#i mean i don't know what i would have done even if it was still there

[kvothbloodless]

Because I like creating stories! I like coming up with a plot and characters. I like worldbuilding. I like making decisions about themes and how I want to communicate them. I like figuring out pivotal scenes and how they'll play out. And while I don't love it, I also don't really have a problem with editing scenes and dialogue to fit better.

What I don't like, and indeed most days am not Able to do, is actually sitting down and converting all my well organized ideas and decisions and worldbuilding into tens of thousands of words of prose. I just do not enjoy it at all; I find it tedious and unengaging and it usually feels like pulling teeth. And even if I Did enjoy it, my disabilities make it near impossible to do anything like that most days.

And AI mostly solves that problem for me! Why Wouldn't I want to use it? Why shouldn't I use an awesome new tool that lets me find joy in creating stories I would not otherwise be able to create? Why shouldn't I want to share those stories with people?

I just don't understand tumblr user's immediate and outraged response to someone doing something that they also enjoy, just because they're doing it in a different way. I mean, I know a large part of it is because we like to equate suffering and struggle with value, but like. Cmon guys. Lets stop acting protestant (and ableist) here.

Something being harder to do doesn't make it inherently better! Hard work purely for the sake of hard work is dumb and helps nobody; you shouldn't be railing against people just because they're choosing to take advantage of a tool that allows them to produce art that they otherwise wouldn't. Or even art that they Would have made, but this lets them make it more easily! That's awesome! Being able to create a story or a piece of visual art in a day when it would otherwise take a week is amazing! What's the downside here? More art? More varied art (because now its easier to experiment and try new things)?

And yea, I will admit, AI isn't quite at the level where I can use it to create the stories I really want to Yet, its still so much better than any of the alternatives. So I ask again. Why Wouldn't I use it? Its letting me do something I enjoy, that I would not otherwise be able to do. Its not hurting anyone (please do not try to argue about how AI is killing the environment or stealing from artists unless you've actually done some reading and understand how the technology actually works). If its not for you, that's fine. Just like any tool, it won't be helpful for everyone. But that doesn't mean you should be hating on and ostracizing those who do find it helpful, nor that you should ignore any art produced using it.

Unpopular opinion but if you don't enjoy the process you should find a different thing to do.

And I think this is true in general but now I'm talking about it in the context of AI.

If you don't enjoy making art and only care about the end piece and how it'll look and how much traction it"lol get online then making art is not something for you, find something you enjoy from start to finish.

Same goes for writing: if you do not enjoy writing and rewriting and then some more and instead want AI to write for you, being a writer is not something you should pursue.

Sure, not every part of creative process is going to be equally enjoyable but you should get satisfaction from solving the problems along the way and you should get a sense of accomplishment on your way of "making the piece yours" and you should have a sense of ownership once you are done.

None of these things will come from typing in a prompt into chatGPT. And I am sad to see so many people are missing on the opportunity to experience the joy of making something with their own hands and brains.

[digi-diareis]

Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

[odileeclipse]

A Wager of Fate PT 8 Final part

The Silver Tree, once a pillar of luminous divinity, shuddered against its broken chains, its glow dimming with each passing moment. The air carried the scent of old magic, of something ancient unraveling. The Silver Knights stood at a distance, their figures rigid with hesitation, with sorrow. White Lily Cookie lingered among them, hands clasped tight around her staff, her fuchsia eyes dim with grief. And in the heart of it all Elder Faerie Cookie. His presence, once unwavering as the roots of the Silver Tree itself, was now weighed down by something heavier than time. He stood apart from the others, just as you had asked. Alone with you. Shadow Milk Cookie lingered just at the edges of your perception, watching, waiting. You could feel his gaze—expectant, patient in his own way, but still unwilling to slip too far from your side. He had already won, hadn’t he? What more was there for him to do but gloat? You turned slightly, gripping your arms. "Just… leave me alone with Elder Faerie for a bit." Your voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a tremor in it. There was a pause, a hum of amusement. "Alone?" Shadow Milk mused, tilting his head, unseen but there in the shifting light. "Ah, my dear, what a lonely request. After all we've been through?"

Your shoulders tensed. "Please." A beat of silence. Then, a chuckle lighter than it should have been, but not unkind. "As you wish, little Faerie." A playful lilt, but no deceit in his words this time. "But don't keep me waiting too long." And with that, the weight of his presence receded, though you knew better than to believe he was truly gone. Finally, Elder Faerie spoke. “I had thought,” he murmured, “that I would never feel this kind of pain.” Your breath hitched. Elder Faerie exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It is not the seal,” he continued. “Not the kingdom. Not even the danger you have released upon Earthbread.” His gaze, though lined with exhaustion, did not waver from you. “It is you that pains me most.” Your hands curled into trembling fists. “Elder Faerie, I-” “I will not allow you to be remembered this way,” he interrupted softly. His voice did not carry the weight of anger, but of something far worse. “Your name will not be tied to destruction. Not if I can help it.” You swallowed the lump in your throat near unbearable. He stepped closer, his presence casting a long shadow beneath the waning glow of the Silver Tree. “Even now,” he continued, quieter, “I cannot bring myself to hate you.” Your breath came sharp. “I should.” His voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I should rage at you. I should curse your name, demand that you answer for what you have done.” His fingers tightened around his staff, his composure threatening to crack. “But I cannot.” Your vision blurred with unshed tears. “Then…then hate him.” Elder Faerie’s expression darkened, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “I do.” The admission was quiet, restrained. “I loathe him for what he has taken. For what he has twisted.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then let out a slow breath. “But my hatred means nothing now. The seal is broken.”

Your body trembled. “Then we can fix it-” “No.” Elder Faerie’s voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed the weight he carried. “I can no longer fix it.” A pause. Then, more softly, “I have grown weaker over eons. The tree is no longer what it was.” Your breath came uneven. “But there has to be” “Do not dwell on it,” he interrupted, his voice gentle yet firm. “That is no longer your burden.” Your chest ached, torn between desperation and guilt. “But I” Elder Faerie reached out. His hand, despite everything, came to rest lightly against the side of your face. It was warm, grounding. A gesture of comfort. Of forgiveness. “I know you,” he whispered. “Better than you know yourself.” His fingers curled slightly, not in force, but in something fragile. “Your heart, your instinct, it has always been what guided you. It led you astray, but…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I do not believe it was ever meant to harm.” Your lips parted, but no words came. His gaze, softer than you deserved, held you captive. “Follow it, one last time.” The weight of his words settled deep in your chest. “Elder Faerie…” He gave the smallest of smiles, faint, tired. “Do not worry.” A pause. Then, quieter, “I will find a way.” The promise was as heavy as it was impossible. But even as he spoke it, you could see, could feel the pain beneath it. He blamed himself. For failing to guide you. For failing to save you. And even as he stood before you, speaking of hope, speaking of solutions his heart was breaking.

Tears blurred your vision, the fractured light of the Silver Tree casting a wavering glow over Elder Faerie’s grief-stricken face. His hand still rested against your cheek, warm despite the cold reality that had settled between you. You had broken the seal. You had shattered everything you had once vowed to protect. And yet, he stood there not condemning you, not striking you down, but aching for you. Your breath trembled as you whispered, “If I’m going to be remembered for this if they curse my name for what I’ve done then let them.” Your hands clenched at your sides. “You shouldn’t cover it up.” Elder Faerie’s expression flickered, but the sorrow in his eyes remained unmoving. “I chose this,” you continued, voice shaking but resolute. “Even if it’s wrong, even if I can’t take it back, I won’t let you erase it for me.” Your chest ached with every word. “I can own up to what I’ve done.” Elder Faerie exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. When he opened them again, his sadness had not lessened, but his resolve had hardened. “No,” he said softly. “I will not let you bear this weight.” A sharp inhale stung your throat. “Why—” “Because you are still my kin.” His voice, though quiet, carried the finality of a thousand years. “Even now.” His fingers curled slightly against your skin before he withdrew his hand. A silence stretched between you, heavy with the truth neither of you wanted to face. Elder Faerie turned slightly, his gaze shifting beyond the ruined seal, beyond the Silver Tree that now stood vulnerable, its light waning. The Silver Knights still lingered, hesitant, awaiting orders that could no longer undo what had already been done. White Lily Cookie stood among them, her fuchsia eyes dark with sorrow.

With a weary sigh, Elder Faerie straightened his posture, the weight of leadership settling over him once more. “We are leaving.” Your breath hitched. “What?” “There is nothing left for us here.” His voice carried the burden of his decision. “The seal is broken. There is no longer a cage to protect.” He turned to you once more, his gaze firm. “I must protect my people instead.” A lump formed in your throat. “But Shadow Milk he’s-” “He is sparing the kingdom for you.” Elder Faerie’s voice, though not unkind, left no room for denial. “And that is not something I can gamble with. His mercy is not our salvation, it is a fleeting kindness.” His jaw tightened. “I will not allow unnecessary danger to fall upon my people.” The words sent a chill through you. “You mean to run?” “I mean to survive.” Elder Faerie’s eyes burned with determination. “I will not let our people fall, not while I still have the strength to lead them away from this.” Your lips parted, searching for words, searching for anything that could convince him otherwise. But what could you say? You had already chosen your path. Elder Faerie let out a quiet breath, stepping past you, back toward his people, the silver knights as the kingdom’s fate was unknown. “Stay if you must,” he said, the slightest waver in his voice betraying the pain beneath his resolve. “But I will not allow them to suffer for your decision.” The finality of his words settled over you like a crushing weight. And as he walked away, leading the remnants of the Faerie Kingdom into the shadows, you could do nothing but watch.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to reach out, to hold onto just a moment longer before he was gone. But you didn't. Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and let your hand fall back to your side. Your wings trembled as you watched Elder Faerie retreat, his silhouette fading into the gathering darkness, his presence growing ever distant. Even now, he refused to hate you. Even now, he carried the weight of this loss as if it were his burden to bear instead of yours. Your chest ached. A whisper, barely above breath, slipped from your lips. “…Shadow Milk.” The wind curled around you, stirring the remnants of broken magic in the air, but you felt the shift almost instantly. A presence, cool and familiar, coiling around the edges of your senses. It seeped into the space beside you, unseen but undeniably there. “You called for me, little Faerie?” His voice was softer now, almost indulgent, as if savoring the way you sought him. Your eyes remained on the path where Elder Faerie had disappeared, but your fingers curled slightly as if grasping for something unseen. “Did I…” You swallowed, throat dry. “Did I do the right thing?”

A silence followed, but not an empty one. It was a silence considering, a silence that weighed your question like a game piece in hand. Then, Shadow Milk sighed, a sound both amused and something else you couldn’t decipher. “Ah, my dear, sweet thing… still seeking absolution?” His tone was almost fond. “Do you wish for me to ease your conscience?” You blinked hard, trying to clear the blur of your tears. “I don’t know what happens now.” Your voice was fragile, breaking at the edges. “What do I do?” A soft chuckle, curling with something unspoken. “Well,” Shadow Milk murmured, “you are free now.” That word free. It didn’t feel as weightless as it should have. You exhaled shakily. “Are the others…?” You hesitated, staring at the broken remnants of the seal. “Are they still dormant?” Shadow Milk’s response was slow, deliberate. “For now.” Your breath hitched. “When?” “When will I wake them?” His voice lilted, teasing, but you could feel the coil of something much sharper beneath it. You turned slightly, not quite facing him, but seeking him all the same. “Yes.” Shadow Milk hummed, considering. “Now, now… that would be spoiling the fun, wouldn’t it?” A chill curled around your spine. You could feel the amusement in his tone, but it was like a magician withholding the final reveal. A game he refused to lay bare. “Then… they’re still asleep?” you asked, almost hopeful. Shadow Milk laughed, a quiet, velvety sound. “Oh, little Faerie… you ask so many questions.” His voice lowered, curling at the edges of your mind. “Why not enjoy the moment? I am here, after all.” You let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t giving you answers. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “…Then what happens now?” Shadow Milk didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt him shift, felt the weight of his presence settle closer, his words pressing against your ear like a secret. “Now?” He purred. “Now, we dance.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh, blinking up at the darkened sky. “You’re joking.” Shadow Milk only tilted his head or at least, you felt the shift of his presence, playful and indulgent. You shook your head, a wry smile ghosting over your lips despite everything. “Why dance?” He hummed, the sound rich and teasing, curling around you like silk. “Would you prefer I say something dreadfully serious?” His voice lilted with kindness, yet there was something almost intentional in his lightness, as if daring you to follow. “Or is it that you think a dance couldn’t possibly be fitting for the moment?” You crossed your arms, wings twitching. “Do you think that would cheer me up?” Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, not accusing just tired. “Or are you just trying to distract me from everything?” Shadow Milk chuckled. “Why, both, of course.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I own what I did,” you murmured. “I made my choice. I know that. But I’m not… happy about how I got here.” You hesitated, watching the remnants of the shattered seal glimmer faintly against the wind. “Shadow Milk… is this supposed to make it easier?”

Silence, for just a moment. Then, a whisper of a touch just the ghost of a presence brushing against your fingers, cold yet oddly inviting. “Dancing,” he mused, his voice dipping into something softer, “is not about forgetting.” A pause. “It’s about moving forward.” Your breath caught. “Would you rather stand still?” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Would you rather dwell in misery, in self-loathing, in regret?” His tone dipped into something almost mocking not cruel, just coaxing. “Or would you rather live?” You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching slightly. “And dancing is living?” Shadow Milk exhaled a sigh, as if you were terribly, terribly slow. “Oh, my dear.” There was a smile in his voice now. “Dancing is simply another form of freedom.” You weren’t sure what to say to that. He waited, patient, ever-present. “…Do I have a choice?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His chuckle curled against your ear like mist. “You always do.” The wind stirred. The air shifted. And then, like a hand extended into the dark, his presence curled around you once more. “Well?” Shadow Milk purred. “Shall we?”

