#ignore the fact that no one looks like themselves in this drawing and just focus on hughie please and thank you

[frudoo]

A Moth Into Flame — Simon “Ghost” Riley

Y’all… this one is sloppy and kinda lazy??? Idk I had a plan but then it kinda crumbled. If there are plot holes or it just doesn’t make sense… it is what it is LMAO. 🫶

Warnings: SMUT, fem!reader, unprotected PIV, creampie, Simon giving poor reader whiplash but she’s fine with it I guess

MDNI

You can smell his cologne even over the pungent aroma of your whiskey, and you suddenly wish that you had just stayed home. Your body tenses at the sound of those all-too-familiar combat boots hitting the floor. He doesn’t allow himself to be heard unless he wants to make his presence known—he always has been deliberate. You feel the unmistakable coarseness of his hands resting themselves on your shoulders before gently grazing their way down your bare arms. You try to hide the shudder that runs through your body, but he sees. He always sees.

“Save a seat f’you,” he whispers, his voice a soft breath against the shell of your ear.

He trails his hand down the curve of your spine to give your ass a firm squeeze, and as quickly as he had approached, he’s gone. You choke down the rest of your whiskey quickly, ignoring the searing burn it leaves in your esophagus. Your eyes scan the bar for the large, imposing figure you’ve grown to know far too well before finding him in the round booth near the back. He’s with his mates, of course, the ones he never lets you say hello to before he’s pulling you out of the bar and taking you back to his apartment.

Those deep molasses eyes beckon you over without having to say a word. Yeah, you should’ve stayed home, because you know exactly how this night is going to end.

Silently you approach, grimacing at the feeling of the cracked red leather of the booth scratching the backs of your thighs as you slid in beside Simon. He wasn’t having that. A strong tattooed arm wraps itself around your waist and pulls you onto his lap. His mitts unashamedly squeeze your supple tits before ultimately resting on your waist. You jab him in the gut with your elbow, but he only gives you an amused grunt in response.

“Finally lettin’ us meet yer lass, LT?” The mohawked man raises an eyebrow, sucking his teeth as he looks you over. “She’s bonnie.”

Simon shrugs, tilting his head to press a kiss to the side of your face through his mask. Despite the fact that the guy had been looking at you like a piece of meat, there was something charming about him, blue eyes holding a boyish innocence, but the smirk he wears gives away his true nature. There’s something captivating about all of the roguish men, but none quite as… alluring as the enigma whose lap you sit on.

The other two men say nothing about your presence and instead shift the conversation back to something you can’t understand. Not that you’d be able to focus, anyway, with the way Simon’s grasping your hips to move you over slightly when he wants to take a drink or add something to the discussion. His hands are so warm that you can feel it through the thin fabric of your dress, and it excites you more than you’d like to admit. You know what those hands can do.

He’s distracted, taken a break from tormenting you with those gentle touches, but it doesn’t help the white-hot desire that’s been building up in your belly, fogging up your head. To go from too much attention to too little won’t do at all. You can beat him at his own game.

You pretend to listen to whatever the bearded man with the weird hat is saying, not looking to draw any attention to yourself—at least, not from anyone other than Simon. You reach forward to grab a pretzel from the bowl on the table, pushing your ass back to deliberately rub against his crotch. He grunts and gives your hip a squeeze, a warning. Bingo. You feign ignorance and lean forward again, this time rolling your hips to add some more friction.

Simon grabs your throat to tip your head back, a threatening undertone in his murmur.

“Playin’ a dangerous game there, bird.”

You snicker, giving another grind of your ass against his growing erection—pouring gasoline onto the fire. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips almost painfully, and his bark is a little sharper now, more akin to a bite.

“Fuckin’ quit it.”

A moth into flame.

“Make me.”

That’s all it takes before you’re forced out of the booth, his large hand splayed across your lower back as he ushers you through the crowd, toward the bathroom. You turn to look at his mates over your shoulder, and the one in the ball cap gives you a cheeky wink right before the door slams shut and the only thing in your view is Simon with his balaclava pulled up just above his nose. Without warning, he slams your back against the wall and kisses you with a fervor you’ve only felt in more private areas with him. You moan against his lips, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, but he’s quicker, pinning your wrists above your head to keep you in place.

“Gonna teach y’some bloody manners,” he grumbles against your skin, nipping his way down your jawline and neck. “I like my pets domesticated.”

You gasp as he delivers a particularly harsh bite right to the middle of your throat, spit-slick tongue scalding against the wound. It’ll leave a nasty bruise but you couldn’t care less, clenching your thighs together in an attempt to get some much-needed friction. Simon tuts, briefly nibbling on your lobe before muttering into your ear.

“Spread ‘em.”

A simple command, but you scramble to obey, a soft whine escaping your parted lips. He’s quick to move his free hand down your stomach and between your thighs, cupping your mound roughly. You buck your hips, clothed clit rubbing right up against the heel of his palm. He groans, releasing your wrists to cusp your jaw instead.

“Knickers are fuckin’ soaked, lovie. All f’me?” His dark eyes bore into your own, fingernails leaving creases in the flesh of your cheek.

“All for you,” you reply breathlessly, grabbing onto his biceps to brace yourself for what comes next.

Simon pushes your panties aside and swipes the tip of his middle finger through your slit to collect the sticky dew of your arousal. He circles your clit a few times before teasing your entrance. He swirls his fingertip before pushing inside, all the way to the knuckle. He huffs amusedly at the mewl you let out.

“Mm, she’s droolin’ f’me, baby,” he whispers, his other hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for another kiss.

Without warning, he slips another finger inside, curling them to hit that sweet spot perfectly. You let out a keen moan and tilt your head back, too absorbed in pleasure to acknowledge the dull pain that comes when you hit the wall. Simon smiles, licking the tip of your nose teasingly.

“Tha’s the spot,” Simon coos, mouth falling open in the same fashion as yours.

His eyes never leave your face, transfixed on every twitch of your eyebrows and quiver of your lips. He’d argue that he’s more drunk on you than the whiskey he’d been enjoying just a few minutes ago. He pumps his fingers quicker, harder, attacking your neck with more soft kisses and nips. He chuckles when he feels your gummy walls clamping onto his fingers, your nails digging into the flesh of his biceps and leaving half-moons as a result. Simon doesn’t mind.

“Y’close, baby?” He hums, pulling away from your neck to press his forehead against yours.

“Y-yeah,” you pant, opening your eyes to stare into his, deep, dark with desire and burning with passion.

“Cum f’me,” he whispers, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and massaging your g-spot in mind-numbing thrusts of those thick fingers. “There y’go, lovie, squeeze m’fingers jus’ like tha’.”

Simon moans alongside you as you reach your peak, lips curling into a pleased smirk. The second he feels your walls ease up he pulls his fingers out, causing a whine to slip out of your throat. He clicks his tongue, fingertips wrapping around your throat and squeezing gently.

“On your knees.”

You do as he says, glazed eyes just barely making out the sight of his veiny hands unbuckling his belt. Simon pulls his cock free of its confines, hissing at the sensation of cold air hitting the sensitive skin. His tip is an angry fuschia, dripping rich pearls of precum, and fuck—he must have been just as desperate as you. You’re still in a daze from the blinding ecstasy he put you through, staring at his pretty dick with your hands resting in your lap. He cocks an eyebrow beneath his mask, snapping his fingers at you.

“Well? Y’wanted this fuckin’ cock so bad, so suck it,” he spits, pushing on the back of your head and guiding you towards his throbbing erection.

Pulled out of your hazy state, you stick out your tongue the way you know he loves, grabbing the base of his dick and pulling down the thin layer of foreskin to reveal the thick crown beneath. You smack the tip against the middle of your tongue, moaning in unison with its owner as you stare up at him through fluttering lashes. Simon looks so fucking good like this—one hand rested on your head, the other bracing himself on the cool wall behind you. Unable to resist any longer, you wrap your lips around the tip and suckle softly, swiping your tongue through the slit to collect all of that delicious, salty precum.

“Oh, 'ell yeah,” Simon grunts, chin falling to rest right above his clavicle, drooping eyes focusing on your own. “Always take me so well.”

You smile the best you can with your mouth full, resting your hands on his muscular thighs before taking him deeper. You’re always surprised by his girth no matter how many times you hook up—such a fat cock that your lips have to stretch almost painfully to accommodate. He grunts as you flatten your tongue on the bottom of his dick, massaging the bulging vein and hollowing your cheeks for better suction. One of your hands moves up to cup his balls in your palm, gently squeezing. He shudders and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth; he’s already so close.

“Enough,” Simon pants, tightening his grip on your skull and carefully pulling your mouth off of his cock with a wet pop. “Fuck. What the ‘ell are you doin’ t’me, woman?”

You smile as he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you in for a feverish kiss. His tongue prods your mouth, running across your teeth and tongue and everywhere he can reach. Then, he stops, giving your ass a sharp smack.

“Turn around and bend over tha’ sink,” he instructs breathlessly, before deciding that would take too long, instead grabbing your hips and manhandling you into position.

You barely get any warning before he’s shoving your dress up to your waist and tearing off your panties. You gasp and turn to glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already pocketing the ruined fabric.

“M’sorry, lovie. I’ll buy a new pair f’you… ‘ell, I’ll buy anythin’ y’want. Jus’ let me… ah fuck!” Simon throws his head back as he slides to the hilt inside of you in one blissful, searing stroke.

“Fuck!” You whimper, the painful stretch of your cunt struggling to suck him in causing you to hold onto the cold porcelain for dear life.

Simon wastes no time before starting to pump in and out slowly, giving you just a pinch of time to adjust. Then he takes hold of your hips and ruts into you with reckless abandon, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood trying to stifle his moans. You’re not so careful about your volume, squealing and babbling with every thrust he deals. He grunts, moving one hand to cover your mouth, pulling you back into his chest.

“Tha’ whore mouth o’yours is gonna get us in trouble,” he grumbles through gritted teeth though makes no effort to let up on his devastating thrusts.

“Drive me bloody fuckin’ insane, y’know tha’? Perfect, pretty baby, no fuckin’ good f’me.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the fat tip of his cock kisses your sweet spot with perfect precision. Every stroke, every whisper, every smack of his hips against your ass has you seeing stars. You can feel the mascara and sweat dripping down your face, and you get the feeling that the rest of you looks just as fucked. You turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror, wiping away the fog to watch as Simon fucks you absolutely stupid. You meet his gaze in the reflection and he snickers, pulling the straps of your dress down so that your tits spill out from the fabric.

“Yeah, y’know you’re fuckin’ sexy,” he mutters, alternating between roughly palming at your breasts and tweaking your pert nipples. “Such a hot mess f’me.”

You’re dangerously close, teetering on the edge of that earth-shattering euphoria, and you know that Simon knows—that’s why you let out a defeated sob when he pulls out of you completely, leaving your pussy to clench around the newfound emptiness.

“W-why did you-?”

“Haven’t learned your lesson yet, bird,” he sniffs, tugging your head backwards so that his lips meet your ear. “Apologize for teasin’ me in front o’my mates like tha’.”

“Simon, please,” you beg, hot tears streaming down your puffy cheeks.

Simon tuts, giving your ass a couple of sharp smacks. You yelp, body jolting forward with each painful contact.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry!” You whine, fingertips prying at the sink as he glides the head of his cock through your glistening folds.

“For wha’?” He kisses his way down your neck, giving both nipples a rough pinch.

“For teasing you in- in front of your friends,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as his tip catches on the hood of your puffy clit.

“There’s m’good girl,” he purrs, running his hands down to your waist and giving it a soft squeeze. “Next time y’act up like tha’, you’re not gettin’ off this easy.”

“Please make me cum,” your bottom lip quivers as your eyes meet in the mirror once again, desperate for him to tame the fire he’s ignited in your belly and heart.

“Turn back around,” Simon whispers, stepping back to give you room to obey. “Wanna see tha’ pretty face when y’do.”

You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck, gasping softly as he cups your bottom in his hands, hoisting you up. He presses your back to the wall with your legs around his waist and kisses you again, but it’s much more tender than the previous ones. He gasps into your mouth as he pushes inside of you again, hands still firmly on your ass to keep you secure as he builds up a pace once more.

“Fuckin’ love you, y’know tha’?” He murmurs against your lips between kisses, his groans turning into softer moans as he gets closer to his climax. “Never jus’ a bloody hookup t’me.”

“S-Simon-” you furrow your eyebrows, pulling back to look at him, shocked by his confession.

“M’sick of actin’—shit—like this is jus’ a good fuck. We both know it’s no’,” he heaves, lewd wet sounds bouncing off the walls as he quickens his pace. “No more fuckin’ lyin’. You’re mine.”

The back of your head falls against the hard wall as you feel the coil in your tummy about to snap, walls contracting around his cock so tightly, like they’re trying to force him out.

“There y’go, pretty baby. Cum f’me, yeah? Fuck, please cum f’me. Cum on my cock, lovie, y’can do it.”

That’s all it takes before you’re crying out his name, your entire body feeling weightless and whole all at the same time. You think that Simon’s moans might be louder than your own, whimpering into your ear and you swear that you heard a sob right before he came. He holds himself deep inside of you as ropes of hot, thick semen fill your womb, refusing to move until the air finally settles between the two of you. He presses his forehead against yours once again, honeyed brown eyes staring into your glossy ones.

“I meant tha’. Every bloody word,” he admits, nuzzling his nose against your sweaty cheek. “You’re m’girl.”

Simon carefully pulls out of you with a gross squelch, helping you back onto your feet. He repositions your straps so that your breasts are in place and covered once again, as you tuck his softening cock back into his pants and buckle his belt. He cups your face in his hands and grins softly, wiping away the black-stained tears on your face with his thumbs.

“Come home with me tonight?” You ask gently, leaning into his touch.

“Always.”

[thunderbump]

Lesson in Labor

Disclaimer: Hi everyone i know i posted one story and vanished but life got busy. I kinda through this one together but if people like it might make a part two. Enjoy :)

Mrs. Thompson stood at the front of her classroom, hands resting lightly on her enormous belly, a practiced habit she’d developed over the last few months. At eight and a half months pregnant, she looked ready to pop any day now. In truth, she’d started showing early, much earlier than anyone expected. By the end of her first trimester, her small frame had begun to round out, her baby bump impossible to hide from the students who whispered excitedly among themselves.

"Mrs. T is gonna have her baby any day now!" one of them had said during lunch last week. The class laughed, but Mrs. Thompson smiled politely, brushing off the comment. Little did they know how right they were.

As she continued her lesson, explaining the intricacies of Shakespeare's *Macbeth*, a sudden, sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She flinched but quickly disguised it as a cough. Her eyes darted toward the clock. It was only 10:15 AM. An hour had already passed, the day would be over in no time. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Thompson continued speaking, but her words came out more strained now. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ease the building pressure that was quickly becoming difficult to ignore. Another contraction rippled through her, stronger this time, and her free hand gripped the desk behind her.

"Are you okay, Mrs. T?" a student in the front row asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I’m fine, Jamie. Just a little...tired," she said, trying to smile through the discomfort. She wasn't about to admit that she was, in fact, having contractions. There was no way she was going to give birth in the middle of her classroom. Not in front of her students.

But her belly—round and large, the size of a beach ball under her flowing dress—was tightening again. She felt the unmistakable, rhythmic tightening, and she knew deep down that this wasn’t just some random Braxton Hicks. This was the real thing. Her baby was coming.

She glanced at the classroom door. She could make an excuse and leave. But then what? Her classroom was on the second floor, and the teachers’ lounge, where her phone sat, was all the way at the other end of the building. The idea of walking that far in her condition made her wince. Besides, if she suddenly bolted for the door, she’d draw attention. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene.

“Now, can anyone explain Lady Macbeth’s role in the murder of Duncan?” she asked, her voice tight as another contraction hit. She bent slightly at the waist, hoping the class wouldn’t notice. Her enormous belly was pulling her forward, making her feel heavy, slow, and increasingly uncomfortable.

A few students raised their hands, but Mrs. Thompson’s focus was rapidly dwindling. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she wiped it away quickly, trying to maintain her composure. The pressure in her belly grew more intense, and she couldn’t help but place both hands on her stomach, feeling the strong kick of her baby—who was apparently eager to make an entrance.

"Uh, okay, Melissa, go ahead," she said, pointing to one of the students, her voice wavering.

As Melissa rambled on about the play, Mrs. Thompson barely heard a word. She was too busy counting in her head, timing the contractions. Five minutes apart. Maybe a little less. She swallowed hard, determined to make it through the next hour until lunch.

The next contraction came hard, and Mrs. Thompson had to turn her back to the class, pretending to adjust something on the board. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the chalk tray for support. She was huge now, her belly straining against her dress, every movement reminding her of how close she was. Her students couldn’t know. They’d freak out, and she refused to be remembered as the teacher who went into labor during *Macbeth*.

But her body had other plans. She felt a deep pressure low in her abdomen, a sign she couldn’t ignore any longer. Time was running out.

She straightened up and turned back to the class, plastering on a smile she hoped looked convincing. “Class,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual, “I think I need to step out for a moment. You can work on your study guides for the next ten minutes.”

She barely waited for them to respond before making her way, carefully and slowly, to the door. The moment she stepped into the hallway, her face crumpled with relief. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Her water hadn’t broken yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. The contractions were relentless now, and her belly, huge and tight, seemed to be doing all the work of pushing her forward, one excruciating step at a time.

Each step was agony, and by the time she reached the teachers’ lounge, she was panting, her face pale and clammy. She managed to grab her phone, dialing her husband’s number with trembling hands.

“David, it’s happening,” she gasped, sinking into a chair as another contraction hit, “I tried to hide it, but…I think the baby’s coming now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before her husband replied, “I’m on my way. Hang in there.”

Mrs. Thompson hung up and sat back, rubbing her enormous belly. She glanced out the window, knowing she was about to meet the little one she had been carrying for so long. But first, she had to make it through labor—hopefully, without causing too much chaos in the school.

[lavenderstarsx]

The Drawing (Bill Denbrough)

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader

Summary: One day when you were in the library a drawing falls out of a book you were reading- and the drawing eerily looks exactly like you.

Word Count: 1.5k

——————-

You made your way slowly to The Derry Library. The fall weather was now in full effect and you couldn’t help the feeling of the slight chill you felt while you walked. You were looking for more interesting books at the library- currently you were reading ‘The Great Gatsby’ which you knew was a classic- but it was required reading so by that criteria it made it fairly boring. You opened up the door to the brick building and stepped inside. Almost no one was there. It was in fact a weekend so not a lot of people liked to spend their two free days in a dusty old building that probably had a rat infestation. You did see someone you recognized there. The boy you saw was Ben Hanscom. He had his head in a book. You barely knew Ben- the only reason why you even recognized him was because he sat with Bill Denbrough at lunch. Ben had just joined the little friend group that called themselves ‘The Losers Club.’ Bill was in many of your classes. You pretended not to notice him but- man was it hard to. Bill took up most of your thoughts. You memorized the way he laughed- even though it was rare and almost only came out when the Tozier boy whispered an inappropriate joke into his ear during a lesson. Your friends didn’t approve of Bill. They usually called him a ‘freak’ or ‘weirdo.’ You mostly ignored them because in your eyes, Bill was perfect. He was kind, caring, and respectful. Something that half the school wasn’t. Then you snapped back out of your thoughts. You headed towards the fantasy section. You read a lot of fantasy books now ever since you rewatched The Princess Bride a couple weeks ago. You looked through a ton of books but none of them seemed good enough for you. Then you saw one- it looked rather basic. The book had a huge red dragon on the front with a knight giving a cheesy smile next to it. You quickly read the blurb on the back before slightly opening it. A medium sized piece of paper comes gracefully falling from the book. You quickly look around before picking the paper up. You froze. The drawing looked exactly like you. It had your signature y/h/c colored hair. It was like looking into a mirror. The drawing wasn’t signed but it did look weirdly familiar.

