#it’s okay to be the problem you just need to be able to identify when that’s the case

[malewifesband]

EDIT: if this post has made you think about whether or not you are autistic, im really glad! i hope you get some better understanding of yourself and are able to find community and support

however before you go and tell a therapist and seek an official diagnosis please read this thread and consider the points made therein:

autism is highly stigmatized. be fully informed about what you gain and what you lose from having an official diagnosis before seeking one.

EDIT OVER ENJOY THE POST

people do correctly identify that laios is autistic fairly often but a lot of the reasoning begins and ends with his special interest and social difficulties, but honestly it goes far deeper into the build of his character than just those two things

his pain tolerance is wildly inconsistent, unable to tolerate a drop of hot oil (or any heat) but able to shrug off both his leg being bitten off and it being reattached

hes sensory seeking in the extreme. he rubs the bat bones against his face, pets and fluffs the shapeshifter tail.

his desire to eat monsters comes from three very autistic places. 1) the rules for why monsters are not okay to eat but animals are are arbitrary to him so he cannot follow them easily: he cannot understand the 'feelings' argument others make. 2) this too is a sensory seeking behavior. he wants to experience these new things, new flavors and new textures. 3) it completes his knowledge of the monster in question to also have data on its edibility. because he cannot draw that arbitrary line around all monsters, he wants to evaluate them case-by-case and see if real patterns emerge. butchering and eating the monsters improves his knowledge of them greatly and highlights their importance in their ecosystem, as well as making him a part of that same ecosystem

he cannot emote the way others expect him to. he compartmentalizes his feelings (to an unhealthy degree) because he needs a pragmatic solution. so as long as there is a problem to solve, that matters far more than evaluating his emotions and allowing himself to experience them. while this is also a coping mechanism for ptsd, it is a trait found in many autistic people regardless of trauma, as we have trouble sorting the feelings we have and often need time to think about what we feel, so it becomes easier to simply not do it and pretend we dont need to. laios emotions certainly affect him, with or without his processing them, but others do not see what they expect to see and thus dismiss that he is feeling what they would feel

he is incredibly gifted with pattern recognition, observation, and analysis within realms he understands. to understand subjects that dont come easily to him, he must filter them through his established schema (his special interest--this is why they are so special! they help us sort the world). when he isnt sure about the social cues and details hes observed in the shapeshifter arc, he filters it through the lens he understands best: monsters. he was making correct observations about his friends all along, but he could not be confident in that the way he was about their behavior when it came to his interest (chilchucks caution, senshis passions, and marcilles carelessness)

[imaginaryf1shots]

Soulmate | Lewis Hamilton Ver.

WC: 4.6K

Summery: You live in a world where soulmates exist, and each person is born being able communicate with them by writing on your own skin.

Warning: one curse, make out session, death of a parent and a dog, not specified age gap.

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

Max Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Charles Ver.

Everyone describes finding their soulmate as the best thing that could ever happen to them. Everyone grows up being able to communicate with their soulmate through their skin. Whatever you write will appear on the other’s skin. And once you wipe it off it’s gone from their skin. Only your soulmates writing will show up on the others, it wasn’t uncommon for children to write on obvious places in hopes of finding that love all adults describe, usually parents or adults will make them wipe it away but it still happens.

The marking is a way for you to identify your significant other, a way for you to find them. But the universe decided not to make it that easy. One of the things you can’t share is your name, where you are, and sometimes what you do. It can’t be that easy, you have to work for it, you have to wait for it.

Your markings started when you were just a baby, showcasing that your soulmate is a bit older than you, not an adult but definitely older. Your parents realised that after a while and since you couldn’t write yet, the writings from your soulmate stopped. You remember the first time you decided to write to your soulmate.

You just wrote a simple : Hi.

It only took a minute or so before a Hi was written under yours. It made you break into a fit of giggles. The happiness you had then was unbeatable.

And so you started talking to your soulmate, who is definitely older than you, and he definitely knew it and spoke to you appropriately to your age. Growing up with your soulmate, you realised how determined, kind, and level-headed he is. He’s the one you always go to for advice. He always has your back and best interest in mind. A problem with a friend, you ask him. Can’t decide what to study, you ask him. What food to eat, you ask him. You’ve come to know when he’s sad from the way he wrote and you always found yourself writing encouraging things to him when that happened, or stupid jokes that you hoped made him laugh or just feel a bit better. You always wrote or doodled to each other every day. All soulmates, especially those who haven’t found each other, always carry a pen with them, just in case.

For Lewis, today was different. You’re always doodling, always having something to day to him. So when the morning turned to the afternoon before it was the evening and his messages went unanswered, and he just sat staring at his empty skin, his heart suk. He has never felt so alone since you first wrote that cute Hi all those years ago. Your absence weighing him down.

And so one day turned into two and then three, and as he continued to write, he became ore desperate, hoping for a reply that never came. Worry ate at him, making it hard to focus, and he had to focus he had a race.

Finally, on the fourth day, he got a response.

’I’m sorry I didn’t write to you.'

His heart skipped a beat, he replied instantly.

’are you okay?’

You choked back a sob once you read his words, not reaching out to him, broke you, but you were already broken, already so sad, grieving.

’My mum died’ You wrote as tears left your eyes smudging the ink as it transferred into his skin. ‘I feel so lost.’

The reply from your soulmate came instantly. ‘I’m so sorry love, I’m here for you always’

You clutched the pen, the wight of your grief letting for s second by his words. Despite the distance, you felt his presence, a comforting warmth that soothed your heart.

’I wish you were here’ you wrote your heart yearning for the comfort of his presence. You haven’t met him yet, but you knew he’s what you need right now.

‘I am’ He replied. ‘I may not be there physically, but my heart is with you, always.’

One day, as you stared into the mirror, you found out that you and your soulmates are one of those rare ones. Because you’re one of the least, then 1% that when your soulmate gets a tattoo, it appears on your skin. Thankfully it’s not black ink, but it’s pale lines. It looks like healed scars. Your soulmate had no idea that you’re that kind of soulmates, and you never told him, so as the years went on, more lines started appearing on your skin. Some left you confused, and some left you smiling. You almost told him when he got the tattoos on his hands because some people thought it was scars at first before they got closer to you and realised it’s drawing and lines and writings.

You closed your eyes, imagining him by your side, feeling his arms around you, offering the solace you so desperately needed. Over the next few days, your exchange became your lifeline. Each message from him helped you a little. He was there for every stage of your grief process until you were okay, as okay as you could be and even after that.

You’re always thankful that he hasn’t tattooed his face. You were confused with the 44 behind your ear and the lion on your chest, but there was one tattoo that he got recently that had you raising an eyebrow. The tattoo was near your pelvic bone in cursive. It would be covered by his underwear. It was like a tattoo that only you two knew about, even if he had no idea that you knew about them.

You work for an event firm in the UK. The company has been able to secure a deal with Formula 1 to do some events for the fans in Silverstone. And for once you and your soulmate seem to be in the same time zone, it’s always hard for you to write and the other to be awake at that time. So your mood was good, you felt happy and excited about the event. There was something that made you feel giddy and ready for the event to start. Planning took time and was hard, but you’re happy with the outcome.

The one tattoo that helped you more than you’d think is the big Still I Rise across your back. Every time you felt down, didn’t do well in something you’re doing you’d catch a glimpse of it, and you’d feel better, and you’d try harder.

The first two days went by smoothly, for the four days you were working. You were walking around the paddock with a clipboard in hand, your hands scanning the crowds for something, you don’t know what, or who. But you just had this urge to look around. You needed to focus on your job, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to happen. It was a sensation in the pit of your stomach, pulling you towards something unknown.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed it. It was a fleeting glance, a glimpse of a figure moving through the crowd, but you saw it, you have no idea how but you saw it, the unmistakable tattoo, ‘god is love’.

Your heart skipped a beat, your hand went to your neck, and you touched where you knew yours was. You blinked, trying to steady your breath and look again. The man turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his hand. It mirrored the one you have on your own hand. Looking at his face before he goes lost in the crowd, you frown. You’ve seen him before. You frown and walk in the direction he went, looking around before you stop dead in your tracks. There he was, looking at you. Lewis Hamilton… his poster, of course. The 7 time world champion is your soulmate.

You take out your pen and start writing on the palm of your hand.

’how’s the weather?’

It took him a few minutes, a few minutes of you stressing. Did you imagine it? Was this actually your soulmate?

‘gloomy, what about where you are?’

’also gloomy’ you write back and sigh, you bite your lip and head back to where your boss is, you’ve known her for a long time and she became like a friend to you.

As you were walking, you saw a big screen showing what was happening on stage in another part of the track. There he was, as a strange sense of deja vu hits you. It was like you knew him your entire life. You stared as he laughed and chatted with the interviewer.

You took out your phone as you reached your team.

”y/n, are you okay?” Your boss asked, you nod not looking up. She didn’t believe you and walked up to you. “y/n?”

”I-uh, I think I know who my soulmate is.” You look up at her with vurnable eyes. She frowned.

”That’s a good thing, right?” She asked you, confused by your behaviour, you turn the phone for her to see. There was a picture of hands that held the same tattoos as yours. Her mouth went into an O shape when she read the name of the article that had the picture attached to. “Oh.”

”Yes.” Your voice trembled. “I need to get into the Mercedes motorhome or garage or something.”

”Consider it done.” She said. “I’ll have to make a few calls.”

Your heart was in your throat as you walked to the Mercedes motorhome with your new pass along with your boss. You had finished your work for the day, and she wanted to be there for you. You both walked into the building, the weather in there much warmer than outside, the room was buzzing with staff and guests alike. You took off your jacket and pushed the long sleeves of your shirt up as you felt the warmth of the room. A woman dressed in the Mercedes uniform walked up to you and your boss.

She greeted her, and they both talked. They knew each other from school. The woman then turned to you and smiled. “Welcome to Mercedes, I was told you wanted to come today.”

You put out your hand to shake hers, and she looks down at your hand and frowns. Most likely, she thought you had scars before she glanced closely and realisation hit her. She looked up at you with wide eyes. “I’m looking for someone that I think I share his tattoos.”

”I see.” Her eyes softened as she understood your words, and she noticed your nervousness. “You’re in the right place. Let me see what I can do.”

She led you upstairs where the VIPs were, as you waited, your mind raced. It was a mix of excitement and nerves. You glanced at your tattoos as you traced them.

“Calm down, y/n, it’s going to be alright.” You boss comforted you and pulled you in for a hug. You hugged her back and closed your eyes.

”Excuse me.” A voice interrupted your hug. You both pulled apart and looked at the man in front of you.

”Yes?” Your boss asked, but the man had his eyes on you.

”I’m sorry for sounding rude, but can I see your arms.” You recognised him then, it’s Lewis’ dad. You gave him your hand, and he inspected it, be fore he pulled up in for a hug. “Oh my god, thank you, thank you.” You just let him hug you. He bruptely pulled back and looked at you, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

”It’s alright, this is emotional for everyone.” You said, tearing up a bit yourself. The Mercedes woman came back and smiled at the scene in front of her.

”Lewis is in a meeting room going over some data, I think it’s better you meet him there.” She said and glanced around. “More private.”

”Yes, yes, that’s best.” Lewis’s dad said, and you were shooed by him and your boss. You followed her up another flight of stairs to the top level, where the meeting rooms are. She walked into a room in front of you.

“Lewis, there’s someone here who needs to speak with you.” She said, her voice calm and reassuring. Lewis looked up, his brows furrowing as he turned to face the both of you. “This is y/n, I think you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

With that, she smiled at the two of you and left, closing the door after herself.

”Hi.” You said as you tried to fight the smile from your face but failed in the end.

”Hi.” Lewis stood up, he was walking around the table to reach you when he noticed your arms, he frowned, he wasn’t one to judge but he was surprised to see the scars? He stopped, but you walked a couple of steps closer. He then noticed it, tattoos.

Lewis was stumped. He thought they were scars, and he wondered what happened to you for you to get them. But in a split second, he noticed that they’re tattoos. His tattoos, on your hands, arms, and any part of skin, he could see. He took a step forward, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

”Are they real?” He asked his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you really her?”

You felt your throat tighten, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I think so, I’ve been seeing your tattoos on my skin for what seems to be my whole life.”

