#just kind of unwilling to do that. but i did and now they're on a hard drive and i think im gonna copy them to a thumb drive too JIC

[opold]

facebook pending deletion and the reminder that i would "lose access" to my spotify acct that i only access through an email & have for years prompted me to consider. deleting my spotify acct this weekend as well.

[lawofangie]

some things i've manifested

these are some basic stories, but i have some "crazy" ones i might share if you guys want lol

note: before manifesting i used to have a pretty "normal" life. i was conventionally attractive, middle classs, etc. i didn't really "need" anything but a social life and better grades. regardless of that, i just manifested whatever i wanted and didn't limit myself. i also added a few little stories behind them.

appearance change:

changed my hair texture to curly

grew from 5'2 to 5'6

clear, even skin and skin tone (tbh i already had a really good skincare routine, my skin was super clear bc of that BUT my face used to be like 10 shades darker than the rest of my body and i had CRAZY backne and strawberry legs)

losing 30 pounds (i used to be 72kg, now i'm 58kg)

changed my shoe size (i used to be size 9 now i'm size 7)

changed my hand size (for reference, my hands used to be a little longer than my phone, i had a "pro max" sized phone.)

social life:

having good friends in my state (im from up north and was completely lonely in the state i live in now)

popularity (i used to be pretty irrelevant but now everybody likes me and wants to be around me)

getting my sp's (i manifested them from scratch and took inspired action to meet them)

having people crush on me more overtly/ getting approached more (this is kind of a weird one, before my appearance change i was pretty attractive like maybe a 7/10, but i got tired of people just ogling me and not approaching me. i only had the unattractive and overconfident guys approaching me, all the attractive ones just stared lol)

just being likable lol (people used to feel threatened by me or feel like i was standoffish for some reason. idrk tbh but it was VERY annoying. i literally used to get accused of "acting like i own the place" for being quiet and just existing 💀. i didn't really care what they thought, but i hated when they complained about it and tried to make it my problem.)

school:

higher gpa (i used to have a 3.0 but i manifested a 3.8, which is a weighted 4.0)

high grades (i used to fail many tests/exams and have a mix of a, b, and c's. now they're all a's)

dream college acceptance

teachers liking me (they actually used to hate my guts it was so annoying 😭)

school crushes liking me back (tbh they probably thought i was already attractive but they never spoke to me or seemed like they wanted to get to know me)

leaving early (my school day ends at like 12 now)

lifestyle:

living closer to the city

having my dream routine (i have my dream skincare products, haircare products, diet, and health routines.)

having a high self concept (tbh i technically always did, i knew what i wanted and deserved. i just felt more like i was being injusticed. so i got rid of the "unwilling victim" mentality. i also used to ruminate on irrelevant things, like mistakes i made, what people thought of me, etc.)

very high confidence (in my looks, abilities, judgement, etc.)

money for my parents and myself

having a busy, productive life (i used to hate school because my grades weren't contributing to anything i wanted to do in life, so i wanted a productive life outside of that.)

always getting my way

getting all sorts of things for free

and more!

i'd say this all took me around 2-3 months, not because manifesting takes time, but because i assumed a lot of things would take time. i also had periods of doubt in myself and tried to handle things in the 3d on my own for some time.. which obviously didn't work. still, all i did was assume and accept these things as true and they happened overnight, in a day, or within that week. the longest anything's taken me is like 7 days, and that was because i kept wavering in my mind. manifestation is truly instant.

but anyways, i hope this is motivational and helpful. i do have some pretty "ridiculous" stories like some revenge stories, "crazy" stories regarding sp's, some not very appropriate stories, really good things happening to me, and others.

thanks for reading! i hope this helps. 🩶

[fishnapple]

Channelled message: The moment they fall in love with you

(lover/partner/future spouse)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. Carnelian

I have to admit that I look like a human being but sometimes I feel like an oyster. I wish I could have their shell, hiding myself behind a sturdy, protective barrier that no one can touch me. I would feel invincible in my weakness, in the darkness that my shell provided, taking a peek only now and then. You must be getting tired of this hide and seek game that I subjected you to, to be an unwilling gamer.

But even then, you excelled at that game, just like in everything you do. How did you beat the game? You ignored the rules, of course. You didn't let me hide, and what is there to be sought if there was no hiding.

You were a magician, transformed the most dire thing into the most hopeful thing. A magician with an X-ray machine, you peered into my inner most thoughts and feelings without opening my shell.

I felt scared and rage at first, who are you to dare to do that to me? I flipped out, of course, natural reaction of someone who had been in hiding for who knows how long. I got angry, I shouted, I cried, I held my breath, and I looked at you, begging you to stop seeing me, knowing me, accepting me. I must look like a clown to you back then.

But you just smiled. A triumphant smile, the smile that someone has after searching for something for so long and finally found it. I could feel you saying this to me: "I'm not an oyster and I'm not the kind to fall in love with an oyster, stop role-playing and sit with me side by side."

And that was how I turned into a proper human and learnt to love properly. Before, it felt like I was a story teller, someone looking from afar, at a safe distance, through the telescope, peered into life. I saw myself being with you, but I didn't really know the me who was being with you, how did they feel. And you reached out your hand, pulled the telescope aside, let me become the one that I had been watching all along and let me feel what they had felt.

I want to confess, sometimes I couldn't shake this dissociated feeling about everything. Sometimes, it feels like I was dangling between two worlds. But I have something new with me, a hope, a faith, that you would be there for me at that time, pull me back to you or accompany me in whatever that world I'm in.

Note: The moment your person falls in love with you would be when they feel seen by you, for all their light and darkness, the beautiful and the ugly parts of them. They're scared of this feeling, it makes them vulnerable. You unmask them, make them come out of their shell and be their real self, no more hiding. The way you do it is gentle and considerate, but the feeling they have will be devastating. They probably are someone who is more detached and isn't too involved with everything for fear of getting hurt. But after falling in love with you, even though the feeling of detachment about the world sometimes still lingers but they will also have the faith that there's someone who can see and understand them, who they can just be and come closer.

2. Aventurine

Sometimes, I feel like a bottle floating in this vast ocean of life. People around me, they seem to float right past me. If I could find a companion, then they would just stay for a fleeting moment and then ready to move on, leaving me behind to swim alone again. It never occurred to me that I might have looked at the wrong place.

Call me childish or sentimental, but whenever I looked at you, I felt like Ariel, the little mermaid, hiding behind the rocks to sneak a glance at the prince. You seemed so sure, so fine, so stable, so fixed, so opposite of me.

While I needed to hold on to something to keep me in one place and safe, you were just there, magnificent like the sun, without a care of the world. My soul was transfixed.

Many came to me with their offers, but their light paled in comparison to you, the true light. They were like the moon while you were the sun, and even though I'm a coward, I still dare to be ambitious and aim for the sun. It's like a moth to a flame.

Your smiles were and still are the warmest. They made the cold creature in me surrender and crawled out of the dark to actually stand in the light before you. Was it a kind of reverence? I dare not to use such a heavy word. And I dared not to impose my heavy feelings on you.

The moment I saw your light, I had already become speechless. I wanted to tell you many things, the good, the bad, the silly but I couldn't find the words. And that was fine, really. I found love in the silence of our existence together.

You taught me that life was not just about constantly swimming and floating but it can also be about being still and taking in all the things around us, and taking out all the things inside us. To lay them out on a table and let the other pick what they like, making a trade. You keep something of mine, and I keep something of yours.

