#and i COULD also just call out but i don't like using my points

[witchygagirlwrites]

That's my Girl

Jay Halstead x Reader

You've been with Jay since your daughter was a baby and he loves her like she was his own. When your ex winds up back in Chicago and comes looking to play dad Jay isn't backing down.

“Daddy” you heard Vivian giggle as Jay scooped her up, tickling under her arms. “How was your day, baby girl?” She went into telling him about preschool, stumbling over a few words here and there but he listened like it was the most important thing in the world.

Times like this you swore you fell in love with Jay all over again. You weren't sure how he'd handle the fact of you being a single mom the day he asked you out, especially considering at that time she'd barely hit seven months.

He handled it in stride, making some dates to include her and paying your sister to babysit (even though she'd do it for free) so some dates would be just the two of you.

It took you months to trust him enough to open your heart, your ex Paul Victors cheated on you midway through your pregnancy. You had actually come in from the gender scan to find him in bed with another woman, the bed you'd bought.

Everyone at med was there for you, supporting you and keeping him from coming anywhere around you. When Paul had come in one day after you'd come back from maternity leave and wouldn't leave that was how you met Jay, Will called him.

_________________

Jay was everything your Paul wasn't. He was the type of man that could make you feel like everything was going to work out by giving you one of those smiles you adored. He always tried to show kindness where he could, to protect those who needed it. When his anger did flare it up it was never without reason and never pointed at you.

He was patient in the fact that you'd been hurt and that Vivian came first in your life. The first time you slept with him you were fairly certain he'd been more nervous than you.

The way he touched you, kissed you, whispered how beautiful you were…you knew then it wouldn't be long before Jay would own your heart completely.

_________________

The day Jay proposed to you he'd also made a promise to always be there for Vivian. Your wedding was in a few months and Jay was in the process of officially adopting her. Your stomach was in knots over the fact that you had to legally send a notice to Paul's last known address because he had signed the birth certificate.

Jay turned to look at you with a smile, Vivian dangling from his neck “What ya say mommy? Can we get pizza?” You nodded “Of course. If that's what little miss wants” he grinned and turned to sit her on her feet “Ok sweetheart. Go get your jacket” she grinned up at him “Ok daddy” and ran towards her room.

You watched her go then felt him pull you into his arms “You're overthinking Mrs Halstead” you cut your eyes up at him, his blue eyes holding you in place “I just don't want him messing up my life again. I'm happy” a smile slipped onto his face “You're engaged to a detective baby. You have all of the twenty first backing you. He won't come near you or her. The adoption will go through and you both will be Halsteads by the end of the year”

You shook your head “I love you Jay” he pulled you into a kiss, speaking against your lips “I love you too”

You were walking out to your car, talking to Will. He was planning to come over for him and Jay to watch the game that weekend and was asking what food he could bring “Not for you and Jay, for my niece”

You laughed lightly “She has Jay's appetite” both of his eyebrows shot up “God help us” you were almost to your car but stopped in your tracks when you spotted the orange carnation on the windshield.

Will didn't notice the flower but knew something was wrong. “Hey, what is it?” He followed your line of sight and saw the flower “Who's that from?” He asked and you barely got out “Paul”

_____________

When Jay rolled up Hailey barely got the car to a stop before he was out. “Did he come near you? I sent Kev and Kim to pick her up. I'll fucking kill him”

He pulled you into his arms after visibly checking you for injuries. “I'm ok Jay just a little freaked out” he nodded “It's ok. I'll take care of it. I'll get Voight to put a patrol on her school, we'll alert hospital security and we'll keep an eye out for him”

“He's not gonna get near her or you” Hailey assured you with a smile. You nodded, laying your head over on Jay's chest.

You were young when you got pregnant with Vivian and had done a lot of stupid shit. You'd been honest with Jay, of course but what if it was brought up in court?

What if your daughter's life was ruined because of decisions you'd made?

_______________

A few days later you got a call from Jay to meet him and Vivian's school. The patrol car had to stop Paul from entering. He'd ran before Jay got there however.

You stood in the middle of the floor intelligence used at the twenty first precinct holding Vivian in your arms. You knew you were safe here, she was safe but the thought of him trying to take her still had you shaken.

Voight walked up behind you and gently touched your back “Sweetheart, why don't you and her take my office?” You cut your eyes at Jay who nodded so you smiled “Thank you” and walked towards the office, closing the door behind yourself to sit on the leather couch.

____________

“We're finding this asshole right?” Adam asked as soon as the office door was closed and Jay nodded “Oh yeah but whoever finds him first doesn't lay a finger on him. You don't scare my fiance and threaten to take my daughter”

Voight nodded “Kim, stay here with her and Vivian. I've got to talk to a few people. If I'm needed to clean anything up, call me Halstead”

________________

“Paul Victors..drunk and disorderly…resisting arrest..minor possession charges…big jump to attempted kidnapping” Adam spoke as he walked up behind him in the bar they'd tracked him to.

“That's my daughter” he argued and Kevin's hand came to rest of his neck “Let's walk outside my man”

The two of them walked him out between them. Jay and Hailey stood against the wall. The moment he saw Jay he tried to run but Kevin pushed him towards Jay who grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back against the wall.

“You scared the woman I love, you threatened my daughter” Hailey kept an eye on the people around to ensure no one was paying too much attention while Kevin and Adam kept an eye on the bar.

“She's my dau..” Paul didn't get anything else out before Jay's fist hit his stomach “MY daughter” Paul coughed hard “You son of a bitch”

“Did you spit on my partner?” Hailey asked and Jay nodded, wiping his face like Paul had “He did”

Adam tsk tsked “That's assault Paul” and grabbed his cuffs.

Paul was taken to holding while the unit came back up to find you, Kim and Vivian playing a game in Voight's office.

“Hey baby” Jay greeted, pressing a kiss to your lips then kissed Vivian's forehead “Hey baby girl”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he winked at you “C'mon. We gotta meet Voight” “What about her?” You asked, looking at Vivian.

“We got her” Kim assured you so you let Jay pull you to your feet. “Where are we going?” You asked him on the stairs. He whispered “Voight pulled a Voight baby. That's all you need to know”

Voight called in a few favors he was owed. You and Jay ended up meeting with a judge in his chambers. “Jay if you sign here Vivian will officially be your daughter”

You felt his left hand slip around your waist as his right picked up the pen “I love you” he kissed the top of your head then leaned down and signed the paper.

Voight stood to the side, watching. “Congrats Jay” Jay smiled “Thanks Hank”

Hank looked at you “Now you just gotta get the Halstead last name” “What about Paul?” You asked and Jay shrugged “Platt took care of that. He's leaving Chicago. Only way to not face charges”

“I'm free?” You asked and Jay pulled you into his arms “We're free. Let's go get our daughter”

[joelsprettyprincess]

Taming of the Shrew - Part 1

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: After you finally call it quits on your on-and-off relationship with the outlaw, Arthur is forced to find a different way to make you stay. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.3k A/N: I am very, very excited for yall to read this. It was so fun to write. Unfortunately I girlbossed a little too hard and it's almost 10k words. 😭So, this 'mini-series' will be split into 3 parts. As for accuracy, I did try, but the timeline is a little off. Just ignore that.. And what do we think of the series name?? Bonus points if you know the reference! I felt it was appropriate. Also, there is no smut until Part 2. Sorry! And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe

“Just leave me alone, Arthur!”

These words flew from your mouth like bullets that struck him in the chest.

“Excuse me?” he said in a low growl, stepping towards you. You were both by his tent in his gang's current camp, and it wasn't exactly isolated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kieran watching them curiously over by the horses.

You sighed, running a hand over your hair. “I'm just so tired of this.”

“Tired of what, exactly?” Arthur inquired dryly. He crossed his big burly arms and gave you an annoyed look.

“Everything, Arthur. The runnin’, the stealin’…the killing. I'm sorry, but I am not meant for a life like that.” You crossed your arms as well. A soft wind blew; inappropriate weather for the pressing conversation the two of you were having.

He came even closer. Those eyes…they were piercing yours with that discerning stare. “You say that like you've actually done any of it. I'm the outlaw, not you, sweetheart.”

You threw up your hands. “That's exactly the problem. If my daddy knew, he'd just about kill me, then hunt you down too. You know I can't…I can't…”

Arthur grasped your hand roughly, but you threw him off. You stomped away to where your horse was hitched, and of course he followed.

Arthur called your name, trying to stop you. Mary-Beth was watching you now too, but he didn't seem to care. Luckily most of the camp was out doing whatever it was this gang did for fun. Robbing, most likely, you thought, snorting.

“Quit the games,” Arthur spat. “We both know you're just gonna run back to me. You need me– and I need you. Don't leave.” 

“I most definitely do not need you, Mr. Morgan,” you snapped. “Why don't you go back to that Mary girl? I've seen them letters.”

A shadow passed over his face for just a second. “...Just go home. You are heartless, woman.”

You felt a little bad, but swallowed the feeling down. “I'm leavin', and I ain't coming back,” you cried, getting on your horse. “I've had enough of this gang's shenanigans. Don't come near me neither. I can't guarantee I won't let my daddy shoot you.”

With those cold parting words, you sneered at him and rode off towards Rhodes.

Regret sat like a pit in Arthur's stomach as he watched you leave Clemen's Point. Relationships were like a curse in the Van Der Linde gang. Inevitably they would be struck by death or divisiveness. Arthur had tried hard not to fall into the same patterns, but it seemed his loves were doomed from the start.

He paced around camp as he decided what to do. You and him had not been together long, only perhaps 3 months had passed since he first crossed paths with you at the saloon. 

You'd looked so out of place, sitting stiffly at a table in the corner with your maid. He'd watched you down a cup of brandy and immediately start coughing. It was clear you weren't used to the rough environment of a bar.

Arthur decided then, that he would show you.

And show you he did. You were initially attracted to his shadowy aura and western roughness, but spending more days with him revealed the genuinely caring man underneath. Arthur showed you so much of the world; he took you out for long horse rides through the forests, winding through the trees before making camp for the night and perhaps fucking before drifting off to sleep underneath the stars. 