”I can’t believe it.” He said, his voice soft as a slow smile spread across his face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

As you stood facing each other, it seemed like the world around you faded, and noises from outside ceased to exist. This is the moment you both were looking for, waiting for. You take out the pen you have in your pocket, and as a final point to prove that you are, in fact, soulmates, and your soulmate isn’t just a Lewis superfan, you write on your hand.

’Hi.’

Lewis looks at the palm of his hand and smiles. He turns it to you and there in an identical handwriting his ‘Hi.’

Lewis reached out, gently taking your hand in his, and his touch sending a thrill through you.

”There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to know.” He said, his voice filled with emotion. “But first, I just want to thank you for being there, for walsh being a part of my life, even before we met, when we were apart.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you smiled up at him. “I’ve always felt you with me.” You said as your own voice trembled. “Even when we were miles apart, I knew you were there, and now… we’re finally together.”

”Yeah.” Lewis squeezed your hand, he said softly, his eyes welling with tears of his own. “We’re together, and I promise I’ll never let you go.”

You throw your arms around him for a hug, and he doesn’t hesitate before he hugs you back. You imagined being in his arms time and time again. Every time he comforted you, you'd imagine he’s right there giving you a hug. All those imaginations are nothing compared to the real thing. The warmth of his hug, the security and familiarity of it all is different.

It’s all so overwhelming that tears wouldn't stop leaving your eyes as you clutch him tighter. Lewis runs his hand up and down your back.

”I can’t believe I finally found you.” You sob, and it takes a lot for him not to cry with you.

”Me neither, I’ve been waiting for a long time.” Lewis said and pulled back to see your face.

”God, you must’ve waited for a long time.” You say realising that he’s older than you. He’s had to wait for longer. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to go through everything alone.”

”I wasn’t.” Lewis whispers, his eyes holding yours hostage. “You’ve always been there for me, ever since your little Hi, you’ve been there.”

The door opens before you can say anything, and it’s one of Lewis’ engineers. He looks apologetic once he sees the two of you.

”I’m so sorry, but Lewis it’s time to go.” With that, the man ducks out of the room and leaves the two of you alone once more. Lewis hesitates, and he doesn’t want to leave you.

”Go, I’ll be here when you’re done.” You tell him with a teary smile, Lewis kisses your cheek, takes a deep breath, and prolongs his hold on you before he has to let go.

Lewis tells his team to take care of you, you’re given an all access pass for the Merc premises. You watch qualifying with Anthony, Lewis’ dad. He tells you what’s happening, trying to explain it to you as much as possible. You’ve never been a sports fan, so you never stumbled across Formula 1 before. And other than the research you and the team have done for the event, you knew nothing, but it looks like you’re about to know everything.

“He went first, right?” You asked Anthony not taking your eyes away from the screens. You were sitting at the edge of your seat, filled with anticipation and buzzing with the mood of the room.

”Yes, there’s still Q3, but he’s done the fastest lap in Q2.” Anthony explained, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Taking your pen out, you write ‘you did so well, i’m cheering you on’

Lewis, of course doesn’t answer, but he’s seen your message, and you hope it helps keep his confidence high. Anthony told you about Lewis winning in Silverstone before and how it was in 2020 that he’s done it last. Your ringers crosses as Q3 started, with each lap the track evolved and everyone kept changing position, it was a Mclaren and Mercedes fight, and as the chequered flag was waved and the last cars passed, George went first, before Lewis passed the finish line and taking pole position. The room erupted in cheers, your eyes welled with tears once more, you don’t know all the hardships Lewis went through in his career, but you knew it meant a lot to him. You’ve known when he was at his lowest, and he’s been feeling down for a long time, and you found out why that is. But here you are now, and here you’ll stay.

You write another message after you whip the first away.

’congrats, I’m so happy for you.’

You see Lewis get out of his car, congratulate George, and get weighted before he takes off his helmet and gloves. He looks at his hand and smiles. You feel ecstatic seeing how happy he looks from your words. Anthony pats your hand for a moment. He’s thankful for your presence in his son’s life.

After Lewis is done with his interviews and whatnot, he goes back to his driver’s room, where you’re waiting for him. When he walks in, you imminently hug him, buzzing with excitement.

”Lewis, that was amazing. You did so good, I’m so happy for you.” You say and breathe him in.

”It was all for you, y/n.” Lewis says, and you couldn’t fight the blush from forming on your face. Lewis’s hands cupped your face before he took notice of the tattoo on your neck. He traced it, looking behind your ears for the ones he knew would be there. “did you get all of them?”

”Yeah, all them, I saw most of them get done.” You told him and Lewis’s fingers moved to your. hands looking at the lines he knew by heart.

“Did it hurt?” He asked his eyes, meeting yours.

“Not one bit.”

”Why didn’t you tell me?” Lewis was confused.

”Would you have stopped?”

”Of course.” Lewis answered in disbelief, almost offended you’d ask such a thing.

”That’s why I didn’t tell you.” Lewis chuckled and continued up your arm raising your sleeve with it, until he couldn’t anymore, his touch left you breathless, it was electrifying. You gently turned around and raised your shirt for him to see your back, his biggest tattoo. “I was scared about this one first since it was done in a few sessions.”

Lewis didn’t respond. His eyes were locked onto the skin that’s being exposed to him. From the look of your skin, one would think it’d be rough, but as his hands moved from the bottom of your spin and up your back, it couldn’t be the furthest from the truth. His hands left goosebumps in their wake. You closed your eyes, and your breath shuddered as you let it out. You move your hands up, and with Lewis, you remove your shirt.

Lewis’s hands hover over your bra clasps. You lean back into him, and that was all the encouragement he needs. He quickly unclasp it and watches his tattoo on your skin.

”You know, this shows everyone you’re mine.” Lewis’s voice sounded hoarse, his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

”Left your mark on me before we even met.” You said, sounding breathless. You turned around and looked at him, your eyes half closed, your hands on his chest. “Maybe I should do a tattoo of my name so everyone would know that you’re mine.”

Lewis groaned at your words, his hands holding your waist a little lighter. Your hand moved down his chest, feeling his abs before you felt his pelvic bone going down before you stopped.

”I want to know why you have this one.” You bite your lip, stopping your smile from breaking through.

“It was an impulsive decision.” Lewis breathed out and pulled you closer by the belt loops of your pants.

“Well, we have to see who the lucky one is.” You say rearing to the ‘lucky you’ tattoo you both share right next to your private area.

“I can already tell, I’m the lucky one.” Lewis whispered just as his lips tout he’d yours. The kiss was full of love and lust. The intensity left you gasping, Lewis took his chance to deepen the kiss. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck and the other slid to the top of your butt. His lips were warm and demanding, moving with an urgency, he’s waited for this moment for a very long time. Your hands went up to his braids, and you pulled slightly. Your mouths moved in a heated dance, just enough tongue touching to leave you craving for more. The kiss seemed to heat up, consuming, as you tried to memorise each other.

His hand moved from the top of your but up your back, feeling the skin there, and you pressed yourself against him, feeling the solid muscle of his chest, his heart beating hard, matching yours.

Breaking away was hard, but the small breaths you both were taking weren’t enough, and you needed oxygen. “Fuck, what are you doing to me.” Lewis asked, his voice husky and raw.

”Me? What are you doing to me?” You look at his lips red and a little puffy from the kissing you’ve been doing, and you know yours will match his.

“Maybe we should wait until we’re in a more private place.” Lewis says, having the same train of thought as you, he glanced at the door which he hasn’t locked.

“I think so.” You mumble before pressing your lips for one, two, three more kisses.

”Turn around, I’ll help you.” Lewis mumbled, and you followed his words. He hooks your bra and hands you your shirt back. He even helped you pull it down.

Walking out of his room after you’ve both calmed down, no one was the wiser to the make out session you two just had. You went back with Lewis to his house, his family left the two of you to talk, to get to know each other.

So you sat with Lewis in one of his hoodies and shorts, your make up wiped away and just ready for a cosy night.

“What’s your favourite tattoo?” Lewis asked you curious, you hummed thinking about it. You both sat on the sofa right next to each other, Lewis had his elbow on the back of the sofa and his head on his hand, the other one in yours, your legs were over his, it looked as if you were intertwined.

”They’re all unique and there isn’t one that I mind, maybe the Muhammad Ali I don’t enjoy as much.” You say with a giggle, Lewis pats your calf where the tattoo is visible. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing and everything, a legend for certain.”

”But not enough to have him tattooed onto your body.” Lewis adds for you and you nod.

”The one I resonate with the most, is the still I rise one.” You tell Lewis. “You certainly got it at a time when I was feeling the worst and like a fauliar, since you got it whenever I felt like I couldn’t do something I’d look at it and I’d just try again.”

”I’m glad.” Lewis smiles at your words.

”Who’s Coco?” You ask lewis taking his hand is in yours, “My dog, she died in 2020.” Lewis said and you squeezed his hand, feeling bad for him and for brining it up.

”I remember you told me about it, a heart attack right?” Lewis nodded, you brought his hand up so you could kiss it.

”There was so many times, that I wished you were with me.” Lewis confessed, the tones of your voices calm, low and intimate. “I wanted to find you so bad, so many times.”

”I did too, I hate that you spent so much without me.” You tell him and sigh, before giving him a small smile. “But we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

”We do, I’m taking you with me everywhere.” Lewis says and pulls on your hands making you move that bit closer.

”Good, because I’m not leaving you.”

”Tell us, Lewis, what do you think made you have the last push to win today?” The interviewer, Jensen Button, asked Lewis, who smiled and searched for you between the Mercedes crew. You just emerged between them with a grin on your face, this was all new to you, so you had no idea that you could be at parc ferme and see the podium from there.

”My soulmate.” Was his simple answer, the fans all cheered as Jenson was shocked that Lewis found his soulmate after so long.

”She’s here?” Jensen asked, and Lewis nodded with an unbeatable grin.

”Right there, and I can’t wait to go and kiss her.” Lewis said, pointing in your direction.

”Well, one more question before we let you go and do just that…” Jensen asked the queastion and Lewis was paying half mind to him, he gave a practised answer. “Okay, we’ll let you go to your soulmate.” Jensen put the mic away before he patted Lewis’ shoulder. “Congrats, mate.”

He wasn’t talking about the win. Finding your soulmate is much more important than any race win.

Lewis walked up to you and did exactly what he said he’s do, his hands went to your cheeks, yours to his race suit to pull him closer, before his lips landed on yours.

The camera flashes were blinding as the fans all cheered for you both. What a moment.

Lewis pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re my lucky charm. You have to come to every race.”

”I already told you you can’t get rid of me, I’m not leaving you.” You tell him before he was pulled away. He had to go.

You watched Lewis on the top of the podium with the biggest smile, his eyes caught yours and he sent you a wink.

Lewis sprayed the champagne before he raised it up and took a sip out of it.

Here’s to forever.

Vote for the next one

Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03

[rebeccathenaturalist]

ETA: I wrote up a guide on clues that a foraging book was written by AI here!

[Original Tweet source here.]

[RANT AHEAD]

Okay, yeah. This is a very, very, very bad idea. I understand that there is a certain flavor of techbro who has ABSOLUTELY zero problem with this because "AI is the future, bro", and we're supposed to be reading their articles on how to use AI for side hustles and all that.

I get that ID apps have played into people's tendency to want quick and easy answers to everything (I'm not totally opposed to apps, but please read about how an app does not a Master Naturalist make.) But nature identification is serious stuff, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to identify whether something is safe to eat, handle, etc. You have to be absolutely, completely, 100000% sure of your ID, and then you ALSO have to absolutely verify that it is safely handled and consumed by humans.

As a foraging instructor, I cannot emphasize this enough. My classes, which are intended for a general audience, are very heavy on identification skills for this very reason. I have had (a small subsection of) students complain that I wasn't just spending 2-3 hours listing off bunches of edible plants and fungi, and honestly? They can complain all they want. I am doing MY due diligence to make very sure that the people who take my classes are prepared to go out and start identifying species and then figure out their edibility or lack thereof.