Note: Before meeting you, falling in love with you, this person just floated through life with several superficial connections that, at the end of the day, made them feel even more lonely than before. There is a feeling of being lost in the dark, forever grasping for something. Then the moment they see you, your composure, your stillness and your stability will draw them in, probably a moment where you will display a sense of responsibility and confidence, being there for them, being their rock. They will feel a sense of finally being able to rest, to stand still and enjoy life.

Their temperament and yours are probably opposite of each other. Opposite attracts.

The moment they fall in love will also be the moment they put you on a pedestal, a fixed place for them to look up to. And at the same time, they will want to fuse with you, to possess some of your traits while you are taking in their influences. The feeling, the desire for belonging will be the spark that ignite their love for you.

3. Agate

You want me to tell you the moment that I fell in love with you? Can I be greedy and tell you many moments instead?

I don't have a love switch in me that can switch on and off suddenly. The concept of love at first sight perplexed me.

To me, loving you feels like the spread of the ink, the water that flows slowly, the trail that we keep walking on. I felt like a piece of paper with a corner touched by the tip of your pen absentmindedly. The ink just spread slowly, but everywhere, until the piece of paper turned completely into your colour. A natural progression, the inevitable.

We debated, we laughed, we played, we dreamed, we ran, we feared. All of those moments, together, made the ink soaked deeper and deeper still, forming indelible marks on me.

I had put a lot of thoughts into this subject, believe me, about why did I fall in love with you and I had no answer, to this day still don't. I'm afraid, actually, to find the answer. What if the moment I put a definition to it, the moment the answer materialise in my head, it becomes a checklist? If the things in that checklist become untrue, will I just fall out of love with you? I'm scared of my mind sometimes, it kills the magic. Yes, I believe in magic. Even if I know that the magic trick in the show is all about the sleight of hand, but in some corners of my heart, I still believe in the real magic of the act. A part of me refuses to see the logic, the reality. Let me dream a little and don't ask me to define the indefinable, that is our love. Let things stay inexplicable sometimes.

Note: This person refused to define any moment as the moment they fell in love with you. It's a gradual progress for them. Everything you guys did together is another drop of ink (their word) making the love deeper.

They couldn't tell the beginning of it, and they are afraid of thinking about it, actually. It makes them dread the possible ending.

To this person, love is a journey, stretched through the span of their life, there is no start point nor an end point. They are highly rational and in their head a lot. Notice that they used the word "think" and "head". But they are aware that a part of them, their heart, yearn for something magical, the inexplicable and they want their love to be that way, to escape the scrutiny of their head, to leave out the logic.

4. Citrine

I had a belief that life is supposed to be an endless journey. We constantly have to keep moving, never stop. Whatever we are doing, whoever we are meeting, one day, they will all go away, leaving us, alone, on our journey. And I had been living with that belief for a very long time. Until you.

Being with you made me question if it was really necessary to be always on the move, to be alone on my journey. Yes, it's necessary to be always on the move, but it's not necessary to be alone. Just like a ship, they stop, the passengers step out, new passengers step in, and the ship goes on. But the captain and the crews won't change, they are together with the ship. And I wanted you to be the captain of my ship.

Changes are good, but having someone going along with you through all of those changes is even better, or best. I moved a lot, I travelled a lot, constantly seeking, constantly reaching. It wore my soul down. Some days, I just arrived home then threw myself on the bed, exhausted, trying to sleep to save the energy for the next day. It went on and on, the motion. I had all these experiences, all these wonderful stories along my travels that I didn't know whom to share with. I didn't have someone to hold me when I felt shaken, to whisper that everything would be okay. Until you.

Maybe the path I need to travel wasn't just to some faraway places but also to you all along. For the first time, I wanted to hang on dearly to something, someone, to you and to our relationship. To have a real home, to see myself so connected to you that the thought of leaving would be immediately banished out of my mind, to imagine myself being a parent to our children. I contemplated all of these and I saw all of these in my mind, clear as day.

Note: Before being in a relationship with you, this person had been travelling alone, constantly on the move, never had concrete, long-lasting connections with anyone. Could be due to their job and environment that they had to move a lot. It made them exhausted and didn't have enough energy for anything else.

But by meeting you, being in a relationship with you, their belief has changed. They want a companion, someone whom they can commit to and build a stable life with. Even with all the travelling, they can still feel the sense of being anchored. That's when this person falls in love with you. Now they have someone whom they can offer their love, their stories to, whom they can imagine a future home life with, who can hold them close without holding them down.

5. Labradorite

I have always yearned to be a part of a romantic fairy tale since I was a kid. Keep this a secret for me, okay? I dream of the two characters meeting at the most fateful moment, going through many hardships, longing for each other, and finally, at the end of the tale, pulling each other into an eternal kiss. And guess what, I actually have that with you! Minus the ending part and eternal kiss, we don't end, and an eternal kiss will make us out of breath. But you get the gist of it.

The first time you had to go away, I thought I would be fine, it's not like you went away forever, it was just a trip. And then, with each day, I found myself growing more restless. Constantly asking in my head, "Hey, where are you now? What are you doing?" Talking with you through the phone wasn't enough, I wished we had a telepathic line constantly connected to each other. Oh wait, maybe we do, I even saw you in my dreams.

And then you came back. That moment when I saw you, I felt something bursting inside me, like a balloon kept getting bigger and bigger inside me, pressed and stretched my outside taut. It hit me like lightning, I was a tree rooted in one place and lightning just strike down. I burst open and revealed my thumping heart inside. Was I overreacting?

I wished the place that you and I met on that day were our home so that I could play the longing character and finally welcome their lover home. Your familiar face is the face I want to see whenever I open the door. Your laughter is the one I want to hear whenever I say something funny (in my mind) or ridiculous. And your embrace is the one I want to be in whenever I realise I have someone by my side.

Note: This person might develops feeling for you for a long time but won't realise it themselves. Until you have to go away someday, it won't be a true separation. Might just be a business trip or some long vacation.

Your absence will make them feel a longing for you that they can't really explain because the situation won't be dire and serious, just a normal, temporary separation.

When they finally get to see you, all those longing feelings will come bursting out, and that's when they will realise they love you. You guys will actually do many things that they fantasise about when they were a kid. It will feel like a truly magical thing for them.

6. Amethyst

Ah yes, we can always tell our children and our grandchildren how we felt in love at a party, making them jealous of our boldness. Now I'm getting ahead of myself.

What better way to celebrate than to have someone with you to share the joy with. You're always like that to me. Whatever joy I have, whatever joy you have, we've never failed to share it with each other. And I'm honoured.

My wish had finally come true. I have achieved many of my ambitions. I can confidently say that I had been working hard and I earned it.

And that's when I saw you. I can also confidently say that you looked stunning at that party. You looked happy and I could feel that somehow our happiness was on a similar wavelength.

I have to admit, the afterglow feeling of my success made me a lot more bold and optimistic than normal. If it was the past me, I would probably have swept the attraction under many layers of insecurities and nervousness. Trying to convince myself that it was just a delusion.

But here I was. I dared to look for love. I mean, I had achieved success in different areas, there's no way I couldn't be successful in love, right? Logical, you can't argue with that (of course you will)

Deep inside me, I probably had felt that love would be the biggest achievement I could get. And I was willing to set out again, to put my effort into achieving that dream, with you.