“Do you need any help, dear?” An older librarian woman asks you. You practically jump out of your skin when she says this.

“No ma’m i’m fine.” You say gingerly. You try to hide your blush as you find a table to start reading on. You picked the table behind Ben. You thought it would have been too awkward or weird to sit right next to the boy. You could barely focus on your book, you kept finding yourself staring at the drawing of you. You were terrified but also mesmerized at the same time. You decided to leave the library not long after. You held the drawing and your book close to your chest. On your way out of the library you gave Ben a small smile before opening the door back into the chilly air. You walked back home, and when you got to your room you quickly put your new book down and flopped onto your mattress. You stared at the drawing for a while. The detail was so intricate that it got your exact eye color down too.

Finally it was the end of the day, you were now in your pajamas and you were now ~finally~ reading the book you had gotten from the library. You found yourself enjoying the book a lot more. You slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you had to get ready for school. You chose a pair of jeans and a navy blue long sleeved shirt. You quickly brush your hair before rushing out the door. You made sure to grab the new book that you had just gotten and stuff it into your backpack. The bike ride to school was nice. You thankfully didn’t run into anyone from The Bowers Gang and you made it easily to school. The drawing was still in the back of your mind.

“Hey y/n!” You hear your friend, f/n shout to you. You quickly lock up your bike and rush towards them. You smile at them. They start talking about their weekend- which was not truly THAT interesting but you still smile and nod your head. You were more of a listener type. You and your friend walked to class together. But that’s when you saw him. Bill was walking to the same class as you. He was walking with Stanley Uris. Bill then had decided to hold open the door for you and f/n. You tried to hide your blush as you say,

“Thanks Bill”

“No pro-b-le-m y/n.” Bill then gave you a smile which made your heart melt to the core. You and f/n quickly went to your seats. You sat exactly behind Bill. The teacher started teaching the class but it was terribly hard to focus. Bill Denbrough, had given YOU a smile. You couldn’t help but to smile yourself. Bill also didn’t seem to be focusing. He seemed to be writing something in his notebook instead, you narrow your eyes to see if you could read anything of it. You didn’t want to seem stalker-ish so you pretended to be looking at the chalk board. But that’s when you see what Bill was doing- he wasn’t writing he was drawing. Bill wasn’t doing much to hide what he was doing. He seemed to be drawing a girl. Suddenly you feel Bill’s eyes shift. You and him caught eachother’s eyes. Shit. Bill then turns a bright shade of red and hides the notebook away from you.

That was odd.

The class went by quickly. In your head you tried to connect the dots. And that’s when you realize- what if Bill was the one to draw that picture of you? He had to- the style of drawing looked exactly like the picture of you did. Why would Bill draw you?

Throughout the day, you found yourself distracted. The thought of Bill and his drawings lingered as you walked to your next class. You kept replaying the events of the morning in your mind. Bill’s drawing, and the drawing from the library looked all too familiar. It was too much of a coincidence. Right?

Finally it came time for lunch. You spotted Bill with his friends. They were all gathered together. You feel a pang of jealousy as you sit with at your own lunch table. You glanced at Bill. He seemed distracted in thought. You decided to gather your courage and decided to walk towards The Losers’ table. When you reached the table everyone went silent. They all gave you a weird look. Everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Hey uh- Bill can I talk to you- for just a quick second?” You say.

Bill gave you a surprised look before nodding a yes. You and Bill find a quiet place on the stairwell that led to the cafeteria. You tried to ignore the curious stares of all of Bill's friends.

“Wh-at is i-t y/n?” Bill asked.

You take a deep breathe before pulling the drawing from your backpack.

“I- i found this in a book at the library yesterday,” You held out the drawing to Bill. “Did you uh- well draw it? I saw you drawing in class today and it looks alike to this one.” Bill’s eyes widened as he studied the drawing.

“Ye-a-h I did.” Bill admitted- he did look very embarrassed. You felt weird. You felt every emotion possible and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“But why did you draw me?” You said the sentence quickly. Bill blushed.

"Be-because I… I like you," Bill replied, looking down. He was clearly embarrassed.

You froze as blood rushed to your cheeks. "You do?" you asked.

"Y-yes. And I, uh, have for a wh-while," Bill stuttered.

"I like you too, Bill," you revealed. You felt as though you were going to pass out, you were so happy.

Bills eyes widened again. He looked down meeting your gaze.

“Re-ally?” Bill questioned. A very small, shy smile formed on his lips.

You smiled, unable to control the large grin on your face.“Yeah, really.”

For a moment both of you stood there like time itself had stopped. Bill took a tiny step forward.

“So- u-h wh-at now?” Bill asked sheepishly.

You let out a small laugh trying to ease the tension,

“Do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?” You replied.

Bill’s smile grew,

“I w-ould li-ke that.”

[artofmyraid]

(Ha,ha edited the post and tags cause I accidently posted it early and there is no art yet!, it's not finished!)

One of the perks of being an artist, is that when ideas like this Ghost!siffrin au eat at your brain you can draw them!

Oh, and there are two of them now, one possessing their body and one who is just a ghost. (I had too many ideas for both, and i couldn't pick just one to focus on, lol.)

Under this read more, I shall give a huge info-dump on my two new blorbos~

So! Some facts about ghost siffrin who has possessed their dead human body. I dont have names to differentiate ghost siffrin and possessing their body siffrin, so this one will be possessed!siffrin for now, name pending??? this one is definitely aware he isn't human. They don't quite know their a ghost that died and possed their dead body, just that they definitely aren't a human! Their very desperate to pretend they are still human, so their more obsessed with appearing "normal." They get verrrry anxious when people point out their oddities, especially ones they can't fix (like how they just dont age, despite never using body craft, how young they look despite claiming to be an adult, and I dont just mean that their short, (in which their almost bonnies height) but that they look like a child, no older than a teenager. )

Fun fact, possessed!siffrin can barely taste food! Darn those dead taste buds! For that reason they tend to lean very heavily towards foods with a lot of taste, like more spice than the human body should be able to withstand, I think they'd even like certain foods near charred just so they can taste them.

Then the other one, that's ghost siffrin, and he has a VERY different experience than possessed!siffrin , for he doesn't know he is a ghost or inhuman.

So they mostly go through pre-canon normally, where everyone do notice some...oddities. like if you look too close at siffrins skin they seem almost transparent? Or how they almost seem to faintly glow at night... not to mention the weird dripping sounds... Isn't siffrin terrified of water?

Anyway, when the time loops start, that's where things get REALLY interesting. Cause Ghost siffrin has to deal with both the time loops and confronting the fact that their a ghost that died! All those weird oddities from before become harder to ignore, and the more siffrin notices them the more their human disguise falls apart.

In my opinion, the form of a ghost is all about their perception of themselves. If siffrin thinks he is human their human. But if siffrin thinks too much about being a ghost... things get weird.

...Like during one loops snack time, thinking too hard about being a ghost, they start to wonder where the food they've been eating goes and this time... the food falls right through them instead of being consumed.

Or during bad touch... well, they might just phase right through :)

Wow! This was long. If you read all this, you are a saint.

These two have eaten away at me, I love both changing the time loop events and changing pre-canon! There are so many more ideas that I haven't touched yet, I have so much for both of them. they're so different despite being based on the same concept

(The art will be finished soon, lol, my bad)

[fragmentedblade]

Can you expand more on Ratio's philosophical influences? You seem super knowledgeable!

I've been sitting on this for some time because I didn't know what prompted this message and thus I didn't know what to answer and how. I guess it may be the comment I wrote about him having a socratic but also a sophist air?

There are a lot of details in Ratio's overall design that point towards philosophical references. I want to draw attention to the fact that since this is a vague message on anon I don't really know what to focus on or what could I skip because it's information already known, so what I'm going to say is a very brief summary of many ideas, which of course makes such ideas but the shadow of an echo of themselves, so faint they almost become untrue. I fervently advise to look more deeply into any of this if something catches anyone's interest. And I also want to point out that the problem of knowing a little bit of something, even its existence, is that seeing turns to seeking, and an excess of seeing is also a blindness; what I mean by this is that I'm not sure how much of what I am going to say was intentional by the developers/writers and how much is just me suffering the blindness of seeing too much haha

However, I also want to clarify that I do think many of the things I’m going to say are present even if perhaps not intended by the writers/designers. This is due to the fact that Ratio’s main influence is platonism, and platonism is everywhere in western philosophy and in general western culture; once you see it you cannot unsee it. So perhaps I am reading too much or making correlations between things in his design that were not meant to be linked, giving a depth to the character that is probably incidental, but that I would say nonetheless exists because it pertains to a certain philosophical tradition in which the elements stem from each other. I hope this will become clearer in its development if it isn’t right now. 

Ratio has an Apollonian air. At first that and his mask made me wonder if he was going to be linked to the Mourning Actors, who alongside the Masked Fools for now remind me a lot of the Nietzschean Apollonian and Dyonisian dichotomy. This was conjecture on my side so I won't go on about this on this ask.

Ratio retains however the Apollo air. When I saw his splash art he reminded me instantly of the Belvedere Apollo, down to the strap under his chest like the sculpture has the quiver's strap. His sixth eidolon too recalls that sculpture, since it seems to be a mix of the pose in Michelangelo's David with the cloth in the Belvedere Apollo. Among other things, Apollo is a god linked to truth, medicine, archery and divination. The owl seems to be a reference to Athena, though. 

Ratio also has the laurel or bay branch on his head, which is one of Apollo's traits. Laurel on someone's head became linked to victory as well as academic and artistic merit (I know in Italy people still use it when graduating, for instance; I mean, that's where the word comes from). The fact that he has half of it is most likely due to an aesthetic choice, especially given how the character designs are pointedly asymmetric in this game; however, I think it works well with how, no matter how much he achieves and how hard he tries, Ratio is never gazed upon by Nous nor accepted by the Genius Society with the frustration, bitterness and questioning that brings both himself and others.

This last point, being ignored by something akin to a divinity, works also with his Apollonian air, I'd say. Given his Apollo look, his snake-like pupils made me think instantly of Delphi. Delphi was where a temple to Apollo was (linked to a mythological snake, and snakes thus became associated with Apollo in imagery), and it was famous for its prophecies. Socrates (the master of Plato and main figure in his dialogues) is said to have started the habit of questioning he is mostly famous for because a friend of his went to the temple in Delphi and was told by the Oracle that the wisest man in Athens was Socrates. Socrates was perplexed by this because he knew nothing, and started posing questions to supposedly erudite people about the matters about which they were experts, only to come out of that feeling unsatisfied with the answers. Thus, Socrates thought the Oracle may be right after all, but he was only the wisest man because he at least knew that he knew nothing. 

This works very well with Ratio because Socrates starts the journey by being distinguished among his peers, gazed upon, by a god (Apollo was supposed to possess the Pythia, or at the very least the prophetic power came from him), while Ratio never gets that recognition, and seems resigned to that already ("If this day I have not gained the recognition of Nous, it stands to reason that I never will at any point in the future" and "One day, I received a letter from the Interastral Peace Corporation (...). I could tell the solemnity of the invitation, so I excitedly passed it on to Mr. Ratio. Yet, he said nothing. I could sense his heavy silence even through the headgear. He then politely asked me to leave. The moment I closed the door, I heard a grim sigh followed by a self-deprecating laughter... Perhaps he realized he would never be accepted into the Genius Society..."). The mix of arrogance and humbleness, although enhanced in Ratio in a comical degree, is already somewhat present I would argue in the way Socrates talks in Plato's dialogues. Arrogance was also a trait Heraclitus, the author of the line cited in the name of his banner (“Panta rhei”), was famous to have.

So Ratio takes the position at the IPC. The Intelligentsia Guild is "often seen as a vendor of knowledge", and is looked down upon by the Genius Society. This is where I think the philosopher/sophist dichotomy comes in. Sophists were teachers, and were paid. They also were known to use rhetoric to convince (I would say there's a reference to this in one of Ratio's daily messages). In the political landscape of Athens, they were very useful for young men interested in politics. Some sophists became quite rich and famous. Usually philosophers, who didn't receive any money and did everything for the "love of knowledge" itself, looked down on them. At least in the texts of Plato that's often the case, although some sophists are portrayed under a better light even there; btw many of the things I've been saying come from Plato, but since this is an intricate subject on its own that isn’t directly pertinent to the ask I won't dwell on it right now.

Education in ancient Greece consisted of both intellectual and physical training. Intellectual education included music, poetry, mathematics, astronomy,... Physical fitness was held as something very important in a young man's curriculum as well. I think this is where the fanservicey choice of making Ratio so fit and pretty comes from. And I say “pretty” because beauty too is an important concept for Plato, and ancient Greece in general. It is also part of what linked the need of a young man to develop himself both intellectually and physically. Beauty is linked to harmony and order, both on an individual basis and cosmologically, often in some philosophical trends to a mathematical level; pythagoreanism has a lot of this.

Indeed I think pythagoreanism has to do somewhat with Ratio's design, considering his link to mathematics and geometry, and given his name ("Ratio" made me think of the golden ratio and in general pythagorean ratios even before it made me think of "reason" tbh), but in general the main philosophical reference in Ratio seems to be Plato, who was influenced greatly by pythagoreanism; this is one of the perhaps unintended indirect yet present links I mentioned at the beginning.

Platonism is very present in many ways in Ratio. It's noticeable even in his visual design, with how buff and handsome he is, arguably the references to Apollo and Athena, the geometry imagery, and even the sculptures he creates with his technique, but the influence is seen throughout his entire character, story, dialogue lines,... Part IV of Ratio’s character story, the way he talks with Roseth and what he says, has in my opinion an echo of platonic dialogues, as does his line “To spread knowledge, we must first make people realize their folly” recall Socrates. In the Trailblaze mission the main character had to argue for their innocence, which to me brought to mind the Apology of Socrates. On the other hand, the way this was done was very reminiscent of the socratic method, both in the discussion and counterargument mechanic of the game as, and especially so, in the use of memory. The main character had already the knowledge they seeked, yet they had forgotten about it, and had to retrieve it through memory guided by the intense questioning of Ratio; this, if applied to the research of a more essential knowledge instead of circumstantial, is the core of Socrates' maieutics. Maieutics is "midwifery". Socrates called by that word his method because he thought he was helping give birth to truths or knowledge that were already present in people's minds, if forgotten. It's what Ratio's skill, "intellectual midwifery", references. 

The fact that Socrates' method, the "intellectual midwifery" to put it in in HSR terms, works in platonic philosophy is because it is taken that there are eternal truths, something Ratio believes as well (“The beauty of truth is that it never changes, even when no one understands it. Well, that's true for me, at least”). This has to do with what is called the theory of Forms or the theory of Ideas. The world that we see is but the shadow of that other conceptual abstract world, of which we have but forgotten memories and that we can access only with the mind's eye. Our soul once saw/was part of that other world, which is why it can remember it. Plato was influenced by the pythagorean view of a sort of journey or reincarnation of the soul after dying, to put it some way. This is also extensive, it has to do with orphism, is at the core of a lot of philosophical and theological western traditions, and thus I will say only this, even though it feels very close-to-fake simplistic haha. To summarise, there’s the other abstract perfect world of which everything in this world participates from and is but the shadow of (everything beautiful participates on the Idea of Beauty, eternal and inextinguishable, but it’s never as perfect as that Idea, only but its echo). The idea that the world is but the shadow of the other world is present in Ratio's English line when he is ko-ed, "Mere flesh…" (in Chinese, though, if I’ve understood correctly he says “«Mediocre»… hah”, which is very different if still lore-heavy). This of course implies a strong ontological dualism. 

In this sense it is extremely interesting to me that Ratio’s banner is named “Panta rhei”, because Heraclitus is the epitome of the defender that all things were in constant change yet all things are One, the process of “becoming”, the constant struggle, at the core itself of reality (this too is harmony). He was pointedly monist, and is often contrasted to Parmenides, who spoke of eternal unchanging truths and beings. Both are cornerstones in the development of western philosophy and influenced Plato, but the choice calls my attention. In the Japanese wiki the line was linked/took to the buddhist concept of impermanence; while not necessarily related to that, this wiki suggestion made me wonder whether the choice of making “Panta rhei” the name of Ratio’s banner was done to further enhance another aspect of the many parallels between him and Ruan Mei, who also talks about life as something seemingly diverse and changing, hopes to obtain permanence, and talks about a something that transcends the multiple faces of life and that unifies them all (“Life is countless and varied in form. I firmly believe in that. Its beauty is like a myriad of flowers, and I want to pluck the one that never wilts”; “I wish to discover "the true essence of life," something that all individuals possess unknowingly, whether it is the materialism of their existence or an unknown entity beyond corporeal realms”; “The core of all existence is unity”). Even beyond that, in the context of everything else Ratio has going on, the mention of Heraclitus brings very intriguing food for thought to the table; yet I think this may be another instance of things that are, yet were most likely not meant by the writers.

Moving on, I’ll give a quick comment on the more explicit philosophical references we can find in Ratio’s traces, attacks and voicelines, and will dwell a bit only when I think they work well with the subjects and concepts I already commented Ratio plays with, otherwise this response will be eternal.

Summation (trace): in Chinese this is more clearly linked to the inductive reasoning, which in context it is obvious this is what this trace references; I don’t know why they chose to translate it this way. It is a method of reasoning that comes from the observation of particularities to generalisation, hence “summation”. It works well with Ratio causing more damage per debuff, and with the references to empiricism in Ratio’s attacks. The consequences in inductive reasoning are not truly ensured by the premises (the typical example is how you can’t ensure that all ravens are black by as many black ravens as you observe). 

Inference (trace): this baffled me because again it is more clear in Chinese that this is referencing deductive reasoning, but every language translates “inference”, whereas in the “deduction” trace the characters are exactly the same as the ones in the Chinese wiki for “inference”, but every language translates “deduction”. I don’t know what’s happening here, I wish I knew Chinese and found this less confusing, but at least both words are present in his traces. Deductive reasoning is the one that goes from premises to conclusion. It is heavily linked to logic and it doesn’t necessarily require empiric knowledge.

Deduction (trace): this is what is called “inference” apparently in Chinese (if someone knows about this I would love to know what is happening in Chinese in these two traces). Inferences are, well, the process of reaching conclusions. It can be either through deduction or induction (or abduction, some would argue, but that’s another can of worms).