The wind carried the last remnants of silver leaves across the ruined clearing, their shimmer dull beneath the weight of what had transpired. The once-sacred heart of the Faerie Kingdom lay fractured, the Silver Tree’s light all but extinguished. And yet, in the midst of the devastation, there he stood real, no longer just a voice in the dark. You had seen his real form before but you didn’t get a chance to take it all in. Maybe it was the way in the end, you and him had chosen each other. Shadow Milk Cookie was no longer a mere whisper in your mind, no longer a presence lurking just beyond reach. He was here, standing before you in full form, his tall, spindly frame draped in the harlequin darks of his bodysuit. His cyan and cerulean eyes glowed with something unreadable, flickering between amusement and something deeper. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, inviting. You hesitated. Now that you could truly see him, there was no excuse to hide behind the ambiguity of shadows. There was no veil of mystery, no plausible deniability. He was real, tangible, a force unshackled by the chains you had shattered with your own hands. And yet… he looked at you as if none of that mattered. "You hesitate," he mused, his voice dipping into a knowing lilt. “Shall I extend the invitation more sweetly? Should I bow? Kiss your hand? Or…” He leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his mismatched eyes. “Perhaps you’d prefer I demand it? A grand decree, from your villain of choice.” You scoffed, shaking your head, forcing something close to amusement onto your face. “You really think this is going to fix everything?” Shadow Milk hummed, unbothered. “Oh, little Faerie, I never said that.” His fingers flexed slightly, a silent offer still waiting. “I simply said we should dance.”

You exhaled slowly, looking past him for just a moment. Beyond the clearing, hidden within the trees, a figure stood in the dim glow of the fractured remnants of the Silver Tree. Elder Faerie Cookie watched. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders bore the weight of unspoken sorrow. He had sworn to erase you from the kingdom’s history, to protect you even as you had broken him. He would not allow you to be remembered as a villain but it didn’t change the truth. He had already lost you. Perhaps he had lost you long before this moment. Your fingers twitched at your side. The ache in your chest burned, sharp and unrelenting. You could not go back. Not after this. Not even if he forgave you. The Faerie Kingdom was no longer yours, no longer a place that would welcome you with open arms. Perhaps, it never truly had. You let out a breathy laugh, hollow but deceptively lighthearted. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, lifting your gaze back to Shadow Milk. His smile stretched into something terribly pleased. “Mmm. Yet you always come back” You swallowed. Your hands trembled, just barely. Then, before you could stop yourself, you reached forward and placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, cold yet steady, grounding in a way that sent a shiver up your spine. He grinned, sharp and triumphant, but there was something else in his eyes, something that wasn’t quite mockery, wasn’t quite gloating. Something softer.

Shadow Milk did not rush you. He did not sweep you into some grand, theatrical motion. Instead, he took a single step closer, his free hand resting lightly against your waist, guiding you gently into place. And then, the dance began. The broken clearing became your stage. Shadow Milk moved with effortless grace, leading you through slow, deliberate steps, his body curling and twisting with the natural showmanship of an entertainer who knew his craft well. His coattails swirled like dark silk, the eyes within them blinking lazily in time with the movements. You followed, your feet lighter than you had expected, though your heart remained unbearably heavy. “So,” you said after a moment, feigning nonchalance, “what do I get for playing along with your little show?” Shadow Milk smirked. “Ah, so you do know how to play.” “Answer the question.” He hummed, pretending to think. “You get to forget, for a moment.” He twirled you with ease, letting you spiral before catching you again, his grip firm yet never forceful. “You get to pretend, just as I do. Isn’t that what you wanted?” You hated how easy it was to let yourself fall into the rhythm. Hated how the weight in your chest eased, if only slightly, as the world blurred around you in a slow waltz of shadow and silver light. Maybe you did want to pretend. Maybe deceit was all you had left. From the distance, Elder Faerie Cookie still watched, his expression unreadable, his grief buried beneath the stoicism of a ruler who had no choice but to move forward. But even as he turned away, retreating into the forest to gather what was left of his people, his heart ached with the bitter knowledge that, at the very least, You had chosen this.

The world outside your musicless dance had long since begun to fade. The broken clearing, the Silver Tree’s dying glow, the ghosts of the past that still lingered behind them it all blurred into irrelevance. The only thing left was the steady twirl of shadow and movement, the quiet rhythm that only the two of them could hear. But even as your feet moved in time with his, even as the air between you became lighter with each step, the weight in your chest never truly lifted. There was still something you needed to know. Your fingers curled slightly against his as you exhaled, steadying yourself. “Why me?” Shadow Milk tilted his head, mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, and here I thought you had already figured it out.” You shook your head, gaze steady despite the hesitance twisting in your gut. “Did you always feel this way? Or was it because I could free you?”

For the first time, Shadow Milk faltered. It was barely a flicker a momentary pause in his movement, a beat of silence too brief to be intentional. And then he laughed, soft and lilting, his grip on you tightening just slightly as he resumed his steps. “Would it truly matter?” he mused, spinning you once more before catching you again. “You were the only one who could hear me. The only one who listened.” His voice dipped, something unreadable in the way he regarded you now. “That was all it took.” Your throat felt tight. “That’s not an answer.” Shadow Milk only smiled. Your gaze searched his face, looking for something, some hint of truth, some crack in the performance. But he was as unreadable as ever, his expression locked in the same knowing amusement that had always defined him. Maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself. Maybe you didn’t want to hear it. You swallowed, forcing yourself to breathe through the weight in your chest. “Where are we going after all this?” He hummed, seemingly pleased by your acceptance of the change in subject. “The Spire of Knowledge.”

Your brow furrowed. “The Spire…?” You hesitated, something about the name tugging at old memories. “That was your domain.” Shadow Milk’s grin stretched wider. “Was being the key word.” He twirled you again, slower this time, deliberate. “It was once a place of truth. Of wisdom, enlightenment a monument to Knowledge itself.” He leaned in slightly, voice dipping to a whisper against your ear. “But truth is such a fragile thing, isn’t it?” You shivered, but not from fear. He pulled back, mismatched eyes glinting with something dangerously pleased. “It is only fitting that it becomes something new.” Your stomach twisted. “What do you mean?” “The Spire of Deceit.” His voice was soft, but the weight of the words made the air around you feel colder. “More befitting of who I am now than what I once was.” A chill ran through you, not from his words alone, but from the way he said them. There was no hesitation, no regret only a quiet certainty. Your gaze flickered downward. This is what I chose. There was no going back. Shadow Milk shifted slightly, his grip on your hand loosening just enough to give you an out—to let you step away, if you wanted. But you didn’t. Your fingers remained laced with his, your body still moving with his lead, even as doubt clawed at your ribs. From the distance, beyond the ruins of the Silver Tree, the Faerie Kingdom lay shrouded in the veil of deceit Shadow Milk had cast. You couldn’t see Elder Faerie anymore. You didn’t know if he had left or if he simply no longer watched. But it didn’t matter. Your world had already changed.

The realization settled in slowly, like ink bleeding into parchment.  

If you had stayed, if you had remained the Silver Tree’s guardian, you would have never been free. Not truly. Even if you had fought off the whispers, resisted temptation, devoted yourself wholly to the kingdom… the chains of duty would have remained. You would have always been at war with the shadows. Always peering over your shoulder, waiting for the next deceit to creep in and sink its claws into you.  But now?   Now, there was nothing left to guard. The Silver Tree no longer bound you. Everything comes at a price. Perhaps this was yours. As the dance slowed, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight of duty no longer suffocated your ribs, no longer dictated every action, every thought. You were unshackled. And yet, even in this newfound freedom, you found yourself searching for something, some lingering trace of what had once been.  

Your gaze flickered back to Shadow Milk. His expression was unreadable, though amusement still curled at the edges of his lips. He had won. He knew it. But there was no gloating, no smug declarations of victory. He simply watched you, waiting. You hesitated, then spoke. “What was it like?”  His brow arched. “What was what like?”  Your grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Being the Sage of Truth. Before… all of this.”  For the first time since his freedom, Shadow Milk was silent.  The air between you grew still, the weight of your question settling over the space like a thick mist. His grip did not falter, but something in his posture shifted just slightly. The ever-present playfulness in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, something distant. “…Ah,” he murmured, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. He exhaled, gaze flickering skyward. “It was…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. Your heart twisted.  It was rare to see him hesitate. Shadow Milk was never at a loss for words, always weaving truths and lies together so seamlessly that one could never tell where reality ended and illusion began. But now? Now he looked as though he were peering through a fogged window, trying to recall a reflection that had long since faded.Finally, he spoke. “It was lonely.”  

Your breath caught. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to the present. “Truth is a bitter thing. Everyone claims to seek it, to crave knowledge, to desire understanding. But in the end…” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “They only want the truths that comfort them. The rest?” His fingers brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. “They discard. They turn away. They call it cruel, monstrous even when it is simply reality.”  His mismatched eyes met yours, glinting with something almost unreadable. “That is why they chose him over me.” You knew who he meant. Pure Vanilla Cookie. Your lips parted, but you found yourself at a loss. What could you even say?  Shadow Milk smiled, but it was different this time. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… tired. “I thought I could endure it. I thought I could bear the burden alone.” His voice softened. “But even the strongest of foundations can crumble beneath the weight of solitude.” The ache in your chest deepened. He had been a Sage. A beacon of truth. A pillar of wisdom. And yet, in the end, he had been left alone. The realization settled into your bones, heavy and undeniable. Even now, he does not regret it. He had embraced his role as Deceit wholeheartedly, had cast aside his past identity without hesitation. But deep down beneath the layers of illusion, beneath the theatrics and cunning smiles there was still something lingering. Something forgotten. You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “…Do you miss it?” Shadow Milk blinked.  

Then, slowly, he tilted his head, as if pondering the question himself. “No,” he said at last. “Not in the way you think.” His thumb traced absent circles against your palm. “Truth may be a virtue, but deceit…?” A soft, amused hum left his lips. “Deceit is freedom.” Your breath hitched.  He smiled, tilting your chin up slightly with a single finger. “And now, my dear… you are free too.” The words sent a shiver down your spine. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the ruins of the Silver Tree, the winds carried away the last remnants of what once was.

Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he lifted a hand to your face. His touch was featherlight, fingertips brushing just beneath your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his own mismatched eyes one bright and knowing, the other dark and unreadable.

"Tsk, tsk. Don’t do that," he murmured, his tone somewhere between amused and admonishing. "I am no wounded creature, no broken thing in need of fixing." His smile curved, sharp yet indulgent, as if he found the very thought amusing. "You know better than that, don’t you?" You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to respond. He only chuckled again, as though your silence confirmed something. Then, without another word, he turned, leading you forward away from the ruins of what had been, toward something unknown.

The path to the Spire of Deceit was unlike any you had ever walked before. The air shimmered, thick with an otherworldly presence, as if the very fabric of reality had begun to unravel and weave itself anew. The sky overhead was deep, dark indigo, fractured with veins of silver light that pulsed like the slow, steady heartbeat of something ancient. The world around you twisted and bent, landmasses floating in impossible formations, staircases spiraling into the void only to reappear elsewhere. Then, you saw it. The Spire. It rose from the shifting landscape like an unshaken pillar amidst chaos, its towering, jagged peaks reaching toward infinity. The structure was built from dark stone that gleamed like polished onyx, lined with veins of cerulean light that pulsed and flickered in rhythm with the strange magic saturating the air. Bridges hung suspended in midair, leading to archways that seemed to vanish the moment you blinked, shifting as though alive. The very walls breathed, curling with elaborate carvings that reshaped themselves when you turned away. Despite its eerie, twisting nature, the Spire was… breathtaking. Shadow Milk turned slightly, watching you take it in, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Ah, there it is," he mused. "That look of wonder—untainted, unburdened." He gestured broadly, the extravagant flourish of a performer unveiling his grand stage. "It was once the Spire of Knowledge, a haven for scholars and seekers of truth. But knowledge is a fickle thing, is it not?" His smirk deepened. "Now, it is something far more fitting." The Spire of Deceit.

A home for him. A home, now, for you. And before you even realized it, your feet had already found their way toward one place the library. Though you had a feeling he could control the spire’s illusions at will and was the guiding hand towards the library. The moment you stepped through its towering archway, the air shifted. A quiet hum filled the vast chamber, the sound of countless floating tomes drifting through open space, their pages fluttering despite the lack of wind. Shelves stretched impossibly high, their ends lost to shadow. Rivers of ink cascaded in midair, suspended in time, forming words that rewrote themselves before dissolving once more. The scent of parchment, old and new, mingled with something more something ancient, something lost.

Your fingers trailed instinctively along the spine of a floating tome, drawn by the same hunger that had always burned within you. Even now after everything your curiosity refused to wane. "You are predictable," Shadow Milk murmured, his voice a soft tease as he leaned lazily against the edge of a nearby desk. "Not even a moment to mourn the past, and already, you dive into what lies ahead." His mismatched gaze glinted with something akin to approval. You exhaled a quiet breath, scanning the text in your hands. "It was always about learning," you admitted. "Even when I was meant to inherit the role of Guardian… I think I cared more about the knowledge than the duty itself." Shadow Milk tilted his head, watching you with unreadable amusement. "Duty is an illusion an expectation forced upon you," he mused. "Knowledge, however… that is a choice. Your choice." His words curled around you, sinking into the quiet recesses of your mind. Yet, even as they settled, uncertainty still gnawed at you. And so, the question left your lips before you could stop it. "If there had been another heir… if someone else had been chosen to guard the Silver Tree…" Your voice faltered, but you pushed through. "Would it still have been me?"