He introduced you to a new way of life, one that was fading due to civilization, but exciting nonetheless. The first time you saw him shoot a man, you weren't sure whether to feel incredibly aroused or disgusted. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe the way of the outlaw was your path?

That is what you thought, until he brought you back to camp. It was a pretty bit of land, flat and grassy, but the people were something else. The men were loud, stinky, and violent, and the women were like men themselves. They all knew how to shoot, to steal, to survive. 

And you didn't. You were a wealthy girl; your father made his fortune in oil. You'd slept on a bed with silken sheets almost your whole life, and the closest you had come to a gun was looking at the ones your father had on display in his office.

Your mother was a society lady, obsessed with gossip and flirting with the help.

Both of your parents disgusted you, but you knew the privilege you had. You were their only child and therefore would receive a sizable inheritance upon your father's death. As cruel as it seemed, that was the only reason you tolerated them.

However, this was now threatened by your romance with one of the most wanted men in the country. Of course, you hadn't known he was wanted so badly when you first met. It wasn't until he had shot that bounty hunter that he'd told you the truth.

“I've got a price on my head,” he admitted to you while cleaning off the blood at a nearby stream. “A pretty big one.”

“How big?” you'd asked, sitting on the grass near him.

He dabbed at his shirt with a damp rag. “Er, about…five thousand dollars.” He mumbled that last part.

You whipped your head up. “Excuse me?”

“Five thousand dollars,” he repeated gruffly. “I know, I know.” He chuckled. “You can turn me in, if ya want.”

“Arthur,” you exclaimed, standing up. “That's…that's just so…who are you?!”

“Just somebody who's made a lot of dumb choices over the last 20 years. Listen, sweetheart, it's fine. I been runnin’ all this time and they ain't caught us yet.”

“Yet,” you said, then paused. “So…you killed a lot of people, then?”

He shrugged. “You really wanna know?”

“Good point.”

You weren't willing to completely submerge yourself in the pool of crime,  and Arthur couldn't quite blame you for it. He knew you were a society heiress, destined to hold luncheons, not revolvers. 

But that did not stop him from trying. Would not. That thing with Mary…well, he didn't like to think about that. It would not happen again.

Arthur jogged across camp to his horse…then realized that following you was probably not a good idea. You were angry right now, and you would cool off eventually, but right now you probably needed some space.

He sighed. Dutch was right. Women had so many needs. 

Arthur spent the rest of the day doing chores around the camp, plotting and thinking. And his thoughts got angrier and darker as time went on. Who did you think you were, anyway? Refusing Van Der Linde's most trusted associate? One of the most feared men in America? You were so uppity, with your silk dresses and thoroughbred horse. 

He slammed his axe down on the chunk of wood in front of him, frowning deeply and squinting his eyes against the sunset. Perhaps he should just tie you to his horse and bring you to Tahiti with the gang. Maybe then you would lose that damn attitude.

Arthur hit the wood so hard it burst into pieces, going everywhere. He grunted, then dropped the axe to the ground and trudged over to his cot. 

He could not pretend like your passionate declaration was unwarranted. You had seen the gang do violent things, things that made you think that being a sheltered rich girl wasn't so bad.

But the taste of freedom kept drawing you back like a drunkard asking for one more shot. You liked how the gang didn't answer to anyone but themselves, not dominated by any law or person or expectation.

It was a war of ideals, and his side was nearly out of ammo. Arthur really couldn't offer you anything but his love. It was no wonder you were running back to your parents. 

But his love was deep as an ocean, and as all-consuming as one too. After Mary closed the book on their romance (or was it just a fling to her?) forever, Arthur had been sullen and angry for a while. He swore he wouldn't let any woman make a fool of him again.

And then he met you. You, who was even richer than Mary, with twice as much sass and the same sweet Southern accent. You were drawn to each other like a ring of oil and a match. 

It was a love that was sure to burn and destroy.

Arthur slept fitfully, still angry at your rejection. He was hoping you were just caught up in the heat of the moment, but if you weren't, well…he would cross that bridge if he came to it. Tomorrow he would visit your father's manor.

After leaving Clemen's Point, you rode your horse back to Rhodes, fighting tears. That man! Arthur was an enigma sometimes. He was a stupid man if he thought you would really give up your life for him. No matter how handsome and broad-shouldered he was…

You were not returning though. You had a bad habit of pushing Arthur away, then coming back within a week. The two of you had an unpleasant cycle of affection: after you inevitably returned to his arms, he would act kind enough, then subtly become more obsessive and manipulative and suffocating until you’d had enough. He never chased after you too hard, knowing you would be back. 

And you always were.

Just before this latest rejection, Arthur had been angry because you didn't express much interest in learning to shoot.

“‘S not like we'll be sending you on missions or anything. Just think you should be able to defend yourself, is all,” was his reasoning.

“I thought you would protect me?” you had countered. He'd promised you wouldn't have to lift a finger if you stayed with him, that he would do everything for you.

“An’ I intend on doin’ that,” he insisted. “But it don't hurt to know how to use one. You see Molly? She don't know how to do much of anything, and you see how Dutch treats the girl. I don't want that for us.”

“It just feels like you misled me,” you huffed, smoothing off your riding dress. “I didn't know this lifestyle was so…so…”

“Well, newsflash, sweetheart,” Arthur said snarkily. “We survive out here. Ain't no oil money for us to fall back on. If that's the way you feel, then, just leave, ‘cause you obviously hate me.”

“Arthur!” you chided him. “You know I love you–”

“You sure?” he cut in. “It sure seem like you just came here lookin’ for a good time. I've bared my soul for you, and you can't even do this one thing for me.” He shook his head, disappointed.

That had set you off and caused you to take your leave, yet again.

But this time it was really going to stick. You were done running around with a criminal, especially since your parents were starting to notice how often you were absent. And if Arthur came around, well, you'd get your father to shoot him!

Arthur woke up early the next morning, still feeling annoyed from yesterday. The snooty look you had given him when you got on your horse pricked his mind like a thorn. 

He needed you…to behave. To submit. To love him. Violent feelings were coursing through his veins. This was different than with Mary. When she left, he'd let her go, knowing it was useless.

But you…you were different. You actually had an affinity for the lifestyle. Maybe you just needed…a little push?

He hopped on his horse and started towards your home. He was going to convince you, no matter what. Dutch was still talking about taking them to Tahiti. Arthur bet you would like it there, better than your stuffy manor, surely.

Arthur rode fast and hard. Usually he met you quite a ways away from the town to avoid anyone possibly seeing and recognizing you, so he'd only been around your home once or twice, which was north of Rhodes, near the Kamassa River.

He was really tired of this running around. You needed to commit, now, and stop the bullshit that kept spouting from your mouth.

A good bit of riding later and he slowed, seeing the stately silhouette of your manor. It always made him vaguely uncomfortable.

He hitched his horse nearby, then took up a position that would allow him to observe the front of the house without being seen. He just needed to talk to you.

Arthur was used to staking out locations for hours, so he settled in. You had never dared to sneak him into the house, so he wasn't sure which window was yours– but he would wait. Oh, yes, he would. You were not going to escape that easily.

After perhaps an hour and a half of watching the help come and go, Arthur finally saw you emerge from the house, alone. About time, he thought gruffly.

He hung back, waiting till you got on your horse and start towards town before quietly mounting his horse and following you.

Arthur waited till the path was isolated on either end, then easily rode up beside you. “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted you cheerfully.

You squeaked in surprise, then turned and looked. “Arthur?! What– what’re you doin' here?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said firmly. “You ran away so fast yesterday, didn't even give me time to defend myself.”

“Ain't nothing to talk about,” you replied. “We're done.”

“We ain't.”

“We are. Leave me alone.”

“This is what you want in life? Stayin’ in some giant empty home with cash to burn? No excitement or nothin’?”

“Maybe,” you said annoyedly. “What of it?”

“I know that's not what you want,” Arthur said firmly. “I gave your life meaning, and I'll be damned if you try to deny that!”

“You have no idea what I want, Arthur Morgan,” you snapped, riding faster. He kept pace with you.

“I know you want more than this. I know you love me…or at least, I thought you did. Maybe I'm a fool and you've just been using me this whole time. Is that it, princess?” he demanded.

“No, Arthur–”

“No, Arthur,” he repeated in a squeaky voice. “You always say that. I can't believe it! I've been such an idiot this whole time. You never loved me. You just wanted a– a chaperone. You women are such cunning creatures. I gave you my whole heart, and you just stomped on it.”

“Arthur!” you cried, feeling guilty and angry at the same time. “You know that's not true. You know I love you. But the truth is…if my father were to ever find out about you, he'd surely disown me, and cut me out of the will. How could I risk that?”

He snorted. “All you care about is money, huh? Listen to me, sweetheart. It doesn't matter if you get that inheritance or not. You'll be alone forever. You will never, ever find someone like me. No one else puts up with your bullshit like me. Maybe you'll find a nice enough banker, who'll give you a kid or two out of duty, maybe you'll live in this house and hold parties just like your mother. But you will never be fulfilled like you would with us. You'll be surrounded by fancy possessions, maybe, but you'll always regret not coming with me.”

“Arthur,” you said hoarsely, staring at the dirt path ahead. This is how he got you everytime. He knew your biggest fear was being unfulfilled in life. He knew, and he never hesitated to use that against you.

Arthur knew you like a priest knows sin. He'd listened to your confessions for days on end, and now he was using them to break you down.

“I…I…” It was difficult to articulate your thoughts. He was very skilled at making you feel bad.

Before you had a chance to answer, a shot rang out and a bullet zipped between you two. Your horse neighed loudly, reared, and you fell off with a shout. You fumbled, getting tangled in your skirts, trying to crawl away.

Arthur cursed, then vaulted off his horse to grab you and drag you to the nearest cover. He stowed you behind a large rock, then peeked over and started trading shots with whoever was trying to apparently kill him.

“Arthur Morgan!” a masculine voice called out. “Turn yourself in or we’ll be forced to put a bullet in you!”

“Who is that?!” you screamed, terrified. 

“Another damn bounty hunter, probably,” he grunted, switching to his rifle. “Just keep your pretty head down.” 