Mind is might (basic attack): in latin this is “scientia potentia est”, and while at this point the line is very detached from its context, initially it was linked to Bacon and Hobbes. I honestly think this is just a very convenient name for an attack of a character following a philosophy/sciences/knowledge thematic.

Intellectual midwifery (skill): Socrates, and platonism. I talked about this before.

Syllogistic paradox (ultimate): Syllogistic paradoxes were one of my favourite things when I was studying. Syllogisms are a form of logic reasoning, which consist of two premises and one conclusion. Though the premises may be true, and though the reasoning may be sensible, at times contradictory or illogical conclusions may be reached. This is a syllogistic paradox. Why this happens is because of a myriad of reasons, like the differences between natural and logical language, or the development of theories (the paradoxes in set theory are among my favourite things ever). I personally like to draw a strong distinction between paradoxes and contradictions. Anyway, I have a lot to say about this haha In general, this is what the name of the ultimate is referencing. It works well with Ratio’s traces. It also goes well with some of the other subjects present in his characterisation, like platonism, Descartes and such; there are a lot of paradoxes that arise from many of the theories that play with such topics. I think reading Alice in Wonderland’s apparent madness through the lenses of logic makes us see that most of those incongruences are actually pretty logical; many of them iirc are syllogistic paradoxes. Carroll was a logician. I mention this because this, as well as many other ideas present in Ratio, work extremely well with Penacony.

Cogito, ergo sum (talent): this is a line by Descartes, a rationalist. This too is something that fits Penacony incredibly well. Descartes starts doubting knowledge, ends up questioning pretty much everything, establishes inspired by mathematics and logic a method of acquiring the truth, and in the research of true knowledge he starts doubting everything with a methodical doubt to be able to tell what knowledge stands after being hit by doubt, and why, and try to reconstruct knowledge from there. Ratio’s lines about “seeking answers with a negative hypothesis in mind”, “When one is immersed in academic research, scepticism comes more naturally than belief” or “Pursuit tinged with negativity is still pursuit, and it is capable of leading us to the right conclusion” reminded me of Descartes’ method. One of the steps in the process is doubting one’s own existence, but since I (pardon the “I”, but the first person is very important in Descartes) doubt, then I think, and since I think, then I exist; cogito, ergo sum. This is closely related to platonism in some senses, and while Descartes’ philosophy comes in part from a criticism of scholasticism, it still has ties to it, but Descartes was a massive breakthrough in the history of Philosophy. I also won't dwell on this, but this is fascinating imo haha 

Anyway, Descartes’ doubt about the existence of reality, of the world, is heavily linked to dreams, because in dreams we believe things are real but are not, so equally we could be at every moment in a dream and not be aware of that; only the existence of oneself is clear of this doubt (Zhuangzi’s text about the butterfly plays with this too; I comment this because butterflies have appeared in Penacony and the Zhuangzi’s text seems to play in an interesting way with the concept of “I”, taking it a different route than Descartes, which is a very intriguing idea but I don’t know much of Chinese philosophy at all). The concept of simulated realities, Matrix-like settings and such, all are strongly linked to this conception of Descartes, even though similar things existed previously (such as Plato’s allegory of the cave), and this works very well with Penacony again. Obviously, Descartes’ theory is strongly dualist, and it’s even established a body-mind dualism. The idea of the ghost in the shell also comes in great part from Descartes. Descartes’ view of the body was not too unlike that of a machine. 

This was in a time in which clockwork and automatons were quickly advancing and fascinating people. Physic theories started to look (even more) like clockwork, with the universe as clockwork and god as a watchmaker that put it into place and then let it run its perfect course, needing or not (depending on the theory) adjustments from the watchmaker from time to time. I said before that harmony was linked to both the cosmos and the body, with the body in part being a reflection of the cosmos, and even linked to it by the harmony of the spheres. This new way of approaching the cosmological and human issues and developing Physics still has echoes of that. Newton, who is referenced in one of Ratio’s idle animations, is one of the epitomes of this concept of the universe as clockwork. Again, I don’t know how much they’ll do with these ideas nor even if they were written on purpose, but it all works so well with Penacony it would be a pity if they did nothing with this.

Another thing I want to note about Descartes is that besides mentally detaching himself from everything while doubting in his deconstruction and construction of knowledge, seeking undoubtable truths, he famously did so physically as well for some time when he first started thinking about the matters in his Discourse on the Method one night: “having no diverting company and fortunately also no cares or emotional turmoil to trouble me”, while he “spent the whole day shut up in a small room heated by a stove, in which I could converse with my own thoughts at leisure”. This reminded me a lot of Ratio’s head and how he uses it: “with the headpiece on, isolated from my five senses, i can think without interference”, “he put on a headgear to keep away all external distractions and completely focus on thinking? Who else in the world could manage that?”.

Mold of idolatry (technique): this links mainly again to the theory of Forms of Plato, with that representation of something else that is what is real. The name of the technique and what it does works well also with the idea of idolatry, especially of idolatry of false gods, idols or even falsehood in general, and how Ratio criticises people’s blind infatuation with geniuses. It also reminds me of Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols, or, How to Philosophise with a Hammer. Among other things, Nietzsche heavily criticises platonism and platonic philosophy, and mostly all western philosophers (he has kind words for Heraclitus, for instance). 

Wiseman’s folly (ultimate’s effect): the idea that knowledge or beholding the truth brings to something similar to madness or ends up leading to foolishness is a very common one. Many of the Ancient Greece philosophers were said to have been extravagant. Diogenes the Cynic and Heraclitus were two such examples. Democritus was said to have plucked out his own eyes. Empedocles is said to have killed himself in a volcano. There’s Nietzsche, Georg Cantor, Kurt Gödel. It is the idea of the wise ending up being very much like the fool, but also the idea of the wise ending up losing sight of basic truths I believe, in that alienation from the world.

Know thyself (eidolon): this is what was inscribed in the temple of Apollo in Delphi I spoke of before. This is linked to Heraclitus, Socrates, Plato and platonism, of course. I think when it comes to Ratio that’s it, really. But this maxime has had a lot of implications and interpretations in different contexts and at different times. It could be seen as just a salutation, recommending temperance, the idea of knowing oneself and one’s limitations as key to succeed when approaching subjects or problems, the first step of getting to know anything at all, humans and the world being closely linked and even reflection of god so studying one helps studying the other, etc.

Vincit Omnia Veritas (eidolon): the translator says this means “eternal truth” in Chinese, which would play way better with the philosophical ideas and concepts present in Ratio while still playing with his name, “Veritas”. I won’t dwell on this because I’ve already talked about the link between eternal truths and Ratio a lot, and besides I can’t even confirm this is the true meaning because I don’t know Chinese.

Eidolon “The divine is in the details” seems to be a reference to a Chinese idiom that comes from a book. I don’t know if it has greater significance, but if anyone knows I am all ears. The other eidolons obviously work with Ratio, but I don’t see obvious philosophical influences so I’m skipping them.

Esse est percipi (ultimate line): “To be is to be perceived”. This is a line by Berkeley and linked to his philosophy. He criticises both dualism and materialism. The core idea is that the world’s existence is entirely dependent on the mind, that things don’t exist unless they are perceived and thought. His justification for one’s own existence seems to come from this perception, as Descartes’ came from thinking: “I do nevertheless know that I, who am a spirit or thinking substance, exist as certainly as I know my ideas exist”. Parmenides has a similar idea in his poem. I don’t think this was intended to be read too much into when it comes to Ratio, but I think it fits nicely with the other topics he has going on, and the dichotomy they often entail. It also works well with Ratio’s plaster head, with how he says “I don't have to set eyes on stupid people. Of course, they don't want to see me either”, with how he uses it to go unnoticed or unrecognised in both Herta’s Space Station and Penacony, and I think it could be overread or taken to more exaggerated levels in a juicy manner reading this under the notion of nothingness, mediocrity and being disregarded by Nous. 

One of the listed researched achievements of Ratio is in the field of epistemology. Epistemology is the field that studies knowledge. Although studied in particular at times, it is of course often linked to ontological conceptions; all the philosophical theories I’ve stated carry with them epistemological implications as well as ontological. In one of Ratio’s character stories there’s a mention to epistemic logic which is, speaking broadly, a logical approach to the analysis of knowledge. 

Another one of his listed achievements is in natural theology, which is the study of god through reason and logic instead of things such as transcendental experiences or revelations. This is very common in philosophy in general. It often has to do as well with the world as a harmonious whole, god as watchmaker/the universe as clockwork, and teleology. I will mention Newton and Darwin here because Newton is referenced in Ratio’s idle animation, and Darwin because he broke up with the teleological tradition when it came to the world. Ratio’s work is named Aeons: A Natural Phenomenon, and the title and its description, how its “Aeon non-theism”, makes it seem to me like he wrote of Aeons as if they were just another form of life or something that pertains to nature itself and not detached from it, which although very different from Darwin’s ideas did remind me of how he dismissed teleology in nature. This also clearly links, in my opinion, to Ruan Mei.

Other than that I also want to note Ratio’s final speech to Screwllum about inspiring doubt and scepticism when it comes to established ideas and geniuses. It reminded me of Socrates, how he was said to have “perverted” youth inspiring all that questioning among other things. It reminded me of Nietzsche, how he fervently encouraged individuals to use critical thinking, question dogmas and preconceived ideas they could have, and come up with their own conclusions that does not mean necessarily negating absolutely everything they held true before the questioning (this exchange between Screwllum and Ratio: “Screwllum:  «You wish to uproot the researchers' blind worship of geniuses».  Dr. Ratio: «I am only laying out my questions».”). It also pointedly reminded me of Kant's “Sapere aude!”, “Dare to know!”,  and his text What Is Enlightenment?, in which among other things Kant talks about the lack of courage, not of intellect, of people to think for themselves, how humanity lives in a constant immaturity or adolescence of the mind, and urges them to get out of that state, to dare to know. Kant was greatly influenced by rationalism but said to have awaken from the rationalist slumber thanks to empiricism; the plays on rationalism and empiricism, deduction and induction, and the presence of idealism in the rest of Ratio’s writing as well as this fervent push for people to snap out of their lack of criticism and dare to think for themselves are what made me think of Kant here.

There’s more things to talk about Ratio, like his view on mediocrity and geniuses, and how that view is constructed and described in traces through fragments in his lore, the character stories, snippets of conversations; how he seems to be so similar in character and drive to geniuses, but never accepted as one, and how he is regarded as very different and eccentric by “normal” people, even in the Guild. In short, how he is detached from both the “normal” people and geniuses, like suspended between both states without being either completely, and how it makes so much sense in this context that he tries to breach the rift between both. I couldn’t help but mention this, to avoid forgetting this aspect of his characterisation in the future, but I won’t dwell on this because it isn’t really directly linked to any philosophical influence that I can think of.

I think this is it. Hopefully I didn’t forget anything important. And I’m sorry it is so long, but I really tried to summarise. As I said, I may well be reading too much into some of these things, but I also think that since Ratio plays with many of the core authors and concepts in the history of western philosophy, some things I expect were not intended by the writers still are present somewhat, because mentioning this or that thing alongside this or that other thing ends up having implications if you know a bit of the context. 

I hope this was clear enough. However, I can try to explain myself better or further if I wasn’t. Philosophy may look unapproachable and dry at times at first, but it really isn't, it just needs one to get accustomed to some basic terminology, and it becomes fascinating and beautiful, and lifechanging haha. I would love it if Ratio is making people get a little bit more invested or interested in it, or open to explore it. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy is a good place to check the main ideas, texts and authors that may spike someone’s interest if anyone wants to read further about anything I've said or compare sources, but tbh I think even Wikipedia can be useful with getting a first feel of some basic ideas to know what to look for.  And although I am not an authority or the most trustworthy source at all, I will help as best as I can if someone reading this has any further question. I recommend reading the texts firsthand though, with historical context in mind and footnotes perhaps if possible, and making one's own mind about everything.

[danddymaro]

Muse | Revenant x Reader

Where the artistic reader observes him.

Word count: 974

Muse

Your hand slowly hovers over the overworked sheet of your most recent sketchbook, careful not to accidentally brush down the second page and smudge anything, having learned from prior mistakes.

You have A pencil in hand as you create feather-light lines over the once-white sheet, careful not to make any mistakes, though they eventually happen.

However, with every mistake you turn the writing utensil, the eraser gently dabbing the spot before you gently blow over it, little shavings flying off with the gust landing anywhere else on the ship.

Your technique is almost memorizing as You treated the piece delicately, like a new life to this world, needing all of the tenderness of the world.

Every stroke is tender, accented by that look in your eye that's entirely too soft, too devoted, and far too precious.

-It's all the mechanical competitor can describe you as, truth behind every word despite the smoking tone he might persist in using when voicing the observation.

If only you knew how many of his teasing jabs were true praises

Soon, you look satisfied as you look down at your work, the overall expression one that's pleased after so much time has progressed.

The Travel to the new location had lasted half an hour, and you hadn't seemed to think it was too long, holding no complaints unlike some of the other legends who spoke among themselves about the new map. 

Friendly chatter existed for good reason as you were all there to become familiar with the area, and nothing more, but you hadn't seemed to partake in any of it, offering nothing but a simple nod here and there when addressed.

-And Revenant was sure you were hardly paying attention each time. 

That's how preoccupied you'd been.

He relished that focus of yours because the more the simulacrum trained his gaze on your eyes, the more he was enthralled by the charming way they glimmer.

Slowly, he shifted, and he noted his little move made your lips pout.

You seemed a tad bit annoyed, lightly tilting your head to look back at him from a diffrent angle, something that had made Revenant feel wary the first time he'd caught you.

He wasn't one to trust anyone, but soon after, he hardly considered it anything to be cautious of when he studied you more.

Especially when he realized you had tended to draw him, and only him.

You found him a frequent muse for whatever reason he didn't care to ask. After the discovery, he chose not to prod with questions, especially when he'd learned that all it took to make you frown was a slight shift in his position.

So he benefitted from it too...

"Heh..." A faint huff leaves him as he sees you try and find new focus with his movement.

He can't help but notice everything about your little expressions.

It's both fascinating and annoying at the same time.

 Fascinating, as such simple actions can affect your mood, and irksome how he noticed the shifts and their meanings like no one else could.

He'll admit your little frowns are ...cute. 

 And of course, The fact that the thing you are so invested in is him is flattering too.

-really.

He watches you with his stern gaze, observing every movement, just as you do his.

And during all that time, he can't help but wonder what is happening inside your head while you recreate his image.

A slight crack in his usually stoic steel is made apparent when he realizes just how much he reveres you, especially during these moments when you do nothing to try and impress him.

You do nothing but exist, and he's caught in suspense.

 He feels something he didn't think he was capable of, and it makes him uncomfortable, enough to cower.

He looks away before you can see the tiny flicker in his yellow eyes, an indicator of his interest, of something far beyond dismissiveness or even repugnance that he should feel. 

He tries to ignore it. 

He wants to ignore it but as time progresses he feels mortified by it.

 He crosses his arms over his chest as he tries to calm down, but he still can't help stealing glances at you and the piece you're creating -which is near completion. 

He feels something when he looks at your finished art piece... because he likes it.

You have a way of making him look beautiful.

You're bold as you look over to him again, this time offering him a soft smile, holding just a bit of appreciation as, by this point, he'd have to know what you've been doing.

-And has done nothing to discourage you.

Not even a snarl was thrown your way.

-And how could he?

He's noticed that you seem more interested in him lately. 

The way you watch him, the way you draw him so devoutly. 

The way your eyes glint whenever he walks past, keen on every one of his limbs as though you tried to understand their mechanics; trying to figure him out both inside and out. 

The way you smile whenever you look at him, whether you think he's looking or not. 

His crossed arms tighten and he finally averts his gaze, trying to look away. 

'Ugh,'

You make it hard for him not to like you, and it's conflicting. 

He's not supposed to feel anything, but these damned feelings of fondness keep creeping up on him, each time stronger as they reemerge.

 He's supposed to be a cold, emotionless, heartless killing machine. 

That, was his reputation, not whatever he was now, what he is in your presence.

A tired sigh leaves him as he looks away, muttering dejectedly, "Stupid skinsuit," 

He only hopes the ride doesn't last any longer because he doesn't know how much more he can take this.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 20: A measurement of the future

A Megnitude is a unit of measurement of my own inner bullshit.

It’s really that simple.

It’s a Meghan thing. If you’re not a Meghan, you might not get it.

You can always change your name, of course. I did it!

In fact, I recommend it.

OK, so. I may be a dragon, but I’m also a trans girl. And we trans girls have a long and storied tradition of turning our own names into puns. We also have a common habit of looking in mirrors a lot and taking a whole bunch of selfies. It’s an understandable thing if you’ve had a lot of trauma over how you look – thank you, dysphoria – and especially if you’re in the process of healing from that. It’s actually healthy. Also, we end up having to draw a lot of boundaries, usually (though I’ve been kind of spared from that myself). And this tends to give us the reputation of being full of ourselves. At least, it’s a common criticism.

But, honestly, have you seen cis people? Holy shit, humans are so obsessed with how they look and how they’re perceived. And they criticize each other for it all the time, while dressing themselves up and grooming themselves carefully to be seen for what they feel they are. And trans people really aren’t the only ones posting selfies.

As a dragon, though, I’m definitely full of myself.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I was raised by humans, or if it’s my instincts, or if it’s because my instincts are derived from how humans have shaped dragons through the ages. But my status in this world is utterly dependent on who respects and supports me, and if that status falls I run the risk of being killed. Either attacked by another dragon, or mobbed by angry and hateful humans. Or starving due to lack of support and access to food.

If I don’t step forward and fill the shoes I’ve been given, I’m in trouble. And I could always feel that, throughout my whole life. I was, for the longest time, on the verge of death because I couldn’t fill the ones laid before me.

So, when one morning those shoes were covered in scales and tipped with talons, and they finally fit, you bet I stepped forward and called myself “queen”. I literally felt like one.

As I’ve pointed out before, I’m not actually a queen. But I think people have embraced the title and leaned into it because it’s part of the games of Supporting Your Local Trans Woman and of Taking Pride In Your Dragon. 

Wentin, on the other hand, probably kept bringing it up because it knows how to push the buttons of its victims.

But, very similarly to a drag queen, as a dragon I am a symbol of royalty, of what it maybe could or should be. Maybe a parody of it, but one to be taken seriously in a way when within my domain. Not that I rule anybody, but that I represent the reason why everyone in my territory is there and part of it.

And looking back, I can kind of see how it all played out that way, too.

My audacity to speak up first, to scream the loudest in the mornings, to speak to the press and the Mayor publicly, to write letters to all of the local politicians and to the people through the news media, it all got attention.

Similar to how all the rest of us focused on Säure as a symbol of what’s wrong in our world, I became the center of his focus.

And like how he was just the latest in a long line of stewards of his family’s wealth and power, and how that estate will continue long after his death, I’m just the loudest voice of my neighborhood.

Also, finally, the mistake that Säure made was that he ostracized his own support network while he focused on me, ignoring all the work that my friends were doing.