Note: This group is strangely short. This is a person that hides a lot of their thought to themselves and they find expressing what they feel through words is difficult. They are more actions oriented. Prefer to set out milestones and goals to achieve. They consider everything good in their life is their achievement.

You guys probably meet at a celebration party, maybe you won't be there to attend the party but just coincidentally in the same space, maybe a restaurant, an open space.

They will have achieved some big milestones that make them proud and more confident, they put in their effort and now they can reap the reward.

The feeling of joy will be heightened. And amidst that celebration, they will see you and fall in love, very likely a love at first sight situation. And they will believe that they can achieve happiness with you.

[ma-sulevin]

Rook is going to check on everyone. She’ll visit them in their chosen rooms, ask how they’re feeling, make sure they have what they need, listen to them complain about their problems while the world is ending around them all, and she’ll find a way to fix everything. That's what she does. It's what she’s always done. It's how she keeps herself feeling okay in the face of everything.

She’s going to check on everyone, she will, but for some reason she finds herself climbing the central stairs and heading to Emmrich’s tower first instead of checking on anyone else.

“Oh, hello, Rook!” Emmrich looks a little surprised to see her but not at all upset by the fact she showed up without knocking. In fact, he’s smiling at her despite the exhaustion she can clearly read on his face, the thin lines around his eyes deepening as his smile grows. “How can I help?”

“I just wanted to… see how you're doing,” Rook says, pausing long enough to push the door closed behind her. “After Weisshaupt. How are you feeling?”

Emmrich keeps his eyes on her as she walks closer, his hands clasped in front of him as usual, and answers, “Very well, thank you. How–”

“Did you have any injuries?” She barely registers that she interrupts him, her gaze snagging on the firelight glinting off his rings. “The darkspawn, did they get close enough to bite you? Scratch you even?”

“Not at all,” Emmrich says, voice lower now that she’s standing close. “I did have to throw out my boots, but–”

“Are you sure?” Rook knows she cuts him off this time, not caring about the boots, already willing to replace them as long as he isn't hurt, still unwilling to think about what that feeling means for her. “The Blight only needed the smallest of wounds to enter your body before, and we still don't understand the changes Ghilan'nain has made to it.”

She’s still staring at his hands, unable to look up at his face to see the expression in those kind eyes, and she grabs his wrists without thinking. She pulls his hands closer to her face so she can see his knuckles, unbroken from the fighting, then turns them over to check his palms.

They're calloused from holding pens and staves for so many years, the hands of an academic, unlike her warrior-mage hands, hardened from fighting darkspawn for nearly a decade now. His hands are uninjured, but as she moves to look at his wrists, his forearms, he pulls them away from her grasp and cups her chin instead.

“Rook.” His voice is even lower now, laced with an emotion she doesn't know how to name, and she drags her eyes up to finally, finally meet his.

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and wraps one hand around his wrist as she looks up at him. The silence stretches for a long moment before he finally breaks it.

“I am fine, I assure you. How are you?”

His voice is so warm, his expression so soft, the concern so genuine that all it takes is his thumb brushing against her jaw for her carefully built facade to crumble.

She bites harder on her lip, but that doesn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. She tries to pull away, to put that safe amount of space between them again, but the soft clicking of his tongue stills her movements.

“Oh, my dear Eira.” Instead of letting her go, he pulls her in, letting her face rest against his chest.

She stands stiff for a heartbeat, then another, then she feels his hand cupping the back of her head and his chin resting against the top of it, and she breaks.

She breaks, and Emmrich holds her together.

It’s okay, just this once.

[ashleyisartsy]

Problems (objective and personal) I'm not seeing discussed a lot w this new WatcherTV thing, in no particular order:

-Alienates people internationally who literally CANNOT GET the streaming service!

-Alienates casual fans who don't watch or want to watch all of their shows. Putting down 60 bucks a year to watch just one or two shows is kind of insane, at least for me.

-The volume of content Watcher has produced historically hasn't been enough to justify a separate streamer. I understand there's no way a small team could compete with something like Netflix, obviously, but that's what you're trying to do by putting yourself in the streamer market.

-Will this streamer be secure? What steps are in place to protect your viewers info? ESPECIALLY payment info.

-Will it be easily watchable on multiple devices? I watch YouTube videos on my phone at work 90% of the time, or at home on my TV thru my switch. Is this a browser only deal?

-What are the internet requirements for this? Believe it or not most streaming services won't run on my internet personally. I don't have any for that reason. I can watch YouTube on 360p, or on my 2-bar-reception phone data. Not everywhere has stable reliable internet.

-The suddenness and totality of the move was going to be jarring no matter what, if the idea had been introduced gradually or started as a hybrid model to test audience interest there wouldn't be nearly this amount of pushback.

-I understand the people saying "pay artists!!" Bc I am one, and I get that their quality is expensive and they have a whole company's worth of people to support. I do actually think their work is worth paying for! Everyone's is! But convincing anyone to pay for something they previously got for free is going to be a hard sell. They were still getting paid before, they're now just asking us to pay instead of the advertisers. Idk about you, but that's a way bigger hit to my pocketbook than a multimillion dollar company's bank account.

-I get that YouTube can be a really shitty place to be a creator sometimes, and that being beholden to advertisers is something they don't want to be. It's why they left Buzzfeed! They already have a patreon and merch and it's clearly not been enough for their ambitions. But shooting yourself in the foot because your running shoes are wearing out isn't going to make you a better marathon runner. They had to know that there was going to be a not small portion of their audience unwilling to make this move with them (and again, lots literally aren't able to!)

-If they had a free w/ ads option, or even did a hybrid model with whole shows behind the pay wall, or even just ran a fucking crowd funding campaign to help cover costs of new seasons of shows, any of those things could have worked. They don't even have YouTube memberships turned on, which I've personally seen many many channels do even when they already have a patreon. It really doesn't seem like they've exhausted other options, at least from an outside perspective, which is all we have as viewers!

-I get that this has been in the works for a long time, and that there probably isn't a way for them to back out now. But I hope they can find a way to make this more accessible if they want it to work at all. I truly am not wishing for their downfall, but the whole situation is an awful mess.

Idk, rant over. As a lot of you are I'm feeling very disappointed and upset with this one, and I'm not paying for it either. Hope the boys can salvage this one for their and their crew's sake. Would really hate for this to be the end.

[sanemisstalker]

no matter how much dick I get... the urge to do vile things to this man will always prevail

NSFW MINORS DNI - AFAB/GN REFFERED READER - HEAD - TOXIC MASCULINITY (Belief that a penis is needed to make a man) - Sanemi with a CANNIBALISM/DIETY kink? Idk I got a little frisky with the head talk. - He begs for help at one point. HYPER CONSENT.

NEEDY FOR HEAD - WITH SANEMI

-'I don't like it when you get- lower like that. Makes my teeth ache. I feel like you're gonna... bite it off.'

-You're a little offended by the implication. Sure you're a little weird and off putting, but fuck all, you weren't REALLY gonna bite Sanemi's cock off when it came to it.

-You sigh.

-This little fit of his had been going on for a while, now. Sure you can get head all you want, but lord forbid YOU want to GIVE. Lord forbid YOU want to SATISFY.

-'It's not funny anymore.'

-'Wasn't ever trying to be funny.' he spits in turn.

-'Then I'd like an unfunny answer.'

-'I'm being serious, damn! It feels like my balls are gonna go up when you're down there! Why don't you believe me?!'

-Sanemi had never been very explicit about his wants. Keeping your laugh to yourself was a little hard at such a question. Sanemi's face blared red in response.