You covered your ears and cowered. A few shots later, and the only sounds remaining in the forest were your horse’s panicked neighs and Arthur’s labored breath.

He sheathed his rifle and wiped off his forehead, leaning his head against the rock. “You okay?”

“Barely,” you said angrily. “You see what I mean now? I can’t live like this, Arthur! I’m sorry! I can’t risk it.”

Arthur went silent for a bit, and you glanced over at him. He had his hat pulled down low to where you couldn't make out his expression. “I’m gonna see who was huntin’ me,” was all he said before getting up and going over to examine the bodies.

You had no desire to see any mangled corpses, so you stayed behind the rock while Arthur investigated. 

You heard a shout, then a sick groan. What the hell? You lowered your head even further.

Arthur came back a couple minutes later. “We’re clear,” he said. “Just some idiot who thought he could really capture me.”

He had blood on his hands and his shirt. That coupled with the sweat that was shining on his forehead, made him look kind of attractive to you. Wait, what? 

“He wasn’t quite dead,” was his explanation.

You shakily stood up, dusting off your skirts. “D-D-Don’t ever talk to me again, Arthur. I want nothing to do with this.”

Arthur examined you for a while, and you grew uncomfortable under his stare, but you looked right back at him.

He finally sighed and shrugged. “If that's what you want.”

You watched in disbelief as he got back on his horse and left, apparently riding back towards Clemen's Point.

What just happened? 

That little nymph. 

Arthur was internally raging, gripping the reins of his horse so hard it was sure to leave angry red marks on his palms. If it weren’t for that damned bounty hunter! He was sure he could have convinced you to come back.

This was going to require something more drastic. Something…serious.

He rode back to camp while he thought about it. Luckily things were pretty calm for now, besides those hunters. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of something urgent. Dutch and Hosea were working on locating some gold that apparently existed around these parts, and were opting for the long run instead of going in, guns blazing. That worked out for Arthur, who had no desire to leave you anytime soon.

The question was this: What would not only bring you back to him, but make you stay permanently? Hmm…some sort of pressing situation, obviously.

He couldn't threaten you; that would be a bad foundation for your relationship.

The untimely demise of your parents, maybe? No, you would most likely be sent to a relative’s house. 

Speaking of parents.

Arthur felt a good idea forming. He furrowed his brows in concentration.

Speaking of your parents…you had spoken about your fear of being disowned.

Would that push you back into his arms? If you had nowhere else to go, would you turn to him?

But under what circumstances would you be disowned? If he made an appearance on your estate, you would probably be disgraced but not disowned, and he would be shot on site with any subsequent visits.

He needed you so bad it fucking hurt. Even just the thought of never seeing you again made Arthur desperate enough to try even the craziest plan.

An inkling of an idea was taking shape…

Perhaps, instead of a death…maybe a birth?

End of Part 1.

[noxitsnox]

if we get too closе, would it be okay?

hyun-ju x gn!reader - highschool au

summery: hyun-ju came out to her- now ex- girlfriend who spread the rumor around the whole school.

tags: trans/homophobia (the word tr**ny is used one (1) time), bullying, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff i promise, let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: i am obsessed it's not fair. this is pre-t but i'm still going to use she/her pronouns for hyun-ju <3 also english is not my first language and this isn't proof read, so i apologize for any mistake. @exactlyinfp

hyun-ju didn't want to go to school that day. her girlfriend, ex girlfriend now, broke up with her just because she trusted her, because she didn't want to hide anymore and she believed that her girlfriend of almost two years would understand. but she didn't. she called her all kind of names and blocked her everywhere.

she hoped this was where it ended. that they could just ignore each other and keep living life as it is. it would have been so much easier that way. but the moment she entered the school hallway she knew something happened. the looks she was getting were strange, full of hate. definitely not the looks you receive when you just broke up. she tried to ignore it and walked to her class with her head down.

it was early. a lot of time passed before some of her classmates entered the room. maybe it was better if they stayed outside. their chatter died down as soon as they saw her. one of them, who was seated next to her, took his desk and dragged it as far away from her as possible. “you're sick”, he said under his breath. “stay away from me.”

she stayed silent as the realization hit her. if he knew, everyone else did too. fighting tears, she forced herself to keep cool.

slowly people filled the room. everyone ignored her, even her so called friends looked at her with disgust. only y/n seemed to be acting as if nothing happened. maybe they didn't know about it yet. they’ll turn their back to you like everyone else, she thought.

“oh hyun-ju, how are you?”

y/n waited for an answer that never arrived. so, with a sad smile, they spoke again. “it's fine. you don't have to talk with me. you have my number in case you change your mind.”

———

for the rest of the week she ignored everyone. she was barely alive.

every morning she entered school feeling like a criminal. her locker in the changing rooms was filled with insults. some guys even tried to push her on the ground. that was the only moment she reacted. she could ignore words, but physical aggression was were she drew the line.

every night she cried herself to sleep, wishing she had someone on her side, someone to talk to. her family didn't know about what was happening in school and she hoped for it to stay that way or she wouldn't even have a home anymore.

it was on saturday afternoon that she lost it. she was out, getting some groceries for her mother at the local market, and she saw her ex with her friends. she tried to hide before they could notice her, but she wasn't fast enough.

"oh god, isn't that that tranny you used to date?", one said pointing at her.

"don't say that out loud, please. what will people think of me?"

hyun-ju ran away without even taking food from the market stall. she kept running until their voice became indistinguishable echoes.

she sat on the side walk and took out her phone, looking for y/n contact. she started crying, the tears blurring her vision.

their words came back to her. you have my number in case you change your mind. were they serious? she hesitantly called them, hoping for the best.

y/n didn't take long to answer and for that she was grateful.

"hey, you called!"

"i- yes... listen can you, can you come here?"

"oh hyun-ju, you're crying? is everything okay?"

"i don't even know anymore. please, just come here." and with that she hung up the phone, quickly shared the position with them.

she hugged her knees as she waited.

———

y/n was happy that hyun-ju called, even if the situation wasn't ideal. even though they weren't intimate, they cared about her and it made them sad to see her suffer. especially if she was being ridiculed for something beyond her control.

y/n tried to get to her as fast as possible. they went out in their sweats without bothering to put on something nicer. they didn't like the idea of hyun-ju seeing them in that state, but they also realized that they had to put vanity aside at the moment.

as soon as she saw y/n she got up and hugged. they remained in that position for a while. hyun-ju cried and cried while y/n rubbed her back, doing what they could to comfort her.

"sorry... i don't know why i did that", she said as she let go of them.

"you don't have to apologize. do you feel better now?"

"i do, thanks."

an awkward silence fell until y/n suggested they start walking with a wave of their hand, "do you wanna talk about what's happening?"

"i just want to forget about it. can we talk about something else?"

"oh sure", y/n looked at her and smiled. "do you wanna hear about this manga i'm reading?"

a/n: i realize that for an xreader the reader is barely there 😬 sorry. let me now if you liked it!!

[eyrieofsynapses]

so uh, I am brand-new to Star Trek (as in not even finished with the third TOS season), so I don't have much background here, but I have thoughts? I am also not a biologist, mind you, just researching online and using what I remember from gen-ed classes. I may have lost myself down the rabbit hole for… er. a while. a long while.

For the record, this is me trying to apply Earth biology and logic, which I know is not actually applicable to literal aliens or fiction. The joy of writing is being able to say "fuck it, this is fiction, I make the rules now."

But. Science is fun. So here's me trying to Science it.

First: points of consideration! Vulcan is a desert planet. It's close to its star with a thinner atmosphere, and notably hotter than Earth. A thinner atmosphere makes it harder for a planet to regulate temperature and may block less solar radiation. We also know, thanks to Amok Time, that humans can't breathe as easily there, probably due to lower oxygen. So, this means: 1) The temperature difference between day and night is probably more significant than Earth's (because desert and thinner atmosphere). 2) Less oxygen is available.

(For the record, I don't think humanoids would develop on a purely desert planet, but my tangent on this got so long that I'm cutting it. Also sci-fi hand-wavey suspension of disbelief.)

Second: what we already know! …or what I know from the first and second seasons of TOS, what y'all pointed out in the thread, and what I looked up via wikis. The links on episode titles go to transcripts.

Copper blood: Vulcan hemoglobin (the protein used to carry oxygen around) is copper-based, not iron-based (TOS "Obsession"), hence the green blood.

Blood pressure and heartrate: They have significantly lower blood pressure than humans, but a much, much higher heartrate—assuming Sarek's stats during surgery in "Journey to Babel" are applicable, anyway. (Again, I am very new to Star Trek, so that definitely could contradict something newer.)

Cool blood (and low metabolism): Their blood is cooler than humans', possibly implying a lower body temperature. McCoy also comments on Spock's nigh-unmeasurably low metabolism (TOS "The Paradise Syndrome").

Temperature tolerance: They have a considerably wider range of temperature tolerance than humans. (This is implied by their planet's natural temperature range, and by the fact that Spock is usually okay at human temperatures, but, when he can't regulate his temperature so well, apparently finds 125 degrees (presumably Fahrenheit) "tolerable" in "The Deadly Years").

(…also. According to Memory Alpha, a fan-made medical reference text provides some stats. But it's not considered canon, doesn't reference Earth science, and I spent way too long researching this to end it at that.)

SO. Let's go through those "what we already know" points.

Green blood and copper-based hemoglobin: This is a real thing! Some animals DO use copper instead of iron to carry oxygen around! Except they're invertebrates (ex. octopuses, some spiders), the blood is blue, it's not called hemoglobin, it's in an open circulatory system, and it's not like vertebrate blood. It's called hemocyanin, and it free-floats in the invertebrate equivalent to blood (hemolymph) rather than being shipped around by red blood cells.

(For the record, there are other types of blood that are green, but they don't use copper. But blood color varies for other reasons too. I'm handwaving this one.)

Vulcans clearly have closed circulatory systems (closed = blood pumps through vessels, open = sloshes around organs freeform), so they'd need cells to carry oxygen around, so they probably don't use hemolymph.