So if we’re going to celebrate his absence, and we can certainly do that, we must do two things in the process of that:

Remember that he wasn’t the problem, just a tiny part of it. And so be ready to lay the groundwork for the next battle.

Don’t congratulate me. Congratulate yourselves. You took him down. I was just there sticking my tongue out at him while you did it.

And, I don’t have any idea of what our future is going to be. This whole planet is on the precipice of so much disastrous change. And with the advent of us dragons, it’s only going to get weirder. Especially when mating season arrives.

Oh, and if anybody is wondering why the law hasn’t stepped in to straighten things out, and why I haven’t had a big showdown with the police or the military, consider this. It’s been less than two months. And the whole world is dealing with this. Fairport’s kind of a small corner of all that’s going on, and Säure’s downfall happened so fast.

Already elsewhere in the world, dragons are both being attacked by their local militaries and courted by them. But only the most high profile or the most vulnerable of dragons yet. That kind of action will come around here eventually, and maybe soon, but with the work of our Artists and what was going on with Rhoda, the local forces were overwhelmed, I’m sure.

And maybe everyone’s still waiting for the national election to decide things more seriously.

So.

In the meantime.

While we still have the time to say such things.

Those of you living here who stepped up and became part of what we were doing, thank you. Thank you, with all my heart and my gizzard, for becoming, however briefly, my family. Thank you for saving me.

Love,

Meg

—

I guess it’s a Sunday morning. Barely, still.

I know I decided to provoke Säure on a Saturday, one day ahead of my public plans. And that that would mean that the following day would be Sunday. Today, in theory. But somewhere in there I lost track of the days, and I almost don’t care anymore.

I don’t think I know the date, just that we’re still in October. Presumably.

I could look at a computer, tablet, or phone or something to find out.

Instead, I’m licking the air above my tea in Rhoda’s living room, filling the silence between her vocalizations with long slow blinks.

I’ve never described her apartment, but now that I guess I live here I might as well.

The layout is identical to what used to be my apartment. It’s sort of a C shape. You walk in the front door and after the short entry vestibule you’ll find yourself passing through the kitchen. To your right will be the sink and dishwasher, framed by the oven and the fridge. To your immediate left will be the door to the bathroom. It doesn’t take very many steps to go from there to the living room, which extends to your left. It doubles as a dining room if you put a table and chairs in half of it. The outside wall, opposite the door, has four windows. Then, if you turn left and walk the length of the room, you’ll find the door to the bedroom, and if you turn to go in there you’ll have turned 180 degrees from entering the apartment. The bedroom’s kind of small. There’s a closet tucked in between the bathroom space and the building’s hallway. To get to the bathroom from the bedroom, you have to walk back through the living room and the kitchen, but it’s not so far that you’ll pee before you get there.

But any apartment in the building will be exactly like that. I don’t think they even mirror them. So, the doors aren’t across from each other in the hallway, you have to go up or down the hallway a little to get to any neighbor.

But what makes it Rhoda’s is what she’s put into it, of course.

Her favorite colors seem to be shades of burgundy, various hues of green, and bone, with accents of gold or brass. And I can’t overemphasize the importance of green and bone in her life. She’s managed to find textiles with patterns of these colors and decorated both floor and wall spaces with them. And then, between woven wall hangings, she has photos of her child, Jacob, and of places that seem important. I know that some of them are places that they’d visited together, and others were related to where her family had grown up. And most of them are black and white, but not all. Those with color are intensely green. And every photo that’s hanging looks like it was taken by a professional photographer preparing for a gallery opening in New York, I imagine.

Very artsy.

She’s the photographer.

In the livingroom, there are the low bookshelves with books I think I should read, topped with ceramics and carved wooden things. Everything there was either found in a thrift store, garage sale, or a free bin. She’s spent quite a long time collecting it all. None of it came from her parents, I’m told. She’s as proud of it as I am of my junk, only she has reason to be.

And interspersed between all of that is her crochet supplies and projects.

The central piece of her living room is her coffee table which, as I’ve described before, is full of magazine clippings of animals from all over the world. Many of them are pretty standard fare for zoos and children’s books, gorgeous creatures that everyone is familiar with. But the rest of them are really exotic and strange, the types of creatures you learned about as a kid but then grew to believe couldn’t be real. Or the bizarre monsters from the deep that you didn’t learn about until just yesterday on your favorite social media or something.

I love that table so much.

What little furniture she has is eclectic and from different eras of design, but still managing to fit her themes of color.

And when I lick the air to enjoy my tea, I also pick up the volatile compounds from all over the rest of her apartment, and her sweat, of course, no matter how much she tries to hide it with soaps, deodorants and perfumes. My tongue is just that sensitive. It's also my favorite scent. Something natural.

The strongest smells, though, are the spices from her kitchen, the wax of the few candles she owns and uses, and her favorite perfume, which is reasonably floral but also a little herby and spicy.

I’ve never been a fan of perfumes of any sort, and hers still stings my tongue now. But I’m developing a sense of comfort in it anyway.

I really like the teas she has, as I’ve been rotating through them, because they’re all strong enough to couch my tongue in their esters and tannins and carry me mentally to various realms of vegetation and imagination.

Anyway, I don’t really see much of her bedroom. It’s her lair, not mine. I get to enjoy my spot in her living space, and sleep on my rug near the door, and that suits me just fine. I’d never fit on her bed with her in it, even as small as I am for a dragon. 

And I can’t sleep in my human disguise. I tried it once, and woke up in full dracoform. It really is like holding a muscle tight. I can’t help but relax it when I lose consciousness.

I can start sleeping on the roof again, though, with Säure gone. But I’m probably going to save that for the warmer months, unless Rhoda needs me to give her more space.

It doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen, though, because right now she’s talking about eventually moving and asking me if there’s any way I could move with her. By which, I mean she wants me around wherever she goes, apparently.

“I love the community here. I really do. And if I do move, I’m going to really miss the coffee shop. Maybe more than I’m willing to admit. But, Meghan, I still always feel like an outsider here,” she says. “I need… more diversity. I can’t put it any other way. I need more people who are like me, and I need more different kinds who aren’t. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” I say, because I’m pretty sure I know what she’s saying. Not because I feel remotely the same. I don’t need to. This makes sense to me.

My people, dragons, are extraordinarily diverse. But, before we knew we were a people, I was living amongst so, so many human beings who looked like me, and I was as lonely as anyone can get. However, very, very few of the people in this town are like Rhoda. It’s gotta suck.

The whole Pacific Northwest is notoriously bad for this. But, within this region, even moving down to Seattle would give us a wider range of people to meet and interact with, if we can get past that Seattle freeze thing.

That’s the other problem with this area. It takes a long, long, long time and some sort of secret password to get past friendly acquaintance to make a close friendship around here. Or, even to simply be considered a local. Some people were born here and have never been able to achieve it.

“I know that moving’s a really fraught topic for you dragons, of course,” she continues. “You’ve got your territories, and your humans, and your own politics. But, do you think you could look into it for me? Explore the idea?”

I tilt my head in question.

“You know I’m not moving without you,” she says. “Consider that a given.”

I pull my head up a little higher.

“Don’t give me that,” she says. “Meghan, I’ve adopted you. I’ve thought long and hard about this. I’ve had my moments. And I want you to really understand this. I’m not your prize. I’m not something you’ve just won by surviving whatever’s just happened. I found you. You’re part of my hoard. And I guess I like taking care of you, when you’re not galavanting around doing dragon shit all day, and I don’t want to stop doing things that I like. We should all get to do things we like.”

I very carefully smile at her instead of doing anything else, to make sure she knows I’m acknowledging her.

“And, also, about the immortal thing,” she says, taking an even more stern tone. “I’m going to tell you that I hear you. And I accept you. Even if you turn out to be some monstrously long lived thing of narrative spirit or something. Even if you see the end of the universe as you said. I think I’m even ready to accept that. Because, right now, you’re just you, and I get to know you as you currently are. And that’s what matters to me. But also, maybe because it gives me something that I find I can’t let go of.”

She stops. She doesn’t explain that. There’s a little bit of a tear in her eye, but she doesn’t wipe it. She lets it sit, and then nods.

“We’ve got to get you another tablet or something. I like talking, but I like hearing your voice, too,” she tells me. Then she leans over to fish her phone out of her purse, which she then turns on and puts down on the table, pushing it toward me. “Use that. You get to tell me anything you need to, you know. Tell me I’m full of shit with this move thing, if you have to. Though I might well argue with you about it if you do.”

I pull myself into my princess disguise to pick up the phone and open the AAC app, saying with my syrinx, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Sweetheart,” she says.

Then I type out what I can, “I don’t feel like talking. I am enjoying my silence. Talking is work. I’m Tired.”

“Yeah, OK,” she says. “After yesterday, you get to be tired. We all do.”

We sit and enjoy each other’s company for a while, like we’ve gotten used to, and it’s good.

Then I say, “My family is in Seattle. I want to visit them. It might go bad.”

She nods, and says, “I’d go with you if I could. But don’t let me hold you back, if flying down there’s easier.”

I smile. Then I decide to offer her another thought, thumbs tapping the screen rapidly, “I think if I move, it will have to be out in the country, away from any cities. On the edge of any territories.”

I try to do that thing where humans move their mouth sideways and attempt to look sardonic, or wry, or conciliatory. Like a visual, “I’m sorry, but I also understand.” 

She reacts like I got it right.

“Let’s survive the next few months and give it some years,” she says, waving her hand. “I’ve still got lots of bacon cinnamon rolls to eat downstairs, anyway.”

I frown in my way, which means I open my little human mouth a little, and type, “You helped me so much. I wouldn’t be the me I am now without you. Moving will help you. What else?”

“Friendship isn’t an exchange or trade, Meghan,” she says.

“What else?” I repeat.

“Well, OK, you’re holding it,” Rhoda leans forward a little and points at her phone. Then she jerks her head up and says, “Exit out of that app and click on Docs. Open the first file and read it.”

I do as she says, and while I do she continues talking a little.

“I can’t remember if I told you I was writing this. But I’ll repeat myself anyway.” She points at the phone some more, poking her finger at the air. “You really are the only person I know who can help me edit it. At least before I send it to a publisher or something. Either way, I need you to read it. Please.”

After another moment’s pause she speaks again.

“I told you that you had a lot in common. I don’t think I’ve said just how much. Maybe I was embarrassed or something. Maybe in denial.”

—

Jacob

Preface

I will never be done grieving, but it’s been too long and I am more than ready to start celebrating my child’s life again. I invite you to do it with me.

Let’s let him live in these pages and our hearts!

On August 24th of this year (2024), something strange happened to us all that I think he would have just loved. Three days later, it was his 26th birthday. And on that day, I decided to give my best friend a present in his name, though I didn’t tell her that at the time.

It was a small, cheap gift, one that cost me only a couple dollars for an app. It was the ability to talk. And I think that may have changed everything for her. Just like it did for Jacob and me when he finally put his own words together.

Talking isn’t the most important thing a person can ever do. There’s lots of other ways to communicate, too, of course. But so much of what we do in the world with each other is use words.

So when someone doesn’t talk when you expect them to, it can be profound. It can, sometimes, shake you to your core.

When your child doesn’t start talking at least by the age of two, you know something is going on. When the silence goes on to three and four years old, you start looking for reasons and maybe you start thinking you should have looked earlier.

But with Jacob, I had a way of talking without our voices a lot of the time, and that felt special. He taught me how, honestly, by reaching for what he wanted.

Once I realized that that was all I was going to get out of him for a while, I would see if he wanted anything by holding up various objects or foods to see his reaction. And if he ignored me, I knew he didn’t care for it. But if he looked at it and reached for it, it was his to have. And he did reach for me, too. At least I had that.

Over time, and fairly quickly, we developed a lot of ways of communicating non-verbally. Some of them were just like how most people do with their families, and others were unique between the two of us. But I’ll get into that in the rest of the book.

Maybe to the point that I’m getting to, I  also knew he could hear me, because I started reading and talking to him as soon as he was born. And even though most of the time he didn’t show the kind of outward interest that most children are said to show, he still would react to my voice sometimes. And when he started walking, he’d actually mind me, especially if I explained why I wanted him to do things or avoid other things.

I didn’t have nearly as much help as I should have, especially since I wouldn’t let his sperm donor into his life, or mine. And that is all I will mention about that man in this book, or ever. But without that help, I also didn’t have a lot of voices telling me what I should or shouldn’t do to parent him, and I went with what seemed to work for him. And I went with love.

I think that is so important. And he did show love back, in his own way.

That I was able to do this still amazes me, though. I had good friends at the time, who watched him too, and let me lead in parenting him, and I’m sure that’s what saved us both.

People really need their friends.

In any case, here is the part that I think is relevant to so many people now.

His favorite book right from the getgo was Everyone Knows What a Dragon Looks Like by Jay Williams and Mercer Meyer. So I read that to him every day. In the first days I was reading it to him it was really beyond his comprehension, but I loved the artwork so much that I just had to show it to him anyway. But I think he got it pretty quick.

And then, when we started going to the library together, he’d drag me over to the section where all the dragon books were and pick out a new one for me to read to him over and over again while we had it checked out. This was during that time when dragon books were all the rage and coming out in droves. It was the best timing.

And if this seems like a coincidence to anybody, I assure you it’s not. It is, absolutely, one of the reasons I was drawn to my best friend. When she spoke in the coffee shop about dragons, which she did whenever anyone mentioned them for some reason within earshot (and you really wouldn’t be surprised how often that happens in a college town coffee shop), it always reminded me of Jacob. When she was able to talk like that, she had the same manner as he did.

Because, I did, one day, finally get to hear Jacob’s first words.

You know, when you start hearing about autism, you start hearing stories like this, and you might think, “Oh, no. That’s too fantastic to be true.” Or, “None of the autistic children I’ve known have been like that.” But autistic people are all so different. Each one is such a unique treasure, with their own unique joys and challenges. And occasionally, one of them is just like one of the stereotypes or fairy tales.

Jacob was hyperlexic. By age six he was insisting on reading all of his own books, silently at the table, back straight, flipping the pages himself, when most children are still struggling to learn to read in first and second grade.

And, of course, I let him, because I was proud of him and it gave me time to get other things done.

Then, one day, without looking up from his book he said, in a bit of a clipped carefully pronounced monotone, “Mama. Did you know that some people used to worship dragons. They made friends with them. And fed them food. And the dragons protected them and kept them safe.”

He didn’t know how to inflect a question to make it sound like one, but I was shocked. 

Of course, I knew the first words out of his mouth would be about dragons, if he ever spoke. Dragons were his passion. His first special interest, as the doctors would say much too late in his life. But I was not prepared for full sentences.

I think I was too floored and thrilled that my child was so articulate that I didn’t realize just what he was saying, even when he said the next thing.

And then he looked right at me.

But not in the eyes.

And said, “You feed me, so I will protect you.”

[navree]

I saw your post and got super worried because I assumed it was the artist I've loved since they started here on tumblr. So, I went on the dreaded 🐦 app and low & behold, stan culture ruins things once again! Kinda glad I wasn't around during the heyday of GOT because it must've been absolutely insufferable! 😖😖😖

Fandom during GOT's prime must have been insane already, but I do think it's gotten worse in recent years. There used to be the unspoken rule of "if you've got nothing nice to say don't say anything at all" that appears to have completely vanished from fandom spaces. Cuz if I see a post with an opinion I don't like/agree with, or fanart of a character I don't care for, or fic of a ship that I dislike, I'm not gonna leap down OP's throat about it. I'm just gonna scroll, maybe vague post about it on another app (I've vague posted about some dumb Twitter opinions on here on occasion), and then move on. But this idea that, if someone doesn't like the same things you like, they're not only morally reprehensible but personally committing some kind of wrong against you specifically is insane. It's more than that trend I've mentioned about trying to equate fandom with morality, it is, as I said in the tags of that post, something that reeks of insecurity. There's a bunch of people in varying fandom spaces that feel that their own opinions simply must be validated, because their opinions are correct, but it's not enough for them to think it, other people need to think it too.

And it's an issue that has dominated Team Black in HOTD specifically. Cuz I'm not seeing it from Rhaenicents, from Greens, even from show casuals. It's diehard Team Black and primarily TB book purists at that who find Rhaenicent fanart (especially ones that take Emma D'Arcy's actual appearance into account), or Team Green posts, or even regular posts expressing any sort of appreciation for Team Green actors or sympathy for some of the characters (especially Alicent or Helaena) and just lose their minds. Insult the poster or the artist, deride actor's appearances, weaponize actual political language to support their point despite no real tangible thread of connection ('killing Lucerys is basically femicide' omegas aren't a real thing and killing that boring ass boy is not, in fact, femicide, there are actual femicides happening in the real world right now, focus on those), and get hopping mad at the fact that these varied posts exist. It's greed to an almost biblical proportion tbf, it's not enough that most show casuals agree with their opinions, that most people with both book and show knowledge are on their side, that the narrative of the show supports their views (in the Jaehaera art thing specifically, that canon dictates she's gonna die and that Daenaera and Aegon are gonna be married and have a reasonably happy married life). Everyone needs to be on their side, nobody had better dare have opposing views to their's. And if those opposing views exist, well then those people have earned all the nastiness that's gonna get thrown their way for having those opposing views.

Like, you're that insecure? You need everyone to agree with you in order to hold fandom opinions? You can't just like something for your own reasons and ignore people who don't agree? Other people, people who don't even know you exist, hold that much power over you? Team Black, are you guys really so pathetically weak?

Anyway, fuck people who tag butch Rhaenicent art with snippy "Daemicent!!!" quote tweets, fuck people running TG fanartists off of social media because you can't handle drawings, fuck people going up to actors and saying vile shit to them based on their characters, fuck everyone who tries to be an asshole about Olivia's looks or TGC's looks or Phia's looks, and fuck stan culture. Everyone's who's so deranged about their fictional opinions that they act nasty to real human beings should simply find the nearest noose and hang themselves by the neck until dead, the world will be an infinitely better place and no one will miss them.

[im-a-wonderling]

Love & Hate, Part VII ~ Paul Lahote

Wow, this series is getting more and more popular. This part has one of my favorite scenes in the whole fanfic, so I hope you guys enjoy! @writing-on-the-wahl​, thank you so much for being such a good sport about helping me edit all my fanfics before I post them. You’re the best, and I’m forever grateful. 

Warnings: descriptions of needles and drawing blood

Word count: 9k

Love & Hate masterlist

The two mile walk from his cabin to Sam and Emily’s house took twice as long as it could’ve, but Paul didn’t want to let the wolf out. After so thoroughly losing his freedom of choice last night, he wanted to avoid shifting if at all possible. 

It sent him into a foul mood, the fact that he was tiptoeing around something within himself. Nothing egged at him quite so much as that. 

If Y/N wasn’t around, he wouldn’t have any issues with the wolf. There would be no need for arguing, no need for spontaneous trips to Kansas City, and absolutely no need for Jacob to bite him. Paul ran his hand across his shoulder underneath the sleeves of his tank, over the place where the bite mark had been. The wound had closed fairly quickly thanks to his supernatural healing, but the memories of the pain and embarrassment lingered. 

