among us, he has shown that you are loving, that you are on our side against all that stunts life, and that our resentment against you was groundless. So we come to you, asking you to forgive our past ignorance, and wanting to know more and more of you and your forgiving love, through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Prayer of Saint Augustine) "

The following reflection is from One Bread, One Body courtesy of Presentation Ministries © 2023.

the holy spirit and the culture of death

“The Lord heard her prayer. As she was being led to execution, God stirred up the holy spirit of a young boy named Daniel, and he cried aloud.” —Daniel 13:44-46

Susanna was “a very beautiful and God-fearing woman” (Dn 13:2). “Her pious parents had trained their daughter according to the law of Moses” (Dn 13:3). Susanna was happily married to Joakim, a very rich man who was the most respected of all the Jews in Babylon (Dn 13:4). Susanna was blessed with children in her marriage (Dn 13:30). She was a very holy, beautiful woman, a beloved daughter, faithful wife, and devoted mother.

Then two wicked judges tried to force her to commit adultery with them by threatening to falsely accuse her of adultery and condemn her to death, if she did not give in to them. Susanna, however, chose to remain pure, faithful, and holy, even though she would lose her life, good reputation, marriage, and family (Dn 13:23). This was not the first evil act these judges had committed. They had subverted justice by “passing unjust sentences, condemning the innocent, and freeing the guilty” (Dn 13:53). They had also sexually abused several other women (Dn 13:57).

The Lord saved Susanna’s life and reputation. He saved Susanna’s husband, parents, and children from being disgraced and traumatized. He stopped the judges’ subversion of justice and sexual abuse, which had gone on for years. The Lord transformed a perverted society by stirring up “the holy spirit of a young boy named Daniel” (Dn 13:45).

We also need the Holy Spirit to be stirred up in us (see 2 Tm 1:6-7) and transform our culture of death into a civilization of life and love. Come, Holy Spirit, this Lent, Easter, and Pentecost!

Prayer:  Holy Spirit, cry out in my heart “Abba” (“Father”) (Gal 4:6).

Promise:  “Nor do I condemn you. You may go. But from now on, avoid this sin.” —Jn 8:11

Praise:  Jesus healed Bernice from depression.

Reference:  

Rescript:  "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for the publication One Bread, One Body covering the time period from February 1, 2023 through March 31, 2023. Reverend Steve J. Angi, Chancellor, Vicar General, Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio June 15, 2022"

The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

[pazodetrasalba]

Faith (& 2)

Dear Caroline:

In a previous letter I wrote about religious faith and the lack thereof, and briefly, about my faith in you. I think it would be reasonable to expand a little bit on this issue in the light of the Charm and Strange letter and this September posting of yours.

These lines read uncannily premonitory for your present situation, as right now a lot of people are thinking (and saying) horrible things about you, and will keep doing so in the near future. It will be good if you can stoically assimilate it, Heloise mode, with the same equanimity you recommend above, and I don't think the situation is 'terminally bad', but then again, it is really, really bad, as in gut-wrenching, career-destroying, time-in-prison-and-scarlet-letter-for-life bad. It would be highly disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

Yesterday I was reading one of the less cruel and insightful digs by Matt Levine, your fantasised internet boyfriend (like you move into a big house with a bunch of your young friends planning to [use your magical trading abilities to save the world from evil AI wizards][do drugs and steal tons of money] and you are like "oh i'm a ravenclaw"), and found myself thinking that the potteresque simile that comes to my mind is something on the lines of 'How could Luna Lovegood actually have ended up joining the Death Eaters?!'.

Even worse than the outer voices, though, are the inner wails of one's own conscience. And assuming you retain your consequentialist-utilitarian frame of reference, the fiasco to which you have been accessory has resulted in sky-high, massively negative consequences to a huge number of people that from a pain-reducing-calculus-perspective have probably written off all the good you have done in the past as well as seriously compromising the causes you support and believe in. World optimization has actually ended up in World pessimization.

Now precisely because my ethical views lean more in the intentionalist direction, I think I can make a more forgiving judgement of yourself than the one you are probably making. As I have repeatedly written, I am confident that you labored with good and moral intentions in mind, even if these were bent by possible reasons that do not require repeating. And your intentions are, if not good enough for the world, at least good enough for me.

I can already hear the counter-argument, which you yourself could make, that would lambast my sympathy and foregrounding of your plight as opposed to the numerically higher and underserved suffering of betrayed FTX-Alameda customers and workers. In this regard, I think my answer would be twofold, and again in line with my own philosophical and moral a prioris: the first argument would be that I empathize and am intellectually aware of these people's pain, but in a way, I can't visualize and interiorize it because of lack of investment and human contact with them. And this is partly the case I was making some time ago about the limitations of EA's 'equal measures' and treating all people as interchangeable. It is the suffering you see close to you and on people you know and value that has the greater power to effectively motivate you, and I find it hard to imagine how one can really emotionally invest beyond a circle of closeness to which you somehow do belong, Caroline, as a result of my having read your blog and feeling a natural affinity to a person that in many ways reminds me of myself and the people I tend to love and appreciate. Call it bias if you will, but I have no intention of spiriting it away.

