#and so even in just trying to answer the question or provide a solution

[thehardkandy]

A thing I really appreciate about my job is idk. The sense of doing something people want but cannot do for themselves. That they ask me a question or provide me a problem/desire and I tell them if or how it can be done. And then I spend my time doing what I have decided upon. It feels good and the feelings last longer than I got at my other jobs, since it was usually only for very small parts

[snekdood]

the stereotype of rwingers becoming trans and then trying to become leftists shouldnt be a "ewww you're morally impure and havent been a perfect progressive since you were a fetus like I have" type of thing, if anything it should open up a broader conversation on how a lot of people amab are basically from day one being indoctrinated into the right thus making it harder for people to accept themselves and thats very concerning and we need to do something to stop this.

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[astroismypassion]

Any chance ucould do Eros in the signs and houses series pls???

Hi! I will try to answer in shortly, because there is not enough time for the whole post, but I’ll just go quickly through it, so that I give you an answer. 😊

Eros in signs

Aries Eros: Well, they just really like people that take charge, but they still end up controlling it? The Aries Eros native will still like to be in charge in some manner. Either by teasing you long enough, edging you or not allow you to touch them on certain body parts. They low key love delegating? 😂 Like “you do this here and I’ll do that there to you”? haha. They love “dividing” tasks in the bedroom. They might have this one unrealised dream of someone coming onto them passionately, kissing them and it turns out in a whole wild night that lets you wonder what the hell just happened last night. They have this one fantasy scenario of just being unhinged.

Taurus Eros: They are seduced by moans and someone talking, breathing onto their ears. Don’t underestimate the ears with this sign. You might not think that it’s Taurus, but it actually is. They love is someone nibbles, playfully licks their ear. I would say lots of kissing on the lips, but then again if it’s maybe aspected by Uranus, Saturn or at times even Neptune, they might not even be that keen. Not all Taurus placements love long, long make out sessions. Some don’t even like french kisses or kissing on the mouth that much. But they are often down for neck kissing. Even light biting or hickeys, but again it really depends on how cautious or reserved they feel.

Gemini Eros: They are seduced by people who keep them mentally stimulated or provide good ideas, but talk less then them. 😂 They often go for people who ask a lot of questions instead haha. They like to be the one providing answers and solutions to fixing partner’s inquiries and questions. But they are often aroused by the partner that occasionally talks back or behaves bratty.

Cancer Eros: Now this one is again, might be controversial. But they have this thing with left eye? They love if you plant a little baby kiss above or under or somewhere close to their eye. It’s like a protective gesture. They are usually heavy breathers when aroused. You might feel like their breathing becomes deeper, almost like they are in a deeper state of relaxation.

Leo Eros: These are overall very confident people. Not just in sex, but their general disposition, personality, how they carry themselves. Even if they have quiet confidence and not loud, they come across even more self assured than an Aries. They just know what they want, how and when. They have a sultry look to them that they don’t even have to try hard at flirting or seducing someone, because they already are so charming. These people actually compliment YOU a lot when they want to sleep with you and they do not need so many compliments for themselves actually.

Virgo Eros: They are just as complex as a Scorpio Eros. 🙈 These people might like everything, but nothing at the same time. They throw order out when having sex, they become chaotic. They are like “just throw it somewhere, we’ll clean afterwards”, they really don’t care when in the moment. Also, they get very easily overstimulated. They could be turned off by an unexpected or unpleasant smell. But having someone’s hands all over their body, touching them is actually the only time they do NOT feel anxious. These people are too often touch starved.

Libra Eros: Oh these people are just very proper and diplomatic, neutral, at times reserved and cautious. However, I noticed that they exhibit traits of the opposite sign, Aries, when in a partnership. So when in a romantic partnership, they become much more controlling in the bedroom. Wanting to really be pleased by the partner and vice versa, because what’s the point of being in a partnership then? They become very idealistic and demanding. They love if you try to seduce them and flirt with them, give them a lot of compliments. They need to feel desired in order to get aroused. They are also surprisingly cerebral, meaning they love smooth talkers, people who seduce them with words.

Scorpio Eros: You can imagine it’s no easy task to seduce them or arouse them. They are complex. They might have had some unpleasant experiences before which really affected them, so always proceed with care when dealing with them. They might have also stayed celibate, single for years. They are really self-sufficient, usually they know what they like, even when inexperienced. And that could secretly even prefer being pleasured by themselves rather than teaching and showing their partner what they like. Also, surprisingly, they like what it is tried and tested. They might not like too much variety and change, they could stick with that they like.

Sagittarius Eros: They love touching up on thighs, but is still a butt person. They get more aroused by people that are not around them daily and live at a distance. So they get weirdly flirty via messages. They might act more seductive online, via messages than when you are actually face to face with them.

Capricorn Eros: I would described these people as complex, yet simplistic. They might have a lower sexual stamina when younger. Then they might be more into monk mode😂 , not prioritising sex all that much, but more so they career, establishing themselves, building up finances and money. But after first Saturn Return, they usually become a beast. Like the type to love to have very consistent sex going on in the week. This is how you might expect Virgo to behave. Capricorn Eros enjoys daily sex or every 2-3 days if other duties and responsibilities prevent that. They become like bunnies in a partnership. Touching up on their partner often throughout the day. But generally, they are prone to more low sexual libido. Sometimes they really just prefer cuddling.

Aquarius Eros: They are either all in or all out. You can really know by how much they are into you by how much they are touching you. If they are detached when touching you and not looking you in the eyes or almost avoid your look a bit, they might not be into you that much, might only like you a little bit. But if they are not touching you in a “detached” manner they probably feel consumed by you. They actually give a lot of attention when fixated on someone. They also really like familiarity in sex, when seducing someone. It helps them feel relaxed and seduced if you share the same dreams, interests, hopes and ideals for the future or have the same level of education. They really would only sleep with an all “equal” partner to them.

Pisces Eros: They love to feel needed or be the protector, it makes them aroused. They love if they could help you. The type to want to hug you, kiss you and hold you, if you just cried. They like to be “in charge” of your pleasure or knowing they were the one who gave you pleasure or made you feel okay.

Eros in houses

1st house: They really like if their partner checks in with them. Like “is this comfortable enough for you, are you okay?”. Hates inconsiderate partners.

2nd house: They dislike actual massages, like if someone massages their shoulders or back. But they do like sexual massages🙈. Big on oral, but like reciprocated, they dislike selfish partners. They might consider leaving you if they deem you too selfish or not generous enough.

3rd house: Loves a sexy teacher scenario. They love people who are able to improve them, teach, guide them, that are more reserved, stern, but that are also hot as hell. It’s interesting, because these people really are not that clean themselves, but really demand a lot from their partner in terms of cleanliness.

4th house: They love doing it in their own home or own bedroom, bed. Because they often do not feel uncomfortable in another person’s bed. They get more relaxed in their own. Surprisingly, they get really turned off if their person has untidy bedroom or bed. They really like fresh sheets, clean bed, nightstand, otherwise they tend to not feel the vibe.

5th house: These people move too quickly, when try to seduce someone, flirt with them. They need to slow down with introducing intimacy too early on or without knowing the person that well. Their interest goes when the most attention is. If you give them a lot of attention, they will give it to you back enough as well. They are actually much more strict with reciprocal energy than Libra to be honest. If you are not doing enough for them, they are out.

6th house: Ahh, their day at work affects their sex life. If they are stressed, burned out, had a bad day at work, feel not good enough. They won’t like being even touched. They get really low sexual desire when from bad day at work.

7th house: If they are seducing you, they are likely thinking about partnering up with you. They don’t flirt outside of partnership. They like to give special attention only to their partner.

8th house: Has harder time with boundaries. They demand complete loyalty before interacting with you. They really go for enigmatic odd people, but fit people. They like partners who take care of themselves. If you have lousy self-care routine, better to stay away from them.

9th house: They will test you a lot with sliding in subtle jokes, so that they see how you’ll react if they are trying to seduce you, sleep with you. You will not know whether they are being serious or joking. But that’s the whole point! They are doing it only to gather your reaction, so that they know if they can proceed or not. This person will likely get with people out of their league or not want to get involved with someone all together, just because they are intimidated by them.

10th house: These people have high self-respect and they actually like more messy not so orderly people. They like even an occasional wild card. Someone who is unafraid to be themselves. They have high standards and often hang with friends and not get attached before they achieved and secured everything they wanted.

11th house: These people will always surprise with people they choose to seduce or get intimate with. Because the person they end up choosing is often the complete opposite of 11th house Eros native. If they are organised, the go for a chaotic partner that is more messy. But the thing with this placement is often yes, their partner is completely different then them, but shares the same dreams. Or the Eros in the 11th house sees their partner as someone who they try to become.

12th house: Loves getting on at night or late in the evening or right before bed or falling asleep. They get seduced by good night messages😂. They get more vulnerable at night. Also, maybe be more keen on idea of doing it if you watch a romantic movie or just watching something, relaxing and chilling. Also, they dislike if their partner falls asleep on them haha. “Oh you fell asleep, I thought we’re gonna have sexy time??”

[self-winding]

I've heard some takes that far right/manosphere/redpill/anti-SJ spaces are attractive to young men because they treat them more kindly than leftist SJ-spaces typically do, and other takes that, no, actually, those spaces aren't kind at all, they are just as toxic and rife with bullying as a lot of leftist/SJ spaces, if not more so. And I think both of these things are partly true but also beside the point.

How kind and welcoming a community is really depends on the sub-community you're talking about. But I don't think those spaces are attractive to men because they're "kinder," exactly, but because they provide a narrative which helps them make sense of the world (and in which they are the protagonists) and, in some cases, concrete advice about how to get what they want, whether that's sex, status, a more meaningful and fulfilling life, whatever. Whether that advice actually works is another question.

Leftist spaces are often unkind to men, yes, but they are frequently not kind even for the women and marginalized people they are allegedly made for; there's no shortage of infighting, weaponized callouts, policing of members' language, etc. But people keep gravitating to them for the same reasons that some men gravitate to anti-SJ spaces.

Human beings in general are very susceptible to narratives that promise to give them answers about, "this is why your life sucks, this is why you don't have power or status or control over your situation, this is why you have always been haunted by the feeling that something is wrong. It's not you, it's Society."

No matter who they are messaging to, communities that message in this way are always going to be more seductive than communities which tell you, "Actually, the problem is you, the problem is that you're too entitled, even if you feel powerless the problem is actually that you have too much power, you should just stop wanting whatever it is you want and instead try to derive your sense of purpose by helping these people over here."

It's hard to talk about what the solution is because I think this is part of the broader problem of ever-increasing polarization fueled by the Machine that feeds us ragebait and validation of all our worst fears because anger and fear is profitable. Unless we actively push back against it, we are all pushed into ever more specialized communities tailored to our own ethics and worldview. I can give an old person take like "the solution is for everyone to spend less time online and go to big neighborhood parties where we all grill together" but this doesn't strike me as realistic.

[chaifootsteps]

With Moxxies origin, wouldn’t it have made more sense if Moxxie just lied about his home ring? This would explain why he didn’t fit in with the wrath imps in harvest moon and wasn’t used to the culture. It would also have more impact to find out he lied to Millie of all people, because it makes you wonder, “why would he do that? He trusts Millie.” And while Millie is upset and questions it, Blitzø understands. A turn around of the usual dynamic.

Moxxie: Oh no, no, I hate this place. I grew up right over there.

Blitzø: I thought wrath was your old stomping grounds Mox?

Moxxie: Shit, busted. Okay. I haven’t been honest. This may be hard to believe, but I didn’t grow up on a ranch in the wrath fields.

Blitzø: Thats actually not hard to believe. I get it. I’m a greed imp too. Not the prettiest place.

Moxxie: I didn’t know that.

(After meeting Crimson)

Millie: Mox, why did you lie to me about where you’re from, and how come I haven’t met your Pa before?

Moxxie: I just don’t like to talk about this part of my life. I’m ashamed of the things that happened here. I’ll explain everything later Millie.

(Maybe you could add Blitzø telling Millie that some people aren’t proud of their families or where they grew up. This is something Millie struggles to understand, since she’s so proud of her own.)

I feel like there are ways to make new ideas fit with your story, and if they have an obvious inconsistency at first, you can adapt that into characters voicing the same confusion and questions the audience may have. Then just provide an in-universe answer. Book no more explanatory Twitter threads needed for your show.

Don’t just throw shit at the wall and hope it sticks. Or less graphically, don’t paint a wall green then later touch up the paint with blue and call it the same colour. Paint it turquoise.

It makes sense that Moxxie would lie about his home ring since he changed his own name just to hide from it. And that twist even makes the story and conflict better. At the dinner table Millie might even bring this lie up, having Crimson use it to try and drive a wedge between them. Because what else is he lying about? Same with Blitzø going to wrath after leaving Verosika, but in the next episode say to stolas that hes never been there. Both cant be true.

This episode just missed so many marks. On paper, Crimson and Chaz are a good dynamic duo of villains, one serious and dangerous, the other the less scary comic relief. You could have kept Crimsons scene very dark and serious, then after it ends and he goes upstairs to bed, Chaz does the dumb dick jokes. You keep Crimson as a threat, and keep the silliness you wanted, just keep that part focussed on Chaz. That’s what a comic relief is.

I just feel like the show needs consideration of its audience. There are ways to resolve plot holes by adapting the story slightly, even use them to create new reveals and new conflict.