-'That's it! I'm putting my cl-'

-You lept for him, pulling him back down to the bed. You forgot you had to be kind, and slow. Sanemi never really had the kind of face that begged for such things, but that was part of the problem. Sanemi never really liked to beg.

-'No! NO! I'm sorry- it's not funny, it's- Sanemi, you know how often this happens.' He stilled, more than a little tense at the accusation. 'You are- I know it's hard, but... biting it off?'

-'Y-Yes.' He'd huff. 'I- it just feels weird.'

-'Bad weird, scary we-'

-'Like I'm going to... Embarass myself weird.'

-Your silence followed, and then Sanemi turned even further away from you. He was unwilling to pull his hand from your grasp in an effective way. Instead resorting to a very feeble wiggle and slight whine.

-'Let me go.' He mumbled.

-'No way! No way-' You rush, tugging him down to the bed. You pull him against you. He seems to soften as your breasts press into his forearm. 'That doesn't sound all that bad.'

-Sanemi would rather die. The thought of him... letting go so... early. So explicitly at your will, so weak and helpless, his only call to manhood left in the fight of your biting maw-

-Part of it excited him, he figured. But he didn't figure that deep. If he did, he'd know this and that about submission, and maybe the light sense of masochism that made the concept all that more thrilling.

-Maybe it scared him a little knowing you could hurt him there if you wanted to, and maybe he got a little hard when he got scared. Maybe Sanemi missed being scared,

-When you talk him into it, he's most reluctant to see your teeth, but you let him play with the connection between his tip and your tongue. Giving him all the power to pull away when it just gets too much.

-Your tastes buds are far different from the ribbing of your pussy. They're delicate, and you have far more control over that muscle, so when you take Sanemi fully in your mouth, he's flung to the bed.

-He's seeing god, he thinks. He can almost imagine your jaw clamping down, taking it all away from him, keeping it for yourself.

-He's enthralled by how willing he is. By how bad he wants it to be all yours. How delusional he is for thinking you'd even think this way. This is simply an act of pleasure to you, but one of Divinity to him. This is God, for he, such a simple man, cannot grasp the eccentricities of religion when they are found anywhere other than the beads of spit between his base and your lips.

-He begins sobbing, almost hoping you'll make it stop. He can't feel this good, he can't know the world feels this good. How cruel to send him back to war when he's knows the sound of a song birds throat.

-He's a head pusher. He can't help it. He feels too good, he's blacking out half way through, which isn't very long. Not at all, practically convulsing on the bed.

-'Oh!- Ah--- Y/N- Oh- God- God- Ah!' And all the ooh's and aah's as he cums sobbing down your throat.

-It's enough to spill out of your lips, and find its way back to his pubes, all covered in your spit and snot. And he's breathing heavy and shaking still because god knows that cock never really gets to cum it all away- those balls can never truly be empty.

-'Oh- god- god- help- help-' He's choking, grabbing his face to brush the tears away.

-You're a little dumbfounded. You're not sure what the fuss is, but you're excited to try deep throating him for the first time. That'll probably make him die or something, he might die-

[football-in-tuxedos]

On Wednesday, December 4th 2024, an as-yet unknown man shot and killed CEO of United Healthcare, Brian Thompson. Now, many people have been celebrating this, for reasons that don't really bear much parsing out. They're obvious; Even in the field of private healthcare, an arena filled with the kind of corporate ghouls who are comfortable withholding healthcare for profit, United Healthcare stand out as particularly vile. No one is mourning the wicked in this case.

But some among us are admonishing the others for their celebration. Sure they don't like United Healthcare, they say, unshed tears shining in their eyes, but they just can't condone this act of violence. Killing, they remind us sagely, is never justified.

Obviously our society doesn't actually think killing is never justified, 27 states still have capital punishment. What people actually mean when they say "Killing is never justified" in response to a murder people are celebrating is "I don't think it's justified in this case."

Context is, perhaps, everything.

Now, maybe you agree that this murder wasn't justified. Maybe you disagree. But let's not pretend retributive violence is beyond the pale in American society. It is, in fact, a huge part of the American social fabric. Well. Until the powerless enact it on the powerful.

Context, as we've established, is everything.

A little under three miles from where Brian Thompson was shot, Daniel Penny held his arm around Jordan Neely's throat until Neely perished, and many of the people admonishing those celebrating the former are the same people who claim the latter was justified.

Context, it seems, is everything.

The actions of Thompson's company, withholding medicine to those who need it, was violence, a point I'm completely unwilling to budge on. Thompson's company hoarded the resources necessary to provide medical care and did everything in their power to prevent vulnerable people, their customers, from accessing that medical help. That's violence. Constant, unceasing violence perpetuated against innocent people in the name of profit. But that sort of violence is normal. Legal.

Context, it seems, is still everything.

The premise that America is a peaceful nation, a nation where this sort of action is unthinkable, is an elaborate fiction. Even outside of the systemic violence Thompson's company was absolutely guilty of, we permit literal violence, action taken with the intent causing immediate bodily harm, to happen en masse every day. Think of the description of the event, if we do indeed discover the shooter acted out of anger at United Healthcare's actions; A man with a gun saw a threat and he shot him in the back. Would this even be news if the shooter was a cop and the victim not a CEO?

Context, it seems, will always be everything.

You'll perhaps note that I haven't endorsed or condemned the shooting of Brian Thompson, and I won't (although I don't imagine my opinion is hard to parse). I simply want to point out that if you condemn it, you aren't actually condemning violence. We, in this country, endure and participate in violence every day.

You just don't like the context.

[eclec-tech]

(unsolicited and rambly Hunter defense post under the cut)

I know what people are going to say about this episode--that Hunter didn't do enough and say enough to Crosshair. They're going to say that he should have apologized, hugged him, poured his heart out with tears and promises that he is forgiven and that he will never let him go again.

That's not Hunter.

What we got here was the best we could have hoped for from his character. We got acknowledgement and a willingness to move forward.

These two have had a contentious relationship since we first met them. Both of them are strong leaders. But only one was in charge. That's a difficult dynamic to navigate when you are also a pair of stubborn brothers who don't like to back down.

Hunter wants to trust Crosshair again. That's why he demanded answers. He couldn't just take it from Omega that Crosshair could be trusted again. He needed to hear it from Crosshair himself, because if Crosshair was unwilling to share what had changed during his time in the Empire, Hunter had no basis for establishing trust again. He needed to see that Crosshair was willing to trust him again by giving him answers. But he also knew that Crosshair was stubborn and that kind of vulnerability would have to be forced out. So that's what he did. He forced the truth out of Crosshair.

It was tough love, brother style.

Look at Hunter's face at the end of the episode. It's one of the few times we've ever seen Hunter talking to Crosshair with an open and unguarded expression--no furrowed brow, no frowning, no soul-penetrating stare.

"All we can do is keep trying to be better. And who knows? There might be hope for us yet."

He has stopped saying "you" when he's addressing Crosshair. He's using "we" and "us". He doesn't have to tell Crosshair he forgives him for what's happened in the past. He now understands him.

With understanding, there's nothing to forgive.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.2

Prettyyyyy

Maybe John's not actually crazy for thinking Hey Jude is to him? “For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.” fool is, in my tin hat world, often a code name for Paul in their songs. And that description is certainly him to a t actually. I wonder why I've never considered it before. 