Would he still have sought you out? Would he still be here, beside you? Would you still matter? Shadow Milk stilled. For a moment, the silence between you was thick, pressing. His expression gave nothing away, his mismatched eyes locked onto yours, searching. Then, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His presence curled around you, dark and velvety, his voice a low murmur against the hush of the library. "You ask as though there was ever another choice." Your breath hitched. His fingers brushed beneath your chin once more, tilting your face up toward his. There was no trickery in his gaze, no jest in his tone only certainty. "Even if the stars had aligned differently, even if fate had woven another path… I would have found you." His voice dipped lower, the words sinking deep into your chest. "And I would have chosen you." Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Truth or deception? You weren’t sure. But in that moment, as you stood in the vast, ever-shifting halls of the Spire of Deceit—beneath the glow of floating ink and the hum of knowledge long lost—none of it seemed to matter. Because, for the first time in what felt like forever, you had chosen this, too. And perhaps… that was enough.

The air in the Spire of Deceit was still, as if the very walls were waiting to hear your answer. The halls, lined with towering bookshelves and twisting staircases, seemed to stretch endlessly into the abyss, their winding paths mirroring the labyrinth of emotions inside you. The knowledge here was vast, unshackled, and tainted by neither truth nor lies just as he was. Shadow Milk Cookie stood before you, his presence inescapable. His mismatched eyes gleamed with something unreadable, watching as you struggled with words too heavy to speak. The quiet between you was suffocating, yet he seemed content to let you drown in it, his expression unreadable waiting. You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ll stay,” you finally breathed, and the moment the words left your lips, something inside you shifted, solidified. “I already chose you.” His smirk faltered for the briefest second. Barely noticeable. But you caught it. His thumb grazed your cheek, an almost hesitant touch, before his fingers settled beneath your chin, tilting your head up. His touch was cold, yet it burned. “You choose me,” he mused, more to himself than to you. His voice was softer now, lacking its usual theatrical flourish, as if the weight of your words had settled somewhere deep within him.

“I do,” you whispered. His grip on you tightened just slightly. But then, you continued. “But I don’t want to be part of destruction.” Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself forward. “I won’t fight against what’s already happened. I chose this. I’ll bear it. But I won’t… I won’t let it go further. I can’t. I won’t break Elder Faerie’s heart any more than I already have.” Silence. Shadow Milk Cookie simply stared at you, unreadable. Then, he laughed. Softly, breathlessly almost disbelieving. His hand fell from your chin, but the air between you remained electric, thick with something unspoken. “You think,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, “that you can stand beside me and remain untouched by what I do?” “I have to try,” you said, voice shaking. His smirk widened, but his expression and his eyes were darker now. “You are a fool,” he said, and there was no mockery in his tone. “Maybe.” His fingers ghosted over your wrist, lingering there, as if he was debating something. “Then answer me this,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If I were to refuse? If I told you that you must embrace the world I intend to create?” Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, but you stood firm. “Then I will go.” Something in his expression flickered. You didn’t know if it was amusement. Annoyance. Pain. Then, he exhaled slow and deliberate. The hand on your wrist slid towards your hand, his fingers curling loosely around your own. His grip was gentle, but firm, as if testing your resolve. “You would leave me,” he mused, voice soft, “after everything?” A lump formed in your throat. “If you make me,” you whispered. Another silence stretched between you. Then, unexpectedly his grip tightened. He didn’t let go. A low, knowing chuckle escaped him, but it wasn’t his usual laughter. No mockery. No theatrics. Instead, something deeper settled behind his mismatched eyes, something indulgent, something dangerously close to tenderness.

"You truly are something else," he murmured, his voice almost… fond. And then, he leaned in. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “Very well.” The tension in your chest loosened just slightly. His fingers dragged upwards on your arm before finally slipping away, giving you space. And yet, his presence coiled around you like an inescapable shadow. “I won’t force you to take part in my grand designs,” he continued. “Not yet, at least.” His smirk twitched at your sharp look. "But" His hand lifted in a careless flourish, his voice returning to its usual lilting amusement. "I will ask for something in return.” Your stomach twisted.“What?” He leaned back, watching you with knowing eyes. "Stay." One, simple request. No tricks. No riddles. Just that. Your heart ached at the simplicity of it. At the weight of it. You had thrown everything away for him. Your home. Your legacy. The love of the only father figure you had ever known. And yet here he was. The one thing in this world you could never predict. A monster draped in silk and illusions, deceit curled upon his tongue like honey. And yet he had never lied about what he was. The choice was yours. Your throat tightened. “I…” Your voice cracked. You exhaled. “…I will.” Shadow Milk Cookie only smiled. It was not triumphant. It was not victorious. It was satisfied. As if he had always known you would say yes. His fingers brushed against yours once more so fleetingly, so carefully, that for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it. Then, his presence pulled away, and the air grew heavier once more.

"You do amuse me," he mused, the playfulness creeping back into his tone, though something else lingered beneath it. "But know this, dear, my path has already been paved. My plans, my pact, are not yours to break.” A cold shiver ran down your spine. He turned, walking toward the towering windows of the spire, where the fractured sky bled into the horizon. "You wished for kindness, and I have granted it," he continued. "For you, I have spared them…for now." He turned slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder, his grin sharp as a knife. "But do not mistake that for weakness, my dear. My destruction has already been written. You simply are not part of its ink." 

Days in the spire were mainly mundane Shadow Milk was never too busy for you, however he was still scheming never letting you see his plans. Maybe it was for your own good. The halls of the Spire of Deceit wound like a labyrinth, towering shelves stacked with books whose truths had long since been twisted beyond recognition. It was neither day nor night here, just an eternal limbo where time bled into itself, much like the lines between truth and deception. The wind curled through the open halls of the Spire of Deceit, carrying with it the scent of aged parchment and something faintly sweet, like the last traces of a dream before waking. Shadow Milk Cookie stood before the grand window, his silhouette dark against the star-streaked sky. The view stretched endlessly, a world waiting to be rewritten.  You lingered at the threshold, watching him, waiting. He was always so unreadable, so infuriatingly composed, yet today… today felt different. He turned his head slightly. “If you have something to say, little Faerie, say it.” You swallowed. “Why me?” you had always asked this, asked yourself, asked him. You wouldn’t stop not until you got a concrete answer. That question always made him pause. You pressed on, stepping closer, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “From the moment you saw me at the tree, why did it have to be me? Was it just because I could release you?” Shadow Milk did not answer immediately. He exhaled slowly, his fingers trailing along the glass of the window before he finally turned to face you fully. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed in the dim light, the ever-watching shadows in his hair blinking lazily. “When I first saw you,” he mused, “when I could finally see beyond that wretched bark I thought you naïve.” His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Entertaining, yes. But hopelessly foolish.” A smirk curled at his lips, but there was no mockery in it. “Enough to make me want to keep watching.”

You blinked. “Watching?”

His gaze flickered, and he took a step forward, closer than before. “When the seal weakened, and I could see through the bark of that cursed tree, you were the first thing I laid eyes upon.” His voice dropped to something softer, something almost dangerous in its honesty. “And I could not look away.” Your breath caught in your throat. “And it didn’t take long before I found myself waiting,” he admitted, voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. “For your voice. For your questions. For your presence.” His mismatched eyes locked onto yours. “My patience has never been my strong suit, but for you? I endured.”

“I told myself it was strategy,” he continued, tilting his head as though studying you. “That it was only a matter of finding the right strings to pull, the right lies to whisper. But the more I watched, the more you became something else.” A hand reached out, brushing barely against your cheek before he pulled away, as if catching himself. “I don’t shackle easily,” he murmured. “And yet, somehow, you’ve bound me without a single chain.” His fingers grazed yours, barely touching, his voice dropping lower. “And when you did set me free… I realized that my shackles had never been made of wood or magic.” His lips twitched into something wry, something resigned. “They were made of you.” Your heart pounded. “Then… you would do as I ask?” Shadow Milk chuckled, the sound dark and rich. “Anything,” he said smoothly, “except abandon my purpose.” A chill settled over you. “The Beasts.” His smirk did not falter. “The pact I made with them was never yours to undo.”

Your throat tightened, a familiar ache clawing at your ribs. You had known—perhaps you had always known—that some things were beyond your reach. And yet, here he stood before you, offering everything but that. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Then what am I to you?” Shadow Milk leaned in ever so slightly, his mismatched eyes sharp with something unreadable. “You,” he said, voice a whisper against your skin, “are the only thing I choose to keep.” The words settled deep in your bones. There was no deception in them, no half-truths. And perhaps that was what frightened you mostYour chest tightened at the weight of his words. But you had to ask. “And if I walk away?” His smirk was immediate. “Then I shall follow.” You frowned. “And if I run?” His eyes darkened with amusement. “Then I shall chase.” You let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking your head. “You speak of me as though I belong to you.” “Don’t you?” The question hung in the air between you, heavier than any spell, more binding than any seal. You thought of the Silver Tree, of Elder Faerie Cookie’s pained expression as he turned away from you for the last time. Of the home you had lost, of the kingdom that would pretend you never existed. You thought of how, despite it all, you did not regret it. Because the truth was, you had always been running. From duty. From expectation. From a life that had never truly been your own. And now, at last, there was no need to run. Not when you stood before the one who had always seen you. Swallowing, you met his gaze fully. “And what now?” Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, slow and knowing, taking your hand in his. “Now?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Now, we rewrite the world.”

A/N I hope this ending was satisfactory I didn't want to rush to get to the ending. I really loved writing this and I took a little longer when tweaking it because I didn't like the ending I had written so I rewrote it please enjoy <3

[transmutationisms]

Hey. So that claim that stimulants do completely different things for people who “have ADHD” and “don’t have ADHD” is obviously bullshit but I was wondering if you happen to have read anything I could refer to about that

Okay I want to try using this to break down how I would actually approach this type of question, inspired by some posts I've seen recently about how to read and analyse things that are wrong / bad / liberal.

I don't have, off the top of my head, a published & refereed source that discusses this particular claim. I'm pretty certain there is at least one such thing out there. But I'm also pretty confident it won't be very good. The claim it's responding to is relatively historically recent, & is cloaked in still-fashionable neurobiological terms. Also, the literature on ADHD is bad in general, and so is the general quality of the kinds of imaging studies that are cited to support such claims about 'brain differences.'

If I were writing a literature review or a historiography, here is the part where I would need to go find these things anyway. Then I would have to explain how they make their arguments and what's missing, and depending on the scope of the piece I might have to explain my own philosophical / political position, and advance my methodological critique of the literature I just spent several days finding & reading.

Fortunately I'm writing a tumblr post & my sense is your actual question is "how can I better argue against this obviously bullshit claim," so I don't have to do any of that. There's not really much point sinking that kind of time and effort into finding a source I already think is unlikely to adequately make the argument I'm looking for anyway.

Instead, I would now look at the claim itself. What must be true in order for it to hold?

ADHD brains differ from non-ADHD brains

This difference is relevant to the action/metabolism of stimulant drugs

Okay, claim two on that list requires dealing with psychopharmacology & very exact physiological mechanisms, which means a shitload more reading and most of it punishingly dry and technical. Sad & bad.

Fortunately, though, I already know -- from every reading ever, as well as my experience existing on earth -- that ADHD is not diagnosed by any sort of brain scan, anatomical observation, blood test, etc, but by subjective (yes, even if they made you do it on a computer) clinical observation. Hmm, that's super weird for something that is a 'brain difference.'

I also know that psychiatric categories are difficult to correlate with biological observations even where those observations do exist, because an imaging study on ADHD is necessarily only pulling the 'ADHD sample' from people already diagnosed with ADHD. It's circular. Philosophically this is the same problem I laid out in section one of 'What is an alien?' (which you can read & understand even if the main topic of the essay doesn't interest you).

And I also know that brain imaging studies generally are riddled with serious methodological flaws (post discusses the dead salmon study among others) and don't actually produce meaningful, replicable biological distinctions in any kind of correlation with psychiatric categories (also, variation within categories is also very high).

Oh, wait. Now the claim above looks like patent nonsense with zero philosophical foundations. The burden of proof is on whoever's making that claim, & the basic underlying principles are wrong. Yayyyy.

This exercise means 1) I've sat down and reasoned through my own opinion, giving me clarity on why I think what I do and what evidence would change my mind and 2) from now on, when I see someone else make the claim I'm responding to here, I'll know off the bat that they haven't done the same & are starting from a very credulous attitude toward very low-quality research. And I didn't do this by trawling the literature until I found the exact thing I was looking for, but by thinking through the arguments and evaluating a body of literature that is generally explicitly hostile to the kinds of critiques I make & respect.