He was so far gone, so preoccupied with thoughts of a woman that his packmate had to bite him?

And worse than that, the words Jared shared about Y/N being alone wormed around in his brain, joining forces with the wolf’s utter mortification over the fight they’d had. In favor of dealing with the full moon, Paul pushed the memories of the argument aside, but now the full moon was over. Now there was no excuse to make to rid himself of the waves of shame. 

A growl loosed from his throat. 

Paul was easily irritated, he knew that, but Y/N could just get under his skin like no one else ever had. 

Add that to the wolf’s constant, unhelpful commentary about how beautiful she was and how good it would feel to be next to her and how perfect she was…Paul’s path to being the crazy villager everyone laughed about was almost set in stone.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the present. 

Apparently, when Sam had informed Carlisle of the events the night of the full moon earlier this morning, Carlisle had asked for the chance to speak to the pack. Since Paul was intentionally not shifting, he didn’t have the chance to see the memory, but according to what Sam said on the phone, Carlisle had been rather anxious. 

What could have the doctor all tied in knots?

I suppose I’m about to find out, Paul thought as he opened the front door. 

Y/N’s scent hit him like a semi truck, and he immediately clenched his fists, fighting his desires both for more air and more of her smell. 

Had her scent always been this sweet? 

Paul didn’t know, but if her scent was somehow becoming more irresistible to him over time, he might as well take up permanent residence in Kansas City if he wanted to be a functional human being. 

Was there somewhere in La Push Paul could get a scuba tank? If he brought his own air, there was no need to be smelling Y/N’s. 

He shook his head.

Stupid idea. 

He stepped into the house, trying to ignore the intoxicating smell, lest he lose any semblance of common sense he had left. As soon as Paul laid eyes on the scene in the living room, however, he realized he had much bigger problems. 

Jacob sat on the armchair, like he always did, while Sam and Emily stood beside the walkway to the kitchen. A few werewolves lazed about on the furniture while the majority of the pack made themselves at home on the floor. Considering the pack’s rise in numbers, there wasn’t any floor space to spare. 

Carlisle Cullen stood with his back to the fireplace, hands wringing and eyes flitting to look at every werewolf in the room. Leah, perched on the arm of the couch, gave a mock salute when she saw Paul. She was the only one to acknowledge him. The rest of the pack watched the doctor. No one assumed the bloodsucker’s news was of a good variety, but his apparent nerves heightened the highly strung atmosphere. 

The tension in the air was unlike anything Paul had ever experienced.

Paul stood on the other side of the walkway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, pretending like he knew exactly what to do with his arms. His ears caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, and from the labored gait, he knew exactly who it was. 

When Y/N came around the corner, Paul’s heart seized in his throat. 

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. It wasn’t just one part of her. It wasn’t only the way her hair framed her face or the sensuous lips or the innate grace she carried, even with her limp. No, her beauty belonged in the whole picture, the balance and colors used in this living painting. 

His insides leapt as she came closer. He wasn’t sure if he’d been existing these past few days because to be seen by her was to exist, and it’d been far too long since they’d last seen each other. 

Paul’s brain came to a screeching halt. 

Those thoughts weren’t his. 

Shut up, Paul grumbled at the wolf. 

Still, the wolf barked in protest as Y/N limped right past him without batting an eye. 

“Y/N,” Sam said congenially.

Instead of saying anything back or even nodding, she pursed her lips, throwing a glare in his direction. When Jacob got up to offer him her seat, she fixed him with the same cold stare and limped over to stand by the wall opposite Paul instead. 

Paul cocked his head, suddenly curious. 

Why was she behaving with such hostility? There was no way she’d forgiven Paul for the comments he’d made after changing her tire, but she wouldn’t take that out on Sam or Jacob. She was unreasonable, but not that unreasonable. 

Which meant something else was going on.

Whatever it was, it most likely had something to do with Carlisle’s studious effort to avoid looking in Y/N’s direction. Didn’t the two of them work together? They’d acted fairly chummy before, so why suddenly did Carlisle look as if there was a tennis ball stuck in his throat? 

Paul suddenly straightened. 

Had some sort of romantic advance been made? Had Y/N…

He didn’t want to finish the thought, not when her smell was calling to him. Not when it took all his strength not to give into the gravity she’d always seemed to have around him. Besides, the doctor was happily married…right?

But what if Y/N was attracted to him? It would make sense because they were both in the medical field, but she wasn’t supposed to be with the bloodsucker, she was supposed to be with him. No one could ever be good enough for her, but Paul was the only one who could be sure to try every day to keep her safe and happy. 

Really, man? Paul asked the wolf. Calm down.

“Alright, Carlisle,” Sam said, arms folded in the stance he typically took when he was trying to look authoritative (Paul had once caught him practicing it in a mirror). “What’s the news?”

Carlisle cleared his throat, and Paul couldn’t help noticing he now looked like a high school boy about to confess to his parents that he’d accidentally gotten a girl pregnant. “Um, well, my family and I…we-we decided not to, uh, tell you about this, but with the events of late, it’s probably best that you know.”

Paul exchanged a nervous look with Jacob. A bloodsucker secret? This couldn’t be good.

“You may recall that some humans have blood that sings to vampires.” Carlisle took a deep breath. “These ‘singers’ are nearly impossible for vampires to resist, especially if they haven’t practiced resisting human blood before.”

“So…it’s like how Bella’s blood sang to Edward?” Jacob asked.

Y/N hadn’t known that, judging by the slight rise of her eyebrows. 

Paul hated the fact he’d even noticed.

“Yes, like that.” Carlisle scratched his neck. Then, his eyes darted in Y/N’s direction, as if it were uncontrollable. 

A flare of some green-eyed, protective need rang through Paul, like Carlisle’s look was a mallet hitting Paul’s bell. “Out with it already,” Paul grumbled, curling his hands into first to keep from storming towards the vampire and bashing his face in. “Some of us have patrols to do.”

Carlisle shoved his hands into his pockets. “As you know, werewolves and vampires are natural enemies.” He paused again, and Paul only just resisted the urge to walk over and shake the words out of him. “I think that’s why this vampire is hanging around.”

Confused murmurs erupted in the room, as mostly everyone still didn’t understand what Carlisle was getting at. 

“What didn’t your family want to tell us?” Sam asked, trying to get straight to the point.

“The blood of a wolf’s imprint sings to all vampires,” Carlisle said.

The whole world ceased to spin, teetering dangerously on its axis.

Paul gaped at the doctor.

How long had the Cullens been sitting on this? Did the Cullens have any idea how much danger they’d put Emily in by not telling the pack this information? Or Kim, Jared’s imprint? Or Quil’s kindergarten imprint? 

Of course, the Cullens kept this to themselves. Renesmee, being half vampire, was most likely immune to this. 

A few growls sounded around Paul, and he knew he was not the only one having a hard time refraining from violence. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Sam shift to stand in between the doctor and Emily. “You’re saying,” Sam said slowly, like he was imagining what Carlisle would look like with a broken nose, “that vampires are attracted to the blood of our imprints?”

Carlisle nodded solemnly. “I think that’s why this vampire is hunting Y/N.”

Paul froze. 

In his preoccupation, he hadn’t realized it wasn’t just Emily, Kim, Claire and Renesmee who’d been endangered by the keeping of this secret.

Y/N was too. 

Had someone dumped a colony of fire ants on Paul? He could’ve sworn something was burning his skin, crawling up and down his back and neck. The guilt that had been plaguing him earlier was nothing compared to the tidal wave that rose up in him now. He nearly choked as the full weight of the news sunk in. It was Paul’s fault Y/N was in danger. The vampire wouldn’t be hunting her with such an intensity if Paul hadn’t imprinted on her. 

Paul’s eyes slowly slid to her, suddenly wishing she would look at him so he could guess what she was feeling. 

But Y/N’s eyes stayed on the doctor as a mirthless laugh tumbled out of her mouth. “You’re telling me–” she pushed off from the wall to step in Carlisle’s direction, “–that not only am I stuck with him–” she pointed an accusing finger straight at Paul, “–as my supposed soulmate, I’m now an irresistible snack for all vampires?”

Carlisle winced. “That’s a bit harsh–”

Another bitter and grating laugh came from Y/N, and Paul felt like his insides were shriveling and crumbling away. 

“Dr. Cullen, I think you should leave now.” Sam’s voice was tense, leaving no room for argument. With the speed Carlisle headed for the door, he wasn’t looking for any room anyways. 

Unfortunately, Carlisle left behind only one target for Y/N’s wrath.

She rounded on Paul. “You.” Paul was glad just then for Y/N’s limp, because she wouldn’t be able to chase him if he needed to make a run for it. “You and your imprinting!”

“Y/N, that’s enough,” Sam said the same tone he’d used on Carlisle. 

But of course, where the doctor had fled, Y/N stood her ground. “I’m not one of your lackeys!” she spat at him. “I have a job, Sam, a life that I’ve been shut away from because you guys can’t catch this stupid vampire. And now, you’re only going to shut me up longer while you cross your fingers and twiddle your thumbs!” 

Paul knew he should get involved and make an attempt to calm Y/N down or reason with her. But he couldn’t make himself move towards her. 

“We’ll protect you,” Sam cut in, “just as we have been.”

Y/N advanced on him. “What, are you going to tell me to be patient and sit around this house while I continue to wait for you guys to save the day?!” Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out, which is how Paul knew that was exactly what he’d been going to say. Y/N shook her head so violently that a lock of hair fell into her face. “No.” She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear in a movement that somehow made Paul’s chest ache. “No, now it’s my turn.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked. “Chase the vampire down yourself?”

The little jab at Y/N’s limp made Paul’s breath catch. He knew that Sam’s frustration wasn’t really aimed at Y/N, he knew that. But his hands still rolled into fists, and it took every bit of his strength to keep from flinging himself at the alpha. 

But Y/N didn’t cower or cringe, she only held herself taller. “No, because as you guys have so kindly proved, chasing this vampire doesn’t amount to anything.” Sam’s face soured, and Paul’s shoulders relaxed from their previously murderous stance as a smile fought to break free. Clearly she didn’t need him fighting her battles. 

“We need to lure him,” Y/N said. 

All the members of the pack looked at each other, and Paul didn’t have to be in his wolf form to pick up on their desperation. “How?” Jared asked.

“Bait,” was Y/N’s response.

Every cell in Paul’s body rebelled as his head filled with the yips of rejection from the wolf. “Absolutely not,” he blurted out, causing everyone in the room to look at him, Y/N included. It was hard to focus when he could see the full scope of the anger simmering in her expression, but he managed. “We’re not putting you in danger.”

“I don’t need your permission, and I certainly don’t need any of your protective wolf bullshit.” Paul couldn’t hold back his flinch. “It’s my life on the line, and I’ve had enough of sitting back and hoping that you guys will do your jobs. I say we’re setting a trap.”

Y/N’s icy words made Paul feel cold all over, but he wasn’t about to back down. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to be sucked dry of all your blood?” he asked her. He intended for it to match her levels of venom, but the question came out softly. 

Y/N’s eyes blazed hotter. “I’m no stranger to pain.”

The wolf whimpered. She didn’t deserve pain, nor any other discomfort this world could subject her to. She deserved sunshine. And bouquets of flowers. Gentle kisses and back massages. Bubble baths and–

“Fine then,” Paul managed to say around the wolf’s cascade of thoughts. “Do you have any idea what happens to a wolf when its imprint dies?”

A smile appeared on Y/N’s face, an expression of pure spite. “Well, you’ve wanted to be rid of me since day one, so it seems like a win-win for you.”

All of the sinew in Paul’s body rotted into pain, and he inhaled sharply. He deserved that comment, he knew he did, but it was like Y/N thrust a knife into some deep part of him. Whether that part belonged to him or the wolf, Paul didn’t know.

Not looking the least bit apologetic, Y/N addressed the pack. “The vampire wants my blood. And thankfully for us, I’ve been drawing blood since I started med school.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You want to draw some of your blood and use it as a trap?”

Y/N nodded. “Carlisle said it was nearly impossible to resist an imprint’s blood when it’s inside the body. Imagine how irresistible it would be outside of the body.”

Bile burned in Paul’s throat at the idea of any of Y/N’s blood being outside her body.

“It could work,” Leah mused, and Seth elbowed her. “What?” she snapped. “Y/N’s right, our way hasn’t worked. Maybe it’s time for a change of tactic.”

Paul glared at Leah, but she didn’t bat an eye. 

“I’m down,” Seth said, looking completely at ease in his position sprawled on the floor. Paul opened his mouth to argue.

“I’m in too.” Jared’s eyes were far away, likely centered around a fair-haired classmate in need of extra protection. 

“Sam?” Jacob pushed, and Paul wheeled to look at the alpha. 

Sam glanced at his wife, and Paul knew what he was thinking.

If they used Y/N as bait and caught the vampire, Emily would be safe.

Sam rolled his shoulders, preparing for action. “Let’s do it.”

Paul stared around the room at the pack, at his brothers, who’d been gushing about their imprints and telling Paul that he would one day understand. Yet every one of them had thrown Y/N into the way of danger for either a chance at a bloodsucker hunt or their own imprint’s safety. 

Paul’s blood boiled, bringing his body temperature even hotter.

He wanted to rip out his pack’s throats. 

And what’s worse, he knew it was only his own imprint bond making him feel that way. 

This was why.

This whole situation offered more proof than Paul could ever need about the imprinting bond. It always, always did more harm than good. 

As Y/N and the pack launched into brainstorming, Paul shrank against the wall, wishing he could be alone. 

He wanted nothing to do with this plan.

- 

“What do you mean I have to go to the hospital?!” Paul roared at his alpha. It didn’t matter if the two werewolves were all the way across the room; Paul’s raised voice still made me jump. 

He cut me a glance, something urgent simmering in his face, but he turned back to Sam too quickly for me to decipher where the heat was coming from. 

Sam didn’t even blink at Paul’s commonplace display of temper. “We need Y/N’s blood, and the supplies necessary for that are at the hospital. Plus, this way Y/N can check out Emily and the baby to make sure they’re okay.”

“So then you go with them,” Paul snarked. “Why is my presence necessary?”

“Because I’m driving Emily home after we check the baby. And because someone needs to protect Y/N while she draws the blood. Because we don’t want her alone in that hospital with Dr. Cullen. Because she’s your imprint and I’m your alpha.” Sam arched an eyebrow. “Do you need more reasons?”

I glanced at Paul, who, noticing my attention, sat down on the armchair, frowning. I rolled my eyes at his petulance. If I could stomach being in the same room with him, he could too. 

“Emily, are you almost ready?” Sam called, rubbing his forehead. 

“I can’t tie my shoes!” she hollered back from the bedroom. 

“Just wear slip-on shoes then!”

“Sam Levi Uley, stop being a jerk and help me tie my shoelaces!”

All the worry on Sam’s face melted away, giving room for a smitten smile. “Coming,” he said, too quietly for Emily to hear. 

The sweet tone of his words only made it all the more awkward when he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room with Paul.

His eyes rested on the wall. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was internally debating something dull, such as the best technique for brushing one’s teeth. But there was no mistaking the way his fingers gripped the arms of the chair or the way his arm muscles were flexing, allowing a sliver of his tattoo to peek out from his short sleeve.

He hadn’t so much as attempted to start a conversation with me, not about my blood singing to vampires, nor what he’d said after changing my tire. Part of me wondered if he waited because he wanted me to break the silence first.

But I didn’t have anything to say that I could tell Paul.

Like, for instance, how would I ever be able to convince a vampire to bite me but leave enough blood in my body to circulate the venom that would change me? If my blood was irresistible, no vampire, no matter how disciplined, would be able to resist even a drop of my blood. It wouldn’t just be a risk, it would be suicide.

Once again, my quest had become harder and more steps were added to my plan. 

Now this vampire had to be dealt with before Paul and I could focus on breaking the bond, and there was a chance of my blood remaining irresistible even after the bond was broken. 

The idea of getting that far and still failing was…unthinkable. 

I tried to shake off the hopelessness swirling around me like fog. Becoming a vampire was my only hope and had been for months. I wouldn’t stop, not even if it seemed impossible. 

I walked into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water. I’d barely taken a sip when Emily waddled into the kitchen. “I’m driving,” she announced. 

“Do you think that’s wise?” Sam asked gingerly. His soft tone didn’t land as intended, for Emily turned to glare at her husband, who seemed to shrink a little.

“I’m with Sam,” I said, drawing Emily’s wrathful gaze. But unlike Sam, I’d dealt with expecting mothers before. “Your movement is limited, and that’s not safe for you, your baby, or anyone riding with you.”

Emily narrowed her eyes, but I could tell by her silence that she saw my point. Out of anyone in La Push, my MD probably had the most sway with her. “I’m not riding with Paul,” she finally said flatly. “He’s a maniac when he drives.”

Paul started grumbling under his breath. 

I smiled at Emily, slightly pleased that she’d annoyed him. “You can ride with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam interjected. “There needs to be one wolf per car, in case the vampire shows up.” Emily’s obvious exasperation didn’t seem to have the same effect this time around. Sam might’ve been willing to quail on some things, but when it came to vampires and safety, he’d never change his mind, not with the recent news from Carlisle. 

Then the whole room seemed to come to a realization at the same time. 

If Emily wouldn’t ride with Paul and Sam wouldn’t allow her to ride with me…

I shot a glance at Paul, who glanced at me at the same time. He looked away quickly, but I just narrowed my eyes. 

If he didn’t already regret imprinting on me, he would soon. 

-

With his superhuman lungs, one would think Paul’s lung capacity would be upgraded as well. 

As it was, holding his breath lasted him less than a minute. 

Her smell clung to his skin like humidity, and like humidity, it was causing him to sweat badly enough to need a shower. It was difficult to keep still. His limbs contained all this unnecessary energy, making time seem slower. Any time Emily’s car came into view on the road in front of them, Paul stiffened. The anger at his pack had yet to dissipate, and Sam was the worst of the lot. 

Y/N’s eyes never strayed from the road, and her ramrod posture made Paul’s back hurt. Paul didn’t know how it was humanly possible, but she looked even less comfortable than he was. 

When they passed the spot where Paul had changed her tire several days ago, Paul shrunk in his seat a little. Should he apologize? Would Y/N not appreciate the reminder of what’d been said? Or would this awkward tension in the air remain as it was until he apologized?

Apologize, the wolf sang. Apologize, apologize, apologize.

Paul ignored the chanting as much as he could. Despite what the pack and the elders might think, Paul owed Y/N the same she owed him: nothing. He tried to take a steadying breath, but the air laced with her smell did nothing for his inner turmoil.

One step at a time, Paul told himself. First, defeat the vampire. Then, break the bond.

A sharp melody sounded, startling Paul, and the phone in Y/N’s cupholder started vibrating.

“Can you look at that?” she asked.

Paul squirmed. “Umm…I’d rather not.”

“Oh for goodness sake,” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes, “ look at the caller ID.”

“You look at it,” Paul shot back.

“What is your problem?” she snapped. “I’m busy driving, just pick up the phone.”

“No.”

“Pick. It. Up.”

“No!”

“Now!”

“NO!”