If you're wondering "but we evolved from invertebrates, so why don't we use copper?" like I was, it's because COPPER SUCKS AT CARRYING OXYGEN. At least in comparison to iron. (Unless you're in deep sea environments, which the desert is not.) So presumably, Earth vertebrates started using iron somewhere along the line. Vulcans did not.

My conclusion: Vulcan biology uses copper in a way that's analogous to how humans use iron, but somehow finds a way to make it efficient enough to match said iron's oxygen capcity. Also, considering that Vulcan seems to have less oxygen in its atmosphere, I'd guess their systems use oxygen more efficiently overall, or they just don't require as much. So maybe it doesn't even need to be quite as efficient. (Coming back later: to my gratification, Memory Alpha also notes the oxygen issue, although in this case it notes that Vulcans have more efficient respiratory systems to get the oxygen needed.)

Lower blood pressure, higher heart rate: I think beastlyanachronism is right about this one. However, circulatory systems are extremely complex and I know nothing about them (I'm a communications person, not a doctor, Jim!), so I'm not really the person to ask. I did some reading to try to educate myself for the sake of this question, though. Anyway: lower blood pressure implies that the Vulcan heart doesn't beat very hard, but it seems to beat faster to make up for the lower pressure. This clicks with the idea that Vulcans use oxygen more efficiently/need less oxygen than humans, since the heart doesn't have to do so much work.

Finally! Body temperature. I'm combining "cold blood" and "wide temperature tolerance range." And I did Much Research. I'm going to explain some biology stuff that some folks probably already know, but for those like me who don't remember the nitpick bits of biology class, I figure this might be useful.

Generally speaking, there are two types of animal when it comes to regulating body temperature: ectothermic (i.e., primarily relies on environmental heat sources and produces little internal heat; e.g. reptiles, amphibians, fish), and endothermic (i.e., generates internal heat and maintains a more-or-less constant body temperature; e.g. mammals and birds). It's way more nuanced than that, but we're talking broad strokes. (More reading: 1, 2, 3)

(Side note, the ducks kedreeva mentioned are maybe using regional heterothermy.)

Colloquially, you would hear these referred to as "cold-blooded" and "warm-blooded" respectively, but science doesn't use those terms anymore because it's not how they technically work; e.g., lots of active ectotherms keep their body temperature in mammal-range. There are others that conform to their surrounding environments, like fish, but as far as I can tell, they need a fairly consistent environmental temperature range. Endotherms, meanwhile, rely on their internal heat source: the excess heat energy from their internal functions.

Heat's important to animals for… well, multiple reasons, but a big one is chemical processes, because they're fiddly and need specific temperatures. Life itself is basically just a bunch of chemical processes.

The problem with ectotherms is that they're reliant on their environment. Their activity is tied to temperature, and the colder it is, the more they slow down. If it gets too hot, they overheat. Also, they have slower metabolisms, and don't necessarily store energy the way endotherms do. Long, extended periods of high activity are harder—if not impossible—for them to maintain, and they can't support big, energy-hoarding brains like endotherms can. (More on intelligence and endo vs ectotherms here.)

Overall, I find it hard to match this with Vulcans, because they seem to perform consistently across a wide variety of temperatures, their brains are very complex and probably need a huge amount of energy, and they're a lot like mammals (hair/fur, similar physical build, etc.), which are exclusively endothermic. Plus, I'm not sure an ectotherm system would be fully compatible with an endotherm, and humans are endotherms, so… I'm not sure Vulcan/human hybrids would work.

The one exception is metabolism, because McCoy does say specifically that Spock's "Vulcan metabolism" is low. (Unfortunately I overlooked that part until after I'd written most of this post.) And, well, Vulcans are aliens, so they COULD be ectothermic-like and just have other things going on that make hybridization possible. And the boundary between ectotherms and endotherms isn't firm; there's plenty of crossover. Or they might be something totally different! So YMMV.

Meanwhile, endotherms—mammals and birds, basically—maintain a stable internal temperature. This comes with trade-offs: we have a higher metabolism (part of what generates our internal heat) and therefore require more food, and we have to be much more intentional with our temperature regulation. 

But. Because endotherms have a consistent internal temperature, we're actually MORE resilient to temperature changes: we can maintain the same activities at warmer and colder temperatures. We can also support bigger and more energy-intensive brains. (Well, mostly; it's more complex than that, but this post is too long already.) I'd argue that Vulcans kind of have to be endotherms, or at least endotherm-like, in order to function across the vast variety of environments we see them in.

…exceeept there's the matter of the cold blood, and their temperature range is still giant (not to mention the accidentally overlooked metabolism issue). BUT. I have a THEORY.

CAMELS.

Camels let their body temperature range between around 34°C (93 Fahrenheit) to over 40°C (104 Fahrenheit). As desert-dwellers, they'll let their body temperature rise over the course of the day and drop during the night. That also helps them conserve water. They have a multitude of other useful adaptations, of course, but what I'm saying here is: they're desert endotherms that change their body temperature according to their environment. So I figure: why not Vulcans, too?

My pet theory: Vulcans are endotherms (or whatever passes for their evolutionary equivalent), but their internal temperature range varies dependent upon their environment. In human-comfortable room temperature, their body temperature might be several degrees below normal human body temperature, thus sparking Dr. McCoy's "ice water" comment. But once you start getting well over a hundred degrees, their body temperatures may come close to a human's, or even go much higher.

(This still doesn't address the metabolism part, but this is what I get for not reading the transcript line thoroughly until I've written a whole post. Bleh. Maybe I'll figure it out later and add a note.)

I also like to think that, assuming evolution already optimized their systems for less oxygen and somehow got copper to be an actually viable oxygen-carrier for vertebrates, maybe the various temperature-dependent chemical reactions in their bodies are more flexible or have other methods of temperature regulation.

…ANYWAY. there's six hours of my life I'll never get back! biologists, my deepest apologies for anything I got wrong, please feel free to yell at me.

Plus one last fun fact: when we look at climate trends on Earth, animals tend to become bigger when Earth cools (ex. mammoths during the latest Ice Age) and smaller when it warms (ex. early horses became teeeeeeny when our climate rapidly warmed back in the Eocene, and then got bigger when things cooled down). This phenomenon is known as Bergmann's rule. Basically, the bigger an animal is, the better it retains heat, and vice versa.

These are Earth rules, of course, and probably there's large Vulcan fauna that evolved to deal with extreme heat, but. look. I find the idea of Vulcans being giants in a world of miniaturized critters amusing, okay?

Okay, I'm all over the place with my physiological grasp of Vulcans. Are they hotter or colder than humans? Why? Does that make them feel the heat more or less than humans? Is their heartbeat faster or slower?

Also if you have a strong opinion or an explanation or anything to say please tell me! I wanna get a grasp on this one

[slenbee]

nadahusien

Scam account - nadahusien

Type of scam: image theft + fake gogetfunding campaign

How/why this account is a scam:

As pointed out by @kyra45 in her post about this account, the images the gogetfunding are using have been taken from a gofundme campaign that was originally posted on March 31st, 2024.

Left: the gogetfunding campaign / Right: the gofundme campaign

Also, I need to point out something very very obvious which to me points out that this is a scam. (I know I shouldn't call non-paypal accounts a scam but... stay with me, this takes the cake.)

In the original (real) gofundme campaign, it says this:

Hi, I’m Nada and I am organizing this fundraiser on behalf of my friend Walaa, and her family. This is Walaa’s story: I'm Walaa Jameel from Gaza, a pharmacist and a mother of five children. The youngest, Nour, is now two years and ten months old. I've been living in a tent in Rafah since the start of the genocide war on my city.

And in the gogetfunding campaign (the scam).. it says this:

Hello! Y'all it's Nada from Gaza, my little daughter Nour has hydrocephalus and seizures, we are now in a tent in very bad conditions, and every thing destroyed our house, hospitals and physiotherapy centers.😔

Do... do you see the glaring red flag here?

In the original gofundme campaign Nada (spelt Nada Husien btw) says she is the friend of Walaa, who is the daughter is Nour.

In the gogetfunding campaign Nada (spelt Nada Hussien) says she is the mother of Nour.

Not only that but there is nothing stated in the gofundme campaign that they needed to make a gogetfunding campaign to get additional funds. Something that most people would do if that were the case.

They also claim to be:

Vetted by: @gazavetters @nabulsi @el-shab-hussein @sayruq

But none of these accounts have shared this gogetfunding campaign that I could find via a reblog of the suspected scammer's pinned post.

Also that tumblr account joined on December 23rd, so it isn't that old, and they reblogged nonsensical stuff and then shared their post.

In addition (as I'm typing this post) helpful scam anon just dropped this bombshell of evidence (thank you scam anon!):

in August of last year another documented tumblr scammer, al-rasher, also pretended to be Palestinian and linked to this same exact gogetfunding account that nadahusien is now using, which you can see in this archived reblog of their fundraising post: https://archive.is/Ed8Av you can see how this gogetfunding account appeared on August 25th here: https://archive.is/LeG4u Notice the title, “Donate to Help Rasher’s family evacuate from Gaza, Organized by Margaret” and that the account was created by Margaret Opiyo, and the campaign story describes a mother named al-Rasher and her family. Here you can see how this same exact fundraiser appears today, edited to fit nadahusien's use: https://archive.is/mNX0V The title has been changed to “Donate to Help my little daughter Nour to facilitate the treatment,” and instead of Margaret Opiyo it has been organized by Nada Hussein, and the campaign story has been completely changed to describe Nour. i haven’t yet mentioned the url of this gogetfunding account. it reads “escape-gaza-mallycahs-family-needs-your-support” here is yet another documented tumblr scammer, mallycahblog, calling themself Mallycah and pretending to be Palestinian and linking to this same exact gogetfunding account that al-rasher and nadahusien use: https://archive.is/dj1pG

Some more evidence from this helpful anon can be found here.

Wow... Just.... wow.

Shame on this scammer trying to use an innocent child for their gain.

Again, as a note: I cannot vet or verify accounts running gofundmes/gogetfundings as being legitimate, as I'm not an organization or someone who can- in good faith- do that. I just can't, so please don't ask me about doing that.

But it's people like helpful scam anon here that help gather evidence like this so we scam busters can call these people out and let others know about it if there's enough evidence for it to be considered an actual scam.