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

No you know what I'm gonna take a second here. [Highly unhinged rant at the fundamental injustice, inefficiency, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity of current social technology below the cut]

Absolute horse piss. God, even setting aside how she deserved better from everyone around her and had the same right to a fully accepted authentic life as everyone else, imagine what she could have done if she was supported instead of being treated like this. If she wasn't fired from her job, ejected from her support network, and didn't have to constantly advocate for herself and people like her to be treated like human beings (which was brave and good work worthy of being honored but should never have been necessary in the first place, like rescuing people from a building that collapsed because it was built like shit)

Like okay I don't talk about this that often but I'm a kidney transplant recipient and I think a lot about how the field (like every other avenue of human endeavour) has been crippled by short-sighted bigotry. STEM fields are still hugely male-dominated (sidebar STEM is not the be all and end all creatives y'all super valid and important and your work is foundational to the functioning of STEM and human endeavour and quality of life as a whole; this is just the example that highlights the point for me personally) and it's like. If we didn't push literally everyone except cishet white guys well off enough to afford tertiary education away from everything in the area, would I just have an artificial kidney by now? Who knows?? I'm probably never fucking going to because stupid nonsense.

It's the same shit. And don't get me wrong, the individual human tragedy of unnecessary hardships on the part of this (and every) trans woman (and so many other groups besides) is morally horrible and an indictment of culture as a whole. But we'd probably have fucking blade runner robots or quantum computers or working fusion reactors or Actual Cool AI Instead Of The Current Horseshit by this point! Or a real Mars colony instead of some blowhard yammering on about it while he inflicts suffering on untold millions! Or God knows what else!

And don't even get me started on lack of opportunity for almost everybody in the world. It's like that quote about all the potential einsteins who were born and died impoverished without ever even touching a science textbook.

Like you wanna know why we're struggling so much? Population increase is supposed to mean more hands and minds on every problem but it doesn't because...ugh! Imagine if we cared about global poverty. Imagine how many more lives free of hunger. Imagine how many more people thinking about how to solve everything that needs solving.

I just. The morality is bad enough. It's a great evil by itself. But the sheer fucking gall of dressing it up behind progress and hard decisions. Do you have any idea how much "progress" this costs us? What a good investment humanity would be if we pulled our heads out of our asses for two seconds? What you, personally, have lost because the person who would have given it to you lived and died in preventable despair?

Again, I have to emphasise. People are worthy without contributing huge individual achievements to the arc of history. Society is a collective and everything everyone does adds to the weave and adds up to what we as a whole achieve, there's no real separating out of "this person did this thing" when they were supported by the entire collective of humanity past and present, and even if there was achievement is not the sole benchmark by which life is measured. A better life for everyone is the point, and the idea of "if I don't think you're contributing then you don't deserve anything" is a big part of how we got here in the first place.

There is no culling of the "unproductive". They are the ones who need this most of all. Every life matters, every life (yes, even that one) is a roll of the dice for a miracle of insight (not just in STEM; it all fucking matters and it always has), every life is its own purpose, every life is worthy, to save one life is to save all of mankind, to enrich one life is to enrich all of mankind, to be a life that is enriched is to be enriched on behalf of all of mankind, and none of these facts depend upon any others. There's a mind in there! A self-perceiving miracle of reality! Of course it's precious beyond measure regardless of context, you dipshit!

We can celebrate great advances and exceptional performances without ignoring that we, as a whole, made these things possible too. And we can recognise that these things are valuable because of what they do for everyone, and that the more everyone there is the more valuable they are, and that in order for making life better for the worse off to matter the worse off themselves must matter, and that every life is worthy and every soul is sacred and the people using Lynn's technology to help with their disabilities or live hidden from those who wish them harm or resist the forces I'm talking about here are why the technology is a force for good in the first place.

But I weep for the fact that we have squandered almost all human potential across all of history in short-sighted power-seeking and arbitrary outgroup punishments, and everyone everywhere has suffered for it. Yes, even the stupid billionaires; they'd probably live longer if they hadn't stepped on the people who would have discovered the cure for whatever ends up killing them. Today's average well-off human knows riches that would be the envy of the kings of old, and the average human if none of this was a problem would know riches that would be the envy of the oligarchs of today.

Lives being lived in ways that diminish other lives are ideally changed minimally so that they no longer do (this is the maximisation of collective freedom) and consigned to any other fate only with great sorrow. Even if it is right to do so, I do not believe it is ever righteous. Even if it is not regrettable that it was done in the present, it is regrettable that the past produced a present that required it, and a future that does better should ever be sought.

Just...fucking stupid. That we're so willing impoverish ourselves so that some other people we don't like for no reason can be impoverished more. That the only thing keeping us from Star Trek (not just the spaceships but everything else too) is petty fucking spite (and physics but who knows what backdoor bullshit we could find to work around that).

That Lynn Conway's life, extraordinary and laudable as it was, was made smaller by this rank fucking idiocy. I do not aim to diminish her work by considering what it could have been. I aim to diminish the age she was forced to live in.

Rest in peace, Lynn. You deserved unfathomably, infinitely fucking better, and we are all richer for what you managed to pull off in spite of it all.

[leupagus]

Tuesday's House Budget Vote and what you may not have heard about

I'm reposting this from a reblog of a really great post about the work that Representatives Mullin and Pettersen did in voting against the GOP budget on February 25th, because I don't want to detract from that message.

Instead, I want to talk about the larger implications of H. Con. Res. 14 itself, and why the Democrats risked so much (in Mullin's and Pettersen's cases, actual harm) in order to show up for this vote.

The vote in question is starting the first of quite a few votes for the upcoming GOP budget; it's not a done deal by any means, this was just the vote to get it started, so to speak. But it was still a very, very, VERY important vote, because not only would failure be catastrophic, but so would a win that just barely squeaked by.

And this one squeaked like a fucking mouse in Murray's Cheese Shop.

Speaker Johnson has been waffling on putting this to a vote because there were several outspoken GOP members who talked a big game about opposing it. Usually this doesn't matter, since most bills get some bipartisanship, but at present the House is in GOP hands with only a three-member margin of error, with two seats vacant (note: those two vacancies are FL 1 and 6, which are holding their special elections on April 1 — lol — and which are EXTREMELY unlikely to flip but hey miracles happen! Donate or phonebank if you'd like!). And Democratic representatives have been voting in a bloc against...well pretty much everything the GOP's been pushing through since Trump took office. Not only that, but this budget is legit unpopular with a number of Republicans, so much so that Johnson pulled the vote at first on Tuesday because he knew it would fail if the GOP members who'd threatened to vote against it actually went through with it. What he needed was to either convince them all to fall in line, or resort to cheating.

So he did both!

He and Trump strongarmed all but one of the GOP holdouts into voting yes (Congressman Massie is in many ways a turd in a toilet, and his reasons for voting no were bad, but he did stick to his guns, I'll give him that). Reports of Trump actually screaming at one of the (female, naturally) GOP holdouts are...well, unsurprising, but that's how panicked they were about getting this bill started. Usually the Whip does this work, but Tom Emmer's been laughably bad at it and so they had to get Trump to actually do some work. Which is itself sort of astonishing. But even then, they weren't sure they could get it done.

Which leads us to part two of Johnson's plan: blatant cheating. During Pelosi's last session as Speaker, she allowed for proxy voting in light of COVID and, you know, the general state of things, but the second the GOP got back the gavel they nixed it right in the bud. This puts the Dems at a disadvantage right now because at least three of them are out for medical reasons — Mullin and Pettersen, as well as Congressman Raúl Grijalva who's fighting cancer at present. (He was the only Democrat who couldn't get to the floor for this vote, fwiw, and anyone who insists he should've can suck my left tit.)

So Johnson adjourned the House for the evening, sending everyone home, but told the GOP members to stay and then tried to rush through the vote before the Dems realized what was happening. His hope was that enough Dems would be caught flat-footed/not see the recall notice/be asleep watching Taskmaster (whoops that was me) by the time they got the message to get back to the floor. That way he could lose the holdouts but still pass the budget onto the next phase.

However! While Nancy Pelosi no longer rules the Democratic caucus with her iron fist and fabulous coats, my man Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries learned quite a lot from her (and is pretty fucking genius himself). Not only did he and the other House leadership expect this kind of chicanery from Johnson, they had planned on it.

Because here's the thing: Mullin and Pettersen didn't get on a plane at the last minute on Tuesday; they'd gotten to DC on Monday, without telling anyone they were in town. They actually hid from the GOP members all day Tuesday in order to lull Johnson into thinking he had more of a margin than he did; if the GOP holdouts really had voted against the budget, then it would've failed. Which would have been a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump.

As it is, it's still a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump, because now they know just how razor-thin their margin is. More importantly, they also now know that the Dems will fuck with them just as much (if not more) as they will fuck with Dems. Congress (and the USA in general) has operated for years on the assumption that Democrats operate in good faith, while taking it for granted that of course the GOP ratfuck as much as humanly possible.

This moment is a chilling one for the GOP; they can't assume anymore that Dems will play fair or fight clean. Which seems like a very small thing in the larger picture right now, I know, and I also know that people would love for their Democratic representatives and senators to be more vocal and angry in public ways. I get that!

But this move on Tuesday night? Is actually going to have far bigger consequences than any meme or viral video or clever soundbite from a politician. Democrats are no longer playing by the rules that the GOP's ignored for years (if not decades); they're playing by the GOP's own rules, and they just might win.

[sayusims]

Jinshi and Maomao relationship detail

At first, when watching The Apothecary Diaries, I didn't really want Jinshi and Maomao to be together. I mean, I wanted them to be, but since Jinshi was obviously so much more in love than Maomao, I did not think that it would seriously work out. However, I’ve changed my mind. As I haven’t actually read the light novels yet, some of the information I’m going to use is based on what others have said, and I can’t really confirm 100% if it is true, but since these are discussed somewhat in the community, I feel like they are.

My top reason for thinking they are good together is the fact that they pay extra attention to and look at each other more than others. In Jinshi’s case, he is known for being immensely pretty, but because this is the only thing people look at when it comes to him, it causes him to have an inferiority complex about all of the other skills that he does possess. It also does not help that he is surrounded by anomalies of people who have super strength or are insanely smart, so he feels hopelessly average in comparison. Because of this, when he met Maomao, he thought that she would be the same—someone captivated by his beauty who does not see the real him—but it was the complete opposite. His beauty does not hold worth to her. While she obviously finds him attractive and is probably still attracted to his physical body, his worth to her comes almost solely from his personality. The times in the anime that we see best that she is VERY slowly falling in love are times when she mentions him behaving differently or behaving more like himself instead of the persona he puts on daily. She does find Jinshi annoying a lot, but she likes it when he is more youthful and less eunuch-like.

When it comes to Maomao, I remember that in an episode of the anime, Maomao mentioned how she knows she is hard to read. While Jinshi cannot read her, he still tries. Jinshi never backs down or gets put off when he doesn’t understand her apparent logic; he mostly just trusts her and her judgment. He is incredibly patient with her and honestly does not try to rush things (it is KILLING ME). He is extremely worried about her well-being and making the choice that she wants, not what he wants. It is like when he dismissed her from her job in the first part of season 1. He dismissed her even though he had the power to obviously just not do it but also to just kind of make her work even if she thought it was miserable in the rear palace, because I fear that’s what at least half of the men back then would have done. But even though at this time he had a rabid crush on her and knew he was going to be miserable like he was with his toys when he was younger, he did it since he thought that was what she wanted. Another thing Jinshi notices a lot is her injuries. After, I assume, the third time of someone noticing someone else constantly getting hurt but still either waiting to get help or just not getting it at all, most people would give up. Most people would not jump off a wall and carry them bridal style to the infirmary the sixth time, but Jinshi still did, and he did it with urgency. Every time she gets hurt now, he is always panicking and doing the most he can to help, even if it's most times him just screaming. He never gets tired of her and always wants to be around her at almost every moment.

I want to get the manga volumes and the light novel so badly, but I literally have a 50-bullet-point to-read list that just keeps growing because I’ve been stuck on Crime and Punishment for the last two months. But if anyone has some show ideas (they don't have to be anime) that I can yap about and make my brain work overtime, that would be very helpful.

[gffa]

I love your blog but I can't remember whether or not you're an author BUT I do remember that you know how characters are Supposed To Be.

So-

Do you have any tips on how to write Mace Windu?

Hi! I've written a few Star Wars fics, but probably not ones you've read. 😂 But here is what I would say about writing Mace Windu (or even just if you want to have fun discussing him, I'd love to know what others would say are the best ways to write him!): Mace is someone who is severe with an undercurrent of deep care, this is someone who is serious but whole-heartedly believes in helping others and doing the right thing as best he can. He is a Jedi to his core, which means he holds compassion as the highest value and there's a subtle warmth to him if you care to look. He will place his life on the line to help people, if others have done their best, he will acknowledge it, if they have something of value to add, he will turn to them and ask them to say what they have to say, he will make sure his clones get through a battle if there's any way he can help them, he will gently touch the Zillo beast's face to comfort it, he will jump down into a ravine and smile at a child who needs help, he will stop to ask baby Anakin if his chip removal scar is healing, he will patiently explain Jedi beliefs to him if he's not quite getting it, he will grump at Yoda that their campaign isn't going the way he'd like, but will still easily sit down and meditate with him and find comfort in that. He's not someone who is a big ray of sunshine, he's too serious for that, he has far too much responsibility on his shoulders and holds them with gravitas, he'll tell someone to take a seat if they're getting out of line (he has more patience with children, but adults he'll treat as adults), he's not going to coddle someone who isn't trying their best, but at the heart of him, he is someone who genuinely wants the best for people, who will wrestle with his anger over injustice and win over it because he has spent a lifetime wrangling his anger into compassion, because he truly believes in the Jedi path, and always do what he believes is right. He takes administrative politics seriously, because he knows that he can't just defy them without consequences that would hurt people in the long run, which may appear cold to others who don't really know him but fundamentally, Mace Windu is a deeply caring man who is trying to help as many people as he can, he has dedicated his life to helping all people, even those who would spit on him, he still does his best to understand their circumstances and find sympathy for them. (Like when Prosset Dibs fell to the dark side, tried to kill Mace and said that he would dance on the Jedi's graves, Mace's response was to say that it was their duty to help him back to the light and put him on archive duty, rather than any serious punishment.) Mace can occasionally crack a very dry joke, he does have a sense of humor, but it's fairly rare. He'll be curt if he's having a bad day, especially if someone is getting out of their lane at him, but not unfairly and never with cruelty. He's a phenomenal athlete even among the Jedi, he's brilliant at what he does, there's a reason he helps lead the Jedi, this is someone who embodies the very best of them. Admittedly, I'm biased because Mace is one of my favorite characters, so I'm less aware of his flaws (even if I'll defend why he's sometimes short with people, it's true that he can sometimes come off as abrasive and not as patient as he might in better times, but I think Mace should be allowed to have frayed nerves sometimes, too), but I do genuinely believe that Mace should be written as someone who is a very serious faced person but loves the galaxy so deeply that it's woven into his bones, who loves his culture and his people, who loves the people of the galaxy, who would give all of himself to help them.