There are absolutely ways to resolve plot holes by adapting the story slightly and ways to paint a green wall turquoise and all of this other extremely good and actionable writing advice. Unfortunately, Viv's solution to writing dilemmas is a mixture of "Do whatever and let the fandom harass anyone who points it out" and "add more rape."

[matan4il]

sorry if this isn't a good place to ask but you're one of the few blogs on here that has actually done any research at all on the subject and. yknow how the pro-palestine donation posts repeatedly give you the option to buy esims specifically. why is that? I've never seen any other movement where the donation posts had you buy esims for them. what fucking use *are* they? you can't eat them, drink them- you might be able to order food with them if it wasn't for the fucking war.

maybe this is cynicism on my part but i genuinely suspect they're being used by hamas to spread propaganda. why else would they need that many esims? but you definitely know more about this than i do.

Hi lovely, sorry it took me a moment to reply!

I can tell you that even before I got this ask, the eSims campaign struck me as odd and suspicious, based on a few basic things I know, but if I was going to reply to you on this, I needed to do some research about it.

To make this ask reply clear, by "connectivity" I mean the ability to either make phone calls, log onto the internet, or both.

Okay, so why did this campaign make me wonder in the first place? Because while there have been some connectivity problems for Gazans, from what I know, there was only one time when connectivity was down to a degree that would justify a campaign, even then it wasn't completely gone for good, because Israel has worked to restore connectivity to Gazans. But I also wondered whether, if the connectivity is down, an eSim would be the solution? And if it would be, why would there be a need for that many eSims? We're over 5.5 months into this war, that's almost half a year of constantly hearing how Gaza is about to starve, so are eSims really Gazans' biggest problem if they have no food and basic needs? But even if it was enough of a problem to merit a campaign, wouldn't there have been more than enough donations by now to have solved it to a considerable degree? Since connectivity was never fully gone for long, surely there's a limit to how many more eSims they actually need, at least at certain points in time? From my experience with donating to Israelis displaced or affected by Palestinian terrorists (in this war, as well as during previous crises), there does come a time when you hear, "Okay, thank you to everyone donating X, we have enough of that, what we need now is more of Y, we would really appreciate you donating that!" But there has been no moment when we saw the eSims campaign saying, "We've had enough donations of this type, thank you, now please look more into donating X or Y, which Gazans currently need more."

And that led me to another question - if there is a certain scam involved here, what kind? Is it a financial one? Is this just meant to get money from the rest of the world feeling bad for Palestinians, and beyond the financial theft, it's harmless? Or is the money going to Hamas and people affiliated with it, which means it might be financing terrorism and the continuation of killing? Or maybe the scam is in allowing Hamas terrorists connectivity that can't be tracked as easily by Israeli security forces, which are trying to avert terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians?

I am not the biggest expert, so I don't have all the answers, but here's what I have managed to figure out.

So, first of all, connectivity requires physical infrastructure. Israel has been providing that for Gaza for years, in the form of underground cables and cellular antennas positioned on both sides of Israel's border with Gaza (source in Hebrew). The Oct 7 massacre initiated by Hamas and the following war have at times physically damaged this infrastructure, which is why Gaza has had less connectivity than usual (though it's not gone). The one time which was the worst, in terms of connectivity, the internet (but not all connectivity) was down from Friday, until Israel managed to fix things on Sunday (link above is the source for all this, it's an article from Oct 31, 2023. That said, Oct is when the most connectivity issues were reported). That means that Gaza was never fully offline except for that short period of Friday to Sunday. It also means the connectivity issues are not some plot to keep Gazans from telling the world about their plight (the way I've seen the eSims campaign presented on social media), or the connectivity would be totally down, and Israel would not do anything to restore it at any point.

And I'm pointing this out to explain one of two reasons why eSims being bought for Gazans might be useless as a solution to Gaza's connectivity if Israel was actually purposely harming it. (this following part is based on me reading way too many articles about eSim technology, those can be easily found everywhere online)

If the physical infrastructure providing the signal (which mobile networks use to provide connectivity) is physically damaged, eSim technology can't bypass that. Because eSim technology doesn't provide the signal, it just allows the owner of an eSim to easily switch between mobile networks without having to switch physical SIMs provided by these networks. That means, that for the eSim to work, there has to be some connectivity anyway. There also has to be connectivity in the first place in order to activate the eSim program paid for by someone outside Gaza (not to mention, they'd need connectivity to get the code, and learn that they're getting an eSim, and how to activate it). If Israel really was intentionally cutting off Gaza's connectivity by shutting down the physical infrastructure, as it's being presented online, eSims would be completely useless. You wouldn't be able to activate them, and you wouldn't have a signal that allowed you to use them. A campaign that misrepresents the basic facts (as if Israel is intentionally denying Gazans connectivity, or as if eSims can provide connectivity all on their own) is suspect to me.

The other reason why eSims wouldn't be a solution for many (if not most) Gazans, even if you do have connectivity, is that it also requires you to have an eSim compatible smartphone. The 'e' in eSim stands for 'embedded.' That means the technology that allows the use of eSims has to be embedded into the phone you're using, and then you can buy and activate an eSim. If you buy an eSim and wanna use it with a smartphone that doesn't have the required technology embedded, that's a bit like buying a wireless charger to use with an older phone that can only be charged through a cable (it just doesn't have the technology embedded that allows it to connect to and be charged by a wireless charger). The technology allowing the use of eSims has only been embedded in more recent phone models, which Gazans are less likely to have.

Regarding that last point, I wanna explain that, as mentioned in the above Hebrew link, before the war Gaza's mobile networks were all operating on 3G technology, even though most phones now operate on 4G or even 5G technology, which means it wouldn't be worth it for the average Gazan to invest in buying a newer phone, which is presumably more expensive than an older model. Especially if it's one that can't even connect to the older 3G network.

That's not to say there wouldn't be any Gazans with newer phones. The myth spread before the war for years called Gaza a 'concentration camp' or 'open air prison' as if people there have nothing (which makes vids comparing Gaza before and after the war particularly ironic. Either there was nothing before the war, and then the war didn't change much, or Gaza was a beautiful, thriving place before the war, and then calling it a 'concentration camp' was a Holocaust distorting lie). Here's the truth, there were indeed many Gazans who were poor and didn't have that much. But there were also Gazans who were extremely rich, the gap there was one of the biggest in the world. A lot of Israelis are familiar with the Twitter hashtag that documented wealth and luxury in Gaza before the war, TheGazaYouDontSee. It was based on an Arabic speaking Israeli Jewish woman following the social media accounts of actual Gazans, and sharing in English what they would upload, showing stuff like resorts, hotels, luxury cars that most Israelis I know can't afford. You know, typical concentration camp stuff. You'd have to scroll back in the hashtag a bit to find those older tweets from before the war, some have been captured and shared on Tumblr as well.

Where does the gap come from? Not all of it, but a big part is about who is in Hamas (and who isn't), who's affiliated with Hamas (and who's not), who gets some of the donated billions of dollars being poured into Gaza over the years and mostly stolen by Hamas, who gets some of the money coming from Qatar, who gets some of the money coming from Iran, and so on. In other words, the poverty that existed in Gaza before, existed despite how much money was being invested in it for years, and because of Hamas and Hamas-related thieves, making a profit out of it, while keeping sections of the Gazan population poor and without aid.

BTW, if there would have been a permanent ceasefire now, this would just be replicated. The world would donate more money than ever, and Hamas would steal almost all of it, with a big chunk going to the financing of terrorism (building terror tunnels we now know are more extensive than the NYC subway or the London tube, stocking up on rockets, drones, explosives, assault rifles, RPGs and more, which allow Hamas to continue to fight the strongest army in the Middle East and target innocent Israeli civilians for over 5.5 months) and the rest lining up their own pockets, enabling them to lead a VERY nice, comfortable, even luxurious life.

So which Gazans are the most likely to have eSim compatible smartphones? The rich ones, who are in or associated with Hamas.

And that brings me to the question of what's the real purpose of the eSims campaign.

One aspect could be the propaganda value of such a campaign. They're not just repeatedly asking people to donate money for eSims, many posts are asking for it, while insisting on the vilifying lie that Israel is keeping Gaza disconnected on purpose. It's a bit like the boycott campaign. Starbucks is not actually affiliated with Israel or Israeli policy, it doesn't even have any branches in Israel, it tried in the past, but had to close here. So why in the world would it finance anything Israeli? When an Israeli Prime Minister has to decide whether to finish off Hamas, so that hundreds of thousands of Israelis can safely return to their homes in southern Israel, he's not calling a chain of cafes that doesn't even sell anything in this country. The only current sort-of-link to Israel, is that the CEO is Jewish. So if Starbucks is boycotted and takes a financial hit, that has zero influence on Israel or its policies. Why then has Starbucks been targeted? Maybe partly because of the CEO, which is antisemitic. But most likely, it's because Starbucks is an easy to spot brand when pics of celebs are being taken, which allows people to talk about the boycott. And that's the value, it's a PR move, to get it into everyone's head that anyone associated with Israel should be canceled. To repeat it constantly regarding different celebs, until the message gets through, that the biggest monster in this world, and the one state that everyone should be united against, is the Jewish one.

The financial aspect. Again, I'm not a big expert, but I can't really see how, if people are being asked to pay eSim providers directly, this would be done for financial gain. I could be wrong, maybe there is some way to funnel the money to the people in the campaign instead of regular Gazans, but on the surface at least, I'm not sure how (since they're not asking for the receipts, just the activation code). It could still be about financial gain in the sense that the eSims aren't providing connectivity when the physical infrastructure is down, but they mean some Gazans haven't had to pay for their internet for a while. Which ones? Most likely, the ones in or affiliated with Hamas. I personally do not like the idea of terrorists launching a massacre that is the opening shot of a war, relying on all the donations they can steal after the end of the war to make it worth while, and then as a perk getting their internet paid for by strangers.

Then there's the direct value to Hamas, meaning the option that the campaign is meant to directly help Hamas' terrorist activity, or terrorist goals. Meaning, not only are the eSims going to people who are in or have connections to Hamas, the codes are sent to them specifically to aid them with harming Israel.

Why am I considering this option? For one thing, because we know that since the start of the war, Hamas terrorists inside Gaza have been directing terrorist activity outside of it. One example is a Palestinian terrorist squad, which was directed from Gaza, and was thankfully stopped before they managed to carry out the attack they were planning, and here's another similar example, of a terrorist squad made up of 13 Israeli Arabs, and directed from Gaza on how to carry out mass terrorist attacks, stopped thanks to documents the IDF found while operating inside Gaza. An attack that was successfully carried out and was confirmed as directed from Gaza, is the one where terrorists shot to death several people in Jerusalem, during what was supposed to be a truce between Israel and Hamas, during which Israeli hostages would be released (I heard this recently on TV, online I sadly only managed to find a source that these terrorists had a track record of being directed from Gaza). These terrorist directives from Gaza require connectivity, preferably of the type that Israeli security can't track.

And we do know that our forces do track Hamas cellular activity. For example, we've learned that on Oct 6, Israel discovered weird cellular activity in Gaza, where a lot of Hamas terrorists were activating (physical) Israeli SIMs, allowing them to connect to local networks once inside Israel. This led to a discussion of Israeli army seniors in the middle of the night, on whether this is a sign that something's up, but eventually it was concluded that Hamas terrorists have done this before, so the alarm was (unfortunately) not raised, and the massacre wasn't prevented. In other words, it's possible that eSims can help Gazan Hamas terrorists to direct terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians outside Gaza, and it's also possible that, when Hamas is continuously trying to breach the Israeli border, an eSim could help them if they make it into Israel, by not needing to activate an Israeli SIM, detectable by Israeli security. IDK that this is the intent, but for me personally, I would prefer to err on the side of caution, and be sure that I haven't unknowingly donated an eSim, that might have assissted in the murder of an innocent civilian.

I also mentioned directly aiding Hamas' terrorist goals, not just their activity. This terrorist organization dared launch its massacre, despite knowing the Israeli reaction would be fierce (as any country's would be if its citizens would have been so extremely brutalized), because it relied on using regular Gazans as human shields, then showing the world horror pictures, which would get everyone distressed enough, that they would overlook the massacre, and Hamas' vow to repeat it, and focus on demanding an immediate ceasefire, saving Hamas from being destroyed. We know Hamas uses "journalists," and some of these "journalists" are actual terrorists (generally, there's no free press in Gaza thanks to Hamas) and others to broadcast this narrative of horrors (that if successful, would lead to greater horrors). The eSims campaign has mentioned specifically providing connectivity to journalists, which means serving the ability of Hamas to go on inundating the world with images that fit the narrative it needs the world to believe, in order to save itself, and continue carrying out terrorist attacks (or God forbid, massacres).

Here's the relevant citation from the campaign site, which highlights providing Gaza "journalists" with eSims:

I'm not gonna tell anyone what to do with their money, but I'll repeat my personal POV. I do think we're all responsible for the money we donate, and we can't just give it away to causes that will make us feel good about ourselves, without making sure that the money won't end up in the hands of terrorists, and do real harm. The latter is our responsibility, even if we didn't know it will go to terrorists, because we should check and make sure that we know who the money goes to. The first responsibility we all have is, "Do no evil," right? Even the least awful scenario of what might be the driving force behind the campaign, is still one that financially compensates people affiliated with Hamas, and contributes to a false demonization of the Jewish State. But at the end of the day, this is an individual choice, that each person has to make for themselves.

I hope my reply helps! Sorry for the length, and hoping that you are doing well, and taking care of yourself! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[honorarysimp]

9: Cold Soles, Lost Souls

series masterlist

Two months.