John: are you happy here, honey? Paul: I ain't happy here my honey, can you take me back? How many songs does Paul write from 1968 on about trying to go back? One day I'm going to make a list and it'll be a long one. 

And thus begins the phase of they just can't help it, can they? But they really wish they could. They make each other so so happy, but they really wish they didn't. It would hurt less that way. 

I love the comparison of Linda's pictures of everyone else and then of John. It just shows that it's not a her problem – that's such a lovely one of George, who Hates Yoko – it's how he feels about her.

John, coming up with every possible weapon to provoke Paul, finally has Yoko sing Paul's part in one of their songs. It really is such a slap in the face. But of course breaking the sanctity of their music is what does it best. And still, all he gets out of him is a look before he walks away. Whatever it is that John wants, I think Paul literally can not give it to him. 

Btw the white album is my favorite, probably. There's just such incredible diversity on it. It's so much fun, you never get tired of it, and it's an excellent display of their genius and versatility. 

He looks like an abandoned puppy. 

What do we think? John says Paul drummed on WDWDITR. Paul says Ringo did. Who is telling the truth?

“It was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that but he couldn't make the break . . .” So John thinks Paul doing his songs by himself means he wants to break the group up? I personally read it as him not wanting to annoy everyone with his bossiness, but that's just my take. 

John talking about how it's him and Yoko now, but before, it was . . .

George needs to send them a cease and desist notice or he'll sue them for breech of character the amount of times they drag him into things he's not a part of. Especially if they're not going to even fucking spare him a glance in reality. Please and thank you, Hare Krishna. 

Paul's epigraph on the two virgins cover. “Battles to prove he was a saint”? What kind of passive aggressive shit is that, Paul?

The eternal question: what happened in India? And does John really not know? Or is he just unwilling to tell what happened to rolling stone?

Somebody please engage with that poor little boy, preferably, you know, his father. Ugh, Cynthia must've had so much anxiety watching that footage, or really any time Julian was with John. And that footage is placed in the doc right after a pic of Paul already being Heather's dad just so naturally. 

But hell, if I've ever seen attention-seeking behavior, this is it. Singing about wanting to die while seductively undressing the closest thing Paul would've had to career competition at the time. 

I'm sorry but it will forever be hilarious to me that when John's singing his part of “I've Got a Feeling” with Yoko it's “soft dream” and then with Paul it's “wet dream”. How John and Yoko tricked everyone into believing they were too horny for each other to control themselves is beyond my imagination. 

On the day John plays their sex tape, “Unusually, Yoko is not present.” LMAO girl same. John: I'm going to play our sex tape for the band tomorrow. Yoko: oh was that tomorrow? Damn, I forgot, I have a thing. 

“Well that's an interesting one.” What did John honestly expect, though? Like I know he wanted Paul to be like, “that's it! Enough is enough I'm taking you home and doing you right!” Or whatever. But what did he honestly, realistically expect?

Always saying the same things at the same time, always on the same page, same word. About everything, it seems, except their relationship. 

Paul: but you won't say anything about it. John: I said what I've been thinking. Paul: Are you still thinking that now? What are you thinking now? John: I'm still thinking about it. Infuriating. Whatever it is John's been thinking, he doesn't want to talk about it in front of cameras. Is it quitting the band? I think it's something more complicated than that but I've no idea what. 

“John, John, joooooohn!” X “Martha my Dear” crossover my beloved. The fact that literally Everyone reacts and tries to get her to stop except Paul is so extremely telling. Yoko: joooooohn! Ringo: He's busy! Yoko: joooooohn! John: Stop that! (And he looks and sounds genuinely pissed) Yoko: joooooohn! Paul: (plinking and pounding away, definitely not thinking thoughts about what he would do right now if he was a girl that will come out of his mouth fifteen years later)

Everyone's trying to figure out the problem with George vs JohnandYoko and Paul's saying “and like with Yoko, they’re real. They mean it.” Linda laughs. “I don't dig that.” You don't, Linda? What about them isn't real to her, I wonder. Does she think they don't really love each other? Or what?

Linda: *Makes fart noise* Go away! Paul: continues to defend them. Neil: everybody cough. See and this is why it sucks that get back was so edited. Because it's important that Paul's defending them here not just going on and on where nobody asked. He knows he's hurt John, and he feels bad enough about it to let him have his mommy with him at all times if that's what he needs.

If what??? Someone needs to force them to finish their damn sentences. Because I feel like he cuts himself off here when (I swear!!) he's about to say what it is that's hurting John so badly.

Anyway, here's where (imo) he's kinda wrong. Where he says "if it came to a push between Yoko and the band, it's Yoko." I think I said it in my get back posts, but I'll say it again. Yeah, if it was Yoko or the band, it's Yoko. But if it's Yoko or Paul filling all the gaps Yoko is currently filling? It's Paul. You know? And I think that's what John wants so badly at this time, actually. Is “a push between Yoko and [Paul]” ending with Paul stepping up for him in some way that he wasn't before, you know?

He really does get it though. John wanting to be as close as possible with Yoko so he doesn't lose her and their connection. Don't forget he does put Linda in his band. He gets it because it was the same with him and John. 

I really do think it's a huge myth that they just never talked about feelings or anything serious. Look at them. This is how they talk in a crowded place with their girlfriends sitting right there. They didn't just get through fifteen years of one of the greatest collaborations in history never actually talking. They talked about deep stuff. And frequently. 

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[zean-velian]

Greetings everbody! Hope you're having a great time today!. In this day i want to present to you all....!

¡¡¡The extravaganza of the life of Y/N Cookie!!!

It's just memes with Y/N Cookie's (a.k.a you) as the protagonist. Based around @brittle-doughie 's cookie-jar memes!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Y/n cookie: you five are the most malicious cookies i've ever met

The beast cookies: we commited crimes far and wide across earth-bread just so web could "save" cookie-kind

[Cue to the polyamorous wedding between them and Y/N cookie]

The beast cookies *in thought* : we're not going to ask how this happened and we're gonna kiss the life and soul of this cute cookie

[After the wedding Y/N Cookie got their face covered up in lipstick marks red, ivory, blue, pink and purple and they're sitting on the floor all knocked-out]

Shadow Milk cookie *wearing lipstick of his color*: oh my, cutie~! What happened to your face~?

Shadow Milk cookie *turning to eternal sugar cookie and silent salt cookie that is without his helmet* : did you do that?

Eternal Sugar Cookie: we did not done that~

Silent Salt Cookie: *shakes their head in a "no" geasture*

Burning Spice Cookie: then... who did?

[They're all holding the urge to laugh]

Mystic flour Cookie: indeed... who did it?

[Laughter ensues]

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[This one happened when Y/N cookie and Chocolate Frosting Cookie where dating and they were on a hill looking at the moon]

Y/N Cookie: isn't this so beautiful it's just you and i under the moonlight~

Moonlight cookie: HEY! you should break-up with them and come to me Y/N Cookie!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Sea Fairy Cookie: do you want to make out?

Y/N cookie: No

Sea Fairy Cookie: *cries internally* ne neither i want to sleep *snores laying on top of Y/N Cookie

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Fire Spirit Cookie: Have dinner with me!!! Please! Please! Please!

Y/N Cookie: how about we have it one night?

Fire Spirit Cookie: *sniffles* *sniff* Come on now!!! Every night

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[Y/N Cookie was sparring with Pitaya Dragon Cookie as usual and Pitaya managed to grab Y/N by the neck and put them on the ground]

Pitaya Dragon Cookie: i've finally caught you, you sleek crumb

Y/n Cookie: *pets their head*

Pitaya Dragon Cookie: *chuckles* did you really think that i would let you go by just head-patting me~?