The ringing stopped, and Y/N’s fingers whitened as her grip on the steering wheel increased. “Great, now I missed a call because you wouldn’t just look at the caller ID.”

Paul crossed his arms. “I didn’t want to snoop.” Surely she could appreciate that.

“It’s not snooping if you have my permission.” A muscle in her jaw rippled, and he strongly suspected she was grinding her teeth, adding to the bite in her voice. “Curiosity is the most natural thing in the world. The human race would’ve died out long ago if they hadn’t been curious.”

Her clipped tone provided the spark for Paul’s short fuse. “I’d hardly call respecting your privacy an action that will annihilate the human race.”

“Why can’t you just do what I ask?” Y/N grouched. “What’s so hard about picking up a phone?”

“Exactly, so pick it up yourself.”

“I’m driving.” 

Paul threw his hands in the air. “What’s the big deal? There’s hardly anyone else on the road and it would only take you a few seconds!”

“A few seconds is all it takes to get in an accident!” Y/N burst out. Her chest heaved, her body trying to keep up with the rush of blood towards her reddening face. 

Paul stared at the angry splotches on her cheeks. Why had she spoken like that? Like it was a confession born of unspeakable events? Admitting to being an uptight driver wasn’t some dark and terrible secret. 

Y/N shifted her left leg, and with that small action, it clicked.

“You were in an accident.” Paul shifted so he was facing her. “That’s how you injured your leg.” And that was why she was so militant with seatbelts and not texting while driving. 

Y/N grit her teeth, but she repositioned her left leg again. 

“How long ago?” Paul asked before he could stop himself. 

“Mind your own business,” was the cutting reply.

But while her hostility was usually effective in ending any more questions, it couldn’t stop Paul’s curiosity this time. “How bad was the accident?”

“I said–”

“What kind of injury was it? Did you have surgery? Did you break a bone?”

“–mind your own business!”

Paul studied her. He’d freely admit to anyone that he didn’t know his imprint that well, but if the accident was insignificant, Y/N would’ve admitted it, simply to correct him. The only reason she’d be cagey was if it truly was a horrifying event.

She wasn’t angry.

She was afraid. 

His stomach sank. 

He’d assumed that Y/N’s cynicism and rigidity had been attitudes gained after a lifelong struggle. But if it was an accident, it could’ve happened recently. Was that why she’d dropped everything and moved across the country? Was she struggling to cope? Jared’s words came back to him. Right now, she doesn’t have anybody but us. How alone was she? And how alone had she been when she’d been in that accident?

The ringtone started up again, interrupting Paul’s whizzing thoughts. 

Y/N didn’t say anything. Apparently, her tight lips outweighed her sharp tongue. 

Paul reached for the phone. “It says dad.”

If Y/N was grateful to him for finally telling her who it was, she didn’t show it. “Just let it ring. I’ll call him later.”

“Okay.” Paul gingerly set her phone back into the car cup holder. 

Y/N didn’t say anything, clearly preferring silence. But Paul’s mind was racing too much to call the atmosphere ‘silent’.

-

Leading Sam, Emily, and Paul through the Emergency Room entrance was mortifying. 

Even at eight months pregnant, Emily was still walking faster than I was. Apparently carrying a baby the size of a coconut still didn’t compare to my limp. The back of my neck felt hot, as if all the staring somehow kept raising my body temperature. 

All four of us squeezed into an exam room that was clearly not intended to fit a pregnant woman, her doctor, and two overly protective werewolves.

As soon as Emily got onto the exam table, I pulled over the ultrasound machine, accidentally clipping Paul’s foot with its wheels. “Ouch,” he grumbled. I ignored him, focusing on the Ecovue gel bottle.

“Might be a little cold,” I warned her. 

Emily didn’t flinch, her eyes focused on the ultrasound screen that wasn’t displaying anything yet. 

When I pressed the ultrasound wand to her stomach, Sam shuffled closer, capturing her hand and lacing it with his. A tiny heartbeat emitted from the monitor, and I glanced up at the virile alpha to see his eyes glistening. Emily smiled widely, squeezing her husband’s hand. “That’s our baby.”

“Hello, baby,” Sam said quietly. 

I studied the pair. It wasn’t unusual for ultrasounds to be emotional events, but why was Sam behaving as if–

“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, looking down at his wife with guilt deeply etched into his expression. “We haven’t even discussed names.”

Emily reached up a hand to cup his face. “It’s okay. You’re out there saving the world.”

Oh. 

Sam hadn’t been to an ultrasound yet. 

Feeling awkward, I glanced over at Paul. 

Paul was looking anywhere but at Emily’s belly or the monitor. His eyes skimmed the cabinets around us, the art intended to be comforting, and even the jars of alcohol pads and tongue depressors. If it wasn’t somewhat inappropriate to laugh during such a sweet moment between a husband and wife, I would’ve. 

I froze the screen before withdrawing the wand and cleaning it up. “Your due date’s in a month.”

Emily tore her eyes away from Sam. “There’s a midwife in La Push that agreed to work with me.” Clearly she remembered what I’d told her at the last ultrasound.

“You’re having the baby at home then?”

“Yes,” Emily said, sounding extremely confident while Sam looked anything but. 

“Honey, are you sure that’s wise?” Sam glanced at the frozen screen. “What if something goes wrong?”

“That’s what the midwife is there for.”

“Still, I’d feel better if we came here.”

Sensing an argument brewing, I got to my feet, wiping away the gel on Emily’s stomach. “I might very well still be sleeping on your couch when you go into labor, so if it makes you feel more confident, I can be there for the birth.”

Sam eyed me, and I knew what he wanted to ask.

“I’m an MD. I’m only a month short of having completed an obstetrics residency. Between the midwife and I, your wife will be just fine.”

Emily clapped her hands. “Perfect. There’s the plan.” She tried to sit up, and Sam immediately helped her before she could fall back again. “Now I’d like to go home.” She awkwardly slid off the exam table before making her way to the door. 

I busied myself with resetting the ultrasound machine. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam follow Emily, stopping in front of Paul.

“You’ve got her?” he asked quietly. Was that remorse on the alpha’s face? 

“Yeah.” Paul’s equally soft response spoke of dark promises. 

The exam door opened and closed before I realized which ‘her’ they were talking about. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I decided to say nothing as I led Paul out of the ER. 

I expected him to trail somewhere behind me or in front of me, but instead, he kept time with my labored pace. Somehow, that annoyed me more than if he’d gone ahead or behind me. 

He reached the elevator before I did, but instead of pushing the button, he shoved his hands in his pockets. I sent him a suspicious look. 

What was with the sudden gentleman act? 

I pushed the button, and the doors dinged as they opened. Paul and I walked inside, and I selected the button for the second floor. 

“Hold the door!”

Paul stuck his hand through the rapidly disappearing entrance, and the doors slid open, revealing none other than Carlisle Cullen.

He came to an abrupt stop. If vampires had any blood in their body, all of Carlisle’s would’ve drained from his face just then. Was this reaction due to seeing me?

Then the lift started to shake, creaking and groaning. 

I turned to ask Paul if Forks often got earthquakes when I saw that his whole body was convulsing, and he was staring daggers at the doctor.

Carlisle fell back a step. “I’ll take the next one.”

Paul’s glare didn’t lessen, even as the doors closed, shielding the vampire from view. The floor of the elevator continued to tremble underneath my feet. 

“Paul?” I asked warily. 

The shuddering didn’t cease. 

“Paul?!”

His eyes remained on the elevator doors. Was he having some sort of seizure? I set a hand on Paul’s shoulder, shaking him to get his attention. “Paul!”

Paul blinked, trance seemingly broken. Then his attention shifted to my hand, still resting on his shoulder. 

I withdrew it. “What was that?”

“The wolf,” Paul grumbled, his hands reaching up to fiddle with his stubby braid. “Neither of us are very happy with that bloodsucker right now.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I led Paul to my office. “Wait here,” I told him before limping to the nearest med supply closet. 

Paul, of course, didn’t comply.

I rolled my eyes. “I told you–”

“I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.” Paul folded his arms imposingly for emphasis, and I tried to ignore the muscle bulging off his arms. 

“You’re not authorized to be in the supply closet.”

Paul shrugged. “Neither is the vampire. I doubt authorization matters much to him.” 

My fingers itched to push him back to my office. With great effort, I continued towards the closet. The faster the blood was drawn, the sooner we could leave and the sooner we didn’t have to be around each other. 

Alcohol wipes.

Medical tape. 

Gloves.

I quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to carry all the supplies I needed with one arm. Without looking away from the labeled bins, I handed the box of gloves to him, half expecting to hear it thudding against the floor. But no such noise sounded. I handed the alcohol wipes to him, and he took them without comment.

Tourniquet. 

Gauze.

Empty blood bags.

“Two?” Paul blurted out. 

I quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

Paul shifted, and the box of gloves fell out of his grip. He tried to catch it, but failed. We both crouched at the same time, our hands brushing as we reached for the box. I expected him to jerk his hand away like he always did upon physical contact with me, but he didn’t. He picked up the box like nothing had happened. 

Well, not nothing.

There was a peculiar and unsettling contusion in his face. He looked…concerned? 

I made to brush past him, but he sidled into my path with such severity, it nearly made me lose my balance. “Two bags seems like a lot.” 

“Paul–”

“How much of your blood is two bags?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I tried to walk around, but Paul planted himself directly in front of the door. 

“How much?” Paul pressed.

“It’s two pints of blood.” I made another attempt to leave, but Paul threw a hand into my path, somehow balancing all the supplies in one arm. 

“How many pints of blood do you have total?”

“About ten.”

Paul’s jaw went slack. “You want to draw a fifth of the blood in your whole body?”

“The more blood used for the trap, “ I explained as patiently as I could muster, “the more likely it’s going to work.”

Paul was shaking his head long before I finished speaking. “Absolutely not. Losing that much blood is not good for you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have you been to med school? If you had, you would know that blood loss is traumatic at 30 to 40%. Clearly I’m not planning on getting to that point.” Paul didn’t budge, and my patience frayed. “Oh for the love of–what do you want from me?” I nearly shouted at him. 

“I want you to stick to one bag.”

I folded my arms. “Not your decision to make.”

Paul opened his arms, all the materials crumbling to the floor as he set his hands on his hips. “If you try to do more than one, cinnamon sugar, I’ll haul you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. So please just stick with one.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I said ‘please’.”

I rolled my eyes. “So you’re nicely threatening me?” His only response was to smile proudly. My frustration reared its head, and I quickly tamed it. “Look, we should get started. We can argue about the number of bags later.” 

Paul was already shaking his head. “Oh, no, no, no, no, you don’t get to dodge this–”

“The longer we stand here, not getting any of my blood,” I said with as much composure as possible when talking to a headstrong werewolf, “the longer we stay here, away from the pack and exposed to danger.” 

After a moment, Paul nodded and bent down to regather the supplies.

As we walked back to my office, I realized it hadn’t even occurred to me to lie to Paul. If I’d said it was 20 or even 10%, we wouldn’t have had to compromise. So why hadn’t I just said that? 

I shoved the question away with all my might. It was time to focus.

I prepared all the supplies for the blood draw, and Paul stood, his hands in his pockets as he glanced around at my office. “I need your help,” I told Paul. He stayed where he was, warily watching me. “I can’t wrap a tourniquet around my own arm.”

“I…” Paul scrunched his nose. “I don’t know how.”

I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but then he glanced around the office again. The airs of arrogance that normally pooled around him had gone. 

He’s embarrassed, I realized with no small amount of shock. I wanted to laugh at the idea of this massive, arrogant man being embarrassed about anything whatsoever. 

A small part of me whispered that if I wanted to make him feel the way I felt by the side of that road, I had an opening. I could bring him to his knees. 

But for some reason, I couldn’t make myself do it.

What was happening to me? Was I losing my edge? 

It was Sam and Emily’s fault for being so loving and adoring to each other, it’d softened me up. 

“I’ll show you what to do,” I said, my aggravation bleeding through. 

Paul reluctantly came closer. His warm fingers brushed my upper arm as he followed my instructions, tying the tourniquet in the exact place it was supposed to be. “What’s the tourniquet got to do with drawing blood?” he asked.

“It dilates the veins, making them easier to access.” I pressed the tip of my middle finger to the inside of my arm, trying to locate my antecubital fossa. 

One of the most random things I’d learned in my medical career is how bouncy veins were to the touch, especially when a tourniquet was on. Veins were thinner, had lower blood pressure, and held more blood than arteries. Veins were also closer to the surface of the skin. 

I finally located the vein and lifted up the needle. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re going to stick a needle in yourself?” Paul looked rather green all of the sudden. “That needle looks big, why does it look so big?”

“I didn’t think you’d be so squeamish,” I replied. My arm was starting to tingle a little bit, letting me know the tourniquet had already been on for quite a while. 

Paul stiffened. “I’m not squeamish.”

“Then get back over here and help me.”

“Help you?” Paul’s shrill voice filled the office. “Help you with what?”

“I need you to hold the skin tight so the vein doesn’t roll as I try to get it with the needle.”

Paul took a nervous step back, his arms posed in front of his body like he was in a boxing ring. “Why can’t Dr. Cullen do it?”

“Oh, now you trust him?” I scoffed. Why would Paul suddenly swivel to the opposite side of the emotional spectrum when it came to the doctor?

“No, I don’t trust him,” Paul declared. “It’s just that…he’s probably more qualified to do this than I am.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell you exactly what to do.” When Paul didn’t move, I tried to adapt a more comforting tone. “Look, all you have to do is hold the skin tight. You don’t have to watch me stick the needle in or anything. It’ll be easy.”

“Easy?” Paul repeated sarcastically. “Nothing about sticking a needle in your body should be easy.”

The tingling in my arm increased. “Will you just sit down and help?” I swallowed hard, annoyed with having to beg, but having no other choice. “Please?”

Paul slowly lumbered over to the other chair and lowered himself into it. It took a great deal of instruction, but eventually, Paul correctly held the skin taut as I held the needle, hovering just above the vein.

“One,” I said softly to myself, making sure my grip on the needle was relaxed, but firm. “Two.” I took a deep breath, looking up to see Paul’s face turned far away from my arm. “Three!”

The needle went in painlessly enough, but there was no blood flow. “Crap,” I muttered.

Paul shifted slightly. “What?” 

“I missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“The vein.”

Paul’s head whipped around with so much force, the motion probably could’ve powered the hospital. “What?!” His eyes fell upon the needle in my arm. “Oh my gosh.” He clamped a hand over his face, blocking his vision.

“I need you to hold the needle for me.”

Paul’s hand flew away from his eyes, and he blinked at me. “Oh, hell no.”

“Either you hold it or I just let it go, and I’m sure I don’t have to explain how dangerous it is to just leave the needle half in, half out of my body.” Paul gulped as I guided his hand to the needle, my fingers showing him how to hold it properly. As soon as I let go, Paul muttered something in a different language, staring at the wall behind my head.

“Give me…a second.” I felt around the needle with my free fingers, scouting out the skin for the familiar buoyant feel indicative of a vein.

“Just tell me when it’s over,” Paul said, shutting his eyes.

Again, the urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed me. I paused in my search, looking at his face. It occurred to me that I hadn’t really actually ever studied his face. Hot was too crude a word, and handsome was too virtuous of one. He truly lay somewhere in between, forever resting in an area as gray as his fur. If I leaned forward, I’d be close enough to kiss him.

That observation shook me out of my reverie, and I refocused, finding the vein and taking the needle from Paul to redirect it towards the vein. My effort was rewarded as blood started flowing through the tube and into the first bag.

“I’m done,” I told Paul as I ripped a piece of medical tape with my teeth and secured the needle.

Paul opened his eyes, took one look at the needle in my arm, and closed his eyes again.

I couldn’t stop my laugh. “If I’d known that shoving a needle into my arm was the way to shut you up, I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“Okay, calm down there, sugar.”

“Why do you call me that?” The question was out before I realized curiosity was the thing fluttering in my chest. 

Paul cracked his eyes open, his attention centering on my face instead of my arm. “No reason.” His tone was breezy enough, but a faint blush started on his cheeks, magnifying my interest. 

“Oh, there’s definitely a reason. And since I’m the one with a needle in my arm, I think I deserve to know.”

“Hey look, the bag’s a quarter full already,” Paul said in a poor attempt to distract me.

I checked to make sure the tape was still secure. “You’ll have to get the next bag ready.”

Paul’s head jerked up. “We’re not doing another bag.”

“It’s–”

“It’s your blood, and you have a medical degree, and you’re stubborn, but that’s still not enough to convince me,” Paul replied. “I’ll yank that needle out if I have to.” He reached out, like he was preparing to take it out right then. 

I sat back in my chair, feeling slightly woozy. “You could do that, but you could do it improperly and give me a hematoma. Or even cause me to lose more blood.” 

Paul froze. “I could hurt you?”

For all my knowledge, I couldn’t quite discern the meaning of his tone. Was he concerned again? Or was he still feeling squeamish?

And why did I care?

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.” Intrigue shone in Paul’s eyes as he gestured for me to go on. “We’ll stop at one bag if you tell me why you call me ‘cinnamon sugar’.”

Paul sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “This is extortion.”

“What can I say?” I said with a casual shrug. “I get what I want.”

“Do you?” Paul mused.

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Always?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

Paul scratched his chin thoughtfully. “No deal.”

I blinked. “No deal? Why not?”

“Well, you did say you always get everything you want.”

“So now you’re trying to spite me by withholding information?”

“Possibly.” Paul leaned closer to me, a smirk toying with his lips. “Or maybe I just want to see what lengths you’ll go to in order to get the answer.”

Something in my chest danced, curiously rising to skim the surface of his brown eyes. “You just love making things difficult.” 

Paul scoffed. “That’s all you, sugar.” He reached out to fiddle with the blood bag. “That’s…” He looked two seconds from hurling. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“We should get ready to hook up the second bag.”

Paul made a noise of disbelief. “We’ve gone over this. We’re not doing a second bag.”

“Unless you want to ‘fess up, yes, we are.” I reached over to my desk where the second bag lay, intending to prepare it, but Paul snatched it up.

“No, we’re not.”

I made another pass at the bag, but my reaction time was so sluggish, Paul easily lifted the bag above his head before I got anywhere near it. Not one to be outdone, I stood up, stretching out my hand for the bag.

I’d underestimated the effect of blood loss. 

I swayed, my center of balance shifting over to my left side, and my bad knee buckled. I nearly lurched forward, only just leaning back to allow myself to fall back into my chair instead of forward onto the floor.

My heart thundered in my chest, and I knew I couldn’t blame it on having less blood to pump through my body.

Falling. 

I’d done it often when my knee first sustained its injury. After the accident and surgery, I’d spent hours doing physical therapy, doing everything I possibly could to restrengthen the muscles around my knee. Unfortunately, knee injuries involved muscles, bones, and ligaments. The complexity of the joint fed into the complexity of injuries to that joint.

The bleakness of my prognosis wasn’t something to face, it was something to avoid. Transitioning to a vampire was the only way to fully avoid it. 

“We’re doing two bags,” I said stubbornly. “This trap has to work.”