It’s been two months since that gathering, since you collectively set all responsibilities and beliefs to the side to fight alongside people you barely know.

Against something you can’t even touch.

Two more people have gone missing, it’s the two men who’d volunteered to scour the bottom of the lake to find Wes, it makes you sick.

The water is truly tainted.

That’s one thing that’s consistent, like clockwork, one disappearance per month.

Everyone is working day and night for a solution, but it seems there isn’t one.

You and Tara have gone through everything, everything. So have Dewey and Sam.

You begin to question everything, disgusted with the fact that you understand now why nothing has been done.

Let’s look at the facts:

This thing uses water as its source of power, the lake to be more specific. It feeds once a month, chances are you’re more likely to be taken if you’ve touched the water.

You can’t stop everyone’s heart every time this thing puts a target on someone’s back, and that’s if you manage to catch the signs early.

It comes and goes when it wants. For however long it wants. No reason for who it picks. It wants the whole town, for why? Tara says it’s probably some nature spirit ‘been-here-longer-than-you’ bullshit.

You laughed, Sam didn’t.

The documents Sidney had aren’t much, majorly town historical documents dating back to when it was founded. Mentions of the lake having underground channels beneath town, thanks to blueprints from the town’s original Public Works layout.

It’s like a spiderweb, probably not completely accurate since the blueprints are older than any of you, and there’s no telling if they’ve grown or gotten bigger over time.

With those facts into consideration, it leads to more questions.

Theres one thing you do know, you can’t fucking stand Stu.

Surprisingly, Billy leaves you well alone. He plays his role as a good husband to Sidney, he lingers a lot now that you’re more present. Well, you and the Carpenter sisters.

Stu actively likes pushing your buttons, whispering warnings to you, trying to antagonize you, as if he wants to see you pop off the handle.

You know he’s only desperate for something, you see how he can’t stand seeing Billy dote on Sidney as if the ground she walks on is blessed.

You also know it’s all bullshit. But, it’s nuclear warfare, and you know you could easily drop this information at any point. However, one brown haired, brown eyed, freckled first responder has you keeping your mouth shut.

For now at least you do, you don’t want to put her at risk. Sam too, you’re pretty sure you’re friends at this point. Regardless you’ve already put Tara through enough, and Sam seems to agree as she just… never speaks of it.

Tara is a raging ball of spitfire any time either men look at you, and to be honest, you kind of like how she gets when she’s angry.

Especially when it’s not directed at you.

It’s another late night, Tara and Sam had left a while ago to grab some food from the diner, for once you find yourself alone with the Mayor.

You’re yet again going through town records, bags under your eyes more prominent than ever, the coffee mug off to the side long cold.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to give you the answers you need right now.

A fireplace crackles softly in the corner, providing a welcome source of warmth on the cold night, as well as a silence filler in between pauses of conversation.

The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, mockery of an innocence that doesn’t exist.

“How’d you know?” You find yourself asking, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

Sidney looks up at you, she looks fairly exhausted herself, but she wears it well. You write it down as years of practice from blindsiding and polished by a talent for withholding information.

“Know what?”

“Jill said her aunt was the one who told them you had to stop your heart for that thing to let you go” you follow up, forearms dropping to the table as your eyes meet hers across the table.

Sidney hums, nodding absently, tiredly.

“I’d been marked. Like you, like Kirby. Like the others. I’d been having the nightmares, waking up with gashes, seeing things that weren’t there. We all were the superstitious bunch, we stayed away from the lake. Except… that doesn’t exactly keep you safe does it?”

You sit up straighter in your seat, your muscles aching from sitting still for too long. You’d asked Sidney this question before, she’d give you a ‘now isn’t the time’ response.

“There was another one of us, in our group, he found the method. He never said how, or why, but we were desperate. People were disappearing left and right, it was a bad time. We’d already so lost people close to us, friends and family. As you’ve learned, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Mayor's forehead was creased with a frown, her fingers rubbing at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the tension of a headache she was sporting.

You incline your head slightly, brow furrowed with a bit of curiosity, “what was his name?”

The ghost of a sad smile tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again “Randy Meeks, I’m pretty sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting his niece and nephew, friends of Tara’s.”

You sit up a bit straighter at the recollection. You hadn’t seen either of them since Wes’s disappearance, you know Tara has been in touch with and seen them. But you wouldn’t be surprised if not as much lately, all things considered.

“Randy, he… was the last one I was ever sure could find a solution. Before he up and left town right after saving my life, he didn’t even stick around for graduation” Sidney begins to explain, wringing her fingers atop the table as her gaze gets cloudy, staring off at nothing specific “no one has seen him since, and out of respect for my… oldest friend, I never bothered him. I owe him my life after all.”

“He just… left? That’s it? You never tried to find him? Bullshit.”

She glances off again, clenching her jaw, “I don’t blame him for running alright? We all should have, but this place? It sucks you in and you just- you don’t leave.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair “super reassuring, thanks-“

“Don’t be a smartass” Sidney cuts you off, stern expression on her face, “I would never force Randy back here, he left for a reason and I will always respect that.”

A pause, and then “even if it means never knowing why he left? You’re okay living with that?”

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing between the two of you.

Sidney is giving you a hard look, “you go find him then, ask him yourself.”

You laugh, dryly, because it’s not actually funny “what?”

“It’s what you do, it’s what you signed up for. Find missing people? Find Randy, find out how he learned about the method, maybe it’ll give us something-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? You do it” you shoot back, crossing your arms, “he’s your friend, he saved your life, don’t you think he’d wanna see you after all this time?”

Sidney looks away, and you can tell there’s more to it. There’s more to what happened back then, why she never went looking for him.

And then, a thought occurs to you. It hits you hard in the face, so hard you can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner.

“Is Randy the reason you’re allowing your husband to have an affair?”

For a moment she looks horrified, and you think you’d misread your conclusions, but then her expression falls and her shoulders slump.

“Billy… walked in on us together. Not that it’s any of your business, but Billy and I were dating at the time. I didn’t learn about him and Stu until about three years ago, I never said anything because, well… it made sense honestly.”

Your brow furrows as you lean forward, “and that makes it okay for him to sleep around with someone else? Sidney-“

“You don’t get to judge me” she cuts you off, expression cold and hard “I love him and support him, he’s all I have after-“

She stops when her voice cracks, steeling herself, “Randy left, Billy is here. Stu has been a good friend-“

“They buried me alive, Sidney” you blurt out, horrified by the revelation that had escaped you.

Only, she seems to take it metaphorically “I get it, I appreciate you keeping this to yourself but this secret doesn’t have to bury anyone.”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Just let it be, okay? That way everyone is happy” Sidney says, which has you looking at her in complete bafflement.

Her denial, delusion, runs so deep that it physically hurts you. Even if you sat here and tried to tell her anything, she won’t accept it.

“You’re not hearing me out-“

“The only thing that matters is ending this thing for good, Randy may be a key in solving this” Sidney says, more resolute as she completely steps around what you’d been talking about.

“Sidney-“

“That’s Mayor, Detective” she corrects you, completely shutting you down now, leaving you slumped in your chair and dumbfound.

She’s giving you nothing, and you’re practically hitting brick walls, so you just… drop it.

Sam and Tara will have a field day on this one.

“Fine, but if your psychopath for a husband comes near my friends I’ll kill him myself” you say lowly, pushing up to your feet, making the chair groan and protest as it scrapes against the wooden floor.

You aren’t capable of much physically, considering the fact you aren’t much of a fighter, however… the thought of someone bringing harm to Tara or Sam makes you feel a level of unhinged fury that scares even you.

Sidney jolts in surprise at your abrupt action, mouth opening to speak but she’s clearly taken aback, you don’t give her the chance as you walk out briskly.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, and mind racing. You exit the town hall, your breaths uneven as you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Tara’s contact, then hesitate. She’s with Sam. And you’re not entirely in the mood for a grilling from her for word vomiting.

So you head for your car and shoot Tara a quick text, letting her know to meet you at your hotel room when they finish up.

By the time you get settled, boot up your laptop, and start digging, your phone chimes with a reply from Tara.

You pause and grab it, not even getting a chance to open it before there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, by the graces of the spare room key you’d given her weeks ago.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tara starts, a plastic bag dangling from her hand as she bumps the door shut with her foot behind her.

“I’ll explain on the way” is all you offer, eyeing the bag over your shoulder as you return your attention to your computer, typing in a few more commands “those leftovers for me?”

“Explain what?” Tara asks, walking over and dropping the bag on to the desk to your right, you feel her grab the back of your chair from behind you and lean to look over your shoulder.

Her eyes scan the screen as you write down the address you’d found, “Randy Meeks? Like, as in Chad and Mindy’s uncle? What-“

“Explain on the way, no time” you say as you stand, shoving the paper into your pocket as you scoop the bag of food and turn to her, “Sam?”

“With Danny, I convinced her that just because we might all die doesn’t mean she can’t work on her commitment issues” Tara says as she heads for the door, making you cast her a curious look as you reach around her to open it for you both.

“Danny? Who the hell has the balls to date your drill Sargent of a sister-“

“You’ve got questions, I’ve got questions. You show me yours, I show you mine how about that” Tara shrugs far too casually, somehow finding a bit of humor as she exits, making you laugh through under your breath as you follow.

“Perv.”

____________________________________________

Finding Randy was the easy part.

Getting him to open the door is the hard part.

When Tara bangs her fist against the apartment door once more, aggressive and irritated, you’re about ninety percent sure it’s on the cusp of being kicked in by her.

“He might not be home-“

“He is home. And I’ve got some fucking questions-“ another hard slam of her fist against the door, “-that need answering.”

You purse your lips, glancing down the hall both ways. No one had come out to complain, or yell, or anything. But then again with the area you’d found the complex in… you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone tends to mind their business around these parts.

“COME ON! WHAT WOULD CHAD AND MINDY THINK, HUH ASSHOLE?!” Tara shouts, and as much as you admire her dedication and persistence because yes - you’re in the same boat with your frustration at the lack of your progress thusfar - but your fairly sure threatening the man won’t do any good.

That, and bringing up his family he’s neglected all these years.

Tara looks to you, angry, as if it’s your fault. You quickly raise your hands and take a slight step away from her, expecting a punch to the arm as you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Maybe we should go-“

“Not happening” Tara says sternly, looking back to the door, “if anything I’m getting answers for my friends.”

She raises her fist, unrelenting, but it freezes mid air as the sound of a chain sliding followed by a bolt unlatching can be heard from within. You both take a step back as the door finally opens.

A man, goatee and tousled hair, peers at you both through the crack of the door. He looks wary, distrusting, and tense.

“You’ve got five seconds before I call the police for harassment-“

“How’d you know to stop a heart to get Ghostface to release a victim?” You say bluntly, exhausted with your patience and blunt with the reason you’re here.

Almost instantly he reacts, his eyes widen in fear at the question, and he tries to slam the door shut. But you’re quick, reflexes sharp. You manage to shove the door open before the man could close it, and for a moment you get a jolt of deja vú.

But your patience is clearly wearing thin, and this time you’re not alone in the face of confrontation. Your expression hard as you take a step inside the apartment, forcing Randy to move back.

"Answer the question, Randy" you demand, voice cold and uncompromising.

As Randy scrambled backwards, he makes a desperate attempt to pull out a gun hidden in his waistband. You panic, because you’re not a fighter, instinctively moving to stand in front of Tara as you reach for your own weapon. But to your disbelief, Tara is quicker than you both. She lunges forward before Randy can aim the gun, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion.

The move was almost too easy, a testament to quick reflexes and skill. You watch in complete awe as Tara held the gun in her hand, her eyes trained on Randy who now looks even more terrified, blubbering a quick “okay! Okay! Jesus Christ let’s just relax man-“

With a smooth, practiced movement, you watch Tara remove the magazine from the gun and releases the bullet from the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun aside, her gaze never leaving Randy’s as it clatters across the wooden floor and out of sight.

You’re not really sure what to do with the way that makes you feel, but goddamn.

“Dude” is all you can say, which has her bravado falter, those brown eyes flicking over to you as she simply offers a shrug, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

“My sister is a cop, you seriously think she didn’t force me to learn self defense?”

You don’t question it, turning back to Randy and plastering on a more professional and unyielding look.

Your voices cold as you repeat the question. "I'll ask again. How did you know that the entity releases its target victim when the heart stops?"

Randy raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and panicked. "I.. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about," he stammers, his voice shaking.

You see right through his lies, and so does Tara who couldn't hold back a scoff. "Bullshit," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Your calm facade cracks, giving way to a wave of anger and frustration. You clench your fists at your sides, eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"Do you have any idea how many innocent people have been lost in the void because you were too goddamn afraid to come home and help? I mean, you clearly know more about this thing than the rest of us” you snap, voice harsh.

Randy’s expression darkens, his own anger flaring to match yours. "You just don't get it!" he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "I can't come back! It won't let me!"

He takes a step forward, his eyes glinting with a manic light. "You think I just chose to disappear? To stay away from my family? You have no idea what I've been through, the torment I've endured! The sacrifices I’ve made!”

“Enlighten us then, Randy” you say firmly, unwavering as you stare him down.

He shakes his head as he turns, storming further into the apartment. You follow, Tara one step behind you. You both watch him after a brief search beneath a loose floorboard in his living room, he pulls out a weathered old book. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed and the cover warped.

The atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly, a sudden sense of unease rippling through the air. The energy in the room suddenly warps, the air becoming thick with an heavy, oppressive aura. The old book in the man's hands seemed to radiate an almost sinister energy.