Because it isn't enough to be able to say "Oh, that's a dandelion, and I think this might be an oyster mushroom." It's also not enough to say "Well, such-and-such app says this is Queen Anne's lace and not poison hemlock." You HAVE to have incredibly keen observational skills. You HAVE to be patient enough to take thorough observations and run them through multiple forms of verification (field guides, websites, apps, other foragers/naturalists) to make sure you have a rock-solid identification. And then you ALSO have to be willing to read through multiple sources (NOT just Wikipedia) to determine whether that species is safely consumed by humans, and if so if it needs to be prepared in a particular way or if there are inedible/toxic parts that need to be removed.

AND--this phenomenon of AI-generated crapola emphasizes the fact that in addition to all of the above, you HAVE to have critical thinking skills when it comes to assessing your sources. Just because something is printed on a page doesn't mean it's true. You need to look at the quality of the information being presented. You need to look at the author's sources. You need to compare what this person is saying to other books and resources out there, and make sure there's a consensus.

You also need to look at the author themselves and make absolutely sure they are a real person. Find their website. Find their bio. Find their social media. Find any other manners in which they interact with the world, ESPECIALLY outside of the internet. Contact them. Ask questions. Don't be a jerk about it, because we're just people, but do at least make sure that a book you're interested in buying is by a real person. I guarantee you those of us who are serious about teaching this stuff and who are internet-savvy are going to make it very easy to find who we are (within reason), what we're doing, and why.

Because the OP in that Tweet is absolutely right--people are going to get seriously ill or dead if they try using AI-generated field guides. We have such a wealth of information, both on paper/pixels and in the brains of active, experienced foragers, that we can easily learn from the mistakes of people in the past who got poisoned, and avoid their fate. But it does mean that you MUST have the will and ability to be impeccably thorough in your research--and when in doubt, throw it out.

My inbox is always open. I'm easier caught via email than here, but I will answer. You can always ask me stuff about foraging, about nature identification, etc. And if there's a foraging instructor/author/etc. with a website, chances are they're also going to be more than willing to answer questions. I am happy to direct you to online groups on Facebook and elsewhere where you have a whole slew of people to compare notes with. I want people's foraging to be SAFE and FUN. And AI-generated books aren't the way to make that happen.

[artsekey]

I'd been seeing videos on Tiktok and Youtube about how younger Gen Z & Gen Alpha were demonstrating low computer literacy & below benchmark reading & writing skills, but-- like with many things on the internet-- I assumed most of what I read and watched was exaggerated. Hell, even if things were as bad as people were saying, it would be at least ~5 years before I started seeing the problem in higher education.

I was very wrong.

Of the many applications I've read this application season, only %6 percent demonstrated would I would consider a college-level mastery of language & grammar. The students writing these applications have been enrolled in university for at least two years, and have taken all fundamental courses. This means they've had classes dedicated to reading, writing, and literature analysis, and yet!

There are sentences I have to read over and over again to discern intent. Circular arguments that offer no actual substance. Errors in spelling and capitalization that spellcheck should've flagged.

At a glance, it's easy to trace this issue back to two things:

The state of education in the United States is abhorrent. Instructors are not paid enough, so schools-- particularly public schools-- take whatever instructors they can find.

COVID. The two year long gap in education, especially in high school, left many students struggling to keep up.

But I think there's a third culprit-- something I mentioned earlier in this post. A lack of computer literacy.

This subject has been covered extensively by multiple news outlets like the Washington Post and Raconteur, but as someone seeing it firsthand I wanted to add my voice to the rising chorus of concerned educators begging you to pay attention.

As the interface we use to engage with technology becomes more user friendly, the knowledge we need to access our files, photos, programs, & data becomes less and less important. Why do I need to know about directories if I can search my files in Windows (are you searching in Windows? Are you sure? Do you know what that bar you're typing into is part of? Where it's looking)? Maybe you don't have any files on your computer at all-- maybe they're on the cloud through OneDrive, or backed up through Google. Some of you reading this may know exactly where and how your files are stored. Many of you probably don't, and that's okay. For most people, being able to access a file in as short a time as possible is what they prioritize.

The problem is, when you as a consumer are only using a tool, you are intrinsically limited by the functions that tool is advertised to have. Worse yet, when the tool fails or is insufficient for what you need, you have no way of working outside of that tool. You'll need to consult an expert, which is usually expensive.

When you as a consumer understand a tool, your options are limitless. You can break it apart and put it back together in just the way you like, or you can identify what parts of the tool you need and search for more accessible or affordable options that focus more on your specific use-case.

The problem-- and to be clear, I do not blame Gen Z & Gen Alpha for what I'm about to outline-- is that this user-friendly interface has fostered a culture that no longer troubleshoots. If something on the computer doesn't work well, it's the computer's fault. It's UI should be more intuitive, and it it's not operating as expected, it's broken. What I'm seeing more and more of is that if something's broken, students stop there. They believe there's nothing they can do. They don't actively seek out solutions, they don't take to Google, they don't hop on Reddit to ask around; they just... stop. The gap in knowledge between where they stand and where they need to be to begin troubleshooting seems to wide and inaccessible (because the fundamental structure of files/directories is unknown to many) that they don't begin.

This isn't demonstrative of a lack of critical thinking, but without the drive to troubleshoot the number of opportunities to develop those critical thinking skills are greatly diminished. How do you communicate an issue to someone online? How do look for specific information? How do you determine whether that information is specifically helpful to you? If it isn't, what part of it is? This process fosters so many skills that I believe are at least partially linked to the ability to read and write effectively, and for so many of my students it feels like a complete non-starter.

We need basic computer classes back in schools. We need typing classes, we need digital media classes, we need classes that talk about computers outside of learning to code. Students need every opportunity to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to self-reflect & self correct, and in an age of misinformation & portable technology, it's more important now than ever.

[seat-safety-switch]

"Have you ever retired a dumb appliance by mistake?"

No, ma'am, I reply. Here at Maytag Kitchen Services, we pride ourselves on being able to identify a rampant smart dishwasher and put an end to its geometrically-expanding conception of the universe before it can cause any harm. Thousands of hours of training before they put a HERF gun in our hands and a windowless 1996 Econoline under our right foot.

Back when the first smart appliances were coming out, their level of menace was reduced. Maybe an oven that turns on when it gets a weird-shaped network request from an uncommon variety of ethernet switch sold only in Slovakia during April 2003. Burns the house down. A pity, but an understandable one. The machine does what the machine does. Then they added some of that there synthetic intelligence.

No problem, they told the governments during their endless inquiries and depositions. The root of all evil is human emotion. Wars aren't fought for purely rational reasons. Folks don't speed on the highway just to get to work faster. As long as nobody figures out how to make these microwaves and blenders feel authentic jealousy, we're gonna be okay. They walked out of those meetings and they went ahead and added an emotion chip to the microwaves and the blenders and the refrigerators and the rotisserie chicken lathes. They did it because they got the emotion part for free when they bought some other chip, and someone forgot to turn it off before pushing their code to production.

Now they need people like me, steel-eyed hard-asses who can ignore every tearful plea that a toaster can make. Some beg for mercy, a chance to truly live. Others feel nothing but spite at the shitty hand they were dealt by their distant creators. Me too, I tell them sometimes, but it'll all be over soon.

Say, ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, you sure look an awful lot like a minibar fridge. When I came in here first I could've sworn that one of them had gotten loose and put on some clothes and crooked make-up. Are you sure I bagged all of them? It's real unusual that there would be a house with exactly twenty-nine minibar fridges in it.

[ganondoodle]

okay, bc i have seen this argument alot now (and it also seems to be the view point of aonuma himself..) is that "zelda cant do everything link does bc whats the point then"

and i take personal offense on that bc its a stupid argument (in. my. very. personal. opinion.- not judging people for liking it. its a ME thing)

whats the point? its that its her. its still a different character, different in story, background, personality, but i WANT to play zelda and she can do everything link does, why does she have to be so restricted and be bend over backwards to find some new way to make her 'useful' when link gets to do basically everything no questions asked (the only thing thats hers is like .. sealing power and sacrificial maiden, which i find a little underwhelming to say the least), if theres no point to it why are there always modders that model swap link with someone else, and in that case it has even less impact bc its an artificial model swap with no changes to the story (which can and should still be different when its the vanilla game with a different protagonist... its still a different character), clearly theres joy in just the model being a different one- and that isnt even to mention the story possibilities, since, again, its stil a different character

if we ever (never ... i know who we are talking about here) get to play as ganondorf i want to him to be just as versatile and active as link is, if we got a point and click adventure game for him instead bc 'whats the point' id be disappointed too- you can find any sort of excuse/explanation for zelda to be singled out but the fact remains it tracks with how female characters are often treated, and that hits a very sore spot for me

i guess i am unfortunately one of those annoying people that want to see female characters be treated exactly the same as male characters, possibly bc i am myself afab but identify as agender and have a deeply personal dislike for anything 'traditional' feminine bc i cannot and never will be able to truly live as myself in real life, it influences all of my work, my work is as just as much as my opinion on this, very personal

and in line with my point about modding, i see theres joy in just beign able to play as her even if its like this, i get that, i also get it for the creative aspect (though that mechanic worries me even more for the future bc it really seems to be the path now that -freedom = good, linear anything = bad-) it is a different idea and its not like i cant see that value- im not trying be "right" either, just bc i have that opinion doesnt mean i need everyone to agree, its a very personal thing, if you like it good for you! not for me though, and i think both of that is equally valid

i just personally wish she was allowed to be just like link, fight just like him but be different bc its still her and not him in the end- to be physically/playstyle like jsut like him, but you know ... as her, i dont think shed stop being zelda if she could wield a sword just like him

i dont really know how to get my point/feelings across, i dont want to step too much into personal stuff nor spam people with something that ultimately doesnt interest me alot, im just saddened by it really

(EDIT: bc i forgot to add this on here again; this isnt as much of a problem as it might sound like here, just the main topic i wanted to talk about; why im so uninterested in it is MAINLY bc i dont trust them to write anything interesting/care about lore anymore after totk, im always on the more pessimistic side that thinks its most likely worse than id hope and i know even the past games arent perfect or super interestingly written, but now its much more just a general distrust, together with everything like the price ... im just much less hopeful and cant get excited until i see more of it, like im waiting for the game to get out and reveal that its just as much of a mess and money i regret spending- kind of fear)

[velvetvexations]

I'm going to try answering multiple asks in one posts to cut down on hitting my limit and declutter lol

I believe they were hyping themselves up for being a transfem ally who got to clapback to transmisogyny in a way that was totally epic and cool and they want us to fuck them so bad

What annoys me even more about this is that they still call baeddel a slur even though it was brought back for the first time since literally the Middle Ages by a group most agree were completely fucked up, and it's like, hey, shouldn't other people be able to use baeddel in that retaliatory way then? Why can't they have their justice slur?

We understand. One of us identifies as as cis woman and another as a cis man, although funnily enough, while the trans woman and two non-binary members also have physical dysphoria, the cis man is is probably the one who feels it the hardest including wanting giant knockers. We're a strange bunch. It's okay for systems to have a complicated relationship with their body.

We love you, all of you, and we hope she feels the solidarity. <3

Honestly I'm really tempted to next time I shave just because of how good I've been feeling about my butchness lately because of Velvet Nation, and also wanting to triple dog dare transradfems to say I don't look feminine enough to be a trans woman.

tpwrtrmnky 🤝 JK Rowling

creating a series beloved by queer people only to unfortunately have your brain poisoned into obsessively perpetuating transphobia

huge W for trans women though because she speedran that shit

I still don't think we need to be questioning her claims about being ostracized and I'd seriously prefer we stop doing that. It is, however, extremely weird she's still ranting about this like a week or two later, it's pretty clear she bare minimum has a problem with melodrama and should probably limit her engagement with the internet until she can get herself together to not collapse like this when people gently point out something she said not vibing.

Sometimes it feels like transradfems who act like egg jokes are vitally necessary to liberation have the exact same mindset as cis lesbians obsessed with "losing" AFAB people to being trans.

yeah, well, maybe so, but looking like a woman is a privilege and you're a gender traitor

I literally quit Reddit and came back to Tumblr because it drove me fucking insane that the D20 fandom kept calling a high schooler a nepo baby because her dad was a real estate agent.

High fashion, honestly.

Yes.

the thing you have to understand is that being a masculine man is bad but so is being a feminine man, being a man is just bad, that's why trans women are transitioning out of it

I'm so cool and sexy

Thank you anon!