----------

Please report the scammers fundraiser if/when you have the time, and remember to not harass or mass report them on tumblr. That's not what this post is about. This post is to bring people awareness about this being non legitimate.

Always do your research folks!

Stay safe!

Here's a post on some tips and tricks on spotting scam blogs.

Helpful guides on how to spot scams. (by @kyra45)

Current list of documented scammers: Part 3

[yellowocaballero]

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled. 

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully. 

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it. 

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick. 

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages. 

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit. 

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining. 

Poor guy. Imagine being from France. 

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place. 

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive. 

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.�� A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird.  Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?” 

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!” 

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you  know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it. 

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short. 

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that. 

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully. 

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing. 

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed. 

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust. 

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned. 

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

*

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc - 

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this. 

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

*

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles. 

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’. 

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing. 

*

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried. 

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned. 

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes. 

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself. 

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed. 

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same. 

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside. 

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said. 

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody. 

It was so easy. It scared Marc. 

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

[mumuscae]

ArTw: Extraterrestrial! Pollux

More info on the Extraterrestrial project, and character info beneath the cut!

Extraterrestrial is a personal project for me to remake ArTw to be... Not as bad as it is. Basically making my ideal version of Arcana Twilight. A fan reboot except it's probably not getting any further than concepts, rambles, and art. I will be omitting things I personally dislike, giving more soul to the characters, attempting to write a coherent plot, WORLD BUILDING, and getting rid of some uncomfortable and controversial things within the games writing. Part of this project is rewriting and redesigning individual characters! I'll be going over the basics first for these next few posts, before getting into the nitty gritty of what I have to offer So up first is Pollux because... I like his design as it is ngl I don't really have much to change. And I'm SO NORMAL FOR THE POTENTIAL BEHIND HIS LORE AND CHARACTER

Disclaimer! A lot of this is my own personal tastes and how I, Mimi Mumuscae, would write and design these characters. If you do not like it, you do not have to! That is fine if you like the canon and original versions! I like them too! This is a completely self indulgent project.

Design Changes Made

Not much ..😭

Not as pale (yes he's paler than this in game)

More saturated eye colors! I always liked to think his eye colors were meant to represent how the stars Castor and Pollux are Blue-White and Yellow-Orange in color. Wanted to make it more apparent.

I really don't think I did anything else to him??

Random Character info!

Personality wise, he's about the same-ish. less "OwO i-i totally don't like you!!! >w< " and he leans more into the trickster and "I don't make friends easily cuz I'm too cool for that or whatever 🙄" aspect of his personality. Although it's plainly obvious he's not truly meanspirited he's just trying really hard to feel cool... He acts troubled but it's mostly because he's surrounded by bad influences and needs better friends.

Other than that I mostly wanted to expand upon his magic and give him more reason to be in the guide committee, since in Extraterrestrial Ive made it so every guide sorcerer is exceptional in one way or another.

Ive taken inspiration from Castor and Pollux in mythology.... So our Pollux can now throw hands! His threat to beat up anyone who bothers summoner actually has some merit to it now. He's a dual gun wielder (his guns are called Dioscuri, meaning twins), he uses Destruction magic, and has some awfully powerful mana.

However powerful mana ≠ good sorcerer. He's still very new and lacks skill. And skill and range of abilities is usually what people consider makes a good sorcerer. Can't do much outside of destruction magic. His fighting style is also very reckless, unpredictable, head on, and doesn't mesh well with other sorcerers who don't know exactly how to cover for his weak spots and compliment his strong points. (There was once a sorcerer who could do this perfectly.... However he's mysteriously disappeared. oooooOoooOoOooooO whoever could that be.) So a good chunk of the reason he's gets to stay in the committee is simply because he has good potential. (Gets to stay. They thought about kicking him out after there was a "misunderstanding" about what kind of magic he uses. Apparently there was a misprint and they labeled his brother's magic instead of his own. Odd)

Much more to his redone character, but that shall come later✨

Ik this was a lot of rambling. However it will get worse. You are not prepared for the changes I will make to Sirius.

[iteratedextras]

In my view, and I know you'll probably disagree with it...

@jambeast @feotakahari @evilsoup

I think many Democrats view media as being about control, as being about setting the message. I think many of them view institutions the same way. You can just tell people something, and then they have to believe it.

And the thing is... they don't.

And I think that view is completely backwards. Media isn't supposed to be a top-down command and control system that people obediently follow. It's supposed to be an information network. Media should be about establishing a path of connection between a person and some fact.

If you lose that, if you sacrifice it for "moral clarity" that isn't, then you haven't won. You've lost the ability to communicate with people.

Calling something "der sturmer," saying something is a "racist moral panic," throwing around words like "taken-style hero"...

None of those things will work. Shaming won't work. You've already lost the connection. Further shaming is trying to pull on a connection that isn't there.

You have to re-establish trust. And not only do you have to re-establish trust in yourself, but you have to re-establish trust in your upstream sources. That's a broken link in the connection.

I trust evilsoup locally. I trust that they wouldn't misreport what they had for breakfast today. I don't trust their upstream sources.

Who do I trust on this issue? Who do I think has impeccable credentials and has established the right commitments and allegiances over the years?

I trust Razib. What does he say? He cites the government data, noting that there was already an overrepresentation, and then mentions that the case data may be from before 2015, before a bunch of additional convictions entered the record.

You may not trust Razib. I understand that. I have not established that path to you.

But this all is partly why my recommendation is just to go with heavier sentences and be loud about it. It's easy to justify on the merits based on the some of the information that's come out.

While I have a good grasp on the political dynamics of the United States, I'd have to conduct a much more thorough study of the current political dynamics of the UK to make a more thorough recommendation.

However, if the political dynamics of the UK are anything like the present political dynamics of the US... well, there's been a tremendous amount of reputational damage to group reputation management in the United States over the past 10 years, and especially over the past 4.

I am aware, specifically, of transgender issues as being one point of difference. I've also heard of differences on academics and other statistics. (Obviously, as an American, I'm very distrustful of "hate speech laws.") On the other hand a lot of the content coming out of the UK sounds very similar to America.

Democrats and leftists in the United States would say that media is biased against them, so "the UK media is biased" doesn't do anything for me. Hate speech laws mean that UK people are potentially operating under the threat of imprisonment if they say something that's true, but demographically unflattering, so that doesn't help. And of course, US activists are nuts, so I have very little reason to trust that UK activists are truthful.

So find a path. Help me out here. How can you convince me?

It may be that our information networks do not have an overlapping path that you could use to sell the argument, or the path may be too tenuous (i.e. by the time the information reaches me the weight is too marginal to have much of an impact).

If you can't find a path, could you create one?

Maybe do a proof of work, like performing an ideological functional decomposition on the UK parties and system to explain why I keep hearing that the UK (London especially) has a housing crisis. I mean that might not really be enough, and it might require too many bits to establish the connection, but what I mean is that there may be options that can achieve traction that are farther out than you expect.

Regarding Rotherham, since it's come up again...

If I had a daughter, and a group of men doused her in petrol and threatened to set her on fire, then what would matter to me is making sure that never happened again.

This is what is moral and right. Children are small and weak. Stopping such a thing is what a parent owes their child.

If that requires changing the ideology of the entire country, then my life's work must be changing the ideology of the entire country. This is simply the work that has been entrusted to me. Whether it succeeds or not, I must attempt it.

There are people right now asking others to refrain from criticism in order to protect the reputation of the Labour government.

My contempt for such people is off the charts. But I can now see the empty space. Many of them are morally underdeveloped. What it means is that they consider Labour their tribe, and they are obediently protecting the tribe.

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 14

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; dehumanization

Author's Note: How about something more gentle before we get into 13 starting to explain things? I feel a bit bad about part 13 x'D have some cute, fluffy things uwu

I settle on to the couch just fine and Selene joins me, as Simon said she would. It doesn't take him long to return from the room - blanket in his arms, as promised.

"Lay down." His voice is gentle still but I can tell he's no less tense. I do as he says without argument and Selene jumps up to the back of the couch, curling up directly above my head.

"Are you ok?" I ask as he places the blanket over me.

"I'll be fine. Didn't cut deep."

My hand pops out from under the blanket, fingers wrapping around his wrist carefully.

"I know you know that's not what I meant, Simon."

He freezes at my touch, eyes locked on mine, but doesn't say anyhting. Not right away at least. His fingers twitch slightly before gently sliding over the inside of my wrist.

"Just... angry for you. And the other omegas that Salvation has or has had in their hands. No more talk of it tonight, though," he says firmly, eyebrows raising to emphasize his point. "I'll bring you a plate when dinner's ready. Call for me if you need help with the tv, but otherwise stay put and hang out with Selene."

My grip on his wrist loosens and he pulls away, making his way back to the kitchen.

The tv and remote are fairly simple to work so I check various streaming servies before settling on soem random cartoon. Something about princes and dragons? I'm not sure. Half of my attention was on listening to Simon work in the kitchen.

I find it silly. I've known the guy for a couple of days, probably not even a full twenty-four hours at this point, but I feel more comfortable around him than anyone I've been around in a long time. Or maybe my self-preservation skills aren't as nice as I thought they were. I'm also just used to surviving Salvation's-

No more talk of it tonight. Simon's words ring through my skull and I frown.

Guess that means no thinking about it any more tonight either. Oh, well- oh, elves. Cool!

My attention is drawn to the tv, the story and characters pulling me in easily. Magic and magical beings have always fascinated me. Kind of like the little friend I saw in the sunr-

No. No, that was a rat. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Here," Simon says softly as he puts a bowl down on the coffee table. "Not my best dish, but it is comforting to me."

"What is it?" I ask, sitting up so I can eat.

Inside the bowl seems to be a stew, at least from the looks of it.

"Just what I used to throw together when I'd have a bad day and just needed something easy to cook and eat. Something warm but still good for me. Try it," he nods to the bowl in my hands.

Don't have to tell me twice; it smells wonderful. One bite has my taste buds exploding and my eyes wide.