"This..." he said, his voice quivering with disgust as he held the book out. "This fucking cursed book. It all started when I picked it up. That's when it smudged me."

Both you and Tara exchange a puzzled glance at Randy’s words. Tara is the first to speak up, her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean, smudged?" she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

Randy grimaces, his grip on the book tightening, as if his personal vendetta against it makes him wish he could tear it to pieces. "Smudging," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a term I use to describe what happens when you touch this goddamn book. It attaches some kind of bad energy to you, or something, tainting your very essence. Ghostface can sense it.”

Randy’s eyes darken as he recounts his harrowing experience. "Any time I’d get within a five-mile radius of town, that thing would comes for me, man," he said, his voice quivering. "It's like it can sense where I am, like it's tracking me down. It's brutal. Rageful. Unstoppable. I can hear it, feel it, even when I'm asleep. You thought you knew what a nightmare was before? Think again. It's always there, in my subconscious, watching me."

Uneasy, you ask, "What exactly is this book? And how did you find it?"

Randy’s eyes flick to the book, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it speaks of the entity. It’s how I learned the method" he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I just... I found it. Out in the woods. Just laying there, waiting to be found."

Your instincts tell you Randy is holding something back, that there is more to the story than him conveniently stumbling across the book. You lean in, gaze intense, and press for an answer.

"You’re a shitty liar, you're not telling us everything," you said, voice firm. "Where did you really find the book?"

Randy shifts uneasily but stood his ground. "I can't tell you," he repeats, his tone defiant. "It's... safer for everyone if you don't know."

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s inside it then?” Tara prompts, “I mean, you have read it? Right? So just-“

“No” Randy firmly shakes his head, eyes hard and unwavering, “reading from it only makes it worse, I need you to understand the severity of this thing.”

Despite your initial skepticism, you relent for now. But as Randy continued, a warning in his voice, the tension in the room thickened.

"You need to understand," Randy says, his eyes boring into yours. "Once you touch this book, there's no going back. The more you read, the more of a threat you become. The more of a threat you become? The more determined it will be to kill you. The entity will be able to sense you, to track you. You'll be smudged, just like I am."

Randy then held the book out, offering it to you. "Look, you want it? Take it," he said, his voice trembling. "But you have to understand, man. Once you have this book, you're fucked. Ghostface will come for you like it did me. You'll never know peace again. You sure you want your hands on this thing?"

You hesitate, knowing the burden that will come with possessing the ominous tome that promises answers.

But at what cost?

Randy’s warning echoes in your ears, the implications clear. This book is more than just aged paper and ink. It’s a cursed artifact, a beacon for the entity that has been stalking and terrorizing this town like a predator for decades now.

But the need for answers burns deep within you. You need to know more about the entity, to better understand what exactly it is and perhaps find a way to defeat it.

Your hand hovers in the air above the book, almost touching the leather-bound cover. But just as you’re about to grasp it, Tara snags your arm, her grip tight.

"Wait," she said, her eyes wide with worry. "You can't just take it! Are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’ll be worth it! Don’t make what I did be for nothing.”

You look at her, sympathy in your gaze. You know her concern is genuine, but you also know you have no other choice. Randy is locked up like a fortress, you’re lucky enough he’s terrified of it this book to pass it off to you.

Hell, lucky probably isn’t the right word to use.

"What other options do we have?" You mutter, voice gentle yet firm. "People's lives are at risk here, and we've been making zero progress for the past few months. We can't keep running in circles. We need this book, no matter the cost."

“Not when the cost could be your life” Tara says firmly, the look in her eyes makes something in your chest ache. You know why she’s against this, it’s the same reason you’re doing this.

“And if it’s you next? Or Sam? Or Chad and Mindy?” You push, knowing it’s a low blow but you remind her there are other people at stake.

Tara’s expression softens, the fear in her eyes replaced by a flicker of resignation. She knows you’re right. You’re desperate, and there are no other options.

But then Tara looks to Randy, her expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "You've already been smudged," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The book has done its damage. You can't hide from it forever. And your family... they need you. Sidney needs you. You can't keep running away, leaving them in the dark like this. Help us.”

The moment he registers Sidney’s name, his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He looks at Tara, utterly defeated with deeply rooted conflict in his eyes, torn between the danger entailed and the promise of potentially being able to go home.

In this moment, you find a bit of clarity. Randy left because he cares too much, took a risk and sacrificed his entire life for the woman he loved and his family. But he is also a man with scars, a damaged man with cold feet, a man with years of wear and tear on his lost soul. Cracks in foundation that can’t be filled, and it shows as he slowly resolves his moment of vulnerability, those walls building back up faster than they came down.

Randy bristles at her words, his expression darkening. "You can take the book or you can get the hell out of here," he said, his voice cold. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, where it's safe."

The situation had suddenly grown hostile, the tension thick in the air. You lay a restraining hand on Tara’s that still grips your arm, your eyes conveying a silent message. This wasn’t worth a fight, not when the book possibly offers some sort of answers.

Clearly still against it, and frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Randy, Tara pull her hand from you and turns away with a shake of her head. Jaw clenched and face stricken with rebuke.

The room is filled with a palpable suffocating pressure, the decision weighing heavily on you all. The risk of taking the book, of drawing the entity's attention, is real. But at the thought of Tara, her safety, you rationalize that’s more important than anything. You remind yourself that you only came back to solve this to ensure she would be okay. You’d already concluded a while ago that you would do anything, risk anything, to ensure she is safe.

With a mix of grim determination and trepidation, you slowly reach out and grasp the book. The moment your fingers touch the worn leather, you feel a sudden wave of unease wash over you. The room seems to press in around you, and the air grew thick with a pervasive sense of dread.

Randy wasn’t kidding, this is fucking heavy.

The book seemed to thrum with an unknowable energy, and you feel its malevolent presence, like a dark shadow lurking at the edge of your perception.

A single thought is brought to the forefront of your mind, loud and harsh as it bounces around in your head like an echo through a dark chasm.

This action will have consequences.

previous, next

[hoiststowline]

winter of our youth

[prologue - a03]

phase one

A moment passes, and after a brief stint of time, or so he thinks, his processor reminds him that his joints are starting to ache, a mild pain webbing up through his cables. Excruciatingly so, enough that he can't recall when he even sat himself on the ground, servos fidgeting restlessly against the cool metal of the device. The chair was not as comfortable as he originally assumed, moving the project to the floor however long ago proved a better solution.

He had everything scattered in front of him, for it was easier to see what he was dealing with this way. However, the more he stared at it, the more he moved a particular wire to the left and then played with a small spring between his digits, the more he was starting to lose his sanity. Hunched over on himself, he didn’t like the way his plating shifts, an echo of something more to be desired rings freely.

Another thought passes, harking back on how many Earth days have elapsed since his singular yet memorable interaction with one of its inhabitants. This version of time is lost to him, measures and hours bleed into deteriorating minutes until that gnawing fear crawls back that he isn't going to be successful in this endeavor, at least solo and moving at such a rate. Failure wasn't an option, at least to him, but he wasn't a fool, he knew when things were starting to look like burnout. 

Four days. His internal clock sneers, wondering if you had long brushed the encounter off as a drunken nightmare. Perhaps you'd already come to force yourself to believe he'd never dare to contact you again, elated to walk out your door to not find his alt-mode rumbling at the end of your driveway. 

It’s not as alarming as he originally thought to find a majority of his lengthy deliberations loitered back to you since that night. You were a missing piece to an equation he was straining to solve, whether he’d like to admit that aloud. He still had so many questions, so much more he wanted to apprehend as if your problems could provide him ripostes.

He understands you were lying candidly about why you were there that night, tearing through the woods like a bat out of hell. You saw something, and it was no figment of a wild imagination.

He'd heard it as well, pulling from his base to try and sleuth out what was puttering and idling amongst the trees. You had a reason to be there, looking for something more, and all you seemed to find was an interaction you'd sooner rather forget.  

Magnus finds it difficult to ask for help, even more so when it's from someone he lacks confidence in. You were terrified of him, and while it appeared to settle down towards the end of the evening, it was still an emotion that lingered in your words. But you had stared so intently at the device, small digits running over the machinery as if you knew roughly of it- 

"Is there someone you are trying to reach?" It was innocent, your subconscious pushing to have a polite conversation, and Magnus had snuffed your light out with a blatant bout of ignorance. Optimus would likely frown at his brashness, as well shake his helm at Magnus’ retelling of being so benighted. He was intruding on organic territory, the least he could do was be a little more effusive. Not everything was so top secret, nor was it so obstreperously black and white, you earned answers just as much as he did. 

It remains obvious that this is no longer a mission he can complete alone, a painful cue. Disgruntled, but he'll still acknowledge that somewhere in his spark, he wanted to check on you, on your health, and to see if your home was still as safe as it was five days ago. 

This is unbecoming of him, but he's also at a complete standstill in this task. With a heavy ex-vent, he goes eerily still with the fact that it's the first time he's used his voice box since speaking to you. He's isolated, and while he wasn't positive on how much help you could provide, the conversation would at least prolong the time until he went mad. 

The rain had started to fall, coating the air with a faint smell that you could only attribute to a damp autumn day. 

Hopeful of beating the storm, you slip on a pair of sneakers that had been tossed by the front door, scooping your car keys off the small wooden table that permanently resided there. Your sense of normal had finally begun to fall back into its routine, happy to enjoy the day off from work and run some errands. 

Magnus was the last thing on your mind, even though that night, only ninety-six hours ago, you were wide-eyed in bed, tears rolling freely down your freshly scrubbed cheeks. Just after he had dropped you home, you had hulled yourself away from the front door and all but crawled up the stairs, begging your subliminal to shut up.

Anxious to fall asleep, you wondered if he made it back to the woods okay, and if he’d appear randomly at your door the following morning. You weren't so afraid of him, after much thought, he had your best interest in mind for some otherworldly reason, but you could be the happiest person alive to never cross his path again.

Flipping the lock, your fingers find the cool metal of the knob as you spin it, stepping outside with your back to the street. A hum of some song you can't remember the title of persists on your lips, easily sliding your key into the lock and rotating it to the left. Just as you turn to assess just how heavily the rain has picked up, your heart drops to your feet, your throat constricting as if someone had squeezed the air right out of you. 

No. No. Your hands ball into fists to scour your eyes as if doing so would rub the image away. That damn blue truck, idling at the end of your driveway, lights flaring gently at your stare. "y/n-" His voice echoes loudly, firm but cut short. 

You're tempted to go back into the house, slam that door, and hide in there until he goes away. But you knew better, and for some ungodly reason, he knew you knew he wouldn't leave until he at least got a word in. 

Magnus hardly recognized you, not coated head to toe in mud and dressed in a much cleaner set of clothes. Your hair was not pulled back from your face, slightly unkept by the wind, your eyes conveying all you needed to say without so much as uttering a word.

Temper flared, you stomp down the front steps, brow furrowed and ready to give him a piece of your mind, yet, just as you approach the driver-side door, you are stridently reminded of his size. With an unsatisfied click, the door swings open, just missing your nose as he addresses you carefully.

"I can tell you are unhappy." He deadpans, interior blinking with his words. "And trust, I know you thought the other night would be the last you would see of me. I had planned the same." 

"So why," You start, but must take a deep breath in between to compose yourself, rain tickling your face. "Are you here?" 

There is a pause as if he doesn't know the answer to your question. Instead, he opts to ignore you, a habit he must know irritates the hell out of you. "Come out of the rain. I will explain myself,"

Against your better judgment, you sigh and yield to his wishes. "Don't make this a habit." Grabbing the handle, you haul yourself onto that first step, moving into the cabin and sliding past the steering wheel to settle into the passenger seat. Just like before, the seatbelt clicks across your waist with a mind of its own.

No gesture goes unnoticed by him, no matter how small, uneasiness radiates from you intensely.

"I would not be here if it was not my last resort." He gravels, door shutting over a little too forcefully for your liking. "Shall I put it this way? The faster you help me, the faster I will leave you alone." 

“It isn’t like that.” Why you are vying to make him feel better perturbs you, though you partially blame it on your irritatingly compassionate nature. “All I’m saying, a call first would be nice,”

“Is that a jest?” Magnus rasps, unmoving. “For I have no way to reach you. What would you infer I do?”  

You exhale loudly through your nose, arms crossing your chest in a defeated manner. “Can you just…why did you come back here?”

“I require assistance.” He says it as if it’s painful, a string of words that cause a behemoth like him vast injury.

“Elaborate.” You aren’t being all that forthcoming, but neither is he.

“I am referring to the communication device. You know something of it, something that I am missing or a part that you have or can obtain.” In a smaller voice, he continues. “That I cannot.”

You freeze an action that Magnus senses entirely. “Magnus- “

“It may be a matter of life and death.” His engine turns over, the rain begins to pick up as it runs down the windshield. “I hate to deploy such a responsibility upon you, but I am alone. Without that device I cannot contact my allies, meaning I cannot assist them. Your species may be in danger,”

For all you know, he could have made everything up. Bullshitted his way through a lousy speech to tug on your heartstrings, but damn was it working-

“You are asking me to help you fix your walkie-talkie, and then you’ll leave me be?” Magnus’ spark leaps, a small victory he can call a real one. You’re starting to come around, and you are half as tense as you were just four days ago.

“I cannot guarantee-“But he catches himself, starting to ease on the gas pedal to begin down your street. “I cannot ascertain that it will be the end of this relationship, but trust that I will do everything in my power to see that it is the last of it.”