My second argument would be an appeal to a degree of Humanities-trained expertise in the critical reading and interpreting of texts and stories, their consistency and reliability, and in squarely refusing to accept simplistic explanations of complex phenomena (it could be argued that the only thing we Humanists actually do is fret over words). Even taking into account St. Teresa of Avila's dictum (I am surprised at your saying that you know this young woman merely from having seen her. We women are not easy to know (...); and you are wrong to judge them only from what they tell you), my impression is that all the pieces of the puzzle of texts you've generated, directly or indirectly, all paint a picture that is inconsistent with that of a fraudster or any sort of person in bad faith.

One page that I have taken from your book is a certain openness to risk, which in any case would only have the cost of making me look like a fool if I am proved wrong, and I'd say that such a price is a bargain. So I will be keeping my faith in you, on your honesty and on the potential for good that lies within you, and proclaiming it as well to all who would care to read. Here goes my -not Pascal's- wager.

Quote:

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast

Saint Paul, Letter to the Ephesians

[falseficus]

i am pretty much okay with never experiencing pleasant serendipity -- i struggle with that anyway lol and my purpose with this wish is to use its power for the net good of humanity, not really my own (ie i do something with the intent of solving world hunger and it works, etc). youre right that i would have to reckon with the morality of puppeteering other people. hmmm... we've arrived at a paradox. to illustrate:

i want to start a romantic relationship with a girl. i offer her flowers and i intend these flowers to make her fall in love with me. however, i don't intend to rob her of her free will and decisionmaking. for the flowers to have their desired effect, i will be robbing her of free will; if i dont rob her of free will, the flowers will not have their desired effect.

wish-as-written, i could never ethically pursue that kind of relationship again. celibacy dot gif

i think perhaps the issue is in the word "intent." it's too ambiguous, too restrictive, yet also too loose. by the letter of my wish, i would have to intend every effect of every action i take in order for it to occur. if i touch a surface without intending to transfer bacteria onto it from my skin, that bacteria will not be transferred.

my proposed edit: "I wish for every action I take from this point forward to have the effects I consciously desire for it to have, within the timeframe I desire and without effects that I do not intend would deem negative according to my current personal code of ethics.”

this leaves room for unintended effects, but prevents those unintended effects from being negative or harmful

i specify "current" here in case i either 1) go mad with the godlike power ive given myself in the future and decide its okay to abuse it or 2) the genie interprets my personal code of ethics to be malleable and changes it moment-by-moment so that i never find any consequences objectionable. that also takes care of the serendipity thing because now actions can have positive unintended effects but not negative ones

this requires that i have great faith in my current personal code of ethics, which i do. i dont know if you guys do. you'll just have to trust

@miscriont made another addition that touched on the meaning of intent, too:

good points here. i do think "sleep" would count as an intentional action, as in i take the act of "going to sleep" and my intended consequence is that i sleep and become rested. i dont think the wish as worded precludes inaction, but my own conscience might. if i have the power to basically change the world in any way i want without negative consequences, is it ethical to ever rest? i should probably spend my entire life working in order to get as much done in that time as possible to reduce human suffering and engineer the star trek utopian future. hm... that's a sacrifice i'm willing to make, if it comes down to it. if i had two other wishes maybe i'd wish for life until i no longer desire it to give myself sufficient time, but as it is, ive only given myself one wish, and i have to get it right

but also... you're right, what counts as an action? is it an action to beat my heart, to fill my lungs? oh, you've caught something that might've killed me before i made my last edit -- if every action i take must have only the consequences i consciously intend and none that i do not intend, then i must always intend for each heartbeat to keep me alive, or else we have another paradox: if i dont consciously intend my heartbeat to keep me alive, but i dont intend the consequence of dying, then i can neither stay alive nor die. i make the wish and the genie casts his infamous spell "cardiac arrest"

what does it mean for something to be a action? we've stumbled upon the trolley problem! inaction is, in itself, an action; if you dont pull the lever, the action of not pulling the lever results in the death of multiple people. so you've highlighted a weakness in the word "action."

my proposed edit: "I wish for every action I take decision i make from this point forward to have the effects I consciously desire for it to have, within the timeframe I desire and without effects that I would deem negative according to my current personal code of ethics."

we remove the ambiguity of "action" here. i do not decide to beat my heart; it just beats. i do decide whether or not to pull the trolley lever. whether i decide to act or not to act, the wish precludes negative effects

thank you both for playing toys with me. keep em coming! i have to get this wish perfectly right and im running out of time... the genie is checking his watch and tapping his foot...

you guys want to help me rules lawyer out the perfect genie wish? ok I’ll give you my best and you tell me how you would monkey’s paw it and we’ll build it generative adversarial network style

here’s what I’ve got. might be coming out too strong right out the gate:

“I wish for every action I take from this point forward to have the effects I consciously desire for it to have, within the timeframe I desire and without effects that I do not intend.”