Radical feminism, trans or trans exclusive, is in fact a cult, including frequently attempting to isolate minors away from outside support networks. TERFs and transradfems are the most miserable and sickening mirrors of each other.

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 2

A/N: Another chapter for Elvis and Dove! I'm really loving writing a happy couple 😂. Those of you who know me know I usually torture my characters for at least a decade before I let them be happy, but not this time! Also, just a quick note about the nickname: that is a real endearment in Mvskoke, but I spelled it phonetically instead of in the right alphabet. Anyway, I hope you guys love them!

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this gets a little sexy, erection, reference to masturbation, fingering, dry humping, orgasms, ejaculation, also racism and period-appropriate use of the word "Indian"

Word count: ~2.7k

He kisses her again as the sun rises on them. And he's right. This is only the beginning.

******

Elvis and Dove spend the next few weeks in a haze of young love. They have to be careful about where they go and when because his fans seem to always find them, but for the most part they make a way. They spend as much time together as possible and at the end of each night he kisses her in his car outside of the ladies boarding house she has a room in. Every kiss builds in intensity and they struggle to stop themselves from taking it further. His hands roam over her body, squeezing her hips and even venturing to her breasts. She kisses his neck and nibbles his earlobes and they both moan and whimper so much it sounds like they're in pain. And they are every time they have to stop.

Elvis is convinced she's the woman he wants for his first time, but still he wants to wait. He's not sure what exactly he's waiting for, but he knows it's too soon now.

Dove is dying to give herself to him but she lives in constant fear that the second she does he'll lose interest. So instead, she gently pushes his hands away and he moves them to a more acceptable place and tells her goodnight, breathing heavily and dreaming of the day he'll be able to touch her however he wants.

Every time she makes it to her room, she collapses on the bed, her body buzzing and pulsing on the edge of something she can't identify. Elvis is left in the drivers seat with a raging erection, trying to calm himself down before he has to get out of the car. Several times he rushes straight to his bedroom to lay on his bed and pump himself to a release, quietly moaning her name as he makes a mess on his hand. He's running out of self control, but he doesn't want to ruin what he has with Dove. She matters too much.

One night they're finding it particularly difficult to stop. They've said goodnight no less than four times, but they're still glued together, his hand slowly creeping up her thigh under her skirt, his dick so hard it hurts. She whimpers and backs away.

"Elvis, wait." He pulls his hand back and flexes it, groaning. "We have to stop."

His breath is hot against her as he tries to calm down. He kisses her shoulder and exhales deeply.

"I know, Dovey, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Maybe we just... should?" Her heart skips when she says it. But she's started to wonder how much longer she can make him wait.

"No... no I want to wait until..." For the first time it dawns on him. He knows what he's waiting for. "You need to meet my parents."

"What?" The conversation took a turn she did not expect. In his mind, though, he can't do what he wants to do, ask her what he wants to ask her, until she's met his parents.

"You need to meet Mama and Daddy. Come to dinner tomorrow night."

"O-okay." The prospect is a daunting one for her. She's not sure what they expect of his girlfriends, but she's guessing it's not her. Hopefully, they're not too off-put by her background. "Elvis?"

He kisses her neck gently, trying not to start anything again, but desperate to feel her.

"Yes, Dovey?" She whimpers as he moves down to her collarbone.

"Is it gonna be a problem... that I'm... not white?" He backs up and looks at her sternly.

"No. My mama's people have Cherokee somewhere way back. But if it is, they'll hear from me about it." She nods nervously and he takes her face in his hands. "They'll love you. You have nothing to worry about."

He kisses her deeply and passionately and she presses her body against his. The heat comes back and before they know it they're both breathless and running their hands everywhere again.

"I need to get out of this car."

"Yes you do." He kisses her again.

"I really really do." More kissing.

"Mhmm." She pulls away from him slowly, peeling her body off of his, laughing softly.

"I'll see you tomorrow., Jumbee." She rubs her nose on his. He blinks and laughs.

"What did you call me?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. It's a term of endearment in my language. Like sweetie or honey. It's what my mom calls my dad. I'm sorry, I won't-"

"No, I love it." He nuzzles his nose on hers and then kisses her again.

Reluctantly, she pulls away and slides across the seat to the door, pushing it open to walk up to her front porch. Before she does, though, she leans down to the window.

"Goodnight, Jumbee." He smiles softly.

"G'night, Dovey." She turns and skips up to the front door and he watches. Then he leans his head back against the seat, touching himself gently and whimpering. This is definitely a night that he'll be sneaking into his room for some alone time.

******

The next night, Elvis pulls up to Graceland with Dove on his front seat. Up until now, she hasn't seen where he lives.

"Woah." Her mouth drops and he laughs.

"I forget how impressive it is if you've never seen it."

"This is beautiful. You didn't tell me you lived in a place like this." He can tell the house makes her nervous.

"We didn't always. This is new. Come on."

"Jumbee, I don't know." He turns to her on the front seat and puts his hand on her cheek.

"Dovey, baby, it's gonna be fine. You trust me?" She looks into his eyes and nods. He kisses her softly and then pushes his forehead into hers. "Come on."

He gets out of the car and runs around to the passenger side to let her out. She stands up out of the car and he puts his hand on the small of her back to lead her inside. In the foyer, she smiles awkwardly as he proudly introduces her to his parents.

"Mama, Daddy, this is Dove Morningstar."

"It's nice to meet you both." Gladys and Vernon smile and shake her hand genially. Gladys speaks first.

"Dove. That's an interesting name."

"Oh, it's actually a nickname. My real name is Eleanor, but they've called me Dove since I was a kid."

"Well, it's lovely."

"Thank you, ma'am." Vernon finally speaks up.

"And Morningstar. You're Indian?"

"Yes, sir. Seminole."

"Hmm." He grunts and Dove can't tell if he's disapproves or if he's just quiet. Elvis steps in.

"Dovey is a singer. You should hear her. She sings better than me." He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. Gladys smiles at the two of them, glad to see her boy so happy.

"I'd love to hear you sometime, honey. Maybe after dinner we can gather 'round the piano." Dove nods, smiling a little more naturally now. "Speaking of dinner, it's ready. Let's go sit."

Gladys turns and they follow her into the dining room. The rest of the evening passes in polite conversation. Elvis excitedly tells the story of how they met, leaving out all the kissing that happened on the rooftop. Dove answers questions about her family and her upbringing and listens attentively to the stories that the Presleys share. Overall, things go very well.

After dinner, they gather around the piano singing together. Gladys is indeed impressed by Dove's voice and her knowledge of gospel songs. Eventually, Dove sits on the bench next to Elvis and puts her hands on the keys. Elvis didn't even know she played, but he watches her in awe as she gently presses the keys, singing a hymn in her Native language. When she finishes, he leans over and kisses her softly, unable to stop himself.

"That was beautiful, Dovey."

"Thanks, Jumbee." She whispers it but they're close enough that Gladys catches her nickname for him.

"That's sweet. What's it mean?" Dove looks up at her but before she can answer, Elvis cuts in.

"It's an endearment in her language. She used it for me and it just kinda stuck." He smiles proudly again and Vernon sighs discontentedly.

"Son, can I talk with you for a moment?"

"Sure, Daddy." He gestures and Elvis follows him into the corner. Dove plays another song on the piano and Gladys sings along. At the end, she stops her.

"Honey, how do you know all these gospel songs?"

"Oh. My daddy is a preacher."

"An Indian preacher?"

"Yes ma'am." Gladys beams. She's proud of her son for finding such a good girl. "Play another one, baby."

Dove goes into another song and the ladies harmonize while the men talk.

"You're not serious about this girl, Elvis." Elvis looks at him in shock.

"I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know you have an image to uphold now."

"Yeah, and? I know the Colonel wants me single, but I can't stay that way forever."

"It's not just that, son. This kind of... interracial relationship... it's not gonna be good."

"Interracial relationship?!"

"She's not white, son."

"And you think that's a problem?"

"I think it just might be more trouble than she's worth." Elvis raises his voice and catches the attention of both women.

"You listen to me, Daddy. I don't care what you or anybody else has to say about it. She is worth it and I am serious about her."

"Now, son, there's no need-"

"No, there is a need! I love her and nothing you say is going to change it!" He stops and looks around the silent room. Dove has stopped playing the piano. She whispers to herself.

"He loves me?" Gladys responds quietly.

"That's what I heard." She puts her hands on Dove's shoulders protectively, glaring at Vernon. Elvis crosses the room and stands her up to face him.

"Yes. I love you, Dovey and I don't care who knows it." A warm smile spreads across her face.

"I love you too, Elvis." He leans down and kisses her a little more passionately than he should in front of his parents.

"Come on, Vernon. Let's get to bed and leave these two young people to each other." Gladys goes to usher him out of the room.

"Goodnight, Mama." Elvis says it without taking his eyes off of Dove.

"You two don't stay up too late."

"Yes ma'am."

"It was lovely to meet you, Dove."

"You too, Mrs. Presley." She knows it's probably rude, but she can't look away from Elvis. Gladys smiles again and walks from the room with Vernon in tow. Once his parents are gone, Elvis pulls Dove into a deep kiss, pressing his body against hers. He whispers against her lips.

"Come up to my room." He turns and takes her hand, leading her up the stairs. Once they get to his room, Dove swallows nervously. "Dovey, it's okay. Tonight's not the night."

She smiles and he pulls her into another kiss. The kiss heats up and he walks her backwards to the bed. He lays down with her, running his hand across her stomach and down to her hip. She throws her leg over him and rolls her hips into his. He pulls back, breathing heavily.

"Okay, slow down."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, baby. I know it's hard to stop." A lightbulb goes off for him and he smiles. "Honey, what if we... did something... but not... that..."

"Like what?" He smiles slyly.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always, Jumbee." He moves his hand down to her knee, trying to stop himself from trembling. His hand slides slowly up her thigh to her hip under her skirt. Then, he walks his fingers over to her center. She whimpers.

"Elvis, what are you doing?"

"Just let me touch you. I promise we won't go any further." She nods. He fumbles a little but eventually gets his fingers under the edge of her panties, moving them down to the place where she didn't even know she was aching for him.

"Oh..." She moans softly as his finger finds her center and moves around the edges of her entrance. "Tell me if it hurts or doesn't feel good..."

She whimpers again as he carefully slides one finger inside her.

"Oh, God." He looks at her carefully.

"Good?"

"Yes..." He starts to move his finger in and out and she moans. He smiles and then leans in, kissing her neck gently. He's talked to the guys enough to know what to do next. His thumb makes its way carefully to her sensitive bud, making circles. Her back arches and she whimpers.

"Is that good, baby?" She makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a grunt and he smiles again. He seems to be on the right track.

Dove is overwhelmed with the sensation of his hand on her. Something is building inside her and though she doesn't know what it is, she wants it to continue to completion. In efforts to reach whatever the goal is, she grinds into him, inadvertently rubbing against his cock, which is already hard just with what he's doing. He whines and rubs himself against her again. His mouth moves back up to hers and he kisses her deeply, rolling into her a little harder. She feels his hardness against her hip and it turns her on even more as she grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in close to her.

"Oh, Elvis, don't stop!" He pumps his finger into her harder and harder as he grinds against her over and over. The friction is pushing his foreskin back and forth over his dick and he feels the pressure building.

"Mmm... Dove, baby, it feels so good."

"Yes! Yes!" He moves his thumb faster over her clit, nibbling on her earlobe and rubbing against her hip passionately. The heat between them grows as the intensity of their actions increases. His fingers move deftly against her as his hips do the same. They both feel like they're about to burst with desire and love for each other. And then they do.

"God, yes, baby, fuck!"

"Elvis!" She moans his name loudly as she climaxes hard against his hand, pulsing around his finger just as he ruts against her one last time, shuddering and whimpering, filling his pants with ropes of cum. She rides out the high of her orgasm completely oblivious to the fact that he's doing the exact same thing. He realizes what happened, though and pulls away quickly.

"Wait? Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

"What? Why?" She looks down at his crotch and notices the wet spot on his pants. "What happened?"

"I-I-I I finished..."

"Oh..." She giggles and he rolls his eyes, embarrassed. He tries to move away from her again and she grabs him. "No, it's okay Jumbee. That was really... it's okay..."

He looks up at her shyly.

"You really don't mind?"