Y/N Cookie: *stops petting*

Pitaya Dragon Cookie: Wait! I didn't say stop!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[Ananas Dragon Cookie lifted Y/N Cookie off the ground using one hand]

Y/N Cookie: ...do i weight anything to you?

Ananas Dragon Cookie: no... it's like holding a couple of grapes [<-the fruit]

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[Y/N cookie was about to give Lotus Dragon Cookie a good-bye kiss but they did not want them to leave yet so, Lotus Dragon Cookie coiled their tail around Y/N cookie leaving the poor cookie trapped for witches know how long]

Y/N Cookie: I fell into a trap... i went for a good-bye kiss and now... they got me... and they won't let me go

Lotus Dragon Cookie: Mine~

Y/N Cookie: ok now alright, but. *struggles* humpf!

Lotus Dragon Cookie: Mine

Y/N Cookie: *struggles* eh!

Lotus Dragon Cookie: Mine...

Y/N Cookie: *struggles* ha!-

Lotus Dragon Cookie: Mine!

Y/N Cookie: witches dammit!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[Lychee Dragon Cookie is tugging to the side of Y/N Cookie for affection some time later of their last interaction with them (in their Mangosteen Cookie disguise)]

Lychee Dragon Cookie: hey! Do you remember the last time you gave me your unwilling love and kindness?

Lychee Dragon Cookie: i would like some more now please

Y/N Cookie: ... well only if you apologize to Rambutan cookie and her tribe

Lychee Dragon Cookie: and if a don't?

Y/N Cookie: you don't get affection

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Y/N Cookie: i wish you were gay so we could make-out

Longan Dragon Cookie: who said i wasn't gay?

Y/N Cookie: ...

Longan Dragon Cookie: ...

[They made-out session between those two lasted 2 whole hours]

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

[Golden Cheese Cookie after finding out that Y/N Cookie is depressed ]

Golden Cheese Cookie: crying all by yourself lovely~? Ah ha~ i also have severe depression, mind if join you~?

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Rye Cookie: Are ya a cowboy or a cowgirl?

Y/N Cookie: I'm just a cow

Rye Cookie: *proud* the purest answer

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Gelato Trio Cookie: this is Y/N Cookie, Y/N cookie loves their personal space

Gelato Trio Cookie: unfournately they're also the most wanted cookie in earth-bread for they're unique aura all of the cookies that get in presense of it also love Y/N Cookie's personal space

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

White Lily Cookie: she was poetry but he couldn't read...

Hollyberry Cookie: his name was Jarred he's 19

Golden Cheese Cookie: when his parents built a strange machine

Pure Vanilla Cookie: watch that scene dig in the dancing queen~🎶!

Dark Cacao Cookie: Ay macarena!

Y/N cookie: *holding their laughter* horrible job everyone...

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Abyss Monarch Cookie: Will you stop it?! You're killing my emo legendary cookie personality

Y/N Cookie: who's a good octopi~?

Abyss Monarch Cookie: ... me ~<3

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Black Sugar Swan Cookie: you're dead and buried darling~

Y/N Cookie: and bricked! Ho ho! Hello!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Y/N Cookie: did you know you can overdose in potassium?

Ion Robot Cookie: really?

Y/N Cookie: yes it's... bananas

Ion Robot Cookie: processing statement.... ha ha ha!

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Licorice Cookie: Hey uh... does your pet bite?

Red Velvet Cookie: first of all he's not a pet and second of all, no but he can hurt you in other ways

Chiffon: *bark* (Y/N Cookie will never love you)

Licorice Cookie: *heartbroken* *GASP* how dare you!?

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Elder Custard Cookie: You always are so positive about anything, always believing in that everything will work out, how do you do it?

Y/N Cookie: Well then i'll tell you my secret sir... i lie to myself, every morning when i wake-up i say "everything is going to work out" but i'm lying

Y/N Cookie: *grips on the elder shoulder* i don't know how much longer i can do 🫠 *lets go* have a good day sir!😁

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Snickerdoodle Cookie (a.k.a Y/N Cookie's Dad) : my child is in age to have a couple does anyone want to go out with them?

Shadow Milk Cookie: but sir your child already is ina relationship and it's with me and my now spouses

Snickerdoodle Cookie: You. Should. Be. Back. In. The. Tree

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

And that is all for now! Hope you had fun reading and

!!!Catch ya Later!!!

[aingeal98]

Idk if you wrote about it in the past, but thoughts about a potential Stephcass wedding? How it would play out, what they wear etc. With those women it could be interesting lol

I'd like to see you tackle that in a story if you wanted to, considering you write fanfiction and did a really good job imo with this ship.

OK so I actually have a detailed idea in my head of how stephcass plays out in the future that starts with them getting together, breaking up because Cass grows even more intense in her commitment to the mission once she becomes Batman, and then a year or two later Cass showing up in Steph's apartment with a kid being like hey I rescued this kid from being forced to be a child assassin but his parents are dead and idk what to do pls help.

And Steph is like we haven't talked in five months are you fucking kidding me. But she's not a monster and Cass looks way over her head so the two of them start kind of coparenting this kid because Cass understands the assassin aspect but she has no idea what school supplies a 10 year old might need. And then one thing leads to another and it turns out Cass may actually be worse at this adoption addiction than Bruce is because despite her firm belief that she is not capable of being a good mother she is also unwilling to Not help any child assassin she meets. And often that includes adoption because there is no other family uniquely capable of understanding the trauma these kids are going through.

(Cass meets an alarming amount of child assassins. She doesn't adopt ALL of them because they don't all need that specific type of help. Steph is still mildly concerned and not just because her apartment is getting way too full even though all the kids technically live at the manor and Steph is just a family friend.)

So in my mind they do everything backwards. They're exes then they're coparents then they're kind of rekindling things and then five years after Cass adopts the first kid she's like hey do you want to have a baby together because I didn't think I'd be a good mom but I actually really love helping these kids and I really like doing this with you and I think I'm actually ready to be both Batman and the mother of a baby. I get why Bruce was scared but I'm built different so I simply won't die and this kid will grow up happy and loved and I'll teach it everything I know and you can teach it important life stuff like what the settings on the washing machine actually mean and why certain clothes need dry cleaning.

And Steph is like woah that's a lot to process but Cass babe you have to ask me on a date first. And Cass is like have we not already been dating for a few years now? And Steph is like no showing up on my doorstep with a kid who needs a good meal, a shower and medical attention is not actually a date. Neither is attending those little league games together or patrolling together. If you're going to ask me to have a baby I'm going to need a ring on this finger and you're going to have to work for it.

So they date, and then they get married, and they have a bunch more kids most of whom are adopted or fostered. By the time Cass is forty she has five kids, the oldest of whom she adopted as a 10 year old and is now 21. And she and Steph have been married for five years technically but have been coparenting for eleven.

The wedding itself would be pretty straightforward, if more extravagant than normal. Cass wears a suit and is mildly uncomfortable with having to talk about her feelings in front of an entire audience. Steph wears a dress and can't stop smiling because god she loves this woman so much even though she can be a dumbass sometimes. Especially because she can be a dumbass sometimes actually.