[cassandra-collin]

I have facial dysmorphia, and I’ve booked an appointment with a psychologist for it. I’m going to do what’s called EMDR therapy.

I don’t really like going to psychologists, but my facial dysmorphia was so severe that I started having suicid@l thoughts and would spend more than three hours a day just looking at myself in the mirror, doing nothing else with my days.

I know that one of my mom’s friends once told her I was beautiful, and the son of her friend also said I had no reason to feel insecure (in a positive way). I’ve been catcalled before, and I also heard a man say, "This girl is pretty," (in french) when he saw me, talking to his friends. Even when I went out yesterday, some men stared at me (I didn’t see them, it’s my mom who told me). But every time, I just tell myself, “They were probably talking about someone else,” “They were just looking at the road,” or “They were probably only looking at my body.” (I think men focus more on my body, like the man who asked me if I did dance.)

I think people don’t realize how hard this is, especially when you don’t receive much external validation outside of social media and a few men on the street. I feel like I’ve been heavily influenced by beauty standards, and I also think some of it might come from childhood trauma.

When I was little, an ex-best friend told me I was fat (there’s nothing wrong with being fat as long as there are no health issues related to it, but it was said as if it was something bad). In middle school, I constantly compared myself to other girls, telling myself they were always thinner and cuter than me. Now I wear an XXS, and I have no issues with my body—only with how I perceive my face.

I even realized that I was telling myself harmful things that were the exact same phrases some people said to me in the past, people who were really mean to me.

When a haircut doesn’t suit me (like the bangs I got recently, which I only posted once on my Tumblr before deleting it), or when my hair is just all over the place, I react much more negatively than someone who doesn’t have facial dysmorphia.

I also have a pretty androgynous face (and an androgynous voice as well), so that adds another layer to it.

And when I see a pretty girl who says she feels ugly (and you can tell she’s being sincere when she says it), and people comment under her video saying she’s just saying that to get compliments because, to them, a beautiful person can't be that insecure, it just annoys me.

Sometimes I find my face pretty and cute, but most of the time, I think it’s too big, too androgynous, too I don’t know… And the thing I notice the most is the expression lines on my face that have become a bit more pronounced (which you can't really see or don’t see at all in my photos because of the lighting, even if it's not done on purpose).

When I post pictures of myself online, I usually ask my mom if the photos look like me because I don’t really know what I look like and I don't want to come across as a "fake." It would make me feel guilty if they didn’t look like me. The only things I allow myself to modify on my face are my pimples and slightly my dark circles (it’s like using a little concealer).

After that, I edit my photos to make them more "aesthetic" (lighting). That’s it. If I don’t look like my photos, I delete them right away and don’t post them.

I also wear glasses, so I don’t really see my "real" face (except in videos and photos), but I plan to get contact lenses. I hope that when my bangs grow back, my facial dysmorphia will lessen as well (because I felt good or better with the haircut I had before, even though I still had facial dysmorphia).

I’m healing now, even though it’s tough, and I have a lot of trauma˖⁺‧₊˚ꨄ︎

(I’m writing all of this to share my experience with facial dysmorphia and to express how serious it can be. Writing about it also helps me calm down, even though I haven’t shared everything.)

Does anyone else look in the mirror long enough and examine your features to the point where you start to get physically nauseous? Just me? Ok

[vivimura]

breaking up with riki ─ sfw, 0.935 k wc, i suck at angst but it was heavily requested this is the best i can vomit out i'm sorry

“you know what your problem is?" riki asked softly, but the furrow between his eyebrows was enough evidence of his irritation.

"your problem is you overthink everything." he spoke, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point it began to hurt. "you know what the future holds?" he asks, his voice gentle yet serious. "absolutely fucking nothing. all we got is the present, and right now, i like you. you like me."

you scoffed in disbelief, using every bit of strength in your fibres to bite your sobs back down. 

“oh, i overthink, do i? or, have you considered the fucking possibility that you don’t think enough, nishimura?” you spat out bitterly making the frown between his eyebrows deepen. the tears welled in your eyes made your vision grow blurry, but also frustrated you for reasons more than that. you hated that it made you look weak.

“life isn’t so simple. just because we like something, doesn’t mean that we can have it. it doesn’t work that way. we’re amazing together, but it’s just- so much work. i’m exhausted.”

"you think i don't fucking think?" he almost growls, his grip on your wrist finally loosening as if he realized he was holding it too tightly. "i think all the time. about you, about us, about how fucking hard this is. do you think it's easy for me?"

"it doesn't matter if you think or not, if you're not going to do something about it!" you yanked your hand away from his grip completely when you got the chance, a stray tear finally falling from your right eye. it disappeared when you used the back of your hand to harshly wipe it away.

"love shouldn't be something that makes me feel so drained and tired emotionally. this relationship,” you gestured to the air between your bodies, “just you-, it's so much fucking work!"

"that's work i'm willing to do-”

"-and i'm not!" you finally snapped and yelled. your eyes bulged when you took in the gravity of your own words.

silence lingered in the air for what felt like an eternity, but was just a few moments. there was a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your forehead, your heart beating so fast and loud that you could hear it in your ears. the look on riki’s face was indescribable.

his eyes widen momentarily, then narrow as he processes your words. his jaw clenches, a muscle twitching visibly. in a flash, he steps closer, his voice low and intense. "well, fuck me, you've finally said it out loud, haven't you?"

your hands formed tight fists, every raging thought bubbling in your mind suddenly disappeared for some reason. it felt like your knees would give out any second now, but you stayed there, as still and silent as a beautiful, teary-eyed doll.

he stared at your tears for an age, his face expressionless. his eyes flickered between your left and right orbs, as if trying to find some truth. some explanation. deep down, he knew he was fooling himself. he already knew.

he laughed bitterly at your silence and shook his head. "unbelievable. after all this time, all these fights, you're just... done? just like that?" he bites his lip harshly to hold back his own tears. he felt a strange emptiness in his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt before. "no more willing to put in the work."

not bothering to wait for your reply, he sighed heavily and turned away, his hand reaching up to run through his hair. "just-.. go home." his voice was flat, emotionless. it was an effort to keep his breathing steady.

you let out a shaky exhale and memorised his side profile as if you were seeing it for the last time. your eyes drooped down as your head bowed in utter sorrow, the soft gray carpet on the floor of riki’s bedroom came into your view.

it was the same carpet. one which you’d once talked on for hours straight, played games you loved, play-fighted, kissed each other and sometimes even more. it was beginning to feel like those things would be nothing but a memory anymore.

you wiped your tears away, turning around to pick up your purse from his bedside table with shaky steps. riki’s heart squeezed, but he just watched you from the corner of his peripheral vision. he watched your back, your shoulders slightly hunched as if you were bracing yourself for something.

when you turned around, riki almost broke down completely when he saw the look on your face. the quiver in your lips, the bags under your eyes. the spark he once saw in your eyes when he first met you now reduced to dullness and tears. he nearly opened his mouth to stop you, but his words died down. he knew he had to let you go.

you didn't dare to look into his eyes and walked to the door of his bedroom. your fingers trembled as you reached for the handle of the door. when you pulled it down and opened the door just a little, it felt so unreal that you couldn't tell if this was a dream.

the urge to turn around and say something, or just look at him was nearly eating you alive. but you didn’t trust yourself enough to run into his arms if you saw the state of him. you had to do this, for yourself. just as you were about to leave, you whispered a small, “b-bye,”

click, shut the door, and possibly the longest, most meaningful period in riki’s life.

mlist comment, reblog & follow!

[minorlyatfault]

❝𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘, 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 !❞ j. todd x f!reader

i run in & turn on the lights,

run my hands to his short, black hair,

"i love you, harvey, i don't care."

𝓦arnings: grammatical errors. the joker & his stupid, ugly, rusty, stinky crowbar.

𝓝otes

001. weejendn reached 200!!9#$($(#($ ohmygods THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU..DNDSSKJS

002. SCREAMING

003. idea ws by @/rob1nzex because i don't tolerate jason todd angst. ZzldaLSVR MEANLONE

004. ppl r prolly annoyed w my works bc most of them r js comforting j. todd. IMSORRRIRYDHDJ i js lobelobelobe comforting j. todd

jason returns home earlier than he normally does. not because the streets of gotham are somehow safer▰just because he's tired. his body is weighed down as he locks his bike in the garage of his apartment building. the night air is chilly, nipping at the edges of his jacket, but he doesn't even notice. he should eat something. he should wait for you. but he won't.

he pulls himself up the stairs, unlocks the door, & enters his apartment. it's nothing like the manor, where there is always someone awake, where the floors creak under the weight of too many bodies, where alfred would make him eat before he could do anything else. here, it's just him.

well, sometimes.

your keys aren’t by the door, which means you’re probably at work. jason’s aware of that, so he doesn’t wait around. he tosses his helmet onto the couch, shrugs off his jacket, & heads straight for the bathroom.

the shower is hot, but he hardly flinches. he washes himself off, zoning out as the blood(his & others' mostly others')rinses away down the drain. his fingers dig into the bruises along his ribs, seeing how painful they are. not bad. he's had worse.

then he dries off, puts on a pair of sweats, & flops onto the bed. the sheets are cold. though, they wouldn't be if you were here. but you're not, so he goes to bed early.

he shouldn't. he knows what happens when he goes to bed too early.

jason doesn't dream much▰at least, not about anything good. tonight is no different.

the crowbar swings.

his ribs crack.

joker's laughing, & he's down on the floor, choking, blood in his lips. he struggles to get up, but his arms refuse to move. every part of him aches. he can't catch his breath▰

the joker swings again.

& again.

& again.

again.

again. again. again. again.

jason jolts awake. screamed. his muscles shaking wildly, his breathing clipped & harsh. his heart thudding in his chest, & he feels sure he still feels the memory agony of the crowbar digging into his skin.

the room is black.

quiet.

no one runs in to turn on the light.

jason lets out a deep breath, his body still shaking, & runs a hand through his short, black hair. it's okay. it's okay. it's okay. he's accustomed to this. he can do it. he’s used to this. he should get used to this. he▰

the door opens.

light comes into the room.

jason doesn't have time to move before you barge in, wearing your hello kitty pajamas, you look like you just came out of the shower. when did you arrive?

"jay?" you're whispery, but urgent, as if you're not sure he won't disappear on you if you're too loud.

he doesn't move. he just blinks at you, still trapped between the past & the now. he didn't expect you. he didn't expect anyone.

you sigh, moving closer, & before he can tell you anything, you move in & ran your fingers through his hair, just as he'd done moments before. your touch is soft, cautious, centering. like he's some delicate art that's meant to be in a museum. jason's shoulders relax a bit, as if the burden of his own head is just a little less heavy with you around.

"you're okay," you whisper. "you're safe."

jason swallows. his throat is tightened he wants to tell you something, but all that gets out is, "you weren't supposed to be home yet."

you give a soft laugh, continuing to run your fingers through his hair. "i got off early." you pause before continuing, "are you okay?"

jason laughs harshly, turning away. "yeah. just a nightmare."

you don't appear to believe him, but you don't press. you sit down next to him on the bed, your hand still in his hair, letting the silence remain. jason allows you to.

for a moment, neither of you speaks.

then, softly, jason says, "i don't understand why you stay."

you blink. "what?"

his jaw tightens. "you're too good. & i'm just…" he takes a harsh breath, shaking his head. "i don't know. i don't want to mess you up."

your brows furrow, but your voice remains soft. "jason."

"i mean it," he grumbles. "i don't want to▰taint you. you should be with someone▰"

"say 'better' & i'm gonna hit you," you cut in, & jason looks at you, taken aback. you're frowning at him now, but not angrily. it's more frustration. sadness. you're upset.(no shit)

you, once again, let out a sigh & reposition so you're facing him correctly. "you ever seen a pomegranate?"

jason blinks. "what?"

"a pomegranate," you say again. "it's messy. red & kinda violent-looking when you open it up. if you're careless, it stains everything. but if you take your time with it. if you're patient, it's sweet. worth it." your thumb traces lightly over his temple. "you think you're just a mess, jason. but you're not. you've just never been handled right."

jason looks at you.

you look back.

for a moment, you wonder if he's going to fight. perhaps he's going to sneer, roll his eyes, inform you that you're wrong. but he doesn't. he simply looks… exhausted.

he slowly exhales, his eyes closing as he leans into your touch, & your heart breaks.

you shift your position, now lying beside him, still running your fingers through his hair. "i love you, jay." you whisper. "i don't care that you think you're messy, or broken, or whatever else your mind is trying to make you think. i love you, i'm not leaving. mess me up all you want. taint me. you're worth the mess.”

jason doesn't answer immediately. but eventually, his hand reaches for yours, interlacing his & your fingers together.