"This isn't your best dish? Somehow I don't believe that," I argue through a mouthful of the stew.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"One of the simplest and quickest things I could make. I take it you like it then?"

I groan as I take another bite and his chuckle grows to a quiet, shoulder shaking laugh.

"I'm almost scared to know what else you're able to cook," I admit as a joke through another bite. "When did you learn to cook?"

"Had an involuntary leave a few years back," he shrugs and settles back into the couch. "Needed something to do with my hands so I decided to learn to cook and bake."

"You bake too? Jeez, are you sure you need an omega?" I scoff, smiling.

His head turns so he can look directly at me. He almost looks irritated.

"There's more to life as an omega than 'household duties'. We'll save that discussion for tomorrow, though. Would you like me to teach you? Then, if you'd like, you can practice while I'm out for work and surprise me with any new-found skills when I get back."

"You're offering to teach me to cook and bake? Do you even have time? From the way you and Johnny have been talking, you'll be gone the majority of the time."

The omega in my head is unsettled by the idea of him not being around often, but the rest of me doesn't mind. I'm not big on human company constantly anyway.

"Price, my captain, knew I'd be searching for an omega so I'm on leave right now. Plus we're in-between missions right now anyway." Simon pauses for a moment, expression neutral. "You haven't asked what I do for work."

The unspoken question of 'Are you going to ask?' lingers in the air. I take a couple more bites of my food, finishing what's in the bowl and placing it on the coffee table.

"I'm curious," I nod. "But is it really my business?"

"It is as much as it can be. I can't go into full detail, but I can give you the general information."

I shift on the couch, turning so my legs are tucked under me and I'm facing him. The blanket also gets moved so it's over my shoulders and head as I pull it closed in front of me. This seems to amuse Simon considering the small crinkle near his eyes.

"I'm a lieutenant, SAS. My team consists of four individuals, including myself, but we occasionally recruit people from other branches of the military. Sometimes even people from other countries' militaries - like Jeanz, she's part of Ireland's military."

"Who else is on your team? Johnny?" I prob for more answers, curiosity taking over.

"Johnny is one of the two sargeants in my team, yes. The other is Kyle and Price is our captain. The three of them are the people who know me best in this world," he adds the last sentence with almost a sad tone to his voice.

"Are Kyle and Price who I'll meet tomorrow?"

"Yes. If you and I want to do something about Salvation, I'll need to involve them. Are you ok with sharing your experieinces with more than just me?"

"It might take me a moment to get settled with them around, but I'll do my best," I offer with a shrug. "Fourteen years is also a lot of 'experience' to cover so this may take more than just tomorrow."

"It'll take time," he agrees with a slight nod. "I don't want you to think or worry about tomorrow, okay? They're good men and they'll be here to help. If at any point you're uncomfortable or need a break, you can tell me. Until then..."

He trails off as he adjusts and motions for me to come closer.

"Grab the remote and come here. Had a relization while cooking and woud like to fix my mistake."

I do as he says, but I give him a confused look as I scoot closer.

"Mistake? Simon, you've not done anything-"

"That's the problem. Lay down with your head on my lap. You may be an independent woman, but I'm sure the omega side of you is feeling rather nelgected. If it makes you too uncomfortable, you can move, but please try."

A soft blush warms my cheeks at his words, but I lay down just like he told me to. It feels... awkward, but still comfortable. I curl further into the blanket - his blanket - and glue my eyes to the tv.

Cinnamon and cedar fills my senses and I relax further, letting myself roll slightly towards him to truly rest against him. It doesn't take long for Selene to curl up near my chest. It takes even less time for my eyes to slip closed and for me to drift into a truly relaxing sleep.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname @jeanzoriley-cod

[plethomacademia]

I spent most of yesterday logged off and that took a lot of the energy out of my veilguard critical sails. It's fine. You can see all the places where they had to cut content. There are lots of ideas with little cohesion.

It reminds me of da2 in that way a lot, but I didn't care about it with that game. Sure people just appear out of crates to hit you and there's exactly one cave. There's something to be said for smaller scopes. I loved Kirkwall and I loved the people I got to know over years there.

Sure, this game cannot be a single city and the stakes are too high to take years, you're fighting at least one god no matter what due to the set up in inquisition. (Which ugh don't get me started on that after credits stinger and how they might have set themselves up for failure again.) But did we need six factions, especially when three of them feel half finished at best? Did there need to be a version of galactic readiness which forces you to engage with each faction to the point that you can see the gaps? Did there need to be so many boss fights that they didn't have time to design so they just threw in another dragon?

I like the characters but I feel the gaps there too. There's enough here for me to play with, but this need for everyone to be nice ... Ugh I really hope this isn't the future of this company. Remember when characters could disagree? Remember when you could literally hate fuck? Remember when Ashley shot Wrex in the head?

I guess since this is a whole thing, I'll get out the last part: the romances are really disappointing. I don't mean this in a where are the boobies way, who truly cares. Bioware was really onto something with their last two games and romances. Veilguard suffers from everyone having basically the same progression: empty flirts that feel weird -> a lock in that feels very late and gets you a kiss -> good job gamer here's the sex. This is the me1 and me2 model!

Their last two games had really started to play with allowing different characters to have different ways to engage in a relationship. Some people will never consummate, some want to fuck on the first date. The thing I remember the most from Andromeda is that it let me play my Ryder like the absolute messy nepo baby that I wanted, which included fucking her friend on the couch after playing scifi FIFA and then calling it what it was: blowing off steam, having fun. After that, she was able to have a long, slow build up romance with a pink alien who helped her stop and think for three seconds and become a better person.

This is good! To use phrases that I think Bioware might care about, this is representation! I have always been a fuck on the first date, catch feelings later person, so the whole building to sex always felt off to me. Let some people lead with their bodies. Let some people lead with the feelings. Let people be people! If nothing, it felt even more video gamey and empty changing it back to this and I have a feeling this is once again a victim of cuts in development.

Apparently my sails were still full. I do plan to play this game again, but with the difficulty turned down, enemy hp set to lowest, and free rein to skip cutscenes that made me roll my eyes the first time. I really hope this did well enough that they get to have another shot at mass effect, but I am also worried that this is their new standard and I am going to have found family everyone is nice in space whether I want it or not.

[starlightandfairies]

Reaction ~Joel Miller~

Description: Reader kills someone to protect Joel. It was the first person who wasn't infected.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, swearing, death, killing, vomit, blood,

(View whichever Joel you want, show or game. I don't have any in mind. Regardless of what the gif is)

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 1,578

The Last of Us masterlist

First Person's POV 

Joel and I were running around some city, hunters had been on our arses for a fair while, I wasn't much of a fighter. I mean, I knew how to defend myself, Joel taught me and also how to use a couple weapons but most of the time it was Joel who did the killing. I could take out the infected, I'd be dead if I didn't, I had yet to kill an uninfected person yet. I knew it was inevitable, it's a dog eat dog kinda world now. Gotta do what you gotta to do to survive. 

"Come on, I'll boost you up." I nodded, grunting as Joel gave me the momentum to get into the air and I pulled myself onto the platform and then got on my belly to drag Joel up. 

"You ready?" I nodded and started dragging him up once he grabbed onto my arms. Joel pulled me to my feet once he was up and we climbed into the window. I hid behind something covering the platform we were on, watching as Joel dropped down to the main floor to take out the lone runners. 

He moved with such ease, almost like a ballerina, probably not something I should say to him. Ever. I think he'd kill me if he knew I referred to him being like a ballerina. Joel killed the four runners without alerting any of them, once he waved his hand I dropped down with my knees cracking, creaking and crackling. 

"We going up?" I questioned once making my way to Joel, he nodded and grabbed onto the rope/hose/cable whatever the fuck it was, he grabbed onto it, tugging firmly a few times before gesturing for me to go up first. 

"I'll catch you if you fall, just like last time." I huffed, hated he had to reminded me of it, maybe I should call him a ballerina to his face. I grabbed the rope/hose/cable and used the wall to make my way up. It was hardest getting onto the ledge without getting into some ridiculous position. Once Joel got up, we made the hike to the rooftop, hoping to get the advantage on these hunters. 

I got the plank that was discarded and placed it between the two roof top buildings. Joel finished surveying the rooftop and ushered for me to get across. I did so and ducked down once bullets started firing, Joel kicked off the plank and began firing back at the hunters who managed to sneak up on us. 

"Find a way down, I'll meet you down there!" Bang. Bang. Bang. He ran away before I could muster a protest. Fuck, Fuck. Fuck. Not having any bullets coming my way, I ran to the door, closing it behind me and pulled out my gun creeping down once I gained a hold of my senses and remember everything Joel taught me if I ever ended up alone. 

I was worried the bloaters would be in here, the stalkers had me more scared, I just wanted to go back to safety, when stalkers weren't trying to get me to die by natural causes of a damn heart attack. The worst part is knowing they're there but not knowing when they're gonna jump out. 

In this building I had to deal with just clickers and runners. So glad that no stalkers wanted to give me a heart attack, that honestly relieved me. However, my fear quickly returned as I heard the gunshots growing louder the closer I got to the bottom of this tall building. 

I dropped down from the opened elevator, grunting once more at the pain in my knees, I really needed to stop doing this and I know that Joel's knees were just as abused as mine. I did this little awkward creeping run, trying to stay low but quick to see if Joel was still alive or if something had somehow gone wrong. I got into the building, hiding behind the nearest barricade to ensure that Joel was still alive. 

There he was, fighting with a hunter, his gun was somewhere discarded in the overgrown ground-floor. Joel managed to get a metal spike in his hand before ramming it up the hunter's chin. I did a quick survey, trying to ensure there were no more hunters, as I said before, I'm not much of a fighter and Joel very much knew this, so normally he kept me away from this kind of fighting. Which I was glad he did that, instead of ditching me years back when he realised how much of a fighter I wasn't. He ditched the body to the side, grunting as he did so. I checked again, making sure no one was sneaking around before making my way to Joel. 