 A voice rang in the back of his processor that this was wrong, for he was breaking so many rules that he’d have nowhere to commence when he finally rejoined the Autobots. Somehow, if he got your conviction, then he could prove the same to the others once the time came. You needed to be an collaborator, for it all to be fruitful and rational in his mind.

Trust. He keeps bringing that damn word up as if pestering you with it would cause you to believe he had yours. You suppose you could be a bit kinder; he did save your sorry ass only half a week ago and wasn’t holding it over your head as he rightfully should. Somewhere in your brain, you understood simply that you owed him a lot more than buying him a set of HDMI cables, and maybe if you could repay him this way, it’d end on a more peaceful note.

“S’okay.” Relaxing, numb fingers begin to fiddle together in your lap as your arms fall away from your chest. “I could always use a friend.” You mumble the last part, kept to yourself.

“Are you well versed in building machinery?” Magnus tries to ignore your whisper, moving forward in resolving his problems, yet your downheartedness is a familiar one.

“What? No.” Shaking your head twice, you press onwards. “I assumed you needed me to buy you jumper cables or something.”

“Jumper…cables? You still speak in jests?” Passing a familiar landscape, that faraway feeling of the same fear you felt days ago creeps forward. “You were focused on it the other rotation. You know something that I do not,”

You balk, scoffing a laugh. “Dude, it’s your communication thing. It’s probably technology NASA dreams of.”

“Ultra Magnus." He chides, and the bickering eases some of your nerves. "Or have you already forgotten?”

“No, it’s a term of-er, it’s a friendly term.” That vast forest appears on your right, a lingering reminder that you are fast approaching the foundations of your nightmare. “Sorry, I’ll knock it off. Force of habit.”

“Ah, understood.” He drawls, but you aren’t fully convinced he believes you. “However, you recognized something amongst your transitory overview. You are more intelligent than you realize.” 

Concisely, you can indistinctly evoke a memory of that one port in particular that had snatched your attention in your momentary solitude. Still, you couldn’t place which cord exactly went where, nor know if connecting it would turn it on. “I think you’re getting your hopes too high.”

When he doesn’t reply immediately, you add: “Or are delirious in thinking I can help you.”

“I am out of options.” His voice hitches, a grumble of something tilting to break free, but he catches himself.  “Perchance you missed the part where I mentioned this was my last resort.”  

“No, no. I didn’t forget that.” You’re starting to hate how normal this all feels, though the insanity does not pass by that you’re talking to a fucking car. “I’m not being stubborn, I’m being honest.”

“Good.” You weren’t expecting that, jolting slightly. “It is better that we are honest with each other.”

Sniffling, a sense of apprehension rises in your chest. “Yeah? How so,”

“Your caution is…warranted, though I appreciate your honesty, no matter how brutal it is.” With a sigh, you gather yourself, elbow resting on the armrest with the slightest amount of pressure, an involuntary action on your behalf.

“For some reason,” You start, realizing you are fast approaching the area you had seemingly just left. Swallowing down the round of stale tears that rise to the surface, you push away the memory of whatever was after you, collecting fumbled words to continue. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine nor begin to understand your situation, but I owe you. The least I can do is try to help in any way I can.”

You’re rambling, words stumbling from chapped lips before you can even try to stop them. Magnus listens, intently at that, searching for deceit in your blundered sentences, but finds none. For once, when you meant it, you were being candid. It’s a relief, a step in the right direction, and eases some of his own trepidation about the whole thing.

“Many thanks.” It’s soft, words wrapping you in a hug you didn’t ask for.

Silently the ride continues another six minutes, until he comes to an eased stop, seatbelt pulling backward as the door opens. “Thank you.” You whisper, grabbing the same handle you squeezed goodbye just the other day as the door opens.

With a soft thud, you hit the damp ground, rain letting up momentarily, though it still mists over your clothes sporadically. Taking a few unsteady paces forward, halfway into a step, you hear that same clunking noise that alerts you the truck is no longer behind you.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to that, jumping a bit as you turn, finding his confused stare looking back at you. His head tilts to the right, just enough that he catches himself and rightens his spine.

“Whatever is the matter?” Magnus breathes. “You’ve paled,”

Clammy palms come to slap at your cheeks, coughing awkwardly as a familiar warmth floods to your ears. He might be absolutely frightening, but he’s got a friendliness in his tone that you’ve yet to encounter, a kinder approach than his overreaching personality. You infer it’s because you’ve offered your help, a bit less stubborn than before, and he’s willing to drop a bit of his armor.“What?” You squeak, taking a step backward as he leans forward. “No, I’m fine.”

Standing beneath his shadow, even as he remains crouched on the ground like that, was nauseating still. There is no getting used to it, even as your neck starts to hurt craning it back like that to talk to him.

“Are you certain?” Your feet freeze to the ground, gasping as one of his fingers cups your chin, bent at the knuckle like he had the other day. He’s warm, contrary to what you would have previously thought, heart pounding in your ears as he assesses you with an exasperating amount of restraint. “You look as if you are about to faint, just as you did before.”

Slowly, you peel your palms from your face, fingers settling on his to apply a slight amount of pressure as if to shoo him away. “I feel fine.” Insistent, your voice must do the convincing as your strength was nothing compared to his.

“If, you are sure.” Not pulling back immediately, his touch lingers for a second too long before his digit falls from your skin. “Shall we?” He asks, moving off one knee to stand.

Swallowing thickly, a thought passes by that you feel talking to him is a tad easier when he is a truck. Not trapped under that dense stare, feeling impossibly small, your sarcasm and courage are retained when you can’t see his eyes. You don't think that same bubbling anxiety as you did the first exchange, but wariness still struggles deep within your heart. He's being plain-speaking, being accommodating, and the least you could do is return the favor. 

Feasibly, you could take this entire interaction with stride, hoping it would see itself through to the end. If fate had woven your paths for a reason, possibly someday you could look back on this memory fondly, wondering why you were so fretful about it all. 

Maybe in a distant future.

“Yeah.” You start, trudging towards the entrance you shouldn’t know. “We shall.”

“One more question,” You turn, not liking how long it takes you to meet his gaze. “What is a walkie-talkie?”

[heartshapedbubble]

HIHI!! Dunno whether the birthday reqs are full but would it be too much trouble to ask for hcs of Edgar & Andrew having a crush on the reader (basically they're both crushing on the reader at the same time)?? I'm not sure whether this counts as jealous 'n stuff but I'm really sorry if it does & you can ignore this request !! 👍👍

HII SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!! i think this passes juuust underneath the line for jealous stuff so i'm up for it :]

putting a cw just in case bc andrew wants edgars ass DEAD lmao

edgar valden and andrew kreiss having a crush on the reader at the same time hcs🎨🕸

edgar valden🎨

jealousy is not something new to edgar, in fact, he knows it very well - his crush on you was heavily toned down and controlled, him making sure you don't notice him blushing or seeking physical touch, but his jealousy is going to throw him off his rocker and cause him to be very obvious and clingy

edgar generally likes to be a bit snobbish/braggy about his paintings and skills, but when he realizes you might get with andrew instead despite his talent he's going to become very worried. his jealousy unveals his number one weakness - someone being better than him. he was always number one in both his parents' and his mentor's eyes, being their precious little wunderkind that could provide them with a masterpiece with the flick of his wrist, and now all his talent is in vain because of someone who can't even compete with him? bullshit!

he doesn't show jealousy and doesn't like to admit it, but he'll often be passive agressive and make snarky remarks here and there. the most that it will come to (after days and days of edgar questioning both himself and you) is him directly asking you what exactly do you see in the anxious, clumsy gravekeeper

to combat this and try to win you over, edgar is going to be asking you out more frequently, even better if it's right in front of andrew, secretly scribbling sketches of you when you aren't looking, asking you to pose for his paintings, even giving them out to you for free - you'd be asking yourself if this is the same edgar you knew before.

although edgar does become immature and needy during this period of time, at the end he'll have to accept the truth if the case was you picked andrew over him. but if you chose him - oh man, where could he even begin? he'll make sure he gives you the best treatment he could provide to anyone ever

andrew kreiss🕸

andrew is such a horrendously bad liar that it's laughable. his crush on you can't even be considered a rumor spread around during the manor tea parties - it's something that the entire oletus manor claims as a fact. it even reached the hunters' side, which occassionally asks him the infamous question during the games to make him lose his balance and become a sweaty, blushing mess

when he finds out he's not the only one admiring you romantically, it awakes a flurry of mixed feelings inside of him. at first, he's hopeless, he's already dealt with collective social rejection and shame that it can't even phase him that much. but at the same time... you're not like them, are you? you treat him with such kindness and care, you couldn't possibly do that.. oh, but look at edgar! everyone admires his art, he's truly a virtuoso in the making! how could he compete against him? it's best for him to give up immediately..

oh, but wait. he could always yank him away during a match, hide his trusty shovel behind his back and....

yes, i'm being serious. andrew would 100% contemplate killing edgar. not being accustomed to any kind of social cues, it's simply the most logical solution for him - you just eliminate the obstacle. it's as easy as that. yet, is this what you'd truly desire? would he kill for you? in a moment of desperation the answer is yes, i would kill for them, but once he realizes what he's doing he's going to stop immediately, shocked by his own train of thought. he's definetly horrified of losing you, but his anxiety will make his fear sky rocket and come to such drastic conclusions.

to appeal to you he's going to become a bit more keen on initiating affection, and you might notice that the bouquets he makes for you became bigger and started arriving to your front door more frequently... he's just doing any little thing in his power, already knowing he's no match for the manor's quick-witted painter

if you choose edgar over him, he'll just take a deep breath and move on. it might be a burden to him for some time, but hey, it's not like he hasn't dealt with similar situations before. yet, if it's him you desire... he'll cling onto you for eternity, showering you with all the love he could ever give to somebody

[anonauthorsworkshop]

helloo, i stumbled upon ur mha x scp au and AHDSIHDSGISDGJ UR WRITING??? IS SO GOOD?? (also im new here hi, can i be 🎭 anon) more mha x scp au pls /nf tho

hii 🎭 anon :) i get a lot of requests for this au haha, sure!

previous part here

AU where MC is transported into the MHA universe with a SCP-summoning quirk. essentially a MHA and SCP crossover. you can read the rest of the parts under the tag #pp mha au

(note: i have never watched or read mha in my life and all of my knowledge is from fanfics and lazily googled questions! sorry in advance for any mischaracterizations or anything that just... doesn't make any sense? lol)

-

You lean forward, nearly falling off of your chair in the process. Squinting your eyes into narrow lines, you focus on one, crucial objective:

Trying to figure out what the hell is sitting right in front of you.

He looks like a cat, sort of. He reminds you of Josie, or, well, 529, with his feline-esque features and all.

Oh, you really should summon Josie here again sometime. It's been quite a while since you last have. That cat makes a good cuddle buddy. Even if she's missing the entire other half of her body.

You hum in thought, continuing to careen forward from your chair. No! This thing across from you is nothing like Josie. His ears look more like a bear, like 1048. Or could he be a dog? No, no... You've got it! He's definitely a rat!

Leaning back, you return to a proper sitting position and internally applaud yourself for finding the solution to your own ridiculous question. A rat, you think to yourself, face smug. Reminds me of a certain mask that drips black snot.

Wait a minute. The satisfied expression you adorn falters as you inspect the rat closer. What if it's not a rat, but a mouse?!

No, you're getting sidetracked! You take another bite of the banana you have graciously been given by your... captors? Do they count as captors if you willingly went with them?

The clearing of a throat. "Excuse me. If you could please answer the question..."

Oh, right. They're not really your 'captors,' just your interrogators, (that provide you with free food, might you add).

"What was the question again?" you ask, before not-so-elegantly stuffing the rest of the banana down your throat. You couldn't help but cave into your stomach's hunger; you haven't tasted this quality of fresh food in years! No more scavenging for meals or rummaging through garbage bins!

The man in uniform raises an inquiring eyebrow. You examine the badge attached to his right breast pocket: 'Detective Tsukauchi.'

He gestures to his side. "He asked you for your name."

Your eyes follow his hand's movements, and you find yourself gazing at the rat once more. "Oh, I wasn't paying attention." You admit shamelessly, grabbing another banana from the bowl placed before you. "I'm Y/N."

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N." The rat smiles. You absentmindedly nod in response. "I'm Nezu, the principal of U.A. High. The man beside me is Detective Tsukauchi," you glance at the final stranger, "and this is Aizawa, a teacher at this school. He is also the one who found you. We would like to ask you some questions, as you are already aware."

"Sure," you comply, shoving another banana into your mouth. "I don't mind."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen, I think."

"Who are your parents?"

You shrug, nonchalantly reaching for another banana. "Don't have any."

Nezu's grin widens slightly, and you watch him place a paw below his jaw. "Would you be comfortable telling us about what happened in that alley?"

Cocking your head to the side, you carefully peel off the banana's skin. "Which one?"

The detective speaks up. "The one you were found in."

Chewing another bite of your food, you tap a finger to your chin in thought. "Well, I was asleep until I heard a bunch of noise." Slowly, you turn to Nezu, replicating his ear-to-ear smile as you dramatically retell your experience.

"I looked up from my home, my beloved alleyway cardboard box, and saw two groups of people fighting. I decided to hide in my box until it was all over, but then one of them crashed into my home. They crumpled my box, and my hiding spot was revealed! The two groups started arguing about 'gang territory,' or whatever, and one of them decided to use me as a hostage and pointed a gun to my head."