Paul kneeled down, setting the blood bag on the floor. “Stop at one bag.”

“No.” I shook my head and regretted it as my world spun. “We need two.”

Paul got to his feet, resting a hand on each armrest of my chair, trapping me into it. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again, eyes dropping to the blood bag. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.  “Counteroffer. We do two bags, and you tell me about your accident.”

My heart tripped, falling headfirst into a hasty pace.

Brown eyes dipped to my chest all the sudden, and I remembered the comment Paul’d made about being able to hear my heartbeat.

I didn’t want to give him answers.

Couldn’t give him answers.

“No deal.” I pushed at his shoulders, shoving him away from me.

Paul stepped back, folding his arms. “Since I know you’re used to winning, I’m not sure you know what happens when two people reach an impasse.” I opened my mouth, and Paul held up a finger. “They compromise.”

“Compromise?” I laughed.

Paul didn’t. “Compromise. It’s the basis of every relationship.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to agree. If I say honesty is at the basis of every relationship, would you tell me why you call me ‘cinnamon sugar’?”

Paul sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Do I strike you as someone who lets things go?” He paused, slowly raising his head to look at me, a sudden sadness in his eyes. I shot him a confused look. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m sorry.”

I sat back in my chair, hardly believing my ears. Did he just…? “What are you apologizing for?”

“For what I said by the side of the road.”

His words rebounded again, as unbidden as every other time they’d replayed in my head. 

Wanting to be rid of you has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with you!

My worst fear, that something really was wrong with me, confirmed by my ‘soulmate’ himself. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Paul wrinkled his nose. “It does. I don’t have a problem with your…” He gestured towards my knee brace.

Discomfort rustled its wings. “Like I said, it doesn’t–”

“Yes, it does,” Paul said firmly. “I was frustrated, and I said things I didn't mean.”

“I don’t really–”

“I think you’re a very capable person.”

As compliments always did, his words made me want to cringe, to retract my turtle head back into my turtle shell and avoid uncomfortable things until they were long gone. “Can we drop this?” I asked, fiddling with the needle so I didn’t have to look at Paul.

But Paul was on a roll. “I mean, you can’t change a tire, but I can’t stick a needle in someone to get blood and whatever else you doctors do, so it all works out.”

Warmth blossomed in my cheeks like a mellow fever. “It’s not a big deal.”

“And I know I said I wanted to be rid of you, but it’s the imprint bond I don’t like.” My desk creaked as Paul sat precariously on its edge. “I could’ve imprinted on anybody else, and it wouldn’t’ve made a difference.” 

I abandoned the needle, looking up at Paul.

“I mean it,” he said, correctly decoding my expression.

“Whatever,” I muttered. I started to cross my legs, but my good knee bonked against the metal of my brace, so I gave up.

 “Am I forgiven?”

“Paul–” I began to say, more than ready to move on to anything else. 

“Am I forgiven?” he said louder.

“Yes, you’re forgiven!” I snapped, focusing on the irritation at his persistence instead of whatever other feelings were rising in my stomach. “Now will you just attach the second bag?” Paul raised an eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes. Really, I couldn’t blame him for his skepticism, but did he have to be so thorough in his doubt? “I’m not going to do a full bag, I’ll only do half.”

Paul cocked his head. “Compromising, are we?”

“Annoying, are we?” I parroted back.

No reply came. Paul’s eyes narrowed, traveling over my face with a sort of hypervigilance. I suddenly felt sorry for the creatures in biology that I’d studied under a microscope. Is this what it felt like to be measured and weighed? To have one’s behavior scrutinized and written about in a scientific report?

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“Looking.”

“Stop it.”

The corner of Paul’s mouth turned up. “Is it illegal to look?”

“It should be,” I grumbled. “Especially when you should be hooking up the second bag.”

Paul didn’t move, still inattentive to my words in favor of inspecting my face. Had he gone deaf? What could possibly have him paying such close attention, and with such a dreamy look in his eyes?

“You’re still doing it.”

With a start, Paul finally got up, picking up the second bag and crouching to tie off the first one. “Sorry,” he grunted. “The wolf had things to say.”

-

Check out my masterlist for more fanfics like this one!

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@lahoete @trantolette @nicodoesntexist @unicornicopia1 @adaydreamaway08 @inpraizeof @zealouspursecowboydeputy @vendylewin @britty443 @forkscult @sokkasimp101 @toomanythoughts33 @thatmultifandomlovingmf @imsuchafuckingmessbuthello @itsmytimetoodream @sapphireplums @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @sneezie98 @swidkid @volturiwolf @convolutings @lettermessenger @unstablekay @simpingfortoomanypeople @curadopordeus @mrmurdocksgirl @fuckthatfeeling @avis15 @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @slytherinfolk25 @patychieffi @skinmittensgoblin @itsmytimetoodream @soldierheart

[brynnterpretations]

BOWERS GANG'S MYERS-BRIGGS TYPES ☻

Belch Huggins

ISFJ

Introverted Sensing (Si): This function leads the introverted sensing types to focus on details and facts. ISFJs prefer concrete information rather than abstract theories. They are highly attuned to the immediate environment and firmly grounded in reality. Because of this tendency to focus on and protect what is familiar, ISFJs are often seen as highly traditional.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe): ISFJs place a great emphasis on personal considerations. Extraverted feelers are focused on developing social harmony and connection. This is accomplished through behaviors that are viewed as socially appropriate or beneficial, such as being polite, kind, considerate, and helpful. ISFJs try to fill the wants and needs of other people, sometimes even sacrificing their own desires in order to ensure that other people are happy.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): ISFJs are planners and tend to be very well-organized. They utilize logic in order to understand how the world works. As ISFJs take in new information and experiences, look for connections and commonalities in order to find patterns. Rather than simply trying to understand a small part of something, they want to see how things fit together and how it functions as a whole.

Extraverted Intuition (Ne): While ISFJs tend to be focused on the present and on concrete facts, this largely unconscious function can help balance the ISFJ personality by helping the individual focus on possibilities. Taking in facts and then exploring the "what-ifs" can lead to new insights about problems.

Henry Bowers

ISTP

Introverted Thinking (Ti): ISTPs spend a great deal of time thinking and dealing with information in their own heads. This means they do not spend much time expressing themselves verbally, so they are often known as being quiet. It may seem like an ISTPs approach to decision-making is very haphazard, yet their actions are based upon careful observation and thought.

Extraverted Sensing (Se): ISTPs prefer to focus on the present and take on things one day at a time. They often avoid making long-term commitments and would rather focus on the "here and now". ISTPs tend to be very logical and enjoy learning and understanding how things operate. They might take apart a mechanical device just to see how it works. While they are good at understanding abstract and theoretical information, they are not particularly interested in such things unless they can see some type of practical application.

Introverted Intuition (Ni): It is this function that is behind the "gut feelings" that ISTPs sometimes experience when making a decision. By synthesizing information brought in by the dominant and auxiliary functions, this aspect of personality may be responsible for sudden "aha" moments of insight.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe): During highly charged situations, ISTPs can sometimes lash out in sudden outbursts of emotion. They often ignore their own feelings until things reach a boiling-over point, which can lead to displaying emotions in ways that can seem inappropriate.

Patrick Hockstetter

ESTP

Extraverted Sensing (Se): As sensors, people with this personality type want to touch, feel, hear, taste, and see anything and everything that might draw their interest. When learning about something new, it's not just enough to read about it in a textbook or listen to a lecture – they want to experience it for themselves. ESTPs also have lots of energy, so they can become bored in tedious or in learning situations involving a great deal of theoretical information.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): With auxiliary Ti, ESTPs have excellent observational skills, noticing things that others may overlook. As they take in information, they then apply their sense of logic to look for practical and immediately applicable solutions. They are skilled at working independently and can be very goal-directed when they want to achieve an objective.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe): They enjoy being at the center of attention and are good at establishing a friendly rapport with other people. If isolated for too long, or if their work seems devoid of a socially meaningful objective, they can start feeling depressed or listless.

Introverted Intuition (Ni): this aspect of personality focuses on looking at information in order to see patterns and develop a "gut feeling" about situations. It allows ESTPs to gain impressions of incoming data and develop a sense of the future. Intuition is not an ESTPs strong suit, but they will sometimes develop strong gut reactions to a situation that may actually be completely inaccurate. Because of this, they may feel that they do not have good instincts.

Victor Criss

INFJ

Introverted Intuition (Ni): INFJs tend to be highly focused on their internal insights. Once they have formed an intuition about something, INFJs tend to stick to it very tightly, often to the point of being single-minded in their focus. INFJs are sometimes viewed as stubborn and unyielding.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe): INFJs are highly aware of what other people are feeling but are sometimes less aware of their own emotions. INFJs sometimes struggle to say no to other people's requests. They are so attuned to what other people are feeling that they fear causing disappointment or hurt feelings.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): INFJs make decisions based on ideas and theories that they form based on their own insights. INFJs rely primarily on their introverted intuition and extroverted feeling when making decisions, particularly when they are around other people. When they are alone, however, people with this personality type may rely more on their introverted thinking.

Extraverted Sensing (Se): While this is a less developed and largely unconscious aspect of the INFJ, it does have an impact on personality. This aspect of personality helps INFJs pay attention to the world around them and stay aware of their surroundings. Extroverted sensing also helps INFJs live in the present moment rather than simply worrying about the future.

[anyaeras]

Cut at the stem || L.Weems

Mother Larissa x Daughter reader

summary-Y/n is a bright young girl, who was left by her normie parents when the found out y/n was different, yet y/n was found by a smart kind women, who took her in...part one

Tw- abandonment, fainting, panic attack (small)

Masterlist

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Flash back 5 years ago.

"Momma where we going?" Young y/n asked, at only 5 years old y/n was extremely observant, and bright. Yet when y/n's parents notice a small change, well a big change. Flowers, y/n would act different around plants for sure but the fact that emotions now got tied into it was drawing the lines for her parents.......

Recently y/n had a nightmare, when her mother came to check on her the door was locked shut by thick vines taking all the older women's power to get into that room, when y/n's mother got in she would try not wake y/n up muffling the scream which escaped the older women, she was terrified of her own daughter, the vines had came in to protect young y/n from her mind yet this time they've gone to far for y/n's normal parents.

That's night y/n's parents left her alone in her bedroom sitting down themselves to talk about their options with their daughter. Wondering what to do with this monstrosity of a child.

"She's not normal, what kid grows plants outa their ass, she could've hurt you! Or the baby" y/n's father snapped acknowledging his wife's pregnancy with their second child who was becoming their main focus, he was standing up in the living room pacing back and forth while y/n's mother didn't spare him a glance looking into information

"i got it!....Nevermore Academy, Vermont" y/n's mother spat clicking onto the website for more information

"it's meant for 'outcast', so I'm assuming whatever y/n is becoming?" Her mother said to her father waiting for his response

"Let's pack her things" is all he said before going off to make the traveling plans, you didn't live super close to Vermont but still it was only a 4 hour drive from Albany, your home well at least you thought at the time.

Y/n was once her parents everything, their actual pride and joy, yet with the new baby and these abilities they jumped at the opportunity to push y/n away.

The next day came with a jolt for y/n, the young child woke up in a rush to clean up what was left of the vines unknowing to her that her parents had seen, y/n would go in her day like normal, playing with toys and even going outside for a few hours, until around 8pm, when y/n's father packed the car for the trip, a small bag for y/n. Before telling her to get in the car.

"Momma where we going?" Y/n asked about 30 minutes into the ride.

"Shhh peanut, just take a nap, it's passed your bed time" was y/n's mother response.

Surprisingly the young one was content with that response, maybe due to being so tired from the past restless nights, yet y/n laid down in the backseat, to rest, ignoring the idea of a child safety seat.

Y/n was shaken awake by her father, he didn't hold much emotion to the plan y/n's parents agreed on. While on the contrary her mother didn't spare her a glance she couldn't, not mentally but they didn't see a better choice.

Y/n was still dazed recently being awoken at the last hours of the night almost striking midnight, y/n's father pulled their young child from the car, leading them to a large deep blue gate which read "Nevermore Academy"

"Stay here y/n, I'm gonna go get momma" y/n's father lied threw his teeth handing y/n the small faded pink duffel bag, before walking off like it was normal.

When y/n heard the car start she was confused, yet she stayed put as her father ordered...

Seconds turned into minutes

Minutes turned into hours

And there y/n sat, eventually falling asleep in the mild weather of a Vermont night.

Larissa weems was a well respected woman, she ran Nevermore Academy with ease. It was the early hours of the morning around 5, Larissa was making a cup of tea when the night staff came to her with information about a small child sleeping on the school grounds.

"Well what did you do with the child?" Weems asked confused with the small amount of information.

"Umm Nothing ma'am" security responded leaving Larissa shocked

"You left a small child outside sleeping on the school grounds?" Larissa spat standing up to go to the gates herself, it was idiotic to leave a child sleeping outside no matter what or who that child was.

Larissa Walked outside heading towards the gate as the sunrise peaked, the pink and orange would glow bright, as Weems reached the gate she was met with what Nevermore's security described. A small girl laying on a faded pink duffel bag hiding in the bushes next to the gate.

Weems walked closer to the girl, making her way threw the gate over to the child lying on the ground. Softly shaking the young girl watching her jolt awake.

"Momma?" Was the first word out of y/n's mouth while she looked frantically left and right for her mother, only to be met with a tall, platinum blonde well put together women.

"Shh shh calm down can you tell me your name daring?" Weems asked the young girl

"Y/n...it's y/n" she replied to the older women yet the young one was still frantic

"They left me...they left" was all y/n said and she repeated it over and over.

"Who left darling. I need you to tell me so I can help"

"Momma and dad they are gone" y/n responded which clicked in weems head, this young girl was left by her parents, abandon in a bush, she's never had a case like this, but she knew she could handle it

"Why don't you come with me into that huge building?" Larissa pushed pointing at the castle like structure before reaching out to help the young girl up.

By now nevermore was busy with students running the halls getting to their morning classes, which was completely shocking to y/n along with being intimidating. Weems didn't let students bother her at this moment, heading straight to her office, opening the door and holding it for y/n to make her way into the office.

"Why don't we sit on the sofa over there and talk a bit" weems said sitting down letting y/n sit on the other end while she asked for some more information.

Larissa actually did find out quite a bit of information about the small girl. She was left by her parents last night, she is only 5 years old, it's was disgusting that her parents left her alone outside at 5 years old. Y/n seemed like a sweet young child the idea of abandoning her at a boarding school was confusing to say the very least.

"Y/n how about you stay here for a bit, until we find your family? Sound like a plan" weems offered, gaining a nod from young y/n yet weems had no idea how to find the small girls parents, but she could give her a home until she did, y/n was a bit to young for nevermore classes but weems was experience enough in childcare to watch a young kid for some time.

Little did weems know, this little girl would become her own.

5 years later (now)

"Y/n honey come here" weems yelled up the steps in her apartment, which was still on nevermore campus, today was y/n's first day attending nevermore as a student, she was already well known, as the headmistresses daughter, yet today not only was school stressing her out but it's been 5 years since she was left by her birth givers in a bush, and since she was here she hasn't had any issues with plants or growing vines, and didn't even mention that faded part of her past to her mom, and those ex-parents y/n once had where nowhere to be seen, or heard from, now y/n has been very well loved, weems wouldn't even think of the idea that y/n wasn't her daughter, she raised her, loved and cared for her, and everyday weems tried to show her love.

It was the start of the 2nd trimester at nevermore due to y/n's birthday. This was the earliest she could start, yet weems like any mother helped her get to her first class before leaving her to be a kid.

Clases went as normal, y/n took basic first year clases and didn't exceptionally well, that was until botany, her final class of the day, plant based class.

Walking into the class y/n was overwhelmed with all the plants, which was something she's been avoiding subtly for her whole time here, y/n felt a serge of energy being surrounded by the plants, taking her seat in the class as it filled up, being sat next to a bubbly student known as Enid Sinclair, she was kind, but a little too much for young y/n. As the class started professor Thornhill explained todays experiment

Each student was given a small baby weed like plant, and a small bottle of a plant growth serum, the goal was to give just the right amount so that the plant could sprout a flower, y/n watched as everyone did the experiment around her before, picking up the vile and dropper going to drop the serum into the plant. Yet something felt different, as y/n reached out and thought about the plant growing, it shot up her arm, vines sprouting from the small plant, wrapping over and over on y/n slowly reaching to her neck.

Thornhill was in shock even if a student did the experiment wrong the worst I could happen was a bush may grow not this plant attacking the students, y/n was terrified before breathing and trying to pull into control enough energy to control the plant into going back to its natural state. Y/n was able to do it but it took all the young ones energy, leading her to pass out, students all froze staring at y/n while the professor was calling the nurse to come get y/n

.

.

.

Waking up in the nurses office wasn't ideal for the first day, what really wasn't ideal was her mother standing right above her.

"Y/n darling are you alright? What happened" weems asked bending down to her daughters level, confused on what she'd been told, y/n couldn't have powers she was just a girl left behind, right?

Y/n panicked she didn't wanna spill her secret she didn't wanna be left again, she couldn't handle being left again, it took y/n a very long time to trust weems alone, she couldn't handle having to find a new home...again?

"Y/n i need to know what happened?" Weems pressed her daughter not cause she was nosey but honestly the women was worried about her daughter, but weems realized y/n wouldn't open up, not when they were in the nurses office with people around, leading weems to lift y/n out of the nursing cot and heading off to their corders.

Setting y/n down on the sofa in their living room area, allowing the small girl to breathe before Larissa pressed for information

"Y/n, my darling please tell me what happened?"

"The plants and I are connected, I've been able to manipulate plants since I was 3, but after my birth givers found out, they left me, y/n hiccuped trying to stop her sobs... I didn't want you to leave me" was all y/n could get out before breaking down. weems was quick to wrap her arms around y/n.

"My darling, I would never leave you. You are my little flower. Forever" larissa whispered into her daughter ear still holding y/n close for as long as that little girl needed....

And that little faded pink duffel bag still never moved....Part 2 is coming 😏

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AN- IM BACK, also I did not proofread this so get what you get, also my request are open feel free to send some ideas and I will get right to writing part two as I am excited for this Larissa series 

[thescorpionmonarch]

Astrology Forecast for New Moon in Virgo Sept 15th (tomorrow) trine Uranus Rx and Jupiter Rx in taurus. Moon Opp Neptune Rx In Pisces. Mars in Libra sextile Venus in Leo.

Beauty Care and Health Care are interlinked. Taking care of your health will directly affect your appearance. It is a more sensitive period to focus on during this time.

Taking care of your health is also taking care of your wealth. Self nurture is combating life torture. Some of you have been skipping one to many baths or basic health needs because you feel so low or tired.

Both beauty and health focus helps you influence who and where you work in a more positive manner. People will notice that pep in your step and your vitality.

Some people's work is getting unpredictable. It could be the hours worked or what happens to you that day or what you choose to do or need to focus on that day.

Some of you may find yourself getting unexpected promotions, raises, recognitions, or more hours. Some may get unexpectedly hired or may be approached for a job offer. You never know what route gets into a job. More than one way to a goal. More than one door. Also some things you don't think are doors, are in fact doors. Watch for things that look like doors that aren't though.