"…okay," he whispers.

you smile, laying a kiss on his lips.

"okay."

© minorlyatfault, 2025.

[silkenwinger]

Soap's been having fun lately. Lots of gym, swimming. Eating his heart out. He misses the action, but his condition has finally improved enough that he can at least enjoy life's simplicities. He greets the old people in his complex, takes on small jobs to keep busy while he mostly lives off the pension until he finds something more meaty to get his hands on. He doesn't have a dryer back home, and he hates hanging clothes, so every Friday he gets to the laundromat, pays for his washing and sits there waiting for it to be done, sketchbook in hand. Every time he goes there, the same arrangement of people finds him: older ladies, some eternal bachelors, and the sweet younger thing that lives just upstairs from the laundry.

It's not his fault he tends to monopolise the attention, you hear him? Classmates would roll their eyes when teachers took him under their wing just because he was funny. Everyone there knows all of his business; his inside voice never really developed outside of life threatening situations. He announces he has an interview for some construction worksite ("they do interviews nowadays?") and that he's excited to have a full time job again. The pensioners wish him good luck. You, instead, invite him for a drink together back at your house.

You're lovely, really. Pretty, funny, the whole package. But, um. He's still not fully recovered from the incident. He's afraid he won't be able to perform at his best. He also thinks you deserve to be with someone a little less scarred, someone who can share a general life path with you. Not someone whose dream is already over. Not someone like him.

But he still has pride. A male part of him simply doesn't think he has any right to refuse your invitation. And it doesn't necessarily mean that you want him that way to begin with, he shakes his head. You have a generous nature, he can tell. Maybe you're a bit lonely in this big city and just need someone to talk to.

The two of you have a lovely dinner together, actually. You cooked the lamb meat tenderly, just as he likes it without even knowing it. He's just about to tell you that he's had a great time, but that he should really go back home, because the interview is tomorrow and he has to wake up early...

He starts feeling weird. Lead in his legs, his head throbbing where he was shot, blood pooling behind his eyes. He sees you get up from the chair before his vision goes dark.

He wakes up some time later, his head full of cotton. His back is on a soft surface and his limbs immobilized, still caged even as he shakes, full force not recovered yet. Hearing him struggle, you slither in the room, immediately coming to his bedside. Even as he yells and convulses, desperately trying to set himself free, you don't speak, just try to pet his hair through the shakes. He decides to shut up for a moment then, still not totally sure of what's going on, if this is a joke. You speak then.

"Oh Johnny," you sigh, looking at him with so much pity he's only getting more confused, your hand still in his hair, "you didn't think I would let you be in danger again, right?"

[danadiadea]

I think I've pretty clearly stated in the OP that we have no evidence that it had been INEVITABLE for him to kill? Not that he couldn't do it, but that we have no proof in the books that all DEs HAD to do murder someone and we have basically nothing hinting towards the interpretation of Snape the killer in the text. If you state something had happened in canon, you carry the burden of the proof.

Petter committed the murder not for the sole reason of being a DE, but with a very specific goal to betray Sirius and avoid Azkaban, his terrorist act is not the result of an initiative murder or whatever people come up with to say Snape was a killer. I'm pretty sure Snape never needed to fake his own death. Besides, Crouch doesn't tell Karkaroff to elaborate on Rookwood's violent crimes, which he would've done if he knew ALL DE's were killers, regardless of whether Igor would've actually known that; but the theme doesn't arise at all – he was a spy and Karkaroff isn't questioned any further.

If something is NOT STATED and NOT IMPLIED in the text, maybe that's done for a reason? maybe that's to show something about the characters in the books? Maybe if Snape, Dumbledore, Bellatrix, Igor all hint at Snape never killing, and nothing hints otherwise except the act of him becoming a DE – it's because the author wanted to convey that he hadn't killed people before Albus? Karkaroff doesn't posess all the possible information in the world, sure, but he's not a person, he's a character in the books!

Would be very grateful if you'd point out where exactly in the texts is that bit about Voldemort's reasons to "recruit" Snape. I'm pretty sure it wasn't mentioned actually, we don't know where and when and why Snape received the Mark.

Sectumsempra cut James' cheek which he ignored completely, and unintentionally cut off George's ear, which was quickly healed by Molly and Ginny even though Snape had put significant force into that one: it's not Snape's fault Harry used it like a baboon brandishing a stick so it almost had killed Draco. Sectumsempra is just a KNIFE. It can be deadly, sure, but doesn't have to be. Carrying (or inventing, either way) a knife after you've almost got killed is very reasonable, actually. I might as well say that the marauders having the Cloak and the Map guarantees they've peeked at girls in the shower, because the means they posessed/invented gave him such an opportunity, and it doesn't matter that it's a rather extreme suggestion which should be backed up with more that just "they could so they sure did"

And, of course, Snape tortured and killed people, but for some reason only Remus kept a record of it and still never brought it up before Snape killed Albus. How the hell would Remus even know what was going on at Death Eaters meetings? Most likely, Snape just used Sectumsempra on the marauders several times, just like we have seen it during the SWM – a very explainable use of the spell, not in fact connected with murder and torture. There is literally no reason for Remus to see some "snape killing torturing people" that NOT ONE MORE PERSON was ever aware of. Snape might have used it as a DE too, we can't be sure he hadn't, but this is not nearly enough evidence to say he murdered someone, Sectumsempra is no Avada Kedavra, hello?? Also Harry literally tried to use it consiously (on inferi and on Snape) twice, I guess it's a specialty of his too.

Clearly, you have a very weird perception of the Death Eaters. Voldy had 20:1 advantage towards the Order, he didn't just need a hundred assasins, he needed spies and influential people in the Ministry and press workers and potions makers etc. The group that kills and tortures people ≠ every single member of it has to inevitably kill/torture a person – until proven otherwise.

Also I'd like to see where the hell did Rowling state that. If it's about this "Albus goes on the hilltop" snippet, it literally isn't stating this, otherwise I don't know what are you talking about.

To sum it up – to say "Snape killed people" you have to prove there is enough evidence that he did or at least very likely might, and saying "well Karkaroff doesn't know EVERYTHING does he???" and "well Snape invented a cutting spell" isn't enough to claim this.

I don't know where people get that idea that pre-prophesy Snape was a torturer and a murderer. There is not a single place in the canon where it's said that the prerequisite for accepting the mark and serving the Dark Lord is torture and murder of innocent people. Rookwood was convicted and spent years in Azkaban because he "was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself". Karkaroff doesn't assign any other crimes to him. He also doesn't assign any to Snape, just says he is a Death Eater. We have the dialogue with Albus and Snape's concern for his soul plus Bellatrix's "slitherin out of action" accusations as arguments for Snape never killing, and no proof that it would be "inevitable" for him at some stage of his early life. Where do you people even get that from?

[zooophagous]

PLEASE say more about your cultural understanding of tattoos if/when you feel up to it; your perspective on it is really interesting!

I can only really speak from my own perspective on it as a fairly recent initiate into tattooing, but the way tattoos have been viewed in the past (even the very recent past) had changed very quickly with new technology.

Finer lines become possible, and greater variety of colors, so the necessity of sticking to thick lines and heavy black with few color options is no longer the case. Improved technology means more styles become possible to tattoo in, and as such instead of the restrictions of the media informing the tattoo, tattoos are now available in a wide variety of art styles and the art world and overall cultural zeitgeist now heavily influence tattoos instead of tattoos by necessity having their own set style guides and language.

This means more mass appeal, you can do almost whatever you want art wise now and many tattooers are fine artists in their own right. So now we have more and more women and young professionals into it and not just bikers, gang members or sailors as the stereotypes used to hold.

So now tattoos are trendy for everyone, as the nation slowly but surely sheds its puritanical leanings. But now that tattooing is no longer an underground art form and is largely regulated and legalized, a new underground form of it lives on.

Thanks to online buy-anything sorts of sites like Amazon, Temu and Wish, it's easier than ever for the garage, apartment or party to host impromptu tattoos. And because it is often very difficult to get someone to agree to teach you how to tattoo, almost all of these people are self taught and receive instructions via youtube.

So why then, if you can get anything you want as a tattoo, would people still go for these dubiously sanitary pieces by untrained artists?

Part of it is related to why tattoos may have existed in the first place- they denote your culture, your people, who you belong to. For a lot of the apartment tattoo getters, they're allowing their friends or family members to practice on them as a sign of love and trust.

Part of it is cost. Cheap things always have a market, even if they're not good.

But part of it I think is nihilism. That is, a sense that you have no future, nothing to live for and therefore nothing to lose. Many young people cannot envision themselves in old age and many of them tell you they'll likely die young. So why not, then, get the bad tattoo? The tattoo is temporary because life is temporary. We lead such short desperate lives that refusing a tattoo because of some imagined professional setting you might be in seems as asinine as thinking one day you might be a billionaire. It's just as unattainable.

Throw in a little postmodernism, a little dadaism and you have the perfect storm for the rise of ignorant style tattoos. They're not good, but that's largely the point. They don't have to be. In fact the ugliness is largely the point of this art form. Much like how Duchamp's Fountain was never meant to be a beautiful piece of sculpture but rather a biting satire, ignorant style tattoos become the response to the former underground artform of tattooing going mainstream and suddenly costing thousands and thousands of dollars, and people showing off wealth with perfectly technically done sleeves.

It's for obvious reasons a very divisive style of tattooing, and now even legitimate shops are turning out things that look "bad on purpose" but are technically well applied when examined closely. Personally I think most of them are ugly as shit but what the Hell do I know I'm just some bitch.

[secretlysamcro]

Unspoken feelings pt. 1 Female reader x Jax Teller Possible plot spoilers, explicit language, domestic violence, violence & murder! If you're under the age of 18, dislike any of said topics or have not finished the show, then please read no further.

Jax takes a final drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him before he flicks it away, grinding it under the sole of shoe. He rolls his shoulders, a familiar tension in his muscles as he waits for you to step out of the car. He can already sense the weight of the moment, but he pushes his nerves deep down like he always does.

You draw in a deep breath before exiting the car, closing the door firmly. As you circle around the vehicle, your eyes instantly lock with his. He hasn’t changed at all. Still giving off that same Jax Teller energy, still charming as ever.

His smirk deepens as you approach. “Look who it is” he says, taking slow strides towards you. As he closes the distance, his arms are now open wide. Offering a welcoming embrace, his warmth pulling you in.

Something so familiar, that you never knew you needed, until you were wrapped up in it.

"Hey" you say, your voice muffled against the leather he still proudly wears.

He pulls back, but his hands stay on your elbows. He studies your face, like he can tell somethings off but he cant figure it out yet. "He finally let you come back home, huh?"

You can tell he's just saying it to get under your skin, the way his eyes shine with that familiar mischief. He never liked him, not even a little bit. Everything Opie and Jax had warned you about, everything they said would happen, its all come true.

The music's loud, but your boyfriend's voice cuts through the noise as he leans in close to you, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. "Can't wait for you to move in" he says, his voice sleazy. His words are loud enough for everyone to hear "Sex whenever we want, anywhere we want".

You stiffen, catching the shift in Jax's posture. He stands up, and walks out of the clubhouse without a word, Opie following right behind him.

You know its because of what they've just overheard, and they're fucking pissed.

Jax leans heavily against his bike, Opie stands next to him, arms crossed, watching Jax. He's not happy either, but he's trying to keep his cool.

"You're not helping yourself Jax" he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to get through to him.

Jax lets out a frustrated grunt, wiping his face and looking upwards to the sky. "She's about to make the biggest fucking mistake of her life, and we’re supposed to just stand here and let it happen?" He’s swaying slightly, the alcohol taking control now.

Opie shakes his head, his eyes narrowing "She's not some kid, Jax. She ain't gonna listen to you pushin' her...also, you do know wendy's gonna clock on soon why you're acting like this, right?"

Jax's eyes flash, looking almost dangerous. "I don't give a fuck about Wendy right now" His words snap, and its clear he means it "She's leaving, Ope. For that asshole"

Opie rubs his face, "He might be talking out his ass, could just be dreamin'"

Jax laughs, and it sounds bitter. "Yeah? then why's he running his mouth inside like its a done deal?" he shakes his head, looking to the ground.

“We all make mistakes Jax” Opie says, his voice cutting through the tension.

Jax stares at him, his eyes heavy, feeling the weight of the whiskey. “Don’t Ope, just don’t” he grumbles.

Opie leans against the railing, his posture casual, looking away from Jax but speaking to him directly. “You can’t be pissed at her for not tellin’ you shit, when you’re sittin’ on the biggest fuckin’ secret. You haven’t even told her Wendy’s pregnant”

“I haven’t told anyone yet…just you” he stumbles, beer bottle shaking in his hand. “If I say it out loud…it makes it real” His voice cracks as he tries to keep composure.

Opie watches him now “when you’re up all night with a baby, shittin’ diapers, getting puked on, shit will be real then”

“She’ll have too much shit to say. I can’t handle it…not now, I just-”

“She doesn’t want you fuckin’ your life up. Just like you don’t wanna watch her fuck hers up” Opie says. He’s always been the one stuck in the middle of you both.

Jax drops his head trying to shake it off as Opies words sink in deeper than he can admit.

Before Jax can answer, the door swings open. You step outside and the second their eyes land on you, you already know this is gonna go to shit.