The whole family is there. Bruce cries. Crystal makes snide but deserved comments at him the entire time. Tim was asked by both women to be their best man and almost spiraled into another self destructive slump from trying to process all the emotions he felt about that. In the end Cass takes Babs with Bruce walking her up the aisle and Steph takes Tim, who still looks mildly terrified throughout the entire ceremony, like one wrong move from him is going to bring the entire building down on top of them.

Two of Cass's enemies do show up to try and ruin the wedding but unfortunately for them they end up making it so much better instead because Cass gets to kiss her wife AND punch some bad guys in the face all in the same event. She's having the time of her life. What the hell was Bruce so afraid of this marriage thing is EASY.

(It's not easy. Cass is able to balance the mission and her family better than Bruce but that doesn't mean problems don't exist. The kids are used to at least one fight every six months where Steph basically yells at Cass for all the ways she's been letting Batman responsibilities come between them and Cass is like psh I don't know what you're talking about and then gets her act together because she does in fact know what Steph is talking about. She takes Steph to Themyscira on a vacation as an apology. She doesn't repeat her mistakes but she does make new ones because it turns out there are infinite ways you can mess up when raising kids especially when your work is being Batman and you're never going to stop. Steph messes up too although her mistakes are less to do with work life balance and more to do with hurtful comments made during arguments that she regrets. It's never anything bad enough to break them up again, and for the most part they're shockingly the most healthy and well adjusted pairing of the family. Damian takes great joy in reminding Tim of this fact.)

I've basically just written an abridged version of a very long fanfic idea that exists in my head haha but thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to ramble about this!

[hecatesbroom]

One of the things that really gets me about Hardy and Miller's relationship in Broadchurch is how much the respect they have for each other shows in how they physically interact. Even when they're not particularly pleased with each other/the situation.

I mean, I think the fact that they don't sleep together even though there was plenty of incentive for the showwriters to add that in (the drama!!) says something already, but that's not what I'm talking about.

It's the little things. It's the fact that they barely touch at all even though Ellie seems to be pretty comfortable with physical contact -- whether it's meant to be affectionate or comforting or both. But Hardy isn't, and because Ellie's a pretty intuitive person she never attempts to touch him the way she would others.

And we see Hardy, in his turn, go out of his way to attempt to physically comfort her when he sees she needs support. The careful hand he puts on her shoulder when she finds out about Joe and the way he lingers a bit after that to see if she needs a shoulder to lean on.

Or the time he asks her if she wants a hug after the trial, because he knows she's the type of person to want a hug while going through something like that, but she declines because she knows he's not the type of person to go around offering hugs. That's the scene that really shows how much they've come to understand each other, I think: Hardy is willing to step outside his own comfort zone if he thinks it'll make her feel better -- he's willing to adapt for her because at this point they respect each other enough that things like this don't feel like an obstacle he can't overcome -- and she's unwilling to accept his offer, because it's not an olive branch or him warming up, but rather than that he's offering up a piece of his own comfort to make her feel better. And Ellie, who is generally too nice to allow people to do that, respects him too much to let him do so. Besides, I'm sure she'd just feel weird about it at this point.

Then at the end of season 2, when Hardy leaves and Ellie is there to say goodbye, it seems almost inevitable that they loop back to episode 1 and do hug this time. But instead Ellie extends a hand, and Hardy is almost surprised she doesn't hug him, maybe he's even a little disappointed (because that's what people do in these situations, right? Hug to say goodbye?). And in a sense we get an exact replay of the first episode, only now Ellie is offering Alec what she thinks he needs, whereas first he offered her what he thought she needed.

And maybe they were both a bit wrong, but only because they've come to respect each other's boundaries enough to make that careful miscalculation. And maybe they wouldn't have been wrong, maybe Ellie did want that hug and Alec did prefer the handshake, but only because the other was kind enough to offer exactly that to them, did they want the alternative -- to show their gratitude by shaping the situation to another's comfort, instead.

[glindafication]

I have been having a lot of thoughts about Glinda's costuming (specifically in the movie) and I NEED to talk about it right now so here goes. (This is specifically about the clothes Glinda wears at Shiz)

So I have seen quite a few people pointing out how Glinda doesn't follow the Shiz uniform (where all the other characters are in white/blue/orange besides her and Elphaba and kind of Fiyero) and I have a lot of mixed opinions on this.

First off I think it makes perfect sense for Elphaba because in the movie we are told that she wasn't originally going to study at Shiz and also we do see her wearing some of the uniform pieces (for example she wears the same blue fabric wrap thingy as the other students in the sports scene while Glinda doesn't), so it makes sense that she wouldn't have the time and/or money to buy the proper uniform pieces. But for Glinda, I am kind of conflicted. On the one hand, she is very used to getting her way and very focused on her looks, so it could be argued that it is in character for her to flagrantly ignore the uniform policy for the sake of her aesthetic. On the other hand, I feel like it is a bit of a missed opportunity to establish the more conformist aspect of Glinda's character. Showing that Glinda is unwilling to break the rules is important because it makes her choice to join the Wizard and Morrible despite not wanting to make more sense. This also feels like a bit of a missed opportunity to better establish Fiyero's character as they could have had Glinda follow the uniform while Fiyero doesn't. This would have further established that Fiyero is more willing to actively break the rules than Glinda, which could help to explain why Elphaba trusts him. This is still established through dancing through life and with the Ozdust ballroom being stated to be illegal in the movie, but I feel this could've been another good opportunity.

There is of course the out of universe reason for this which is that it helps to Glinda to visually stand out. This is extremely common where uniforms are used as costumes as having everyone wear the same/similar things while the main characters wear something different is a very easy way to tell the audience who to focus on. However this is done differently in the musical, where the main Shiz uniform is a mixture of navy and white while Elphaba wears exclusively navy and Glinda wears exclusively white. (With small amounts of blue/navy in her shirt). This still visually distinguishes our main characters from the ensemble (and from each other with the use of contrast) without having it feel like they're just choosing to ignore the uniform. It is conscievably possible that the Shiz uniform allows students to pick from a selection of white and navy options and Glinda simply chose all of the white ones while Elphaba chose all of the navy ones.

I am also mildly frustrated with the decision to relegate movie Glinda to a tiny sliver of the colour wheel in general, as I have said before. She only wears pink once in the muscial so having her in almost exclusively pink in the movie despite her having more costumes is a bit annoying. Especially since I have the sneaking suspicion that part of the reason they did this was because building a strong association between Glinda and the colour pink would allow them to make Glinda themed merch by simply making something pink instead of making something with a more meaningful link to her character.

I will say that I am not trying to hate on Glinda's movie costumes by any means. A lot of them are very technically impressive and visually gorgeous (her Ozdust dress is absolutely stunning and I want one). I have no doubt that a lot of time, effort and thought went into these costumes. These are just my personal thoughts as a huge fan of the musical and of the costumes used in it

(Some pictures to explain what I am referring to, top two are musical costumes, bottom two are movie costumes)

[misc-obeyme]

Hey i believe I have what you call a suggestion to write; MC who doesn’t tell anyone their birthday because they view their birthday as a bad omen because things always go wrong and ruin it.

If you don’t feel like writing for everyone with this scenario and how they find out I’d appreciate it if you could do Lucifer, Dia, and Simeon.

Again I’m not very sure if this is what you mean by suggestion for writing if it isn’t feel free to ignore this.

Hello there!

Okay, so I tried to briefly explain the "suggestion" thing in my rules, buuuut I don't think I did a very good job lol.