You sink your teeth into your banana once more, oblivious to the horrified looks from every adult in the room.

"Oh, but it was fine," you casually continue, mouth half-full, "since, you know, I took care of it and all."

"When you say that you 'took care of it,'" the detective asks cautiously, "do you mean that you used your quirk?"

"My... quirk?" You scratch the back of your neck. "I guess it's my quirk? Don't know too much about 'quirks,' to be honest. I've never been to a doctor, or whatever specialist you go to for checking those out."

"Could you describe to us what it was that you exactly did?"

You gulp down the rest of your banana before replying. "You mean, in that alley? I summoned, or, like, conjured up one of those, uh." You pause, replacing 'SCPs' with another word to prevent further confusion. "Creatures? One of those creatures."

Tsukauchi looks you in the eye. "These creatures that you summon." You glance at the detective's hands, and you notice that they're trembling. "What do they do? What do they look like?"

"Usually I summon them to help and protect me." You explain with a shrug, "Oftentimes I encounter people who want to hurt me for some reason. There's a bunch of, er, 'creatures,' that I can summon, and they don't typically look like your perception of what's 'normal.'"

You continue, "There are endless possibilities, really. One looks like a teddy bear, just covered in human ears." Tsukauchi's eyes widen, as if his suspicions have been confirmed. "There's some that are long and bony. Some of them have these gigantic claws and razor-sharp mouths. Some of them are all gooey and acidic-"

"I believe that's enough." You turn to the side, taking a brief glimpse at Aizawa, who is standing beside you. Those were the only words he's spoken this entire time.

Turning back to the other two, you're about to grab another banana when you catch sight of the detective. You stare awkwardly, your hand paused mid-air. He seems to have completely spun on his heel to face away from you, hands clutching the wall as he gags and dry heaves. You scoot back in your chair uncomfortably.

"...And you do not have a home, correct?" Nezu stands up from his seat, approaching yours.

"Well, I did, but like I said, my cardboard box was destroyed because of those two rival gangs, or whoever they were."

"I see." He raises a paw so as to pet the top of your head. You clumsily bend down in your chair, allowing the two-foot-tall principal to reach your height. "We can arrange something for you. You may stay in a personal dorm here for free, if you would like." He smiles, "So long as you attend this school, the police force has also gladly agreed to erase your criminal record!"

You gawk at him. "C-criminal record?" Well, you guess you usually do end up leaving a mess of dead bodies behind, but it's always in self-defense!

"You should know it is illegal to use your quirk unlicensed and in public, Y/N."

Surveying the room, you dart your eyes from person to person. In the corner of the room, the detective, who is on the verge of vomiting up his insides. The man beside you, Aizawa, who refuses to look at you. The one standing in front of you, Nezu, who is blackmailing you, but is also offering you free shelter and free food...

You huff, grabbing Nezu's paw and shaking it wildly. "It's a deal, then."

[hikarry]

Aziraphale likes to be helpful and hates watching humans suffer, as any good angel should. Yet, I don't believe he has permission from Gabriel to interfere and save humans during catastrophes, even if he could. He is sent places to observe and report. Any help he provides is under his own volition.

So just picture how he must have felt when those instances started pilling up. Cain. The Flood. Jesus.

Slowly but surely his incapacity starts to affect him.

How he must have felt, let's say, during plagues.

The Black Plague, for example.

He was sent to Britain to observe, but he can't help it but offer his assistance as a doctor. He can't outright cure them, but he can try to do it without using miracles and offer comfort all the while.

Still, that's not enough.

Many pass by his hand, slowly and painfully dying, covering him in blood and other body fluids.

He tries his best to bring them peace in their final moments, but what good does that do? He could cure them. With a snap of his fingers, he could cure them, but Heaven doesn't let him interfere, and he can't help but feel utterly useless. And that's how Crowley finds him. He was also in Britain, surreptitiously lending a helping hand the best he could, when he came across an exhausted and lost Aziraphale.

He sits across from the angel at a tavern without a word, the angel looking at his own hands while Crowley observed him.

"It's not your fault." He finally says and watches as Aziraphale closes his hands into fists.

"Isn't it?"

"Heaven is stopping you. If something, they are the ones to blame."

They fall into silence again for a few moments. It's uncomfortable and awkward but Crowley endures it.

"Was it a child?"

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and nods, before finally looking up at him.

"She couldn't be older than 4. She just...her skin turned black so fast i myself could barely keep track. Her mother kept crying, begging me to save her, but..." He closes his eyes, swallowing dry. "I could have. I could have saved her. Instead, I let a child slowly decay in her mother's arms." Crowley reached out much out of instinct, touching his fingertips to the back of Aziraphale's right hand. "I can't take it anymore. I can't just watch them die when I literally have the solution in my fingertips, Crowley."

After a few beats of silence, the demon answered:

"Tell you what, leave the healing to me." Aziraphale eyes snapped open. "I'm not as good as an angel in the healing department, but I can do something. At the very least, buy them time. You will only have to worry about guiding them through it."

The angel moves his hand away from his touch.

"Out of the question! You will get in trouble."

Crowley shrugs, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"Hell isn't really keeping track of miracles. I've been helping for weeks now. The only thing changing would be us sticking together and sharing the workload."

"...are you certain?"

"Would I offer if I wasn't?"

And that was the plan. They didn't save all, but they saved more than they would have if they didn't join forces. And, be assured, Crowley did get in trouble, but Aziraphale didn't need to know about that.

Wars? All the same.

Take Queen Anne's War, for example.

Aziraphale is ordered by Heaven to side with the British and Crowley sides with the French.

In a war, it's kill or be killed, and even though he was originally built to be a soldier, he stays as far away from the battlefield as he can. Instead, he takes his place as a nurse and helps the wounded soldiers as best he can.

Humans had somewhat developed their medical skills, so most of them were saved. If something, they had to cut a limb here and there, but as long as the human remained alive, that was all Aziraphale cared about.

Until one day, the hospital flooded with patients. The French had invaded an English camp and massacred most of them. Many died that day, even though Aziraphale could have easily snapped his fingers and closed wounds, stitching flesh together as new. His white clothes soon became a shade of dark red with all the dried human blood, and his hands were equally as tainted.

It was a young man, barely 16, that tipped him off the edged. He yelled, begging everyone not to let him die. He was terrified, holding onto Aziraphale's clothes and crying, just begging to be saved. And Aziraphale could have saved him. Just a snap. Yet instead, he had his hands deep in a chest wound, trying to stitch muscle together the human way. The blood was oozing out of the man's body, and his pleas grew weaker and weaker but always erratic and desperate. Suddenly, the boy reached out to Aziraphale's shirt and, with a vice grip, pulled him closer. The angel stopped what he was doing, looking the man in his bloodshot eyes, tears running down his dirty face. And then, there was only silence, the hand falling away from him. Aziraphale dropped the needle and had to step back. He had to leave. He needed air. Air. And there wasn't enough in that bloody tent.

Without paying much attention, he stumbled out of the hospital into the woods nearby, his breathing coming out as if he had run a marathon. The only things he could hear were the yells of desperation and his own heart beating against his chest. Eventually, he dropped on the floor, back leaning against a random tree, as he looked down at his hands stained with still fresh blood.

He had been nothing but a child pushed into a senseless war. He was scared of death, he didn't want to go, and yet Aziraphale did nothing. He just watched him die in a pool of his own blood while he claimed for the Almighty to save him. But she didn't. And so didn't Aziraphale.

The sun was setting, and he was still sitting in the same place, in the same position, still staring at his own hands. He didn't hear someone approaching and only noticed their presence when two clean hands held both of his.

Aziraphale looked up, silent tears escaping his eyes, and met sunglasses. Crowley was wearing a French General's uniform. Not a speck of blood or dirt on it. He was kneeling with one knee in front of him, and his mouth was moving, but Aziraphale couldn't hear it. Instead, he just gripped the hands on his and let himself tumble forwards, laying his head on Crowley's shoulder. He felt it when the demon reciprocated his hand squeeze and leaned his head against his. None of them talked. There was no need for it. They've been through this before, many, many times, and all Aziraphale needed was a break. A break from all the pain and blood and death. And Crowley offered it to him, even if just for one moment.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Aziraphale would remove himself from Crowley and squeeze his hands one last time. Crowley ran his eyes through the angel's face, and when he offered him a weak smile, the demon smiled back. With one last squeeze, he got up from the ground and waved his hand in the general direction of the angel, banishing the dried blood from his clothes and hands before leaving, back behind enemy lines.

Neither of them would mention what happened in the forest, much like they didn't mention all the times through the millenia this exact scenario had played out before.

They didn't have the real need for it, really. Talking about it was no use. It would only bring up the bad memories Aziraphale tried very hard to bury as far away from his consciousness as possible.

And it was with stolen moments of silent support when both forgot they were in enemy sides, not only by Hell and Heaven standards, but sometimes by Human standards as well, that they survived the worst of humanity when an angel could do nothing but observe and report.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter VI : The indignity of suffering

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Go into that dark wood, but do not lose yourself.

Content Warnings: canon typical violence; gore; angst

A/N: I just wanted to say that you all have been so fucking kind and lovely and supportive to me. I’ve read and tried to reply to every single one of your messages and cherish them so so much. I can’t even tell you what it means to me to receive this type of response to something I’ve written, my very first thing I’ve ever shared publicly, at that. I seriously thought this thing’d have two hits, me and my burner account and that’s it. I appreciate each and every single one of you to the end of the earth, and hope I can continue to write things that you all relate to and are moved by and find solace in. Thank you so so so much. I love you and I wish you all nothing but the most amazing things in the whole world.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.5K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI: The indignity of suffering

Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.  -Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

You sit now in the dark quiet of your living room, facing straight forward, unseeing, feet planted firmly on the floor, trying to ground yourself and count the sounds of your breath. Feel the inhale pass all the way into your body, deep down to your toes, back up again through your abdomen, whistle through your lungs, up your throat and out, back into the world. A repetitive exercise to try and soothe your racing heart. 

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

Your nails are splintered bloody, the tips of your fingers rubbed raw from the fight in the woods. It hurts, and you pick at the broken skin trying to distract from the other pain writhing within you. Something, something else has to exist in the world that can hurt more than this, than him. Please, please, let there be something else worse than this. You pick harder at the skin. You still possess enough clarity of mind to be cognizant of the fact that your thoughts are slightly unhinged. Something to hurt more? Why? For what? What good would that do you? For the girl who’s always tried to have the answers to every question that came her way, you find that there are no discernible solutions to this. No reason, no way to conceptualize it. There was no easy way to color within the lines in this moment, tuck it all away neatly into a drawer. Your edges are frayed, savaged, bloody and torn. 

He had done this to you – true. But in many ways you had also done this to yourself. You could only go on accepting the way others treated you for so long before it got to be too much. And you knew, once again, that it was all about the choices you made. What were you willing to put up with? What were you willing to let go of? What was necessary for your survival? What would you die without?

I will die without him, you think. 

Asking for things for yourself had always been excruciating. You’d gotten better at pushing that piece of yourself away – that deficit – with age. You saw it for what it was now, something to hurt you, rather than, naively considered, to protect you. And it was time now, to ask for this, to demand he love you out in the open. He could not say the words to you, fuck them into you with his body and his touch, press them into your skin – and then take them back? No. His terror at the possibility of losing you, of you getting hurt sent him over the edge, robbed him of rational thought, you could objectively understand this, but the agony of having him and not having him – of being able to only brush your fingertips along the phantom idea of him, never being able to hold on tight — dig your nails into his skin and draw blood; well that provided grounds for cowardice. Surely, it excused it, even. Because, you think: this is unendurable, unendurable. 

The two of you were made up of so much fear in equal measures. Him, afraid of his own feelings, of showing his softness, of putting that softness in someone else’s hands. And you, you, sometimes you terrified yourself. The lengths you could go to swallow your hurts, to repress the things that broke your heart – you couldn’t live like this anymore. It was too painful, abnormal – emaciating yourself in the name of being strong and stoic. 

So perhaps Joel was right, in this instance. You did. You needed to leave. As a means of self preservation, you needed to do as he’d told you. You needed to get out, away from him. From yourself. From all these people who knew you, and how much you wanted and needed and loved him and fucking prostrated yourself at the effigy of him you’d created in your mind.  You wanted to scream and thrash and gnaw your teeth through the very marrow of who and what you were, and you wanted to say that you hated him and yourself and everything, everything, everything. Why did you have to be this way? Why did he have to be this way? You felt angry and resentful with the world, with life itself. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, say or do any of those things. 

None of them were true. 

What was true was that it was not your responsibility to step between him and his daughter. To defend or protect him from her. That was not your place. Not right now, at least. The struggle between them was their own, could only be mended by them two. 

What was true was that you loved him. And he loved you. You knew this now, without doubt. What was true was that he hurt you. That he was terribly afraid. That he could not allow himself the vulnerability of being hurt again himself. 

Beth. Beth. Beth.  Where are you, sister? I need you.

You needed to go back out. Despite what had happened tonight, and your very real fear that there could be more of those men out there, that woman and her baby were out there somewhere. You needed to find them; there was something inside of you urging you out there to them – the look in her eyes, the sound of the child’s cries – and there wasn’t anything that could stop you from going. The idea of leaving the safety of Jackson’s walls without Joel, without his reassuring protection and competence, caused a fear to surge up inside you that was almost debilitating. But you had to do this. You had to find them, help them in any way you could. The desperation in the woman’s eyes – it was like a mirror of your own terror the night Beth had died. You saw yourself in her gaze in that moment, the terrified reflection of your past self. 