It happened so quickly, sounds cliched, but I swear it really did and I don't really think Joel knows what happened either. A hunter tried pulling off some ninja move from movies. He dropped down from the balcony, landing on Joel, causing him to fall belly side on the ground and struggle for air as the man wrapped an a cord around Joel's throat. I fired one shot, landing in the hunter's bicep. Fortunately he let go of Joel, unfortunately the hunter came towards me with a machete. The hunter swung, the blade towards me, I stubbled backwards like the klutz I am and landed myself on my back with the guy charging towards me. I fired one shot and then one more. 

The body fell on top of me. I could feel his blood on me, god I felt sick and awful. Joel took the hunter off of me, I couldn't understand what he was saying, I could see his mouth moving and see the worry in his eyes. 

Joel's POV

Two shots echoed through the building, the man fell down on top of y/n then silence. I moved towards the two, kicking the body off of y/n noticing the bullet in his bicep, chest and one in his forehead. Blood was splattered across her face and clothes, her hands shaking with the gun still firmly kept in her hands. 

Y/n was beyond pale, I could see it in her eyes, I've seen that look too many times to know it would only be a matter of time before she's vomiting. 

"Hey, hey, darlin' I need you to give me the gun." There was no recognition in her eyes, no acknowledgement that she heard me talking, I slowly crept forward and took the gun from her hand and rested it on the ground before helping her onto her knees. I rubbed her back as she threw up and flinched slightly as little sobs came from her lips once she finished. 

"I-oh god I-I f-fuck. There's so much blood." Her hands shook staring at the blood on her hands, I brought her to her feet, knowing that I couldn't help her here until we were away from the hunters' grounds. I grabbed onto her shoulders, trying to get some senses back to her. 

"Darlin' you gotta come with me, I can't help you until we're safe." Y/n nodded, that shellshock look still on her face. 

++++++

First person's POV 

It came in blurs, going between knowing where I am to flashing back to shooting the hunter, knowing that his blood is still on me and knowing that I killed a man. I felt Joel's hands on my face, forcing me to look at him, was I still crying? I don't know, I don't even know if I had been crying but just feeling all the sadness. 

"I killed a man- Joel, I killed him. How do I make the blood go away?" Joel helped me out of the car, stopping near the creek, Joel lowered me to the ground, using some rag to wipe the blood from my face and guided my hands to the running stream to get the blood off. 

"All gone." It was always nice hearing the gentleness, he didn't really show it much, at least not in the typical way one would think of gentleness, he had his own way. 

"I still killed a man." 

"You did what you had to do to survive. If you didn't you'd be dead or worse being raped and tortured by all those hunters. You did what you could to ensure you stayed alive and safe." The words sounded blunt and not what someone who wanted comforting needed but Joel, he knew what he was doing. 

"Darlin' I'm proud of you, even if it wasn't what you wanted to do. You acted fast and you kept yourself alive and unharmed." Joel, brought me in for a hug, stroking my hair and letting out gentle hums. 

"Come on, get into a change of clothes, we'll wash those clothes later on. You tell me how I can help. What can I do to make the hurt go away?" Joel wiped away a tear, leaving his hand on the side of the creek, doing what he could to try and soothe me. 

"Just hold me once I get out of this?" 

"I can arrange that darlin'" 

[di-daynamic]

I absolutely do understand and I agree with you on many of those things! I guess there's also the societal pressure to think of - for instance one of the many reasons Emma helps them out is that Jace being a Herondale mattered to her deceased father ("The Carstairs owe the Herondales") and I think a lot of people just called him Herondale despite Jace using the Lightwood name at that point of time. Also subconsciously - in both Clary and Alec's dream worlds Jace is called a Herondale.

Jace also thinks he doesn't deserve to be a Herondale - that's the first thing he thinks of when he says it's not his name - so I love that he takes on the name and dispels that thought-

“Not—my name,” Jace whispered. His blood felt hot in his veins, tightening his throat, choking off his words. He thought of the silver box with the birds on it, herons graceful in the air, the history of one of the great Shadowhunter families laid out in books and letters and heirlooms, and how he had felt as if he didn’t deserve to touch the contents.

The emphasis on family name is very much a Shadowhunter thing and I don't really get it either but I love to think about the characters in terms of it - Charlotte being Consul was the reason the Fairchild line continued through them rather than Branwell, and part of the reason Alec was so worried about his sexuality coming out was the Lightwood name I think, and Kit being less related to Jace than other characters but feeling like more due to both of them bearing the name.

I guess the demon blood thing doesn't annoy me so much because it is alongside other things - the reason Jace isn't like Sebastian is partly the demon blood, but also that he got to the Lightwoods in time--

“The best thing Valentine ever did for me was send me to you,” Jace added. “Your parents, sure, but mainly you. You and Izzy and Max. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been—like Sebastian. Wanting this.” He gestured at the wasteland in front of them. “Wanting to be king of a wasteland of skulls and corpses.” Jace broke off, squinting into the distance. “Did you see that?”

I mean, Jace has terrible self-esteem so not to be taken at his word, but still.

The reason Jace takes the Herondale name rather than Montclaire is because he doesn't know anything about his mother - he had Amatis, his father's letters and later Tessa to connect to his father's family (also just patriarchy but you know). I also think that quote is more him saying names don't matter than that they do - he's just picking is, and specifies it's not to spurn the Lightwoods, also his family.

I've always seen demon blood as more of a propensity than anything, I guess? Not like angel blood makes Clary and Jace perfect people - Simon is Clary's moral compass quite a bit. Also the fact that Jace literally has demon and warlock blood from Tessa (do you think he could use James' gun?). It was because of his upbringing that Sebastian was really the way he was. He was also connected to Jace - I know he was the 'major' and Jace got his thoughts and feelings rather than the other way around, but there was at least a little in that direction too. He was able to pretend enough to almost fool Clary that all he wanted was to banish demons and be Valentine without the genocidal and maniac tendencies. In the end all he really wanted was Clary too. I think the demon blood being burned away just got him to see everything and himself more clearly - contrasted against Magnus meeting his demonic father right after this. The tragedy of the intersection of you would've always been like this and you could've changed but didn't is what TMI is to me.

Sorry this is rambling and a bit all over the place. And I really hope this doesn't come off as argumentative or anything. I do think Jace Lightwood Herondale is the best name for him, and your points about the demon blood thing are entirely valid. Thank you for discussing it, I love TMI and it's been far too long since I've had to think this in-depth about it (though the Clace and Sizzy University AU fic rattling in my head does help).

My firmest TSC take will always be that Jace should have gone by Lightwood in the end. I get that him being a Herondale makes sense in the grand scheme of the TSC universe (him, Will, James, Kit, and Edmund are all birds of a feather), but his personal arc is far more dependent on the family who raised him. Learning about his biological parents is of course important to him, but calling himself a Herondale doesn't actually feel like a resolution to his identity crisis. TMI is all about rejecting the hatred handed down from previous generations, which is why neither Clary nor Jace identify as Morgensterns. While Stephen was nowhere near as bad as Valentine, he also did even less to shape Jace into his adult self. Robert and Maryse on the other hand actually raised him for half his life, and Alec Isabelle and Max grew up alongside him as his siblings. He's a Lightwood in every way that matters, I don't get why Jace (in-universe) would choose to identify himself as a Herondale when there's nothing tying him to that family but blood spilled before he was born.

Anyways, I'm a Jace Lightwood truther for life, thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[altruistic-meme]

damn i heard the hurricane rn is even bigger than Hurrican Katrina and ya gotta go to work?? fucked up 😔

it's even worse than I thought this morning 😭

Hurricane Helene is now a cat 3, and I've heard it's expected to hit a cat 4 before it makes landfall. from what i saw, it's definitely bigger than Idalia, but I haven't seen any comparisons to Katrina yet.

what gets me is how far INLAND the eye of the storm will be though. I'm so used to having them follow the coast, where we'd get the arms more than anything, but the projected path for Helene goes DIRECTLY over Atlanta. that's how far in it's supposed to go. which is nuts to me.

but all that to say; yeah I have to work :( not even just today, which was bad enough i had to drive home with my hazards on, but even if the lines don't work tomorrow, because I got moved off the lines and into material, I MAY VERY LIKELY STILL HAVE TO WORK. and even if I DON'T my new supervisor told us to just come in anyway and they'll decide from there ;;;; which is dumb af cus if the lines aren't running then that means that it's too dangerous ??? so why would material have to come in if it's dangerous???? urgh.

its so dumb :(( and we can't even just call the holiness the way the lines don't bc it won't specify for material :((( which means again like. even if they decide we won't work we still have to drive out there and home!! on the morning of friday, which is right in the middle of when the storms are expected to be the worst!!!!!

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[onesnoopyaday]

I AM AT MY LIMIT

Snoopy #90

30/12/2024

description under the cut

[description: a cartoon-style drawing of Snoopy's head. Snoopy is a white dog with black ears. His eyes are shut and his mouth is a horizontal line. There are two large blue teardrops, one under each eye. The text "I am at my limit" is handwritten across the top of the image.]

[salemoleander]

Creator Commentary / Explaining Elements

I don't normally do this, but there's SO MUCH going on in this one that I actually wanted to do a commentary on it and why I picked what I did! I put a LOT of thought into elements and how they contribute to the overall effect of a piece, so I thought it might be fun to lay some of that out.

That all got (predictably) incredibly long, so it is under its own cut! I've labeled each bullet by what I intuitively called that element, rather than the actual title/author/etc, to make it easier to follow which bit I'm talking about. (For example, rather than "Président de la nuit", I've labeled it "Chair painting".)

Also, you seem unstable… speech bubble

Chosen because it evokes superhero comics (which is the AU we’re in) and gives a humorous/light-ish start to the piece.

Could genuinely be said from either of them.

Overlaid on the wound-tending image to form a kind of tableau

Bandaging hand art

The hands being Grian/Scar’s isn’t sensical per the fic (they only had the 2 hands during the backstory) but the theme of helping/dependence due to injury really benefits from it.

This art also works bc it ties in the seafoam green & skin tone/reddish hues that appear in the chair & other hands. (The right side of the piece is blue/black, bc it’s about Scar’s “betrayal” of evicting Grian from his body)

in his eyelids poem excerpt

Contains the idea of existing inside another person, as well as the fear - one last nakedness, one last level of being exposed to the possible judgment or harm from someone else. 