The idea was that I would be able to write little short things in between longer requests and the like. I was thinking along the lines of the sort of short scenes I did for the 500 followers prompt event. They're about 500 words and feature a single character. Because I can do those somewhat quickly, so I was thinking if people were okay with little short scenes like this instead of full headcanon posts, they could send me a suggestion while my regular requests were closed. I would be okay with doing two characters as well, but they would both be in the same scene as opposed to writing separate ones for them.

So I did an example with your suggestion! I wrote a little scene about Lucifer discovering MC's feelings about their birthday. This was the kind of thing I was going for with the suggestions. If you'd like little scenes for multiple characters or something more like headcanons, please feel free to send the idea again when my requests are open!

Thank you for the suggestion!

GN!MC x Lucifer

Warnings: none!

Lucifer was sitting at his desk, organizing his papers. There were so many piles and he had really let them get out of control. He was attempting to put things in some kind of chronological order and was amazed at how far back some of these things went.

That was when he stumbled upon the form that was all about you. The one that had caused him to choose you for the exchange program. It had all your details on it. Lucifer lingered over the page, remembering how it felt to read about you for the first time, surprised at how different he felt reading the same things now.

And then Lucifer saw your birthday and immediately put down the paper. Your birthday was in only a handful of days and you hadn't said a single thing about it.

As though summoned, you arrived in his doorway. It was late in the evening and you looked like you were about to go to bed. But first you had brought him some coffee. You walked quietly into the room, setting it on his desk and smiling at him before sitting down across from him.

"I thought you might want some coffee," you said.

Lucifer returned your smile, taking the mug and sipping at the hot liquid. The bitterness hit him and he chuckled. "Hell coffee?"

You blushed and looked away. "Maybe."

Lucifer shook his head fondly for a moment before becoming serious again. He picked up the paper he'd been holding before so you could see it.

"Why didn't you tell me your birthday was coming up?" he asked directly.

Lucifer watched as you paled and seeing it made his gut twist unhappily.

You shrugged and looked away from him. "It's just… it always goes wrong. It always gets ruined. So I kinda see it as a bad omen now. Not something to celebrate."

Lucifer frowned, tapping a finger on the side of his mug. "I understand if you don't wish to celebrate. However, I would still like to request that you give us a chance."

You looked over at him again, surprised and a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know how things are in the human world or what has caused you to feel this way," Lucifer said. "But I know my brothers would wish to celebrate with you."

You shifted in your seat uncertainly, clearly unwilling to say yes, but also reluctant to say no.

Lucifer put down his mug and met your eyes across the desk. "I would personally ensure that your birthday goes smoothly. Would you truly deny me the pleasure of seeing your smiling face?"

You blushed again. Lucifer knew his gaze was intense, but he needed you to fully understand just how much you meant to him. Your birthday should make you feel loved and wanted, not scared and uncertain. And he was prepared to be the one who made sure your feelings on it changed.

Lucifer was pleased when he saw your expression become resigned. You smiled and shook your head a little. "Well… I can't really say no to you."

Lucifer sat back, smiling with satisfaction.

True to his word, Lucifer spent the next several days planning for your birthday. He subtly figured out exactly what would make you happiest and when the day itself came, put all of that information into action. It turned out to be the best day you'd had in some time. And at the end of it, you spent a fair amount of extra time in Lucifer's arms.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[rhaenin-time]

oh no another break from my break because yes i did end up watching the episode.

It's SO bad you guys. To the point that I can see into the writers' room. They didn't even bother to close the drapes!

BUT! must... finish... chapter... and... establish... habit... of continuing to write despite HotD's bad practices because I've come too far...

I swear it's not a sunk cost fallacy. Okay it's a sunk cost but also I DO want to finish because I'm clearly still not ready to settle into original work, I don't want to start a new fic in a different fandom, and also... I do want to finish what will be a ridiculously long fic because I want to. Why is it so hard? Because everytime I put time aside and sit down to it, I start breaking down HotD's writing problems instead because thinking about F&B canon and thinking about where HotD went wrong... is kind of one and the same. Pretty much everything wrong with it can be traced back to deviating from the book.

Ugh, it's just annoying because before I started, I did read up a lot about specifically what kind of fic writing is actually beneficial for practicing original novel writing skills. And one of the big rules is that you need to resist the urge for wish-fulfillment or indulging in head canons with little basis in canon (nothing wrong with those fics they're just not considered a good way to build skills that transfer over to novel writing) and aside from your intentional and well thought out deviations, you're supposed to remain as consistent with the source material's themes, worldbuilding, and characterizations as you can.

Problem is that HotD already broke those rules in their expensive fanfic people keep claiming is canon. Problem is... I too included it as canon. Because I already accounted for the changes season 1 made to Fire & Blood and part of the challenge that actually started off as fun was reconciling those changes and trying to merge them with the source material.

But they've gone too far! And I know it sounds kind of weird and pretentious and self-aggrandizing (I am all those things don't get me wrong) but I'm annoyed that now it might look like it's MY fic that decided to do whatever it wants with canon, especially characterization. Because especially when there's so much bigotry and politics involved, I actually find it kind of distasteful when fic writers intentionally disregard established themes, characterization and worldbuilding in order to indulge in bigoted mindsets and interpretations. Don't get me wrong, I'm not arguing for censorship or anything I just find it distasteful, and bad practice when the writer is unwilling to admit what they're doing and those interpretations find their way into the actual fandom and you get people arguing for them regarding the actual source material. Again, especially when bigotry and bad politics are involved.

Which is also annoying because so many of HotD's unjustified deviations are rooted in the bigoty and bad politics that, again, Fire & Blood actually condemns. And (that part of) this fandom is so annoying as it is. And as weird as it sounds I actually was trying really hard to "lead by example" and be as fair as I could to the greens, because, again, I'm trying to develop good writing practices.

Anyways, I guess this is a Fire & Blood merged with season 1 fic now, and everything will now err on the side of Fire & Blood. Anything established after season 1 is just Corlys's ep 8 - ep 10 fever dream and he wakes up in real canon which errs toward book canon aside from the changes season 1 made that I already accounted for. HotD has not earned the right to call itself its own narrative, so it's part of the greater metanarrative that Fire & Blood is a part of. Maester Condal's volume is simply... a conflicting account that has strong evidence for part 1 that sometimes even overrides Gyldayn's accounts, but he ran out of material and started making shit up and the challenge is in figuring out WHERE. Somewhere in between, the real story lurks...

Feel free to swipe that for your own sanity.

Is it unhinged that I'm claiming that my sometimes crackfic where the key players include Rhaenyra's boobs, Laenor's lube mummy, and Rhaenys's mop dummy is more respectful to Fire & Blood than HBO is? Yes. But is it also true? Also yes. And that's the damning part.

This has been an unedited rant.

Edit:

Wait. Do I take this in a meta direction for my author's notes? Since Aemond is Condal's blatant and uncomfortably telling self-insert... Hmm... You know Aemond’s pretentious study group I made up because I think it's weird that HotD doesn't realize that it's downright impossible for royals to be as isolated as they try to claim? Well, one of the members is named Ryam Condal. And he went on to write a *totally true account. Unfortunately, he was too young and naive to see Aemond for the dweeb he actually is, and also Aemond gave him weird ideas about dragons and Targaryens that he never unlearned.

edit edit

Wait. Should I truly invent a Condal insert named Condal who's slightly younger than Aemond and has a dumb admiration for him and wants to know why he doesn't come to their study group anymore now that Rhaenyra's around to properly educate him?