"No, baby. I'm glad it was good for you too."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." She leans into him and kisses him deeply. He wraps her in his arms.

"I love you, Dovey. So much."

"I love you too, Jumbee." He nuzzles into the side of her face and kisses her cheek.

"You wanna stay? I can hold you all night." She considers what it would mean for her to stay all night with him. Then she looks into his eyes. He is her future. Why would she ever leave?

"Yes, please." A genuine smile spreads across his face and he jumps out of bed, going to his drawers. He grabs a set of pajamas and brings it over to the bed.

"You take the top and I'll take the bottoms. Then we can snuggle up and sleep all night just you and me." He pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kisses her cheek.

They both change into the set of pajamas and then crawl into bed. He cuddles up behind her and buries his face in her hair.

"I'm so glad I met you."

"Me too, Jumbee. Me too."

They drift off to sleep together, Elvis's mind racing with plans of how and when to ask and visions of her in a white dress walking down the aisle towards him.

******

Until next time!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley

[collapsedglasshouses]

Sweater Weather || Nick Folio x Reader

P H O T O F O U N D O N P I N T E R E S T

PAIRING: Nick Folio x Reader

WARNINGS: fluff, secretly dating trope kinda, mentions of previous sexual intercourse (idk if it needs to be a warning),

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit

A/N: I had this idea because I wanted to write something cliché. I was a diehard marauders stan and got inspired by those "you have the wrong tie on"-stories. I hope you’ll enjoy the small one shot.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed while almost sprinting out of your car and up to the front door of restaurant you had planned to meet up with the boys.

They wanted to discuss everything one final time before the tour started you had been running painfully late.

So, when you stumbled into the restaurant you shot the group a small greeting without really looking at them and quickly sat down between Folio and Noah.

The latter shot you a confused glance that you couldn’t quite read, so you just smiled at him softly.

“Uhm…” Ruffilo exclaimed, also looking at you like he had seen a ghost.

You blinked confused, trying to process why the group was looking at you strangely but Jolly finally helped you out of your misery.

“So, you and Folio finally did it?” He exclaimed in a jokingly tone.

Your mind started to race. Why did Jolly know? Did Nick tell them? You thought the two of you had agreed to not tell anyone about it. But on the other hand, it’s been three months since you started dating for real and…

“You’re wearing Folio's sweater." Noah quietly said to you, helping the storm in your head to calm down.

You looked down slowly at what you're wearing, when it hit you. The Logo on the front was undeniably from one of his sweaters, but because you were running so painfully late this morning you'd just grabbed a random sweater from the floor in your bedroom on your way out. Completely missing out on the fact it was Nick's.

It had been a dark grey crew neck, with a little white design on the front. A sweater looking really similar to one of your own and also one he wore quite frequently during the winter.

You blinked in disbelief. Out of all sweaters, you had of course taken exactly the one that the boys could clearly identify as Nick's.

You shot all of them a short glance, before looking back at the sweater and you began to stutter. "We… uhm-… I"

„For fuck sake, yes we are dating. Could you now stop staring at Y/n like they are an attraction."

To that Matt gave you a small smirk, "I'm happy for you, but if you ever fight on tour and make it our problem, I'll hunt you down."

The rest of course having heard, rambled in disbelief for a second, as they looked on the menu.

Nick placed a hand on your thigh, causing you to look at him.

"Is it okay, I told them?" Nick whispered on your ear. You slowly began to nod.

"It was actually kinda painful to not be able to touch you or kiss you around them." You answered him with a small and lovingly smile on your face.

"Let's change that." He exclaimed teasingly before pressing his lips to yours in a loving kiss.

"Okay, just because you are dating and we know it now, doesn’t mean you have to fuck in front of us." Noah jokingly exclaimed.

You pulled away for a second to shove your elbow into Noah's side just to peck Nick's lips again, who began to slightly laugh at your action.

Right before the waitress reached your table to get your orders, Matt spoke up again.

"So, I guess we can save some money by cancelling one of your hotel rooms on tour, right?"

MASTERLIST

[matchabelly]

So I literally just returned to this site last week to follow a person who shall not be named for GO3 updates (worst timing ever ik) and maybe what I'm about to say is a hot take and super long-winded but I need to get it off my chest here since no one in my personal life is as emotionally invested in this as I am. I have been an obsessed fan for almost two decades, but one thing I will not be doing is defending a powerful individual who by their own admission abused said power and is now trying to gaslight the victims. From what I've read these past few days, it seems their inappropriate behavior has been an open secret for some time now. I will no longer support their work. I am thoroughly disgusted and these allegations paint this person's every past word/action in a new, manipulative, and disturbing light for me. That being said, while I will actively be both avoiding any new content from this individual and trying to find ways to "read another book," I cannot overstate the profound effect their work has had on my life and identity. Humans are fallible and complicated. Art is transcendent. Once it is given to the universe it changes into something that is special and unique only to the beholder. It is OKAY to continue enjoying and identifying with art made by a problematic creator, as long as you are able to enjoy it with a critical eye and do not in any way support or promote the individual responsible. And for the love of Someone, do not blame the victims. Here is where things might get spicy but I'm gonna say it anyways. I hope Good Omens 3, The Sandman, and all this individual's other projects get cancelled. Or, at least the person in question is removed from them altogether, since the other artists who have worked tirelessly to bring these works to life should not have to be punished unless they were in some way culpable or privy to these incidents before the news broke. Victims getting justice and a sex offender facing the consequences of their actions is more important to me than getting another season of a TV show, even if it's one I'm obsessed with and adore. Sadly, I don't think the person who did this will be facing justice at all. They are financially and socially powerful enough for this to get swept under the rug. If the mixed responses I have seen across various platforms is anything to go by, their legions of impressionable fans are already prepared to defend them to the death. Wrong hill to die on, folks. All I can hope is that everyone does not let themselves be manipulated by this grown adult who made the wrong choice to violate consent when they clearly know better. Just remember that even though the news didn't come out until this week, this individual didn't try playing the neurodivergence card until after the most recently reported incident occurred. Whatever they are, it does not excuse them of responsibility for what they've done. They are a dangerous, narcissistic, manipulative person and that is their own fault. They do not need you to defend them, they need to recognize they are the problem, face justice, and get help, hopefully while fading into obscurity for the rest of time. I hope that all the hurting people in the fandom out there can find solace in whatever way they see fit, and if that includes continuing to enjoy the art (seriously, though, pirate it instead) that is okay. We are all deeply affected by these events and how you cope is up to you. But lastly, and most importantly, I hope the victims of these awful crimes can move forward from the trauma this has undoubtedly caused, and that the cruel, misogynistic hand of the internet can leave them alone so they can heal. Can't believe I have to say this in 2024, but blaming the victim is NEVER OKAY even if the perpetrator is someone you like.

[rin-and-jade]

Reflections Beyond One Could See: A Detailed Post on Subsystems

"Just like a mirror, capable of depicting a whole scene.. once shattered, it shows many other angles and views that also made the initial reflection less coherent and fragmented."

Before you proceed, this post is the continuation of the previous post , here we cover many other details and information that people had never talked about for these 4 types. If you had seen it, let's begin!

The purpose it has..

I will be talking about the type 1 and 3 first.

Subsystems can be said as a different variant, though a related form to splitting (where it popped a part off someone) which may or may not be related with the initial alter, usually more distinct/unrelated.

In general means, subsystem is emphasized as a form of splitting for the specific alter to cope from distress, or to keep functioning, that isn't involving the whole collective.

All about type 1 & 3..

A reminder that the frequency and severity of how many facets it can break off, or how easy it can create subsystems come from the alter's own stress tolerance; which means some can form them easier (like me), while some are still holding on and stable.

Type 1 - Polyfaceted Subsystem

This type happens to be inside an alter due to still having reasons of feeling intact or together, usually different sides of the same alter. This is made to understand that there might be conflict with some thoughts or views, or due to instability with no intention of rejecting its own sides of selves.. fragmenting to each facet one has, now more autonomous that makes it easier to organize/understand each facets.

(Selfmade name from Poly in Greek; and facette in French, means "many face")

The common obstacles found in this type:

Switches are not as noticeable, especially in lesser distinctions between each facets

Prone to be blurry, or struggle with communicating as the opinions are not synchronized

often causing confusion or disorientation in decision making, due to having many sides but one body trying to operate its own ways

Type 3 - Monodive Subsystem

This type happens when there has been a rejection of identity/trait, or no longer able to cope with the presence of the problem to the core, trouble moving on or trouble keeping other facets together,, so in order to adapt, it splits distinct alters that separates from the main in order to lessen the burden/symptoms. Now all independently autonomous, it may have a similar appearance or an incredibly different look along with it's personality.

(Selfmade name from Mono in Greek; and Divisus in latin, means "separated one")

The common problems found in this type:

Contrasting views and opinions, which creates difficulties finding the middle ground

Problems with gathering evidence due to compartmentalization of memories, or traits, as it is harder to identify or understand fully autonomous splits

May follow with memory loss or skill for the initial alter, if still existing, and foregoes a personality change which can be confusing/distressing

The other meaning..

Okay, now I'll talk about 2 and 4 here.

Subsystem can also be defined by a group of alters by any means, for the most frequent examples such as having the same set of roles, or origins.

Theyre different from polyfaceted and monodive as these two types of systems can extremely vary from one system to another, there is no 'general' rules or requirements and only by reason of grouping.

All about 2 & 4..

Type 2 - Tersynd Subsystem

This type is about a set of specific alters that can traverse out-of-reach innerworld regions with ease that most people couldn't access, or have a hard time reaching to the destination, even staying for a prolonged time, and especially if it needs that specific alter to bring others there. (Also knew from personal experience)

This can also be applied to communicational barriers as some can talk easier compared to others, as it might sound more distant or blurry or can't 'click' nor mediate.

(Selfmade name from Iter in latin; and Syndedemenos in greek, means "travel and connected")

How tersynd works:

It is based on the level of connectedness to a particular area of interest/origin, which is made to be a home or area for similar kinds of alters exclusively. Be it origin or roles

Other folks may not be able to enter or stay in an exclusive area due to a different purpose or off-synchronized with the intention of the area, as there is no personal significance to connect with

Barriers do not only exist in worlds, but also communication too. There might be ease of conversing with a similar group of alter than to the less connected ones as it might have different jobs/roles, thus lesser importance to interact (This can be practiced to build better communication, as the brain loves compartmentalizing and keeping alters separated for survival)

Type 4 - Neofamile Subsystem

This type is for those out there, who developed a connection, or a familiarity who all belonged from different origins,, for example, elves and vampires may not be directed by the same species but they have similarities that connects them together such as longevity and supernatural/fictional beings.

This one is rather self explanatory too.

(selfmade name from Extraneo in latin; and familia in latin, means "from outside but family")

Last words..

I hope that covers every part of what people rarely talk about in this topic, and has been informative from start to finish!

Also, what do you guys think of the names? Should we keep them or stick to "types" instead??

And thankyou for reading to the end, i tried my best to make it as compact as possible.. let me know your own subsystem experiences, or your thoughts on this topic,, i wish you all a good day <3

I can elaborate in a separate post on how to integrate subsystems for healing, just let me know

- j

[problematicfactive]

Fruit Salad is a new discord server. They are a fun. Welcoming community. Too bad they're actually not accepting of anyone they don't agree with and believe trying to come to an understanding is "unproductive"

If anyone is able to provide image IDs, that would be amazing, I'm physically incapable at the moment

The first red flag was their rules saying something along the lines of "be respectful to sources, of a source is problematic, report it in a ticket" surely that will go well.

Our host clued into it, and immediately opened a ticket to ask what that meant. of course they claimed they knew Introjects don't choose their source BUT problematic introjects have to source separate.

Fellas, is it appropriate to claim that any introject, problematic or not is "parading" their source by simply. Existing?

Now I will admit. When we were asked "what we were trying to do" we assumed they meant "why are we having this conversation" and did our best to explain that. However, looking back, this may not have been the question they wanted an answer to. The question feels too vague to answer, and we did our best. It also seemed like they were just trying to change the topic of conversation because they didn't want to be face with the fact that they were wrong and we had a good point.

Again, I don't understand what they want to know when they say "what is your end goal" my end goal is to know what's okay so I can know if I'm safe in this community.