And the look Jax gives you? its gonna be a fucking challenge.

You clear your throat. "Can we talk?" You didn’t expect them to find out like this. You didn’t expect Jax’s eyes to hold that hurt, even if he tries to hide it.

Jax snorts, the pain turning to anger now, shaking his head "Oh, now you wanna talk?" He takes another swig of his beer "By all means, darlin...talk"

You exhale, steadying yourself. Arms crossed over your chest. "I was gonna tell you both...”

Jax laughs, shifting in place "Right... and when exactly was that gonna be? before or after you packed your shit and left"

The way he's looking at you, like you've betrayed him cuts deeper than you expected. "I just...wanted to wait for the right time"

"The right time?" he repeats, stepping closer, you can smell the whiskey on his breath. "Bullshit"

Opie, who senses the tension, steps in "Alright lets just take a second..."

Jax ignores him, his eyes focused solely on you. "So what is it, huh? he finally got in your head...convinced you to cut us off completely?"

"That's not what this is Jax-"

"Nah, its fine" he shuts you down. "You wanna leave? then go. Nothin' stoppin' you"

"What the fuck is your problem?" you step forward, fuming and ready to confront Jax. Opie quickly steps between you both, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

"y/n just let it go, he’s drunk" Opie says, his tone calm but firm, trying his best to defuse the tension.

Jax jerks his head towards your boyfriend, who's making his way over.

"He's my fucking problem" he mutters. Without another word, Jax continues walking. As he passes your boyfriend he deliberately bumps into him, a sharp shove of the shoulder, as if to make a point.

He stumbles slightly, but doesn't say anything to Jax, he's looking between you and Opie now, with a confused expression. "The fucks his problem?” he asks, his voice uncertain.

You feel your stomach twist at the sound of his voice. You look up to Opie "I'm Sorry" you whisper, as you turn around to join Jax's fucking problem.

Opie nods in understanding, but Jax who's now heading back into the clubhouse, doesn't look back. He's pissed, he can't admit what's really bothering him, not with Wendy now pregnant and not with you on the verge of leaving Charming.

Jax leans against the kitchen counter, his fingers tapping absently on the side as the silence stretches between you.

His eyes are fixed on the coffee machine, yours trailing over the pictures scattered across the fridge, by Abel of course. Finally, you break the silence.

“How’s Wendy, and Abel?” You ask, your eyes floating around the place. You hadn’t seen either of them in person since the night at the hospital.

Since you left without a word.

“She’s uh…” his voice is flat, his hand scratching the back of his neck “...back on the shit. She ain’t coming anywhere near him. Divorce when through not long ago”

“Jax…” you begin, unsure of how to respond.

He forces a smile, leaning against the counter. “Go on. Say it”

“Say what?” You frown, confusion on your face.

“That you told me so” he stirs the coffees.

You shake your head, as much as you want to, you couldn’t. “I’m not gonna do that”

He runs a hand over his hair “You were right though, shoulda listened, you told me enough times”

You chew the inside of your cheek, watching the tightness spread across his face. You’re pissed for him, but you know better than to poke the fire.

You take a seat at the kitchen table. “Where's Abel? He okay?” You ask, your voice softer.

“With Mom...he's confused but, he's good” he places the coffees down before sitting across from you.

You nod a silent thank you. It’s no longer awkward, just heavy.

“Shits a mess, huh?” He almost laughs, shaking his head.

You hesitate before spilling your own life dramas. Your fingers tightening around the mug. “I left him…this morning, took the shit I needed and left”

Jax studies you, his expression doesn’t portray what he’s thinking.

“That’s why you’re staying at the motel?” He thought it was weird you’d rather do that than stay with someone you knew here.

“Yeah” you let out a deep breath, “told him a few days ago, but he obviously thought I didn't mean it. It’s not the first time I’ve tried…guess he figured when he got home and I was gone” you look to your phone, another 2 texts from him. “He hasn’t stopped” you wave your phone in Jax’s direction.

His jaw tightens, the same way it does when something pisses him off. “He know you’re here?” He finally asks.

“Probably knows I’ve come back to Charming, just not where”

Jax stares for a moment longer, then lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head “guess we both fucked up, huh?”

You give him a small smile “yeah…nothings changed there”

Jax leans back in his chair “So, does Opie know you’re back?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips “you know he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you’re hanging with me and not him”

You can’t help but laugh at the thought of Opie’s reaction. “Nah, told him I’d come visit soon, but he doesn’t know I’m here right now”

"All your shits at the motel?" Jax asks, his arms crossed scanning you, like he's trying to piece together everything you're not saying out loud.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Just the important stuff, clothes, shit I couldn't leave behind" You hadn't even had a second to breathe, let alone think what the future holds.

Then your phone rings again. You don't even need to look.

Jax's gaze flicks down, watching you ignore the call and shoving the phone back into your purse.

He rubs his chin "So what now? You stickin' around, or is this just another pit stop before you disappear again?"

You let out a tired laugh "Jax, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight, let alone the next few days" Your head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. You cant break, not here. Not in front of him.

It's not like Jax hasn't seen you cry before, shit, he's probably seen it more than anyone. But after all this time and distance, it feels...different.

Jax made a sound, something between a scoff and a sigh. "You know you could've called me right? or Opie" His voice displaying that rare softness. "You could of come straight here"

"Jax, its not that simple" you mutter, shaking your head. "It's not just a night or two. I don't know how long its gonna take me to get my shit together"

He grins a little, "and?"

You blink, shaking your head towards him "And what?"

"And it’s not like we ain’t done this before?" his eyes stay serious "Shit, y/n you basically lived with us back in the day... mom would've traded me for you if she could've"

That made you laugh, his words pulling you straight into the past. Late nights sneaking beers from Gemma’s fridge. Falling asleep on the couch after club parties, waking up tangled in blankets you never remembered pulling over yourself. Sunday mornings, a joint shared between the three of you talking shit on the clubhouse roof like the world couldn't touch you.

"Get your shit, y/n" he says, steady and certain.

Before you could respond, his phone rang. He barely registered it before answering, already pacing the kitchen, his voice dropping to that familiar tone. "Yeah?"

You couldn't hear the other side, but you didn't need to. His whole body language changed.

Club business.

"Alright, I'll be there soon" he said, like he didn't want to leave.

Jax tucks his phone back into his pocket "I gotta deal with somethin', but go grab your stuff. Call me when you're done, i'll meet you back here" a smile creeping on his face "Maybe I should tell Ope you're back too"

That pulls a more genuine smile from you, you stand, hesitating for a second before meeting his eyes. "Thank you Jax" You step towards him, and before you can even think about it, his arms are around you. Solid and warm. The kind of hug that makes you feel like you never left, like nothings changed.

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his chin resting against the top of your head. "Missed you", he admits. His voice quieter now, like he almost doesn't want to say it too loud.

Your fingers curl into his kutte, holding onto the moment. "Missed you too".

The club business was quiet for now, Nothing urgent. Whatever they'd called him in for was handled quickly. Opie is currently driving Jax back to the clubhouse, he decides its the perfect time to let him know you're back.

Opie glances over to Jax, who cant keep his grin off his face. His brow raising at the look "What?"

Jax laughs, taking a drag before starting "Guess who's back in town"

Opie gives him a long look, waiting for him to speak up "Who?"

Jax exhales, pushing his hand over his head. "y/n"

That got Opie's full attention, he straightened up his eyes sharp "No shit?"

"No shit" Jax confirms "finally left that asshole"

Opie let’s out a low whistle "Damn" he exhales slowly "How's she doin'"

Jax wasn't sure where to start, so he gave him the basics "She's been through it man...She didn't say much, but I could tell. She's tryin to play it cool, but you know how she is"

Opie nodded, he knew exactly what he meant. You were good at keeping shit locked down, good at pretending you were fine, even when you wasn't. That hadn't changed since you were kids.

"She tell you why she finally left?" Opie questions.

"Nah, and I didn't push...figured she might spill to you first, anyway"

The motel room feels suffocating now. You can barely catch your breath as you carry things from the room to your car, packing it all up, trying to get out of this mess.

As you step back inside to grab the last of your things, the door is slammed open, nearly knocking you off your feet. His eyes are wild, rage written across his face.

"What the fuck!" you shout, pushing back against him, trying to regain your balance. "How the fuck did you find me!"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't back off, he's in your face. His voice seething. "Tracked your phone, Don't act like I didn't know where you'd go. Always knew you'd run back here"

You're burning with anger now, it wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. "You think you can just show up and fuck with me?"

He steps forward, closing the gap between you. His body tense. "You think you can just pack your shit and leave? you think I'm gonna let that happen?"

You turn away, making your way over to the desk, subtly pulling out your phone and calling Jax without saying a word. You cant speak, you cant make it obvious, you just hope he answers.

"I'm fucking talking to you!" he comes behind you, dragging you back around by your shoulder.

His jaw is hard as he spits "Four years, y/n. Four fucking years and you're gonna throw it all way for that fucker?"

His words hit you like a slap, but you refuse to let him see you fall. "I didn't leave you for anyone. I left because you're a fucking asshole. You're a controlling manipulative piece of shit" you edge closer towards him "You don't love me. You just wanna own me, you think I haven't learnt that by now!"

He doesn't even think before lunging forward, grabbing you by the arms, his grip as strong as iron. "I always saw the way you two looked at each other. The way he fucking wanted you. The way you looked at him, I fucking knew it" his voice is low, almost a growl.

"You're insane!" you shout back, trying to break free. But it’s not working, he’s too fucking strong. “Don’t fucking lie to me” he snarls, his hands tightening, “You think I’m stupid? I bet you were fucking him the whole time, huh? That's why he was so pissy about you leaving!"

Jax’s phone buzzes in his pocket as him and Opie head toward their bikes. He looks down, your name on the screen. He answers, expecting to hear your voice. Thinks maybe you’re gonna ask for help or give him an update.

But there’s nothing.

Silence.

“y/n?” He grips the phone tighter, reaching his bike. “y/n you good?” He tries again but still, nothing. He can just work out a sharp breath, the sounds of muffled voices. It’s faint but unmistakable.

Then he hears it.

“You think you can just pack your shit and leave? You think I’m just gonna let you do that y/n?”

Jax’s stomach drops. He knows exactly who that is.

“You’re insane!” He hears your voice, it’s shaky but there’s anger there too.

“I bet you were fucking him the whole time, weren’t you?”

Opie, walking beside him, must feel the tension change, because he stops in his tracks, looking at Jax trying to read the situation.

Jax puts the phone on speaker as he and Opie listen in, they hear you shouting back, the sounds of a struggle. You’re defending yourself, but the way he’s yelling…it’s violent.

“Is that him?" Opie mutters under his breath.

“That’s him” Jax answers, practically jumping on his bike “Rockstaff motel” he instructs Opie.

This wasn’t the reunion either of you had planned.

The room now smells like sweat, fear and blood. You’re on the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, head buried in your hands. You didn’t mean for this to happen, you didn’t even want this to happen. But when he shoved you again, and again, when his hands grabbed at you like he was going to choke the life out of you, you snapped.

The heavy lamp lying beside him, was all you could reach, so you did, swinging it hard. You heard the crack when it hit his skull, sending him to the floor. He’s still there, no movement, no sound. He could be dead for all you know, you haven’t got it in you to check, all you know is the dark red stain beneath him, is getting bigger and bigger.

You’re covered in it too, your hands, your face, your clothes. Tears blur your vision, the sobs leaving your body like you’re gasping for air.

Then, you hear the footsteps, fast and heavy. You don’t even look up. You’re still trying to breathe, your body frozen in its place.

The door slams open with a force that rattles the frame, Jax nearly booting the door off its hinges.

"Jesus, y/n" His voice is sharp, but beneath it, nothing but pure rawness.

You don't answer. You can't.

Jax shoves his his gun back into his waistband and drops to his knees in front of you. His hands come to your face, tilting it up, forcing you to look at him. "talk to me darlin"

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your mind still spinning, stuck in the moment.

Jax's thumb wipes at the blood trailing down your face, leaking from the cut above your brow, his eyes flicker down to your lip, busted and swollen, then to your ex sprawled on the floor, unconscious, head split open. Then to the shattered lamp, the jagged base glistening red.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

Opie kicks him with his boot. No response. He crouches, pressing two fingers to the bastards throat.

"still breathin", he says, standing back up.

Your breath shudders as it leaves you "I'm... sorry" you whisper. The words barely leaving your lips, but when Jax hears them, it almost breaks him

Even now, after after everything this bastard has put you through, you're still apologizing, like you're the one who did something wrong. "don’t" he says, his jaw locking.

Your fingers brush against your eyebrow, the pain only registering now that the adrenaline is wearing off. You blink fast, still dazed. "I..."

Jax shakes his head "we're gonna get you cleaned up, alright?" His fingers lace through yours, squeezing gently, a contrast to the rage he has written all over his face.

He turns to Opie, voice short "Call Gemma. Tell her to get here now" He nods, pulling out his phone without question.

Then, a groan from the floor, a breath, slight movement.

Jax snaps his head towards the sound, his body tensing. Before your ex can even lift his head, Jax is on him, driving his fresh Nikes into his ribs, before dropping down, and landing a brutal punch across his face, rendering him unconscious again.

Jax stands, flexing his fist like he's debating punching him some more. Opie shoves his phone back in his pocket "Gemma's on her way, taking Abel to Neeta's first". He shoots Jax a look, no words needed. Jax reads it instantly, the unspoken agreement passing between them like second nature.

This asshole doesn't walk away from this. Not after what he's done to you.