You’d gone straight to Maria from Joel’s. The look on your face, enough to tell her this was something you needed to do now. She’d gone straight to Noah first, then another girl in town, called Vero, both were competent trackers and hunters, and Noah was your friend. You knew he’d help you. They’d agreed to go. You’d head out tomorrow at first light, search the greater part of the day, go as far out as you could and still be able to make it back before dark.  Easy and quick. 

He wanted you gone. He wanted you to leave. Then you would. It wasn’t in your nature to be petty or lash out, but it was in your nature to hide, to swallow a hurt, to run. This was self preservation at its core. You needed to get away from the humiliation. The burning rejection of knowing that you loved him, and that even though he’d said the words, he still saw you as something apart from himself and the things he held close. Not family. 

There was a more level headed part of you that objectively knew he’d be furious to know you’d gone back out without him. That he’d lose his mind when he found out. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. The petty and hurt part, the part he’d just trampled all over, would win tonight, wanted to lash out. If Maria was letting you go you knew your plan wasn’t suicidal – at least not in terms of what you might run into out there. You both knew the three of you could take care of yourselves. Joel, though, he might just kill you himself when you returned. 

But you needed time to conceptualize your feelings. Fold things away as neatly as possible – the things he’d said to you – you needed to shut this love away in a drawer, put it to rest as best as you could. Dissociate from it if necessary, from him. 

You wished desperately for Connie in this moment. For his clear logic and calming baritone. Use your head, honey. The answer’s right there in front of you. For him to pet your hair and tell you it’d all be okay. But he wasn’t here. And neither was Beth or Ellie or Maria. No one you felt could understand, not truly. Really, you knew you wanted to talk to Joel. Knew he understood this overwhelming feeling of having absolutely nothing left to give. That he knew how someone who knows what it’s like to go without, is always willing to give more. Even if they don’t have anything left for themselves. That this feeling you were experiencing now was exactly what held him back from you. 

He understood the sentiment intimately. As hard as he’d tried to push you away, keep you at arms length, shield the softness within himself from your prying eyes and grasping fingers, you’d seen it. You’d even felt it brush up against you. And you knew, you knew, he had so, so much left to give. Even if he couldn’t see it himself. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to share it with you. He’d done it for Ellie. For that little girl all that time ago who’d needed him, and despite his reluctance, fear, trauma, his painful, painful past – he’d given himself to her entirely. 

It wasn’t in you to judge him for holding himself back from you. As much as it ripped you to shreds, you understood him with a profoundness and an empathy you surprised yourself with. Of course he was fucking scared. Of course he was terrified of the risk of pain. Of the risk of loss. 

The mistake was to assume that any person you loved would be, at all times, without fault. Never cruel. Never selfish. Would never hurt you. In love or friendship or family, you now considered, with experience, the real test of longevity to be acceptance of that occasional mistake – whether it be cruelty or selfishness or hurt – it didn’t really matter. The people you loved would hurt you sometimes. They’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. Make the wrong choice. To err was human. No one was ever perfect one hundred percent of the time, and to allow for that margin of error, was to be merciful in your love. Not only for them, for the person you loved, but for yourself, as well. The capacity – the space to make mistakes and forgive yourself for it, own it and move on – that was true mercy. That was the true promise of longevity. Especially in a world like this, one so full of cruelty and danger and casual hurts. Risk, always risk just around the corner. And Joel, he was not a man who took risks lightly. He was an animal cornered – and a threatened creature does not think of consequences. It considers only survival.

It was in the way you proceeded after your mistakes, the choices, the actions you took to make reparations, that the true test lay.  

All of this understanding, however, didn’t mean his rejection was painless. All the self awareness in the world still wasn’t enough to soothe the sting of rejection. And it stung like a bitch. 

You feel yourself start to tilt sideways onto your sofa, glassy eyes taking in the warm corners of your home. The piles of books, your tacky orange plaid throw over the armchair by the fire, the drawings Ellie’d given you to put up. A life strung together with sheer determination – a safe space. It didn’t feel as safe, as warm, in this moment, without him. Autonomy over your body lost to grief, your shoulder hits the green cushion. You turn your face into the darkness and let the hot press of tears break free. Muffled and quiet, you let all that hurt you wished you could erase, out. The pain in your throat is strangling, trying to keep yourself contained. There is a savagely broken place within you that forces you, even in this moment, to remain subdued, and you wish you could let it all out in a messy explosion of tears and howling. That your mind would allow your physical reaction to reflect the seething pain you’re feeling inside, to let go of restraint for even just a moment. 

When you’ve lost everything, how do you muster the bravery to hold onto something new?

You had it in you to run – to sneak away in the dark. This you knew. To be cowardly – even if only in his eyes. To be selfish. Even if you knew that running away, even after he’d told you to go, was the worst possible thing you could do to him. Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit, he’d said once. Well, you would be. You needed distance and space to lick the bleeding wound your heart had become, and you had something you felt you direly needed to do. That woman was waiting for you out there – you felt it in your bones, the baby’s cry resounding in your memory over and over again.

Perhaps your anger was useless. After all, an animal cornered could only react on instinct, and Joel had cornered himself with his confession. 

But you were so, so tired. You couldn’t fight anymore. 

It’s the end of the goddamned world, Joel. Just love me like I know you do. 

-

You pull the cinch of the saddle, checking it’s secure. You’d slept like shit, the events of the night before replaying in your mind on a loop. His words clanging against your skull over and over again. The dark woods – Beth’s dying screams. The clicking. The look on Ellie’s face – so concerned, scared for you. Scared of what would become of you without him. Dawn hasn’t broken over the horizon yet, but you’re ready to get out of here. 

Sometimes you feel like he isn’t actually real. A figment you’ve created in your imagination. And really, if you’re being wholly honest with yourself, isn't that the most honest truth between the two of you? Isn't everything you think you need from him merely something born from your own yearning? Haven’t you been half-existing without him this whole time? One foot in, one foot out. If you’d never had the whole thing, had you ever really even had it at all?

Perhaps that isn’t fair, to either of you. You can’t tell what’s right or wrong anymore, real or imaginary. Your mind, blanketed by exhaustion, coherence gone out the door like an old lover.

Have I been walking in circles again?

“You ready to go?” You’re snapped from your reverie at the sound of Noah’s voice. Nausea churns in your gut on a low, threatening simmer. Everything held in a tight knot at the base of your throat. Vero’s saddled and ready to go – waiting for the two of you to mount, as well. 

Maria’s old adage, her overused one at that, sounds in your mind: The only people who can betray us are the ones we trust. How right she always is. After all, hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. Who knows your soft spots, where to strike hardest, better than someone who loves you?

Leaving was probably a mistake. In the cool clarity of the damp morning, you’re worried you’re walking into something the three of you are ill prepared for, incapable of handling. But you know that baby is out there – you know the desperation in the woman’s eyes wasn’t feigned, couldn’t be. You had to find them. And Joel’d done most of the heavy lifting, killing, last night – that man’s skull crushed beneath the violent weight of his fist, the stray clickers done away with. All you had to do now was find that woman and her child, and hope nothing worse waited for you out there.

So much had happened in the span of such a few, seemingly short hours.

You mount your horse, and your belly sways with nausea you have to grit your teeth against. Concern nips at your heels, but you can’t think about that now. Not after last night, not in light of what you’re about to set out to do. Perhaps not ever. Perhaps you can ignore your anxieties and suspicions indefinitely. Perhaps then, they can’t hurt you, won’t be made real. Can’t remind you of how alone you’ll be after this is done. 

You have much to do: you must make yourself into stone, kill your memories, kill your desires, find your future. Change the very nature of your soul, if you must, learn to live without him. 

Noah settles on his mount, and you click your tongue, the three of you start to move forward. You’re afraid. A huge yawning pit of trepidation, of terror opening in your gut. This is how Joel must feel all the time. But there’s also the voice in your head, telling you this is something you need to do. No matter what. You feel so keenly, in your very marrow, that they’re waiting for you. There was no discerning evidence as to why you knew you needed to do this, why you felt you’d recognized her, but you did. 

It seemed empirically impossible that the two of you’d have met each other at that precise moment last night. In the tumult of chaos that had crashed around the two of you in that dark wood, that the night had cleared for one precise second to allow you to look at her face, to see all she needed to voice but could not say; that she was terrified, that she needed help. There had to be a reason for that.

You’d been searching for reasons in meaningless things for far too long now. You knew this. You should apply your rational mind to questioning this hair-brained plan, tell yourself that leaving without Joel, despite the things he’d said last night, was suicide. You could very well die, either out there, at the hands of some monster, or in here, after he murdered you for going out there without him. Part of you didn’t really care anymore. A blanket of numbness clouding your judgment. 

You’d always been a girl that had done as she was told, inhabited the place in life assigned to you. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to do something you weren’t supposed to. 

-

You ride for several hours before you’re attacked. The silent woods surround the three of you, moving slowly in the general direction of the clearing from last night, and then further on towards the way which she’d fled. It’s peaceful, the steady cadence of the horses hooves, the wind disturbing the stillness of the trees like a whispered song of the leaves; you think they might be telling you to turn around, to go back to him. And then, as if you’d been struck by lightning, coming to after, only to discover catastrophe of the highest order. You tell yourself you won’t regret your choice to come out here, you won’t, no matter what happens, you all can fight, this was something you had to do. There’s chaos circling you, Vero and Noah’s shouts, a gun sounding, and then you turn to see Vero’s body falling to the ground. There’s a bullet wound straight through her skull, dead center, brain matter splattering behind her in a sick mockery of strewn life. You’re shocked into utter stillness, all thought, all understanding wiped from your brain as neatly as the bullet through hers. This is your doing. 

And then fire, fire, fire, suddenly – shockingly. Pulverizing your ribs, your flesh, your very self. An inferno climbing up your chest, down your hip, and through your arm, spreading uncontrollably. You lose your seat on the horse, and then you too, are plummeting to the ground. The unyielding ground surging up towards your face like a cold wave. You feel as if you fall for centuries, and then your body is slamming sickeningly against the forest floor, your shoulder crunches and you want to howl; your head rebounding so hard you feel your very brain jostle inside your skull. Your vision flashes in and out, blurred and unfocused, and all you can discern are the mammoth figures of the trees around you. Looming over you like monsters in the dead of night, come to devour.

My secret, my secret, I never got to tell him.

You try to curl in on yourself, protect whatever remains of a body you’re not sure you possess anymore. More resounding shots of a gun, again, again, screaming and howling. Perhaps the wolves have descended. He’s going to be so angry, you think. My friends, my friends are dying because of me. Noah, where is Noah? Please, please, don’t be dead too.

You think that if you die, Joel and Ellie have to make up. They have to. He’ll need her so much. 

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

You should have never left. You should have stayed with him. No matter what he said. What the hell did he know anyway? You should have fought harder. You should have stayed with him. 

The dark lake of unconsciousness swallows you whole. 

Chapter VII

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[midnightsun-if]

idk if youve gotten this ask already but RO reaction to the only one bed situation, crushing stage 🙏🙏🙏 ???

Koda: He’d take the floor and/or couch without question. Wouldn’t even be a point of contention with him and he’d honestly think nothing of it. Just look at the situation, shrug, offer you a smile, and flop onto the couch (probably breaking something within it while doing so).

Scarlett: I’ve actually answered this already for our resident Ice Queen here.

Cyrus/Cyra: I’d love to make a sweet response to this, but it’s highly unlikely, near impossible, that the MC would be allowed to share a room with C during this stage (being the next ruler of the Eclipse Throne… their safety is kinda important). However, if it did happen, C would probably just overthink the whole thing and not even realize that the MC was trying to come up with potential solutions with them.

Quinn: They’d just arch their brow and probably make some form of quip about it, but they’d be keenly aware if you were uncomfortable with the situation. They’d even offer to go sleep outside, if the area permitted it, if it’s something you’d be more comfortable with— it’s not something they’re unused to (they’d probably just shift and go right to sleep).

Caden: Caden.exe would officially stop working. They wouldn’t know what to do and would probably go back to the front desk immediately and demand (read: stutter out in a soft voice) to talk to anyone that could potentially help with the situation. If it’s something that couldn’t be fixed? They’d just sleep on the floor, or the couch, as they’d never let you do so.

Sloane: Their brow would furrow, an emotion crossing their features that disappears too quickly before you’re able to process it, as they tried to figure out just how someone could fuck this up so bad. It’s bad enough they’re stuck on this trip with— forced to be in your presence and surrounded by all the feelings you bring up in them— but now they’ll potentially have to share a bed with you? They’d do one of two things: 1.) Pretend like it doesn’t bother them, flop onto the bed, hands tucked behind their head, and ask you if you think they could get away with having a smoke. 2.) Glare at nothing in particular, their wolf subtly laughing at them, before they let loose a soft growl and stalk into the bathroom— not coming out until they’re sure you went to bed and they find a home on the couch the room provided.

Blake: Wouldn’t think anything of it. Would just jump onto the bed and ask you about potential room service, what type of movies you think would be on the TV, etc. They’d pretty much just make it a big sleepover. Though, of course, when you do finally settle behind you, a flicker of emotions well within their chest that’s never been there before— something that scares them shitless but they’re not sure if they’re strong enough to run away from. Even if it’d be for the best in the long run.

Reginald/Regina: Would take one look at the situation, probably laugh at the trope happening to them, and then look at you with all the seriousness they could muster (which probably isn’t that much), and say: “I’ll rock-paper-scissors you for the bed.” Would demand a best 2/3 if they ended up losing, but it’d all be in good fun. They’d probably still manage to fall asleep on the bed somehow, curled into a ball and burrowed underneath the covers like a little koala.