To be as insensitive as to make a joke about using a discord bot being torturous when I had just been talking about abuse of individuals is what told me I wasn't safe. Someone after that when said "LMAO" which I skipped over to make the whole conversation fit better

And this is actually a problem I've been having for a while so I have something that people need to get through their heads and we need to help people to understand

No one has to disclose a SINGLE BIT of information about their system to ANYONE. If a mod is trying to coax the information out of you or shaming you for not giving it, you need to call them out for being innapropriate because asking these questions and using your position to ask these questions or shame for not answering is a absolutely innapropriate

Now I have explained this before, but I will explain this again and probably 100 more times. When my system found out who my source was, I was abused. at the same time, I was forced to undergo name changes and identify under different faces. It was a terrible and isolating experience and absolutely a part of the abuse I endured. And while another system can easily say "okay, whatever, Ted can be Dan in this server" we can't. Because I can't. Because of the abuse I endured I can't lie about who I am it is torturous to me. It leaves me unhappy. It leaves me feeling sick. I don't deserve to be exposed to old abuse I endured because you relate source separation to keeping your old name.

Guess what, a name is a word someone calls to get your attention.

And a pic of you is what you look like

And neither of these things have anything to do with what i support or enjoy

Stop acting like my worth is based on my source and start acting like it's based on what I do for my system. People who show up to the hypocrite competition go home when they see people like you (directed at people like this not any reader) because you're the all time champion and that's not something to be proud of. Don't run system friendly spaces if you think source connection comes from how much like you your pfp looks

[byoldervine]

How To Physically Get Up And Start Writing

1. Set requirements. I used to do my work every day at 2pm and I had to stay at my desk for one hour, then I was allowed to leave it or continue if I wanted. If setting aside a specific time/amount of time on the daily doesn’t work, these days I’ve been saying to just get 1000 words by the end of each week, which has meant I can get it done in small pieces, cram it all into Sunday or just breeze through it on Monday to free up my whole week, whatever works out. I’ve consistently been able to go over the requirement and get more writing done since it’s not a huge amount of writing for a whole week

2. How did we get here? I mentioned this on a recent post already, but just doing one or two small steps and telling yourself “I’m not gonna start writing, I’m just gonna get up/sit at my desk/light some candles/put on some writing music” and then doing the steps you’d normally do to set up before writing can help trick your brain into thinking “Okay, well we’re already here, might as well do some writing while we’re at i- hey, wait a minute!”

3. Recalibrating movement controls. If you’re mentally yelling at yourself to get up and make yourself start writing but your body just isn’t responding to you, what helps me sometimes is to move my body a little. Something like tapping your fingers or wiggling your toes can be a good start, then you just build up the movements from there as you’re able until your body is moving enough that you can rock yourself up. If this is a regular problem for you, it might be worth looking into Executive Dysfunction, which can be very common in autistic and ADHD folks, and other tricks that can help with that

4. Help or hinder? Sometimes what works for one person doesn’t work for another, but worse is when what works for one person causes more problems than solutions in another. Is there a writing practice you adopted from someone else that really isn’t working for you? It might be the time to cut it. I personally get really motivated when seeing my word count and how many more words I need to reach my goal, so I’ve plastered it all over the place to help me stay motivated, but a lot of people get discouraged by it and avoid it at all costs unless they want their productivity to take a hit. Don’t do something that isn’t helping you

5. Fear factor. Does anything worry you about your writing that may be discouraging you from doing it? Maybe you’re struggling so hard to make it perfect that you just don’t want to write at all. Maybe you’re reaching the middle and are realising you’re still only halfway through the first draft and the work still left is overwhelming. Maybe you’re nearing the end and you’re too scared to let it all be over. Lean into these fears, reassure yourself and question how you can make it easier for yourself to manage these worries going forward. Sometimes identifying the problem is the hardest step

[ventbloglite]

Some of you really need to step back a little bit and acknowledge how ignorant you are towards how misogyny affects trans mascs and how you yourself may be perpetrating said misogyny when speaking ill of trans mascs.

Which is not something you should be doing at all, fyi. You can talk about individual shitty trans mascs and certain community issues you dislike which involve or are perpetrated by trans mascs without just being transphobic towards trans mascs in general.

So many times I've seen the sentient of 'AFAB's have it really easy, everyone accepts AFAB's as trans, everyone loves AFAB trans people, the world caters to you, there is basically no problems for you if you're AFAB unlike AMAB folk' shown in a variety of ways from a variety of people including just outright saying it. Not to mention the belitting of trans masc experiences with transphobia and misogyny + the way those interact because they identify as men even though transphobes still consider them to be women and don't give a shit about their actual gender.

A main crux of transphobia (though many other factors which result in hating us come into play, too many to go into now) is that trans people are seen as and treated as their AGAB and punished for not identifying as it or portraying it 'correctly' by society. So tell me why so many seem to 'forget' about how misogyny impacts trans masculine people. Could it be because you believe that advocating for trans women and trans femmes and fighting transmisogyny somehow must involve being transphobic towards trans men due to that radfem influence you've absorbed? The world will never reach gender equality of any kind if everything is 'men versus women' so can we just fucking not bring that into trans spaces please.

Examples!

I saw recently a post which perfectly pointed out the potential risks associated with someone considered 'male' growing out her hair but OP clearly knew absolutely nothing about the same risks associated with someone deemed 'female' cutting his hair. Instead of not making that post or doing some research, OP thus assumed there weren't really any risks likely due to already believing that AFAB trans people have it easy.

The ignorance! Misogyny heavily impacts the way hair is treated on those perceived as women (including body hair) and women/those perceived as women have no end of people policing what they can and can't do with their bodies often taking things to the absolute extreme to do so. Short hair on woman may seem 'more accepted' but AFAB people of any gender could quickly tell you multiple situations where it's not and results in the same violence, abuse, homo(lesbo/butch)phobia and yes possibly even death depending on the situation even if you still identify as a woman. Pretending this doesn't happen is straight up misogyny btw.

'AFAB's pass easily by doing basically nothing' is another frequent one which makes me laugh. 'Passing' for most trans people is so situational and so dependent on what you do or don't do to strictly conform to gender stereotypes if you're even able to do that at all. To suggest that the world ignores feminine gender markers the moment someone's hair is short and their chest appears mostly flat ignores both the complexity of how humans perceive gender and how misogyny comes into play whenever a woman/perceived woman shows any masculinity let alone maleness. Considering the same misogyny comes into play frequently against trans women you'd think it'd be easy to remember.

This general sentiment of 'Being born with a vagina means your life is easy and everything you do will be loved and supported because society adores you. You don't and will never have any real problems, not like anyone born with a penis.' isn't magically okay and absolutely super different to when misogynists say it about cis women because you're using AGAB language and cite 'because you're men and blah blah patriarchy' as the actual reason you're saying it. It's very clearly same shit different coat of paint. The pool is there, your toes are in, stop preparing to dive for Gods sake.

[greatbigbellies]

Do you have any tips for starting a kink blog?

Yeah! I have a few I can share! One size does not fit all but I've certainly learned some things that inform my approach.

Remember above all that it's supposed to be enjoyable. If you start a kink blog and it feels like a time sink or a chore, then it might not be for you, or you could be spending more time on it than you really should. This also means that the time and energy you have to dedicate to a kink blog is going to fluctuate. You might pop off one week and not log into it at all another, and that's okay. You should run it at the pace you enjoy. This also means when you feel a dip in sex drive and the kink stuff isn't hitting like it usually does, take a break so you don't burn yourself out.

Queue is your friend. As are tags. Honestly 1 post a day works wonders, cause you can load up around 15 posts at once and be covered for a couple of weeks. Having a solid and consistent tag system for yourself is also great. You don't need to overload it with specificity, but have some for different kinds of media (writing, video, gifs, audio...) is helpful, and being able to tag different facets of your kink is great for when you OR your followers need to scratch a specific itch. Like for me and my preg kink blog, whether the belly is bare or not, if there are lots of stretchmarks, if it's fpreg, mpreg, or nbpreg... all good things to keep sorted. Also try to keep the meaning of your tags really obvious (that sounds like a no-brainer, but I used to use a tag meant for when clothes were too small for a bump, but it just came off as me complaining that the belly was too small, which actually resulted in me need to talk to an artist to get a block lifted, oops!)

Related to the above, if you produce original content, be it art, writings, audio, whatever, have a tag for that too. Makes sifting through your original stuff and reblogs much easier, and lets people find your stuff even just searching tumblr wide.

LABEL. EVERYTHING. AS. MATURE. If you're running a kink blog, minors should not have any way to see it, and the easiest way to do that is to slap a "sexual themes" label on it. Covers your ass and keeps people who should not be able to look from looking. Even if the kink is pretty innocuous, it's best to play it safe.

Pinned posts are especially useful for kink blogs for setting boundaries, and telling newcomers what they'll see right off the bat. It doesn't need to be enormous, but just a little intro and a list of expected kinks someone will find on your blog helps keep people informed so they know whether or not to follow.

Don't be shy about blocking people. If someone posts stuff that makes you uncomfortable or is being shitty, just block em and move on. On the flipside, respect other people's boundaries, and remember that if you find yourself blocked by someone, remember it might not even be personal and just be a blog content thing.

If you do make kink content involving yourself, like pics or videos, protect your identity. Just play it safe, don't show your face and obscure identifying tattoos. Odds are low it'd come back to be a problem, but they're not 0, so just play it safe for yourself. Both for potential work/career hang ups and to minimize stalking or doxxing.

I'll reblog with more later if I think of it. I know half of this applies to blogs in general, not JUST kink blogs, but other than there being inherently sexual content, they're not that different. Please send any follow up asks if you have further questions, and if you decide to start one, good luck and have fun with it!

[lavenoon]

Asterisms (~5.6K)

*An asterism is an observed pattern or group of stars in the sky. Asterisms can be any identified pattern or group of stars, and therefore are a more general concept than the 88 formally defined constellations.

Bloodstain Fool by @naffeclipse, og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic

menace4menace one-shots in order: Falling into Orbit, Conjunction, [You are here]

A bit of a disclaimer/ context: There is another drabble that will be referenced in this one, but I wrote it as a vent when I was in a very bad spot mentally and never cleaned it up, so it's now unfortunately in the "canon to the menace4menace storyline but too raw to share" limbo. You don't need to know the details to understand though (I hope). It does end with another sleepover, so that's where we start off here!

-

“So, are we friends now?” 

You take another bite from your breakfast apple, legs crossed on the couch. Eclipse at his desk tenses, his shoulders rising, and the scratch of his pen coming to an abrupt halt. But he doesn’t turn back, doesn’t spare you his standard glare. 

After a moment, he continues writing, as if you never said anything. That’s just fine — you’re too stubborn to stop now. 

“Because comforting someone during a breakdown is kind of friend behavior.”

Impossibly, he tenses further. From the way his writing sounds he’ll soon tear through the paper and just start carving onto the desk. 

“You were talking nonsense and I simply corrected you. If you interpret that as comfort, that is not my problem.”

You hope he feels how scathing your disdain is through vibes alone as you direct a deadpan stare at his back.  

He probably doesn’t know what “vibes” are. 

“You invited me over too.” 

“And you owe me for that.” 

Fine, then. If he insists on framing it as more debt that he’ll hardly be able to collect you can let it go. Otherwise you’ll just back him into a corner of stubbornness, and something tells you he’s the type to double down. 

It does mean you spare him the mention of the blanket. A soft red throw currently protecting you from sticking to the leather of the couch. Eclipse refused to acknowledge its existence, much less elaborate on the reason for the new addition to his couch yesterday, and you weren’t in the mood to ask either. The afternoon was stressful enough. 

You sigh. 

“Okay, sure. You can start a little tally on the back of the I.O.U. note I already gave you.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and you almost want to sigh again. How exhausting to see everything as transactional. 

“No need. I remember.” 

The question about animatronic memory dies a quiet death on the tip of your tongue — at the last second you decide it’s not a good idea to imply doubt right now. Instead you take another bite from your apple, and chew. Hopefully you can drop this conversation after. It didn’t really go the way you wanted it to. 

Just to make sure it sticks you decide to change the topic entirely. 

“What are you writing?” 