The words ‘sleep until dawn’ create an image of soft/warm affection, and the mention of nakedness also leads well into the nude man with blank eyes below it, what happens when Grian is kicked out of that body.

Broken glass

Needed a low-contrast bg image that would blend well into the art below, and to enhance the idea of superheros/danger/risk/fighting without just chucking another wounded hand into the mix. 

When you/ bend and kiss the rotting wings poem excerpt

The rest of the poem is much longer, and even this stanza is longer, but it had several bits I found either redundant or less-applicable for this use. 

The final line in full is “Even now I still need something better to say/ than this hush love creates between two people” but ending it at “better to say” hits harder. The hush love creates is being created by the other pieces & its placement over a cozy house scene, no need to belabor the point.

He tugs gently on my towel… poem excerpt

I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO USE THIS FOR FOREVER Fjords is a phenomenal collection but the poems create such a specific feeling that they’re very hard to use well. 

The full poem POV is referred to with she/her, which isn’t a dealbreaker but I found I could cut around those lines & still get the core image I wanted to steal for this.

Again emphasizing this gentle/warm/caring nature that still results in unclothing (a last nakedness!) the POV character, in reminding them they are not human, and an assumption that that is a flaw.

Blood decanter

This was one of the last additions - I like to break up horizontal/vertical edges when I can, and that middle edge was VERY unbroken. 

There are a bunch of other vein-style carafes by the artist, but this one had an alien/baby-animal-taking-its-first-steps spindliness that I liked.

The recurrent blood motif is partly my own personal bias towards it but also bc it turns out it is VERY HARD to visually convey ‘guy who is living inside another guy’, especially if you, the artist, have a phobia of parasites. So, blood/veins/connections through tendrils it is. Vaguely mold-like but not bc I am a big baby.

Red wings

Again, wanted to break up that vertical line, and also this Grian does have wings, and also also I figured I could maybe do a sort of tableau thing w/ the guy sitting. Not trying to do true collage there, but the implication of his having wings is good enough for me!

Would you murder me texts

Needed something small/with simple or no text to go over the cozy chair. At one point Grian mentions basically ghosting Scar for almost a year?? And it seemed like an appropriately funny-but-not-really thing to include.

Chair painting

I needed the coziest, most Scar-tastic living room (with a balcony/night view bc superhero au obvs) and Ms. Carole Rabe fucking delivered. All of her paintings are so richly done!! Go look at them!

Scar colors, and also blends between the seafoam/pale green & orange -> sunset tones that play so well with the red and dark blue.

Also. There’s only one chair, and it’s empty. 

Give until I’m… poll

I originally used all 4 of the results from this, bc imo they fit REALLY well to Scar Grian Xisuma and then one aimed at recovery. In the fic it’s clear they’re all kind of.. different flavors of too-altruistic, different flavors of lighting themselves on fire to keep someone else warm.

However that ended up dominating the feeling of it/ adding too much gray, so I dialed it back to ones that convey the fears/themes of the work. 

Scar refuses to become hollow, refuses to be a home for someone else; Grian trusts and trusts and that breaks him, gives up his own body until it is a shell for Scar to carry out; Xisuma has seen everyone he loves die and keeps going, doggedly continuing a heroic fight that nearly ended with him dead on a warehouse floor.

Sitting on floor guy painting

GO LOOK AT DENIS SARAZHIN’S ART. NOW.

Okay - the blue with touches of red at the toes was the right color for what I needed. He’s in the dark, almost veiled by the quotes around him.

Mostly I picked this for his expression. Go look at a full-res version of this - his eyes are intelligent but veiled, mouth slightly hardened and fist clenched. 

I also think the title has some very good synergy with the themes.

love me enough to drown me out

I don’t do easter eggs, but this is about as subtle as I’ll let things get. Depending on screen brightness a lot of people won’t even see this element to the right of the sitting man, which is intentional.

With this I was both thinking of Grian’s need for Scar (love me enough to ignore your misgivings, to let me be part of you, to escape the pain of being alone in my own head, drown me out) and Scar’s implied request in return (love me enough to drown out the distrust, to let me see you, to eclipse your fear of not being enough).

It’s hard to see bc this is the point in the story where they are the least communicative - Grian made into an insensate thing, Scar never even telling him what he was planning. 

Think of visible red/blood in this collage as representing ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’; the text is obliterated because the idea it contains is obscured.

I return to the site of injury

Trying to let some pieces be more/less easily legible, letting smaller/more private thoughts exist with less contrast.

They are each others’ sites of injury; Scar literally could not have lived without him, and Grian cannot forgive the wound of separation.

to have & to hold

This might as well be the thesis statement. To have - to possess, to contain, to consume, to be - is incompatible with to hold - to comfort, to exist beside. Wanting doesn’t make them synonyms.

happiness is…

Gonna be real, I just saw that title on an old blood donation ad and was like ‘LOL yeah that works’.

Like yeah happiness is helping other people despite the risk to yourself, reaching out will always be nobler than stagnation, etc etc.

Birds and smoke

I love the bright red of the birds against the smoke, and the sky/smoke mimics the blue of the top right side excellently.

Needed something to subtly set the scene (there’s a fire in the warehouse, it’s nighttime, etc) without being too muddy bc there’s so much stuff in the foreground.

Veins and Bones Arm Embroidery

MAYBE MY FAVORITE ELEMENT

The artist (if I’m understanding correctly): Photographed her own arm. Printed it on fabric. Drew on her bones. And then embroidered her veins!!! Sick as hell!!

I wanted something that used veins, that showed the entry/takeover of Grian into X’s body while also avoiding gore. I had a cool old blood-drawing illustration that I decided to abstain from bc I thought it might be a bit much (and also it wasn’t colorful and I didn’t wanna have to do Yet Another Filter)

The tracing of bone underneath - the implication of something permanent and solid that veins are woven around/ latticed on - felt like a good choice to convey what Grian does in the fic.

with all the holes in you already…

Abjection, baby!

No seriously, go read some Kristeva and then come back. 

Jenny Holzer the text artist of all time tbh. 

Needed something to convey injury/damage/mutualistic parasitism/’you’re afraid but you don’t have to be’ and unfortunately just pasting in a scene from the Xenogenesis trilogy would take too much room.

Also the pale mirrored silver/red fit great with the arm embroidery and bloody hands.

Car headlights

Wanted to convey city/bright/hard to see, and the moment they stepped out the door with Grian piloting X, the need to stand up to news & paparazzi, just a bunch of things related to ‘bright light in my eyes ouch’

I did not hunt down the moment

I am SO SAD scatterghosts deactivated. Wonderful TMG edits.

So this already had the perfect colors and was itself a city scene, it felt very logical to overlay it on the car headlights.

I was mostly thinking about how after a year of avoiding him, this reunion comes upon Grian without warning. 

Also thinking about dreams/waking, potentially suppressing X’s consciousness, and a blurry-eyed attempt to determine What Is Happening.

Bloody hands

\o/ HANDS WITH BLOOD (Do you have any idea how hard it is to get good art with blood/gore that isn’t 1. Guro (very.) 2. Irl photos of dubious provenance 3. Medical photos again of dubious provenance??)

There’s a whole set of hands with blood in that series, actually! I chose these bc I wanted 2 hands (Grian and X), and I wanted X’s to be lax, with Grian’s active.

I thought the way the thumb is digging into the lower arm seemed evocative of the connection/penetration of letting your cells start to breathe for somebody else.

The blood is blood but the way it coats one hand while marring the other also brings up contamination/spreading, like we can see Grian’s cells flowing down?

Do you have a question…? poem excerpt

Again, slightly harder to read than I might normally do!

A question that can’t be answered is about keeping secrets, as well as Grian’s refusal to ask Scar why, to confront him, to have that conversation.

Mercy being difficult to understand is the other side of that coin - if Scar wasn’t being cruel, why did becoming hurt? Why is he willing to risk his life for X, despite knowing the incredible danger? He wants to be a pigeon again.

A piece of burned meat poem excerpt

This is Xisuma’s POV to me, post-fic. Not much of it, but I wanted to explore both the idea of ‘my body is HURT and I am not in control’ and also ‘I am so tired. I have been so tired. At least this isn’t up to me anymore.’

catching signals that sound in the dark webweave

Created as a gift for @droidofmay for her incredible fic!

// Sources under readmore //

What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Limited Life | Nightingale | solving counting sheep | Hunger au

Also, you seem unstable… speech bubble / via imperiuswrecked ◆ Naka-Choko [the inherent homoeroticism of wound tending] / @dontbelasagnax ◆ Excerpts from Your Lover (The Galloping Hour: French Poems) / Alejandra Pizarnik via @feral-ballad ◆ Constellation No. 26 / Zhao Zhao via @psikonauti ◆ Excerpt from Hush / C. Dale Young via @grocerystoredean ◆ Excerpt from Refrigerator General (Fjords I) / Zachary Schomburg ◆ Carafe Nº6 / Etienne Meneau ◆ Red wings / Natalia Karna ◆ Would you murder me… texts / sparklebussy (deactivated) ◆ Président de la nuit / Carole Rabe via @huariqueje ◆ Give until I’m… poll / @orewing ◆ Out of touch / Denis Sarazhin ◆ fill me up, fill me full up / @taohun ◆ Excerpt from Heed the Hollow / Malcolm Tariq via @geryone ◆ Excerpt from No I Don’t Want to Connect with You on LinkedIn / Emily Skaja via @serratedpens ◆ Happiness is- / National Institutes of Health ◆ Fire reflected on birds in smoke / Coen Robben via @theanimalblog ◆ Constructual 5 / Juana Gomez ◆ With all the holes… (Survival series) / Jenny Holzer via @valtsv ◆ New York Winter 2014 2015 / Lina Scheynius ◆ I did not hunt down the moment edit [[Need More Bandages / TMG | Night Lights, Berlin / Lesser Ury]] / a-doctor-not-a-fangirl (deactivated) ◆ Lie (Peripety series) / Jen Mazza ◆ Excerpts from From The Book of Time (Devotions) / Mary Oliver via @liriostigre ◆ Excerpts from Having It Out with Melancholy / Jane Kenyon via @cithaerons