[emeritus-fuckers]

Since you are currently request less: Papa's comforting a dysphoric trans-masc reader?

Hi, I love requests like this even if my inbox is full. And I love and support all my trans readers, I'll be delighted to provide content for you. 💚 - Jez

Papas comforting a dysphoric trans-masc reader

Primo

Will listen to your problems and ask if you want his advice or just comfort.

Tries to get to the root of the problem. What are you dysphoric about, exactly?

Why does it make you dysphoric?

How would you like to solve the issue?

He just asks questions, he doesn't give you answers.

He lets you come to the conclusion yourself and supports whatever solution you come to.

Secondo

Asks you exactly what you need to feel better.

Do you need to get your mind off of these thoughts or do you want a permanent solution?

As the Sugar Daddy Lover™, he'll buy you anything you want.

Do you want a binder? He buys you a set of binders.

He also makes sure you wear them a healthy amount, he doesn't want you to get hurt.

If you decide on a surgery, he makes the calls and pays the bills.

He wants his darling to be happy, that's it.

Terzo

His first reaction is to assure you that he loves you and all your insecurities.

He wants you to know that he's attracted to you, no matter how much your dysphoria might make you feel wrong and unattractive.

He holds you, whispers comforting words to you.

He might bring up solutions to the issues if you asked him to. If not, he's just there, offering support.

If you decide to get a binder, he gets you the coolest design he can find.

Wears one too in solidarity.

Copia

He tries his best to comfort you and tries talking to you like he relates to the problem.

"I mean, hey, I didn't like my nose and jaw and now I think they're super cool, so maybe that can help you, too?"

He's the first to suggest actual surgery.

He loves you and wants you to be happy. He was happier after his surgery, maybe you'll be happier, too?

He offers to wear a binder with you if you feel the need to wear one.

Does this mostly to make sure you take if off when it becomes uncomfortable and wearing one gives him an idea of when it might get uncomfortable.

Old Nihil

He's a bit oblivious sometimes so he needs you to actually come to him and directly talk to him about your issues.

He needs a bit to understand, but eventually asks if you want him to call a doctor. And what type of doctor you want.

In his logic, if it can be fixed, it should be fixed, however possible.

Pays for anything you need.

He gets really excited, too! If you're happy, he's happy, and he'll do anything to make you happy!

Young Nihil

It's the 1960s, he can't really do much, but he'll try.

He's still a bit dense, it's something that never passes. So he's a bit confused when you come out in general, but hey, he needs his partner happy.

He's gonna offer you his clothes if it helps.

Holds you in ways that kinda cover your insecurities.

If you're insecure about your chest, for example, he drapes his arms over your shoulders and let them hang in front of your chest.

He'll tell you you're hot either way.

If you decide to wrap your chest in bandages, he'll try his best to keep it in mind so he can make sure you take breaks. He will forget sometimes, but he tries!

[concerningwolves]

Hi! 👋🏼

First off, I just wanted to thank you for all that you do on your blog, not only has it been helpful to keep things in mind when writing, but I also genuinely enjoy learning more about sign language; I’m trying to self-learn it because it’s just that interesting to me hehe. (Also my church has a Deaf Service and I’d really like to be able to talk to the people there.)

I do have a question, but feel free not to answer; I’m currently working on a story where a very young child has acquired deafness after a severe illness (vaguely Hellen Keller vibes), and I was wondering if you know of any things I should specifically keep in mind when writing about the aftermath (immediate and long-term) of it? The setting is mildly fantasy where sign language exists, but hearing aids and cochlear implants have yet to be invented.

Thank you again for your blog, and the care you put into all your posts!

You're very welcome, and thank you! ☺️ It's always lovely to hear that people are helped by this whole... [insert vague hand-wave at my blog] thing I'm doing

Things to consider with a young character who loses hearing after illness

I don't know anything firsthand about what it's like to go deaf, so the first thing I'll recommend is to find stuff written by people who do. A search on r/deaf for "lost hearing" brings up a lot of different threads; for example, this post where people discuss things they wished they'd done/known when they first lost their hearing might provide some good insight.

As another starting point, Jessica Kellgren-Fozard has a fair few videos on her channel about her experiences as a deaf person, and specifically as someone who lost her hearing in her late teens. These two in particular might be helpful to you:

So You're Losing Your Hearing...

This is a video for people who think they're losing their hearing, but while it's not strictly about lived experience, it could certainly be helpful to note both the issues Jessica discusses and the solutions to them.

For example, she mentions isolation is a big problem, and talks about the importance of using the tools provided by the internet to find communities of people in the same boat. Even without the internet (or some fantasy equivalent), people are very community driven and prone to bonding over shared experiences, even if those experiences aren't wholly analogous. Are there other disabled characters in your story that your recently deaf character could speak to? Other d/Deaf characters? Who does she have by way of support and community? – these are all good things to think about.

Why I Don't Sound Deaf

In this one, Jessica talks about her experiences and her relationship with speech and sign languages as someone who lost her hearing. With applying this to your character, her age is important – the "golden period" for acquisition of a new language is typically thought to be before ten years old. Theoretically, the younger someone is when they lose hearing, the easier it will be for them to learn sign language. As Jessica points out in the video, sign language has a different grammatical structure, and because of this she finds it easier to use Sign Supported English instead of BSL. A much younger child, if given immediate or near-immediate access to sign language, is likely to take to it far more easily.

More on speech and language acquisition (or: the evils of consonants)

The impact of hearing loss on speech isn't something I can speak to (pun unintended) with great knowledge or certainty, but I can sort of extrapolate based on personal experience with learning to speak while not being able to hear well. (I had speech therapy, but that was as much to do with my narrow jaw + teeth overcrowding as with language difficulties caused by deafness). I misheard a lot of words and phrases – I spent years thinking that the "big girl swings" were "barbecue swings" 😅

It's worth looking into what level of speech your character would have based on her age, and using that to work out how much verbal proficiency she could retain (if any). Muscle memory accounts for a lot, so if your character already knows how to say certain words or phrases ""properly"", she could retain that ability. It's not an automatic or effort-free process, though: I'm in my twenties and I still have to consciously think about how my mouth is shaping sounds every time I speak. I don't think that will ever change.

If your character is young enough that she's still learning to speak, there will likely be a more marked impact on how her voice sounds. Different phonemes – units or "parts" of sound in speech – are uttered at different frequencies, which affects how easy/difficult they are to hear and therefore learn. This is, AFAIK, one of the biggest causes of the slurred/indistinct speech that people tend to expect d/Deaf people to have. Consonants are evil little fuckers, by which I mean they're spoken at higher pitches so anyone with loss in the high frequency range (hi!) is more likely to miss them. There are different types of consonants, too! And yes, each type presents its own challenges, because consonants exist purely to vex and frustrate everyone with high-frequency hearing loss and/or speech difficulties. For example, labiodental fricatives (e.g., the 'f' in fan and the 'v' in van) are particularly tricky, because they sound virtually indistinguishable.

StudySmarter has an easy-to-understand comprehensive breakdown of phonetics. You don't need to become an expert in phonetics, but reading through this will help you understand how sounds are formed in speech, which is helpful to keep in mind when thinking about your own character's speech. Pay particular attention to the phonemes that sound similar (like the aforementioned fan/van) or are soft/breathy (like the 's' in 'sound' or 'h' in 'half') – these are the most common problem areas, as are distinctions between 'sh' and 's'. If they feel soft or breathy in your mouth, they're probably going to be harder to hear.

Deafness and illness as trauma, and adjusting to change

Last thing I'd suggest thinking about is the experience your character has with the illness itself, and how she feels and copes with the changes to her life caused by acquired deafness. Illness can be a traumatic experience, especially when it has long-term after effects. If you've ever lost the ability to do something you can usually do, even temporarily, you'll probably be familiar with the frustration, and sometimes humiliation. It's also hard to overstate just how much auditory information there is in the world, and how much hearing people rely on that information without knowing it. Suddenly losing that ability isn't going to be easy, even if your character is young enough that they won't be able to remember anything different once they're grown up. Add to that the realisation that your body isn't as reliable as you thought it would be, that you suddenly can't trust your own health, and possibly not being able to understand why that's the case. That's a lot to deal with! And you shouldn't be afraid to show your character going through it!

Thinking back to my own childhood experiences, the strongest emotions connected to my deafness are confusion, embarrassment and alienation. Confusion because the world can be confusing when you're constantly missing auditory cues; embarrassment because unfortunately not everyone is kind and accommodating when you make mistakes due to missing aforementioned auditory cues/information (and sometimes even if people are lovely about a mistake, you can feel stupid for making it anyway); and alienation because of a sense that I was somehow "different". Thing is though, this was normal for me. I have never known anything different. But my relationship to and understanding of deafness as an identity has evolved hugely throughout my life. So, once again, age is going to be a deciding factor in how your character adjusts.

From some rudimentary googling and fuzzy memories of my brief stint as a Psychology student, children develop social awareness (awareness of how others think and feel) and self-awareness (awareness of own existence and how others perceive you) fairly early on, but these awarenesses take time to develop fully. Basically, this means that your character’s age will influence the scope of their reaction to acquired deafness. Some examples as a frame of reference:

A two-year-old is going to be primarily focused on their immediate emotional experience – they can’t hear things they could hear before, it’s confusing. They will also likely be aware if people treat them differently, but unlikely to have a socially-installed idea that they are now different.

A four- or five-year-old, on the other hand, has probably developed enough social and self-awareness to understand that certain people in society get treated differently. They might already have a sense that this is unfair, or they might still be trying to understand why this is the case – it depends on what they’ve learned about disability from adults around them.

(I mentioned above that you can feel stupid/embarrassed for making a mistake even if people are genuinely supportive regardless. The first time I vividly remember someone making me feel stupid and embarrassed for not hearing something, I would have been 4 or 5. The first time I can recall feeling stupid because I was aware that other people didn’t have that problem and that I’d made a social faux pas, I would have been about 7 or 8)

By early adolescence (ages 10–13), children are more aware of, and possibly more susceptible to, peer pressure and social norms [1]. Any understanding of and biases/prejudices concerning disability will be more deeply ingrained, as will concerns about the social impact of going deaf.

The support network that your character has access to is going to be crucial to how they manage this change at any age, so think about the characters in their immediate family/community and how they’ve acted towards disability and social difference.

[1] In a fantasy setting, you as the author are in charge of what those social norms and attitudes are, and I always encourage authors to examine their own biases when worldbuilding them. How are disabled people viewed and treated in your world? Have you made it similar to your own social and cultural experience? If yes, is that because you see that as the norm, or is there a narrative or worldbuilding reason for that? Are there any assumptions about the current or historical treatment/existence of disabled people that have influenced your worldbuilding?

Tropes to watch out for

There are three main tropes to be wary of when a character acquires a disability of any kind:

The acquired disability as an inherent tragedy akin to a death sentence and nothing else. As I’ve already said, an acquired disability can be significantly emotionally difficult, especially if the circumstances around acquisition were traumatic. Acknowledging and exploring this is important. The problem is when writers leave it there – the character is disabled, their previous way of life is lost to them, and therefore the character no longer has any worth to the story (and, by implication, to society). Think of the trope of the ex-athlete (or any other hobby/profession, although fighters and athletes are the most common components off this trope) who acquires a disability and then becomes a bitter, depressed hermit who lives in a state of misanthropy and misery because their life is effectively over. (This happens to Will in Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Content warning for assisted suicide there). The main issue with this trope isn’t its content, per se, but its execution: Writers rarely examine why someone might end up like this (hint: institutional and internalised ableism, and lack of structural support for disabled people), and instead treat it as an inevitability because they cannot conceive of disabled existence as anything but inherently miserable.

The second trope is when a character manages to “throw off” the disability. These characters either only remain disabled as long as the disability is narratively useful, are magically cured, or overcome the disability by an act of willpower (sometimes only for narrative effect). The issue here is the content: the idea that disability can be overcome or cured by sheer willpower (or yoga, or the right diet, or religion) is pervasive and actively harmful to real-life disabled people, because it implies that disability is somehow our fault. Closely related to this trope is the one where an acquired disability never tangibly impacts a character (or only does so when it would be dramatic); you see this primarily with characters who use prosthetics effortlessly or, in the case of the latter, characters who appear abled until their disability can cause tension or drama in the plot. Again, the content is the issue: disability is flattened to nothing but a plot device, with no thought given to how it affects characters (and therefore real disabled people).

Finally, there’s the idea that an acquired disability is actually a “blessing in disguise” as a type of inspiration porn. That’s an icky trope, but I think it has some itty bitty grains of potential – crucially, the fact that there can be joy in disabled existence. Someone who acquires deafness might not see it as a blessing in the same way as some congenitally deaf people do, but they may still come to appreciate and embrace (aspects of) Deaf culture. Or perhaps they just manage to develop a neutral relationship with their acquired deafness. That’s fine, too!

A solution is to all of these is to consider the practical and proactive aspects of recovery, as well as the emotional fallout. Consider:

How does your character adjust?

How do the people around her adjust?

What support does she have? / What support systems are available?

How does she make sense of her new reality?

What accessibility aids does she have access to, and what are they like to use?

Long story short, nuance and consideration of different aspects of the disabled experience are key.

Hopefully this’ll help! (I’ve also wanted to talk about acquired disability in fiction for a while, hence the wall of text lol). Best wishes for your writing, anon ☺️