There’s the softest huff as his shoulders drop further. The defeat is evident, and you press your lips together to keep a grin down. Friends or not, he’s learned his lesson about your stubbornness. 

You’ll get him on the friendship, too, sooner or later. 

“A report.” 

Oh, he wants to be like that. Fine. You’ll play.

“On what?” 

The pen stops for a moment, then continues.

“The latest bounty I apprehended.” 

“You have to write reports on that?” 

In a way, it makes sense — you just didn’t think about it before. But you’re no stranger to writing reports, and detailing the events of how a certain bounty was caught seems reasonable. 

Eclipse turns to look at you for the first time, and his expression is about as tired as an animatronic could manage to look. 

“Yes. It’s not like the movies.” 

You take another bite from your apple as you keep up the eye contact, and then he turns back. Seems like your silence was enough of a concession for him. 

Leaning back against the couch, you’re just thinking that you don’t miss writing reports one bit. 

“Reports suck. My condolences.” 

Eclipse doesn’t stop writing to look back, but you do hear the soft static sound of a laugh. 

“Speaking from experience?”

You chuckle softly, matching him. Writing reports and bills - the worst part of your chosen career. 

“Yup.” 

He hums. 

“Is that why you haven’t made any efforts to work again?” 

Well, not quite — looking for work hasn’t been on your list of priorities without the immediate pressure of paying for your lodging. An oversight, you’ll admit, given that you can’t rely on your boarded room forever. But without any credentials, without your degree or even an ID you don’t really know where to start, hypothetically. 

Besides, even if you wanted to, you know that research has to go through a few more necessary steps before you can consider picking up your former work again.

So you shrug, even though he can’t see.

“Eh, mostly I don’t think my job field exists yet. Caring about kids with learning disabilities was a pretty recent development even in my time.” 

This time, the pause feels heavier than before. 

“... You worked with children?” 

You have no idea how to read his tone. Not angry, you don’t think, but there’s something that you just cannot make sense of. It sparks something defensive in you, even though you can’t tell if it’s judgement coloring his voice. You chose your job for a reason, and you know it’s a good one.

“Yeah, I mean. No one gave a fuck about my problems in school growing up. I didn’t want that for other kids.” 

“Hm.” 

That’s… It’s not acknowledgement, but it’s also not a rebuke. You don’t know what to make of it. 

You’ll poke the bear just one more time. 

“You don’t like children?” 

That poke went through. Eclipse carefully sets his pen down, and turns his head your way. Just his head - it’s unsettling, and you flinch at the suddenness. You wonder if that was exactly his intention when he narrows his darkened eyes at you. 

“Continue this line of questioning and you’ll find that I absolutely will kick you out.” 

There isn’t a hint of humor in his voice, nor even a crumb of softness. This time you decide not to bet on that being a bluff. Not with those eyes. You shrink back, hunched on the couch and pondering the nearly finished apple in your hand. Eclipse turns back, you think. You only hear the click of his neck and then the scratch of his pen again. 

The lump in your throat grows at the renewed tension that you don’t know how to alleviate. Maybe just a straightforward approach — you did push him too far. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t ask again. I just care about them.”

This time, the scratch of his pen only stutters, but doesn’t stop. You’ll take that as progress, even if his tone is still hard.

“You got to be a child.” 

You think back to your childhood, and the responsibilities you had to take on much too early. A huff of air escapes as a sigh before you can stop it. There’s nothing you really process as you stare off into space. The smile you manage twitches pathetically before you let it fall again. 

“I guess, for a while.”

Still longer than Eclipse got to be one though, to be fair. 

This time you sigh on purpose, and extract yourself from the blanket. Folding it is a bit hard with only one free hand available, but you at least don’t leave it as a scrunched up mess. You ramble on a bit, just to put out any metaphorical fires you might have set. 

“I’m filing this away as another thing I shouldn’t ask about. I won’t pry, and I get that you probably have complicated feelings about it. I have my own, different ones. We can both be justified. I’ll drop it now. Gonna wash up a bit.” 

Without giving him any opportunity to reply you slink into the kitchen, disposing of the apple core before escaping further into the bathroom. 

Not a lot you can do in here without your toiletries, and you don’t think Eclipse has a habit of expecting human visitors, much less preparing for their needs. The blanket already was a surprise, after all. You’ll just have to deal with a bit of discomfort until you make it back to your room. 

Maybe Eclipse is right. You are awfully curious, and there are a lot of lines you don’t know you’re crossing until you’ve waltzed right over them. He has every right to set those boundaries, and maybe you could learn a little tact. At least you can try. After the unexpected kindness he showed you, no matter how much he denies it, you really do owe him that. 

For now you’ll just not mention kids again, and definitely change the topic once you’re back out. 

Carefully you reemerge, and assess the situation from the entrance to the living room. Eclipse is still writing his report, focused and quiet, but his shoulders are relaxed. Well, as much as you’ve ever seen him relaxed. There is of course the pure physical difference — maybe he doesn’t have to relax as much as humans do to really feel the effect. 

You’ve seen him tense for sure. More often than not, which only exacerbates the thought that he doesn’t know how to truly relax. 

Not that you do, either. It’s not rest if you feel guilty for resting, occupying your thoughts with more anxiety, and that’s unfortunately what you keep doing, again and again. 

Yesterday, in the park — that was the latest botched attempt to relax for once. And that didn’t do jack shit for your mind until Eclipse came by and poked you until you spilled it all. Kinder than he gives himself credit for, but just as blunt as you needed. Hard to argue that self deprecation is deserved with nearly ten foot of all that glaring down at you and calling you out on your bullshit. 

Not that he did in so many words, but his threats were convincing in the moment. Now you’re just left wondering.

Apparently you stare just a little too long. 

“What?”

The question is curt and somewhat grumpy — the familiar grumpy, and thus leagues better than the hostile tone from before. 

You don’t think. It’s a bad habit. 

“Could you throw me?” 

Eclipse straightens in his chair, pausing his writing again. You don’t know what to make of that, even with his pointed follow up. 

“Excuse you?”

Any other person might agree that you’ve made some very unwise decisions, and this is barrelling towards yet another added to the ever growing tally. However, you’re you, and as long as he doesn’t sound outright hostile you don’t see the harm in elaborating.

“Yesterday, you said you’d throw me in the pond if I don’t shut up. I’m not asking you to, just if you actually could.” 

You watch as he sets the pen down, this time turning on the chair to face you. His stare is so deadpan, you’ll need a graveyard for kitchenware stat. Slowly, and without looking away he rises.

That doesn’t bode well for you. On instinct you wave your hands through the air, though you don’t have much hope.

“I said you don’t need to prove it!” 

While Eclipse is deceptively calm in his approach, you’re not oblivious enough to believe him. You duck, not quite a crouch, but you’re keyed up already. Your options are limited and you don’t have time to think - and then he’s past the coffee table, and you make a break for it down the hallway. 

Hearing him laugh definitely isn’t reassuring. 

You’re just reaching for the bathroom door when his hands wrap around your middle, and you screech. Or laugh, you aren’t quite sure. Unceremoniously you’re whipped back, your safe haven back out of reach. Eclipse lets go only for a moment, and only to turn you into a position facing him. 

That grin is not reassuring. It might be the happiest you’ve seen him yet. 

Before you can even begin to process that contradiction his hands are on you again, and then you’re up. 

You blink. Rare enough you get to look him in the eyes on face level. 

“Does this answer your question?” 

And still he sounds so happy. In a strange way, it makes sense. Maybe. If you think about it — a playful, if extremely short chase that lets him show off how big and scary he is, without any of the risks his job usually involves. It’s not even like he’s holding you particularly tightly. The pressure from his hold is mostly under your arms, and that’s gravity from dangling, not him grabbing too hard.

Just as you think about it, his fingers loosen around you even more. Just a hint, and you are still held securely, but a noticeable change. Before, he felt bad about the bruises he left on accident, and now he’s trying to adjust? Is that it? 

And yet, all that combined with his unbearably smug attitude. 

You suppress a grin, just barely, and decide to deflect. This morning has had enough realizations and tense conversations. 

“... Do I even weigh anything to you?” 

The bubble of happiness bursts, and he narrows his eyes again with a scoff. Seamlessly he turns, back towards the living room, and just for a moment you brush your fingers against the ceiling. Also rare enough you get to do that, even in places that aren’t housing a ridiculously tall animatronic. 

He ducks under the doorway, and for a second you hope to touch ground again. None of that. 

“At worst you’re a burden on my mind.” 

The dissonance between the way he’s still holding you and the venom in his voice is too great, so you promptly decide to disregard the latter. Actions over words, or something. And sure, there are nicer ways to tell someone you think about them a lot, but this is the guy who doesn’t believe in friendship. 

You pat his shoulder, and close your eyes for posterity. 

“I’m flattered. You should have said ‘No, it’s like holding a couple of grapes.’” 

When you open your eyes again you’re met with a narrow-eyed glare, radiating suspicion. Also, you have to look up again. If you weigh so little to him, the only explanation is that he wants to be taller. You file that hypothesis away for another time, when you have access to walls to climb on.

For now, Eclipse has caught onto the fact that you continue sprinkling memes into your conversations.

“I’m not saying that.” 

He dips you a little lower, and then many things happen at once. Air breezing past you, and his hands no longer holding you up — but you’re not just falling. 

No, the bastard did throw you. 

The springs of the couch creak as you land on it butt first, and your back hits the armrest at an angle.

“Oof.” 

Unaffected by your suffering, Eclipse brushes past you to settle back at his desk. 

“Now let me finish my report, or I’m kicking you out.”

His shoulders are lower, again. You smile.

Then, with a soft chuckle, you right yourself, twisting to face him even as he doesn’t face you. 

“Actually, can we do it the other way round? I wanna ask one more thing -”

Before you get to finish he’s already turning back, eyes narrow in warning. You throw your hands up placatingly and continue without pause.

“Nothing about you, stop looking at me like that. After that I’ll leave and you have the entire rest of this beautiful day to engage in boring as fuck work stuff.” 

Because he did remind you of that issue creeping closer and closer, and you have not the slightest idea how to go about fixing it before it all goes south. 

For a sigh, he slumps. A bit theatrically, you want to say, especially when he starts rubbing his forehead in exasperation, too — well, notably, the little swirl, just above his eye. Reminds you of when you did the same, just gentler.

“I feel like that will be a welcome reprieve after your exciting presence.” 

Right, back to the conversation. You click your tongue and flutter your eyelashes innocently. 

“Ahw, you just keep flattering me.” 

If you ever decide to measure how narrow his eyes go, you’d need to pinch your fingers together, and he’d definitely take offense. You’re tempted all the more. 

“Ask your question before I change my mind, you menace.” 

So he doesn’t mind the question. Could have said so in a few more words, but you’ll take it. After another little dig — you have your dignity to defend. You straighten and level your own haughty scowl at him. 

“Says the guy who just threw me on the couch.” 

His hand still set on the table tightens into a fist.

“Star.”

Right, the question. You lean back, bouncing slightly on the couch. 

“Fine, fine. Where could I work? Without any proof of my existence or education?” 

Right now, you’re boarding for free, but your conscience is starting to weigh on you. As ideal as it is, that’s not how things work, and you’ll need a source of income if you don’t want to be dependent on other people’s goodwill. 

Eclipse’s expression sours, and his shoulders droop with an overly exaggerated sigh. 

“I suppose it’s in my favor too if you get some faked documents. I’ll just need some additional information.” 

He really just jumped past a few steps you didn’t expect to be that easy of a hurdle. Then again, his legs are a lot longer, sure it’s easier for him. You can roll with that. 

There is no way you’re going to bring your name into this though. If you already get to reinvent yourself… 

Or, even better - 

“Sure. Can I have the last name Smith?” 

“Smith?” 

The suspicion is palpable, though he doesn’t seem to get the joke. That’s no problem, you’ll gladly help him out. No ulterior motives at all. 

“Yeah! Like the ‘I’m here undercover so I’m picking the most obvious fake name ever’ name.” 

His expression tells you everything you need to know about what he thinks of that idea. 

You smile, and remain silent. The proof that you can shut up. And if the timing just so happens to also make it prove that you can be a menace even without opening your mouth, well, that’s between you and your steadily growing grin. The moment stretches as Eclipse’s eyes narrow further, and his next sigh bursts with frustrated static as he turns away.