Jax nods in response to Opie, turning his attention back to you. His voice drops lower and slower making sure there's no room left for doubt.

"I need you to hear me, darlin" His thumb brushing over your cheek. "You done with him...for good?"

You swallow, your heart pounding. You already know the answer.

Jax tilts his head, his tone darker now "because if you say the word, I handle this. No second thoughts, no lookin' back" his eyes scan your entire face "but I need to hear it from you"

"Yeah...I'm done" you breathe the words out.

Jax watches you for a second, then slowly nods. The tension leaving his face.

"Alright" he turns to Opie "Call Happy".

He shifts closer to you again, his hands framing your face with a gentleness that almost breaks you. "He's never gonna hurt you again y/n. I promise"

Gemma held your face steady as she wiped away the blood, the cotton pad pressing against your swollen brow. The drive back to Jax's house was silent. You hadn't said a word since leaving the motel, your eyes were vacant, tears dried but still staining your face.

She couldn't help but notice you, she’d seen you hurt before but this? this was different. She noticed how the girl sitting in front of her wasn't the one she remembered. You were always the fierce one, the girl who didn't let anything hold her back. The one who spent countless hours with Jax and Opie, always laughing, always in control.

The girl Gemma, deep down always thought would end up with her son.

"Hold still, sweetheart" she mutters, her voice thick with concern. She holds your chin gently, taking everything in. The ready to bruise marks, the cuts, the blood. They told a story, one Gemma never wanted for you. "Have you heard anything?" The question slips out before you can stop it, your mind still racing, trying to catch up with everything that'd unfolded. It feels like the worlds turned upside down in a matter of hours, and you're struggling to make sense of it all.

She sighs softly, moving down beside you "They're dealing with it, y/n, don't stress"

Your chest tightens as the weight of it all sinks in. "I shouldn't have dragged them into this mess" your voice drops, the guilt hovering within it.

She's quite for a moment, then turns to you "Those two boys would burn the world down for you. You know that y/n" “I know” the words simple, but holding so much weight. Because you did know. You knew exactly what they were doing, what Jax had asked you, it wasn’t in vein, he really wanted to know if you were done with him forever.

Gemma moved quickly, gathering your bloodied clothes whilst you were in the shower. Tossing them into a bag, ready to destroy all evidence. You were in Jax's room, after scrubbing away the chaos, the weight of it though, still clinging to you.

Gemma searched through Jax's stuff, eventually pulling out a SAMCRO tee and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear in replacement. They were too big, but they gave you a sense of comfort.

Jax and Opie stepped through the front door, their faces set, knowing the job was done. No traces, no mess, nothing left behind.

Gemma rises from her seat as they enter the kitchen. "She's in the bedroom" she says quietly. Both of them turning and heading straight for it.

"Jax?" Gemma calls him back, leaving Opie to see you alone.

"Yeah?" he leans against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes sharp and tired.

"She's not okay" Gemma says, her voice laced with concern, "I've never seen her like this, and we've been through some shit with that girl"

Jax exhales heavily, a sigh saying more than any words could. "I know" he says, looking down.

"Don't just sit on this Jax" Gemma says, her words giving off that strong motherly energy she always carried. "She needs you now, more than ever"

Jax looks at her, a silent understanding as he nods in response.

"No jax..." she stands up now, closing the space between them "...she needs you, and I don't mean in the way you're used to. She needs you to be there, really be there for her"

"Yeah" Jax says, before pushing off the counter and heading to the bedroom.

Jax made his way towards his room, his steps slowing when he hears your voice inside. Opie was always the one who could drag the truth out of you, the things you didn't really wanna share.

Jax paused just outside his open door, leaning against the wall and listening in.

"You're stubborn as shit y/n" Opie said, a little teasing in his tone "always have been" he says as he takes a seat next to you on the edge of the bed.

Your soft laugh followed, the sound making Jax's lip curl into a small smile.

After everything that had happened today, hearing you laugh, even if it was just a little was a fucking relief.

"Guess you were both right" you whispered, resting your head against Opie's shoulder.

"The hell did you even see in him?" Opie asked, his voice firm but also calm.

He wasn't asking to push, just giving you an opening, if you wanted to take it, you would.

You inhale deeply, rubbing a hand over your face, careful not to press against the cuts. "I don't know" the words sounding weak.

Opie scoffs, shaking his head "bullshit"

You can’t hide the emotions, knowing Opie has always seen right through you.

"C'mon, we both know why..." he continues "...you weren't really in it...not really, it just made things..." he paused, searching for the right words "...easier".

Jax, still standing just outside the doorway, froze, trying to figure out what you were both talking about.

You let out a small laugh "easier" you repeat, your voice flat. You rub the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise through you "I just wanted to forget, Ope"

His gaze turns harder "Forget what, y/n?" Trying to force you to say it.

You didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Jax runs his tongue along his teeth, the pieces starting to fit together.

"Jesus, y/n" Opie rolls his shoulders, "you should've just told him"

Your eyes snap towards him, wide and defensive "It ain't that simple Ope"

"Yeah it is" he says sternly, taking a look over his shoulder, seeing Jax's shadow hovering outside the door.

And then, he steps inside.

Without a word, he sits next to you, mirroring Opie's position on the opposite side. His hand found your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of his borrowed sweats.

"How you holdin' up, darlin?" he asks, pushing aside everything he just overheard, making sure you were okay.

You look over at him, the weight of what you'd just confessed to Opie making your chest tighten and your emotions a chaotic mess.

You manage a soft smile though, "I'm okay" you let him know, quietly.

He didnt press. He just stayed there, solid and steady. The weight of them both beside you, like they always had been, made you feel safe in a way you couldn't put into words.

Before you knew it, a small laugh left your mouth.

"What's funny?" Opie asks, looking between you and Jax.

You smirk a little "been a long time since I've been stuck in the middle of you two" you nudge them both playfully.

Jax lets out a low chuckle, Opie laughing too but with a more mischievous tone. "That sounds kinda wrong"

You smack his arm "Fuck off Opie" you say,still laughing.

Jax shook his head, still amused before giving Opie a look.

One he understood without needing words.

He patted your leg before standing up, "Alright, I'm headin' out. Gotta get back to Lyla and the kids. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "He can't hurt you anymore y/n"

You nod, Opie ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger, and then clapping Jax on the shoulder before leaving you both in the quiet of the room.

Jax stares at you now, his eyes tracing over the cuts left on you by the man who should've never fucking touched you. His hands clench into fists at his sides, before he forces them to relax.

"He ever put his hands on you before?" His voice is controlled, but just about.

You don't say anything, just look towards the floor.

Your silence is enough.

Jax exhales, dragging a hand down his face "Jesus Christ" He shakes his head like he's trying to shake off the guilt. "If I'd just..." he stops himself, gritting his teeth before continuing. "If I'd just fucking said something back then, maybe you never would have left with him".

He looks at you, really looks at you. Like he's weighing whether to just keep it all inside like he always has, or to finally let it all out.

You brows furrow slightly, the pulse just under your cut hammering away.

"You heard me and Ope talkin earlier?" you ask, wondering just how much he caught onto.

"Wasn't tryin to" he says, his voice steady.

"We were talking about you" you admit.

"Yeah?"

You nod, If ever there was a time to set shit straight, it was now.

"It's always been you Jax"

His expression shifts, his breathing hitches a little in his chest, but he stays quiet.

"Since we were kids..." you continue, almost laughing to yourself. "I just never said anything. Didn't wanna mess shit up" you shake your head, deciding to just let it all out. "That night at the clubhouse, when we were on the roof, talkin' about losing our virginities"

Jax laughs, confused as to why you're bringing this up. "Yeah..."

"I lied"

Jax frowns, "what...why?"

"I never slept with Lowell" you feel the embarrassment work its way up your face. "Didn't happen. I just didn't wanna be the only one who hadn't"

Jax lets out a quiet laugh, almost in disbelief "You serious?"

You nod, looking down at your hands in your lap "Jealousy's a bitch, I guess."

Jax watches you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's piecing something together. "So...if it wasn't Lowell..." he tilts his head "...who was it?"

You let out a small laugh "I didn't...until I met him" The words feel strange leaving your mouth, like you're admitting something you never wanted to.

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at you. His jaw tensing along with his hands. "Shit" he mutters under his breath, "That asshole was your first?"

"Yeah" you whisper "And I wish he wasn't"

Jax runs a hand over his jaw, still processing, but then he adds his own truth. "You wanna know why I was so pissed when I found out you were leavin'?"

Your stomach twists as he leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees "was a few days after I found out Wendy was pregnant"

Your chest tightens.

"She was just...around. I was young and stupid, using her to distract me...from you, then suddenly she's pregnant, and I'm about to be a dad, and then I hear that asshole talkin' about you movin' in with him" he scoffs, shaking his head "It fucked me up"

You swallow hard, a hint of a teasing tone in your voice "So you married her?"

Jax lets out a dry laugh "Yeah, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I had to"

Your throat tightens. "I wasn't sick that day, you know"

Jax looks confused "What are you talkin’ about darlin’?"

"The day you married her" you’re forcing yourself to look at him now. "I wasn't sick, I just... couldn't sit there and watch you marry someone else"

He stares back at you, something breaking in his expression. His lips part, like he wants to say something but its like he doesn't know what to say.

Instead, he moves slowly. His hands come up to your face, ghosting over your cheek, careful of your bruises.

You don't move.

You don't breathe.

And then, his lips press against yours.

There's no urgency, no desperation. Just a single, unbroken kiss.

It’s everything you've never said.

Everything you've both been too afraid to admit.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me, just edited.

forgot how fucking devine Jax looked with short hair so you know I had to keep that going 🖤

I’m loving doing lil flashback scenes I find them so fun to write. Every flashback will be defined by the barbed wire, so if you see that just know it’s back in the day.

The ending is deffo left open for a part 3 so message or comment what you’d like to see in it!!

Also, I’m like 10 followers away from 300 (how the fuck did that happen?) I say it all the time but I do love you all! But anyways, I was thinking of starting to do some headcanons for our boy Jax Teller, so please send some in, if you wish 🫶🏽

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

Soooo, I have a small angsty ask if you’re up for it, how would RO’s react if mc flinched when they make a sudden movement while in an argument?

Ooh drama!

Cassandra: Wide eyed and freezes mid sentence, lowers her voice IMMEDIATELY and apologies. She feels awful because she knows that she gets scary when she is mad, she has learned to be after being surrounded by military men all her life. She never wants MC to think she would ever raise a hand to them in anger (...I mean unless MC cheated on her, then it is a 50/50 coin toss if she puts hands on them). Otherwise though, the fight would end right there and then. If the fight wasn't over anything major she would calm down and make sure MC is okay. If the fight was over something big then she would walk away to calm herself.

Valeria: She also jumps back with MC and quickly asks them genuinely what was wrong? She wouldn't get it herself, being raised in a loving home and having a sheltered life; but that doesn't mean she wouldn't me sympathetic. No matter how mad she might be, Valeria will always be the first to offer help to others. She would sit down and hold MC until they are okay, even if she can't really imagine why MC could ever fathomly think she would hit them.

Tomás: Just stab him in the heart why don't you? Throw him off the roof, shoot him in the head, and beat him with a metal club because all of that would honestly be kinder than ever making him realize MC could ever be afraid of him that way. Honest to God, this man would sooner CUT OFF his own hand than have you EVER think that he would do that to you. The look in his eyes in that moment? AGH, it hurts me to even imagine it! He would be so heartbroken and shocked. Whatever you guys were arguing about, (again, unless it was about cheating... if you ever cheat on Tomás (first of all, how dare you?) he wouldn't hit you but he wouldn't really feel the same about you being scared of him, as he is right now.) consider it forgotten. He will spend the next week apologizing and practically punishing himself for making you feel threatened.

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Ludovica: Oh, she gets it. Believe me, she would get this better than anyone. Nobody else could possibly relate more than her, she would hardly ever be so mad at MC that she would yell but if MC ever thought she would do such a think for a moment would still her to a statue. Her eyes wouldn't judge though, no. Her eyes would be full of understanding of what pain and trauma results in such a reflex, she would calmly tell MC "Please believe me when I say this... I would never, ever, raise a hand to you; my love."

Aurelio: Bro stills to a halt and has to Sherlock Holmes style analyze what the actual fuck, just happened. Did you just think...? That he would ever, do that to you? He is honestly more hurt as a result of that reaction; that you would ever, for even a fraction of a second, think he is such a brute. Such a monster, to raise his hand to you. He struggles with being a good man, he really does; but to think you think so little of him in terms of morality? He might tear up just a tad, depending on how much he has opened up to MC about himself. Regardless if MC intended to do so or not, he would walk away and honestly be upset with MC for a good while about this.

Elio: Does not get it sadly, he quickly puts it together that you though he would hit you; but he doesn't get why. He will tell you just as much. "I was just gesturing, why did you flinch?" Absolutely will not drop this subject till you explain it to him, "Did you think I would hit you? Have I ever done so before? Then why did you think I would hit you now? I obviously would not. It was a reflex? A reflex is an involuntary response to a stimulus. I raised my hand and that make you flinch? That would suggest a logical stimuli, I have gestured to you before. I have pointed to things before, I have patted your head before, you never did this before. Why are you doing it now?" He is low key pressed over this, he hides it by trying to appear confused or curious but in reality he is upset because he does not understand. He NEEDS to know why you did that, so he can never do it again. If you get mad over the questions he will surprisingly get mad too, it is jarring because he almost never gets mad. He is upset by this new information and he must understand, you must help him understand.