Industries being highlighted include beauty industries, healthcare, mental health, pet care, biological fields, environmental sciences, geology, geography, physical fitness, and food industry.

College education, trades, or certificates around above areas are getting highlighted. Some of you need to go back and review or add more classes. Others need to stop downplaying their interests being passions and need to start investing more and ignore the excuses blocking you.

Watch for new allergies developing or old ones getting worse. This includes your pets

Start investing early into herbalism or vitamins that boost your immune system. Teas and supplements are friends. I know some of you are sketch about vaccines, but if you feel drawn, go for it.

Neurodivergent people will feel tested during this period when it comes to routines, healthcare, what physically sets you off, and how you organize yourself. ASK FOR HELP. SPEAK UP ABOUT YOUR BOUNDARIES. Don't keep that stuff in and just mask. Masking is draining you and I.

Self investment helps relationship with self. Which helps you work with or harmonize with others. It also makes you an inspiration to others to take care of themselves and draws people to working with you more or just enjoying being around you more.

Harder to defend your yourself and your boundaries if you feel like 💩 all the time.

[wherearethekidss]

Statuesque

-F!reader/Saiki

-Yeah my bad guys

-When text is 'read like this' it is a characters thoughts

-When text is "read like this" Saiki is speaking through telepathy

-When text is "read like this" it is just normal speech (teehee)

God... Hi this is the for the people who love the slowest of slowburns...

omg send help by the way I have literally never ever in my life decided to write anything, so if it's ass just idk say it's ass and move on !!!

Female reader, she lowkey depressed but who isn't (plus it's not a huge part of the fic). #iloveallofyou

Also hi it's kind of late while I'm writing, I'll probably write some more in the morning, I've never written before so i don't exactly have a schedule lmaoooo

apologies for the amount of cliches, i'm literally in love with cliches !

Word Count- 1,468

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'Sometimes I believe I am different I am different than others...'

'But then I get home and realize I'm just trying to stand out, be 'different' in a sense. Not that I mind it, everyone needs a little delusion in their life. I feel like many are only getting by on delusion. '

As she walks into this school, she can't help but feel as if the walls are closing in. Her mind racing with so many thoughts it's hard to breath. It subsides as she walk into her classroom, taking her usual seat in the back. She drags her hands through her hair, feeling the different strands of hair interlock between each finger. Trying to focus on one thought. 'Why is it quiet?'

Peering around the mostly empty classroom, 'makes sense, I'm here early.'

As she's lost in though she notices someone walk through the doors. 'weird... no one usually comes in before the bell'. He walks in and sits down a few seat ahead of her, he looks visibly annoyed.

'you and me both' she thinks, smiling to herself as she looks back down at her empty desk.

She taps her pen on her desk quietly, careful as to not disturb her classmate who has decided to come in extremely early. She sighs, taking out her notebook and opening it to a blank page. she clicks her pen and begins to write her name and the date. She then blankly stares at the notebook in front of her, asking herself why she even pulled it out in the first place.

She decides to just doodle in the margins. Minutes later, a bell rings and students begin filing into the classroom. She feels a weight on her chest as many students begin taking their seats. 'There goes the peace and quiet...' she smiles at her own sarcastic remark as she watches the students joke and laugh amongst themselves.

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The ear piercing bell shakes Y/N out of her trance as she realizes class is over. She looks down at her notes and sees the paper still only has the name and the date... and the small drawings in the margins.

'great..' she thinks looking around the classroom as students begin walking out to begin their lunch period. She sighs, beginning to put her things back into her bag. Looking up, the boy from earlier still remains in the class, packing his things up as well.

'Maybe he has the notes...?' She shakes off the thought, not wanting to bother this guy who she hasn't even met before. Instead, she chooses to walk out of the classroom, completely ignoring the fact that she learned nothing in the hour that she spent in her class.

Y/N walks up the stairwell, carrying her bag loosely on her shoulders. Walking carefully, she counts the steps as she walks up. When she reaches the top she opens the door to the school's rooftop and walks out, feeling the brisk air. She takes a deep breath, feeling the chilly air enter her lungs. she walks over to a pillar and sits down beside it, leaning her back up against the side. She takes her lunch out of her bag and begins eating it. She just stares out, looking at the view from her now elevated perspective.

She hears the door the rooftop open. She curiously looks over to investigate the cause of the noise.

They boy from this morning walks out onto the rooftop, looking annoyed. Y/N tilts her head as she sees him walk out.

'is he always so annoyed?' She wonders, looking over at him curiously. Y/N smiles to herself, honestly relating to the stranger and turning back to her lunch, eating it quietly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Returning to her classroom, Y/N finds herself staring off into space again. She tries to focus on what the teacher is saying, but realizes it's pointless, and that she would just figure it out later. Turning her attention to the window, she sees snow falling from the sky, dusting the ground with a soft white covering.

'Fifteen more minutes...' She thinks, looking at the clock.

The bell rings shortly after, signaling the end of the day. Y/N gathers her things quickly, not bothering to waste another second in the classroom.

It's not that she didn't like school, no, well she didn't, but still. She felt as though she could be spending her time elsewhere. Where? You ask? Well she wouldn't really know how to answer that last question.

She smiles as she slings her bag over her shoulders, her eye catching the same boy again. 'What is with me today?' She peers over at him. Some boys are talking to him, he still has an annoyed expression on his face, maybe even more than earlier. Y/N giggles to herself, she wishes him luck, or she would have if she hadn't already hurried out of the classroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Y/N walks through the halls of the building, she is stopped by someone. She takes out one of her headphones and turns to give him more of her attention. It's their class rep, Hairo.

"You're not staying to help rebuild the pillar?" He asks in an almost annoyingly enthusiastic tone. Y/N winces as she hears his volume.

"Oh, yeah... I just uh," She says thinking of a way to possibly avoid it. "I just assumed you had enough people already, I didn't want to get in anyones way" Her lie is good enough, but Hairo looks at her with an enthusiastic smile.

"Nonsense, you wouldn't be in the way, we need all the help we can get!" He speaks in a loud tone, putting a hand on her shoulder and smiling widely. "Besides, we only have one person so far, I'm just going to get more materials" He speaks with such confidence.

Y/N sighs and thinks to herself. She honestly thought more people would have been helping. 'How awkward would it be to be there alone with one of my classmates?' She thinks it over in her head before sighing and agreeing to help. 'I hope this doesn't come to bite me in the ass' She thinks to herself as Hairo thanks her and runs off.

She frowns as he disappears behind a corner. She curses herself and turns around, walking slowly back in the direction of the classroom. She shakes her head, wondering why she ever agreed to help with this.

She walks into the classroom and sees a familiar face sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, reading something quietly. Y/N smiles to herself, 'Wow, what a surprise'.

Unbeknownst to her, her thoughts ring in a certain psychics head. He closes his eyes and pretends not to see her, hoping she will just ignore him too. He doesn't like how often he has been seeing her.

Y/N walks deeper into the classroom, walking over to where the broken pillar lies. She sets down her bag and looks over at the boy.

"So... what are we supposed to do?" She asks quietly, mostly to herself, but hoping to get a reply. She looks up from the pillar over to her classmate.

Saiki sighs to himself, not looking up from his book. "I'm waiting for Hairo to get back."

The boy's voice rings in her mind, startling her a little bit. "oh, alright" She says quietly, looking around the room for a chair to sit in. She decides to sit in one close to a window, putting in her headphones and trying to be patient and wait for Hairo to return with materials. She finds herself zoning out again, looking out the window.

She is snapped back to reality after a while by none other than Saiki. "The sun is setting, I don't think we are permitted to stay much longer" The boy says, Y/N stands up and grabs her things. As they are both about to leave, they hear a crowd of students down the hall. 'What-?'

'What, indeed' Saiki thinks to himself, rolling his eyes as he looks down the halls. He doesn't need to look, of course, already knowing why students are parading down the hall.

"Good god." Y/N says under her breath as she sees her classmates helping Hairo carry a log down the hall to the classroom. "Is it too late to leave?" She asks laughing softly as she nudges Saiki with her arm in a joking manner.

Saiki doesn't respond, but feels himself relate to her way of thinking.

Y/N sighs and just walks back into the classroom, with a defeated aura around her. She sets her things back down and gets ready to help her classmates.

'This isn't so bad' is what she thinks as she begins the work, smiling to herself.

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[barkbarkboy]

uh so i wanted to analyze boy division a million years ago..... i saved the lyrics but i never actually finished it. oh well. heres my queer/trans focused analysis of all the lines i can draw meaning from. its so layered!!!!! like i swear i'm gonna lose my mind this song is so good. u don't even know. CW: i talk about death transphobia and rape culture a little bit. no graphic details but yeah

If all my enemies threw a party, would you light the candles? / Would you drink the wine while watching television? / Watch the animals and all the tragedies if all my enemies (bigoted people) "threw a party" - as in celebrate or make fun of any form of minorities (with the queer/trans community as a heavy focus in this song), or some tragedy affecting those groups, would you join in? would you support them? or would you be on the side of letting people do what makes them feel happy and free and let them be themselves (such as being openly gay/trans despite the bigotry you face) Sell your arteries and buy my casket gown / (Well) It better be black, (Well) it better be tight, (Well) It better be just my size i'm not sure what "sell your arteries" means, but like, could be alluding to selling your soul for shitty beliefs and friends, or selling your heart since your arteries are part of the circulatory system. this choice is possibly sacrificing those minorities' lives in the process due to these shitty, ignorant people learning and perpetuating bigoted beliefs from these other shitty, ignorant people. the writer calls out these people for this and thus placing them (and the queer community as a whole) on death's doorstep before they are forced to confront their own internalized trans/homophobia. the writer asks why these lines must be drawn and why these lines, like the cuts of the gown they wish to wear when they die, shouldn't be cut to fit all people and not just one arbitrary gender. they're demanding it be cut just for them, and thus the label of "queer" to fit more people, not to build a new box, but to get rid of the box entirely, and let those people speak for their experience themselves.

I'm not asking, you're not telling / He's not dead, he only looks that way i'm not asking, you're not telling is clearly a nod to the phrase don't ask don't tell, about queer soldiers. in the "story" of the song it may allude to a phase in the writer's life where they pretended to not be gay to blend in and by proxy survive. this masking causes damage however, it makes them look dead, ether because that was their look at the time, or because they are mega depressed and feel unable to be themselves, so of course they're not going to be enthusiastic about life and look "dead". and the average person doesn't notice this, they just excuse it as being mentally ill, because being queer is not the norm and its not normalized enough in society.

I buy my enemies rope to hang me and the knives to gang me / You can watch them stab me on your television the writer wishes to intentionally provoke people, hoping they change people's minds, and risk their life in the process. so many queer killings go on day by day and some of them don't even make news. the writer is calling out that these bigoted people are purely ignorant to how this affects the community and thus telling it to them straight: queer killings still happen and they're awful. this community is vulnerable and needs protection. Stalk the halls because the bathroom walls / Would have a lot to say about the lines you're putting down this line? fucking GENIUS. where do i even start. first of all, bathroom debate? waaayyy before that was even a topic of discussion for mainstream audiences? they fucking saw the future ok. divine fucking visions. not only this but i think this line alludes to the fact that there are bathrooms at your home, and there are public bathrooms. for history reasons, public bathrooms are gender segregated. its considered taboo to use bathrooms that arent aligned with your agab, even though its a mostly private experience where no one has to see any of that shit. on the other hand, your at-home bathroom? not gender segregated. theres a million arguments about why public gender segregated bathrooms should continue to exist but the majority of them are rooted in patriarchy, misandry, and rape culture. the last thing is, a rumor about public bathrooms.... sometimes gay shit goes down in there. sometimes straight shit goes down in there! basically, if the bathroom walls could talk, they would say they see a lot of shit go down, and its happening behind closed doors whether you like it or not, and trans people just want to fucking piss. so leave them the hell alone and let them piss in peace! another point is "the lines you're putting down", as in, the line between the "male and female" sex and the "man and woman" gender is a lot more blurry than mainstream society thinks. someone will see someone masc presenting and automatically call them he pronouns for example, even though that person might be a she and just dressing comfortably. this gatekeeps people who don't pass well from using bathrooms at all, because they're afraid of getting hate crimed in there or because they just don't know/can't find the space that fits them.

(Well) It better be white, (Well) it better be cut (Well) It better be just my size now we've had a black line drawn, and this is the white line, alluding to black and white thinking, which is how a lot of people view being cis and perisex. however, you can be perisex and still have features that confuse you for another gender. the box is not fitting, and it never will fit the entire world's population of men, women, or enbies no matter how cis/perisex they may be. the writer demands the same thing of the lines being drawn as he asked for the black casket gown, that it fits everyone on the planet, and not just one specific kind of queer person. Until my capillaries burst of boredom / I'll be waiting this line of thinking is obvious to the writer, but its not obvious to everyone, especially mainstream society. they're willing to wait for the future, when one day all of this is normalized, and they and other queer people around the globe don't have to be afraid to be themselves anymore. the wait is frustrating and long, but they're pushing through to the end, hoping for a better, more safe future. I'm not laughing, you're not joking / I'm not dead, I only dress that way how often have you been here? someone made an off-color joke, and you just can't laugh because its not fucking funny? its just offensive? genius. i also like adding "you're not joking" because its so fucking true. people who say stuff like this and then pass it off as a joke when you get mad usually are trying to dogwhistle or seem chill/aloof by acting nonchalant about hate speech. furthermore, it seems the writer is embracing the way they dress now at least, and making it their own. theres also this idea of looking pretty when you're dead, so if you dress like you are dead 24/7, and you feel good about it and feel like you look pretty, you know how good you'll look when/if that time comes, which we know the writer has on their mind bc they know queer people die all the time and get hate crimed all the damn time. Wherever you are, wherever you are / Whoever you are, whoever you are 'Cause we got the bomb, we got the bomb, let's go / We got the bomb, we got the bomb, let's go / We got the bomb, we got the bomb, let's go / We got the bomb, we got the bomb, let's go We got the bomb / We got the bomb / We got the bomb / We got the bomb i think this is a rallying cry for all the queer community, whoever and wherever they are, to keep fighting. i think this information, which mainstream society has yet to understand, is compared to a bomb, because its going to blow the whole structure apart before putting it back together, hopefully in a healthier, safer, and more inclusive way.

[destinyc1020]

I personally think we need re-shift the conversation away from actors being "box office draws"

Family friendly, PG well known IPs are more of a draw than the actors themselves imo. Chris pratt is only a draw b/c of the franchises hes in and the types of films he in. This is not to say actors arent important but often left out of these convos is many things factor into box office success. Release date, how its marketed, is their box office competition, actors, genre, IP, critic reviews, the director like there are so many factors and think we gotta move away from framing success and an individual thing and look at all the factors that come into play.

I happy for timmy and tom its nice seeing them succeed and but they would not bring in audineces if it was a horror film about murderous clowns, released on the same day as a star wars film, like we need to star factoring in so many other things b/c those factors do matter when determing box office success, it should never be viewed in isolation in my opinion.

I love timmy and tom but I hate the term "box office pull" its often used as way to ignore the other factors that go into determining the finacial success of a film.

On one hand, I def agree with you Anon that there are MANY factors that make a film successful at the box office. Sometimes it can be based on several things. Even I have stated on my blog many times before that I think the focus on "box office numbers" in the HW industry is so tiring...and it doesn't even mean that a film that doesn't make a ton of money at the box office isn't a good film. Just like a film that makes a TON of money at the box office doesn't automatically make it an excellent film either.

But, with that said, we can't just ignore the fact that some actors are box office draws, and sad to say, but that does sometimes play a role in which actors are considered "in-demand". If you can lead a film and have it make a studio a TON of money, you best better believe the studios are going to want to keep you lol. 😅🤣

You might get more offers as well in the future.

So, box office numbers aren't everything, but I don't think we should undermine the success of those who really ARE a draw box-office-wise to audiences either. Some films just wouldn't have the same box office numbers/hit with audiences if the actor in the lead role was changed. Jmho 🤷🏾‍♀️

[scarletooyoroi]

[ WALL ]: from keqing (:

True to their regimen, the time before the sun even breaks the horizon of Liyue's end of the Sky was left to their regimen. Allowing for their bodies to kick away drowsiness in lieu for the energized merit of life. Their rhythm was in some ways practiced, others, innovative, but ultimately holding the intent for triumph upon their endless score card. If there was one thing his sharpened will learns within their arena, give Keqing a reason to push, to let her tap into those supernatural extents.

Their matches always found themselves holding skillfully at this ceiling. Never making the intent to shatter or bust the environment of their training rooms, to let elegance and technique carefully reign and tame destructive force as they're virtually blurs across the battleground. Exchanging blows, swiftly dodging more debilitating attacks, intent on drinking the wisdom from each other's professional nature as a high caliber combatant. In truth?

Thoma loves having these be the starting marks of their day. The knight within his dreams, the samurai in his current, and ultimately, himself, someone who holds a gentler nature who enjoys the certain 'World' that fighting creates.

Was it solely to get lost within the act with her? For these times, it very well may be.

Not one modicum of Thoma ever takes this as an idea to go easy on her. Similar to her swordplay, he's notice how much she capitalizes in speed and efficiency (horribly similar to her work ethic). She seems to hold a natural affinity to go for weak points, surgically working either the precision of her blade or her hand to hand martial skills in leaving her opponents a husk outright. Compared to the Swiftshatter style of explosive, bludgeoning blows, it's immediately more difficult to contend with.

Oh does it leave him thankful for the mastery of swordplay from the Kamisato House. However, it wouldn't be enough as despite going in for what looks like an advantage, it's immediately countered, leaving his expression shocked as she shoots forth with lightning's grace, immediately drawing a world of pain at his back, the harsh impact against the sturdy wood framing of the wall kicking the breathe fresh from his lungs.

Another point was etched into her favor.

The recognition of a finished round allows for the tension to gradually run free from his body, no different than the height of perspiration that drips down his frame, further soaking his gi, no different than her's. For a moment he studies the way how approval, reflection and just the instant of staring at him captures her attention, allowing for violet eyes to concentrate that electrical focus directly onto him.

In truth? Even as his breath is gradually caught back into rhythm, all he can focus on is just.. Looking at her. Marveling the way she looks fresh from the fight, how her periwinkle hair made the perfect frame for her cheeks, further highlighting Keqing's eyes. Even then, she wasn't making any intentions of driving off of him just yet either, leading to that gnawing realization shared between the both of them.

Despite how he wants victory, and how she claimed it, a different distraction succeeds to billow into their surroundings, only leading to one inevitable outcome.

Thoma kisses her, with all certainty and little hesitation.

He couldn't ignore that magnetic tug that roared within his instincts at that moment. There was a distinct knowing with the way their relationship transforms, as it keeps changing while refining stability. Right now, the best thing he could receive as a 'balm' would be the gracious nature of her lips. The sublime, sweet flavor that would always be chased, and intent of driving this very fact into her heart.

He really does cherish these instances, a hand settling upon her shoulder being further proof.

@prodigiousvisions