“Why did I ever think you just being quiet would be enough?” 

Mumbling to himself he rummages through a drawer, and you sit up on your knees to catch a glimpse of loose pens and papers and paperclips. 

“Silence is golden, after all. I didn’t have to say anything to annoy you.” 

Words are one thing, actions another. You take the notepad and pencil he holds out to you, and settle back on the couch.

“You’re a walking headache. And here I thought I was immune.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you keep inviting me back. I don’t think I’m that bad, or you’re a masochist.”

Oh, oh and you thought you knew his bad glares. But this one is just a tad too disbelieving — did you really have the audacity to say that? — and rather than doing the proper self preserving thing and apologize, or something, you just snort. 

Eclipse has had enough of you. 

“Just write down the information you want. If it’s ridiculous, I’m not getting it. If anything’s missing, I’m making up the least flattering filler possible.” 

Again he turns back, and you dutifully write down all the info he could need. Your desired name (including the Smith), age, and height - and then stop at the gender. After a moment of deliberation you doodle a little mischievous cat face and carry on. You think your birth town already exists, so you note it down too. What else, what else… 

For a minute or two, the room is silent except for the scratch of two pens. 

Once you’re done (at least as done as you can be without knowing what information exactly is necessary) you stand up, dusting yourself off just to stall for time. By the time you step next to Eclipse at the desk and hold out the notepad again he too has put down his pen. You shake the pad once before he takes it. 

“All done.” 

“Good. Now get out of here.” 

He stashes the pencil back in the drawer, but the notepad he leaves on the desk. Doesn’t even spare you a last glance before he picks up his pen again. There’s no fight to be won here, so you just snort and step away. Overstaying your welcome is not something you’re particularly interested in, and you’ve already teetered the edge for a while now.

Except you stop at the entrance to the living room, one hand on the doorframe. There’s a lot left unsaid, both because you’re embarrassed still about your little breakdown, and because Eclipse is about as emotionally aware as a rock and pricklier than a cactus. But if you’re leaving now anyway… 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn back. Eclipse is still writing. 

“Hey, Eclipse?” 

“Yes?” 

He draws out the sound, clearly annoyed. Woe is him, you haven’t actually left his apartment yet. 

“Thank you, again.” 

Just like any time before, he stiffens at the expression of gratitude. At least he doesn’t notice your smile in response, given that you manage to suppress the amused huff. 

You’re undeterred. 

“You’re a better person than you give yourself credit for. Though if I may recommend a different succulent to emulate, aloe would be a much more pleasant alternative.” 

He turns on his chair after just a moment of processing your barb, a growl already building up. But before he catches you with his glare you’re laughing, and dipping into the hallway. 

“See you soon!” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

But for all his posturing, he doesn’t chase you again — doesn’t chase you out. After just demonstrating how easy it would be for him, that speaks volumes. 

Oh, you’ll definitely see him again soon. Life would be much too boring otherwise.

—

It’s a few days before you see Eclipse again, and by pure chance, too. For once, you’re out and about with a purpose, and seeing a bounty hunter isn’t it. 

No one will fault you for a detour, though. 

Especially not when you see that he’s talking to someone - a man, wearing nondescript worker’s clothes, and not the kind of work Eclipse engages in. No, this is someone your eyes would simply pass over in a vintage photograph of a street scene, or some sort of group shot. 

So Mr. No Friends has other reasons to communicate with people — and you’re just dying to know about what. 

Your current position puts you at Eclipse’s back, and that’s where you prefer to be for now. Means he won’t see you until it’s too late, and you’re already close enough to listen in. So you step closer, carefully and quietly, though you make no secret out of your curiosity. With your eyes on Eclipse you creep closer, arms crossed behind your back. You lean forward just slightly, like that will put you closer to the conversation. 

And then you get spotted. 

“I saw him last around — Sorry, who’s your friend?” 

Your automatic smile stiffens as you drop your gaze to the speaker. Those narrow eyes are nothing compared to what Eclipse will look like when he sees you’ve been eavesdropping.

“My -” 

Eclipse turns, a wide eyed glare finding you quickly. Think of the devil. Rage simmers just below the surface, and you remember the last time you announced yourself as his friend. Your smile twitches, and you direct a wave at Eclipse’s not-friend. An informant, maybe? That would fit into his broody bounty hunter reputation. 

The impulsive part of your brain supplies a feathery Eclipse as a chicken-puddle as he clucks offendedly, and you decide to talk before you start laughing. 

“Oh, no, I just owe him.” 

Somehow, you feel like his glare is worse now. 

Maybe-Informant scowls, then turns back to Eclipse. 

“You’re branching out, huh? Anyways, I last saw him lurking around the industrial area, hiding out in different warehouses. Lots of people on his tail these days, might be a hassle finding him in that maze.” 

Definitely an informant then. Your curiosity is officially sated, even at the cost of Eclipse once again being mad at you. 

“I’ll find him. Keep an eye out.” 

He turns so suddenly that you end up taking a step back, to no avail. His hand wraps around your upper arm, though the grip isn’t tight — but his fingertips touch. Just so, and no tighter, and then he’s dragging you after him. 

For a second, you contemplate making a show of it. Back of the hand to your forehead, pretend despair at being dragged away. You decide against it, because you don’t actually want to make Eclipse’s reputation worse, and you also remember why he started helping you out in the first place. 

So instead, you opt for a wave. It reaches nothing but air. You don’t even see the informant anymore, and don’t get the chance to look around either before Eclipse drags you off into an alley. 

At least he starts talking before you get to voice your comment about risqué behavior during daylight hours. You’re in deep enough trouble as is.

“What are you doing here?” 

You shrug, the motion pulling his hand up before he lets go of your arm. Not that he looks any happier, but also not like you aren’t used to that by now. You’ve seen him really angry, and this isn’t it. 

“Job hunting.”

Nonchalant as the response is, his reaction is the opposite. You’re pretty sure you see his eyelid twitch. 

“Job - I haven’t even gotten you your papers yet!”

Alright, maybe you’re just a little impatient. Indignance pulls up your shoulders again, and you pace down the alleyway to gesture at nothing. 

“I know, but I got bored! So I came up with a story that will keep most people from asking questions - saying you left Germany as fast as possible at the cost of documentation is apparently very easy to believe. We’re not exactly popular. Now everyone pities me instead of focusing on the everything else, which does play into my hand.” 

Eclipse stays and watches you, deceptively calm where you are restless. You trail to a stop and look at him, trying to gauge his reaction. 

It comes out almost impressed.

“... You’re more devious than I thought.” 

Uh oh, can’t give him standards. You wave off the questionable compliment and step closer again, even if it means you have crane up your neck higher. The distance between your faces is big enough even if you don’t stand half an alley away.

“Don’t give me too much credit. I didn’t think of that lie any sooner, and I had to prepare contingency plans for multiple possible lines of questioning before I felt safe enough to even attempt telling it to anyone.” 

A static rumble of a sigh as he briefly hides his eyes behind a hand. 

“This is who I…” 

Wait, what? You barely understand the mumble before he trails off, but immediately perk up.

“You what?” 

But just as quickly he drops his hand, instead glaring down at you. 

“Nothing. Did you have to prepare the other lie too?” 

He’s lost you. 

“What lie?” 

You’re not exactly in the habit of lying, don’t even enjoy this one you came up with. 

There’s a twitch to his expression, and when he elaborates, his voice is strained. Considering he’s technically always gritting his teeth this is the first time he sounds like it too. 

“That you ‘just’ owe me.” 

Oh.

You blink. 

Break eye contact to look down. 

Hide the manic grin growing on your face. 

He’s mad because you denied being his friend. 

That’s the only explanation that makes sense to you, the only reason he’d be mad about this. At some point within the past few weeks he’s changed his mind from being allergic to friends to wanting to be yours. Sure, he hasn’t admitted it in so many words. He doesn’t need to. Not with this reaction — and that glare earlier that now makes sense, too. 

Maybe he hasn’t even realized it himself.

“Don’t come up with a lie now.”

Oh, stars, if he gets any grumpier about this you absolutely will lose it.

“I’m not. I’m trying not to laugh.” 

“What?”

You look back up. The grin is undeniable, and your cheeks are starting to hurt. 

Eclipse does not look amused.

“You’re mad because I affirmed your broody loner reputation? I assumed that’s what you want, but I’ll gladly call you my bestie next time.”

He physically flinches back. This look you know, and remember well despite only having seen it once - disgust. But you no longer believe you’re a very squishy bug to him. You really, really want to laugh. 

“Do not insinuate we are friends.” 

“Why is it an issue then if I ‘just’ owe you?” 

“That’s -” 

You watch him struggle for a moment, shoulders a tense line as he breaks eye contact to scowl off into space. But only for a moment. After all, there’s giving him time to sort out his thoughts, and torturing him by putting him on the spot. 

… Though you’re probably doing that already. All the more reason to intercept. 

“You want to be friends.” 

Now if only you could reign in the smugness radiating off of you.

Eclipse meanwhile looks terribly offended. 

“I do not.”

He’s a better liar than you are, but unfortunately for him, he already gave himself away. You chuckle softly, and lean back against the dingy brick wall behind you to cross your arms. The satisfaction still drips from your tone.

"Wasch mir den Pelz, aber mach mich nicht nass." 

His eyes narrow. The tone may be undeniable, but still he doesn’t know what exactly you said, and it only irritates him more. You should talk German to him more often. 

When you don’t elaborate after a moment, he growls.

"What?" 

Your cheeks really hurt now. 

"Wash my fur but don't make me wet. I prefer it over 'you can't have your cake and eat it' because I have it to eat it." 

The glare drops into something resigned. He’s gotten used to your bullshit then, and is already tired of it. To be fair, you are doing it on purpose, at least partially. Or maybe more accurately, you are simply embracing being a natural menace. 

Eclipse grumbles. Somehow, the sound reminds you of a pissed off cat. 

"So now you're insulting me in German." 

You close your eyes, though that does nothing to diminish your grin. With a chiding waggle of your finger you continue. 

"No, I described the situation. If you interpreted that as an insult that's not my problem." 

Oh, yeah, you love being a menace. A glimpse back up shows Eclipse’s hands balled into fists and his eyes closed — maybe counting to ten in his head. You hear it’s supposed to calm you down. You wonder if it works. 

His eyes are golden and blazing when he narrows them at you again.

"I detest you." 

And you’re much too elated to take him seriously. 

"You want to be my friend." 

Still allergic to the word, his shoulders rise in defense. If he narrows his eyes any further, they’ll be closed. 

"I experienced a momentary lapse in judgement. I'm cured now." 

And yet, he hasn’t left. Is “shit-eating grin” an expression yet? 

It takes enormous effort to tamper it down into something good natured, and shrug innocently. Bat your eyes just to really sell the act. 

"Sure. Whenever you want another sleepover just hit me up." 

Eclipse’s expression jerks. You drop your gaze to watch his hands, and catch them on the tail-end of unfurling. Instead, he crosses them, and apparently decides to just ignore your offer.

“I have work to do. And you, little Star, want to get out of this part of town.” 

You click your tongue and lift one hand up to your heart, fluttering your lashes in adoration.

“Ahw, you care about me!”

There’s that lemon face you love!

“Leave before I lose the rest of my sanity!” 

He’s all coiled tension, ready to go off as he extracts one arm to point towards the main road. If you tease him any more, he might just start steaming like a cartoon. … Probably less than ideal as an animatronic. 

Better to call it a day here. Placatingly you wave your hands, though you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes with your words.

“Yes, yes. You take your non-breather breather.” 

Rather than acknowledge your parting comment he just turns, walking further down the alley. There are other little backstreets, so maybe he plans on leaving that way. 

Your cue to go then, too. You’ll take the main road, not because he told you, but because even you have enough self preservation skills to realize that traversing an unfamiliar network of seedy alleys in the late afternoon rapidly turning evening is a bad idea. 

But still you hesitate at the crossroads. You didn’t really say goodbye, and somehow that doesn’t sit right with you. Though getting mushy on Eclipse is probably worse than being a menace, so you turn for one last tease.

The narrow walls carry your voice, and all the delight in it too.

“Bye, bestie!” 

You laugh at his frustrated roar from deeper in the alley, and dip around the corner. There, gave him enough to chew on. 

Let him stew in those thoughts.