#life is annoying LOL and it gets in the way

[finitevariety]

this post is absolutely conflating a bunch of different people and then making up another guy to get mad at on top.

You're seeing nuance over 'acceptability of art' discourse and interpreting it with as little generosity as possible.

Acceptability of art discourse is inherently fucking annoying because people conflate 'acceptable-morally-in-real-life' with 'acceptable-allowed-to-be-said' all the time.

They're not the same thing and it's lazy to pretend that they are.

What this conflation erases is that there are lots of people who think a certain piece or topic in art is bad morally, and call it such, and wish it weren't popular (which, for Blurred Lines??? it's not, because no one gives a shit about it, because it's not 2013, which is where this discourse belongs) AND think it should still be allowed.

This intellectual muddiness allows your argument to stray perilously close to, actually, a degeneracy of art argument, which uses fascist and eugenicist logic to argue that there are some categories of art which are not art because they are in some way an affront (commonly to realms such as sensibility, decency, morality--anything that can be nebulously defined by the in-group to protect its interests).

Some references for this part:

'Entartete Kunst': The Nazis' inventory of 'degenerate art' · V&A

Degenerate art - Wikipedia

It's also worth looking at the ideal of cultural essentialism and its relationship to the so-called 'civilising mission' of imperialism.

2. It's funny that you go 'where did all the good SJWs go who are intolerant of intolerance???'. That intolerance EXTENDS, AND SHOULD EXTEND, TO ART.

What that means is that any time bs rhetoric like yours pops up, anyone who's actually concerned about social justice should call it out for exactly what it is: nonsense.

3. People can and should critique art and the structural biases which underpin it. People can and should work to redistribute who 'governs' art.

Rancière said that 'politics revolves around what is seen and what can be said about it, around who has the ability to see and the talent to speak, and the properties of spaces and the possibilities of time'. Art is the same, and, as with politics, everyone should be working to make sure that more is seen, that more people have the ability to see and the opportunity to speak, and the spaces are created in which they can be heard.

The way to do this is not by arguing over whether some shitty misogynist art should be 'deplatformed', whatever that means.

4. Name one person who's saying anything close to arguing that Blurred Lines, or similar media, are 'progressive and leftist anthems', lmao.

If you want to have an argument with a specific person about a specific thing, go and do that. Don't extrapolate your internecine beef into a generalisation about 'everyone saying shit'. bye lol

it’s just this recent wave of “all sexual expression is good even the problematic ones!” is crazy to me like we used to be mad about the song Blurred Lines and call it blatant expression of misogyny and rape apologia, even though it’s art. like i think it’s fine to call shallow misogynist art shallow and misogynist and i think it’s fine to deplatform it

[favefandomimagines]

Baby On Board (f.l)

Summary: Y/N is seven months pregnant and Frank is a nightmare

AN: I’m on a role with these Frank fics lol a request similar to this came through anonymously where there were multiple kiddos but I was thinking of maybe making each pregnancy its own story??? What do we think?

The ER didn’t stop—not for holidays, not for sleep, and definitely not for pregnancies.

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N knew that better than anyone.

At seven months pregnant, she still had her badge clipped to her scrub top, and stethoscope around her neck like she was still on month one.

The only real sign of slowing down came in the form of a tiny foot kicking her ribs every few hours, and the way her husband, Dr. Frank Langdon, treated her like she was wrapped in glass.

“Okay, tell me you’ve eaten something,” Frank said, appearing beside her at the nurse’s station. He had a sixth sense when it came to her whereabouts. He’d sniff her out like a bloodhound when he thought she’d gone too long without food or a break.

She gave him a tired smile, holding up half a granola bar like it was a gourmet meal. “I’m pacing myself.”

Frank squinted at it like it offended him. “That’s bird food. You need protein.”

“Frank, I’m fine.”

“You’re growing an entire person. ‘Fine’ is not good enough.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed her a container of sliced apples and peanut butter. “From the cafeteria. It’s not garbage, I checked.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you married me anyway,” he grinned.

Y/N took a bite despite herself. “Only because you told me I had the best laparoscopic technique you’d ever seen.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dipping. “It was a sexy suture job. Changed my life.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. Frank Langdon was a walking contradiction—brilliant and serious when it came to medicine, but a complete puddle around her.

Ever since they’d found out about the baby, he’d been obsessed. With ultrasounds. With vitamins. With keeping her off anything remotely resembling a stressful case.

“You promised you’d only take consults today,” he reminded her, brushing a hand over the swell of her stomach. “No trauma. No GSWs. No knifed bar brawlers. Baby Langdon doesn’t need to hear screams yet.”

“Frank,” she said with a warning look.

“Y/N,” he said back, smiling but not backing down. “Let me be annoying. It’s my love language.”

By midafternoon, the ER was humming like it always did—a steady, chaotic rhythm of stretchers rolling, pages beeping, and voices shouting. Y/N had been reviewing a consult for a gallbladder patient when the overhead pager crackled to life.

“GSW incoming, ETA four minutes.”

The attending was in surgery. Frank was in another trauma bay. The only other senior resident was handling an incoming stroke in CT.

Which meant Y/N was the only one left.

She stood up instinctively, even as a nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Dr. Y/L/N, should I page someone else?”

“There’s no one else,” she said, already reaching for a gown and gloves. “Page the OR. Let them know we might need a room fast.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I’ve got it.”

The trauma bay exploded into motion the second the paramedics wheeled him in.

“Thirty-five-year-old male, GSW to the left abdomen, hypotensive in the field, unresponsive to fluids. GCS 9.”

Y/N was already in position. “Let’s go. Two large-bore IVs, type and cross, hang O-neg now. Get the FAST scan ready.”

The team scrambled. She barked orders while the tech applied the ultrasound probe to the man’s abdomen. Blood everywhere. Vitals crashing.

“He’s bleeding out,” someone said.

“Get me a thoracotomy tray,” Y/N called, pushing harder on the man’s belly. “We’re opening him up here if we have to.”

Her belly pressed into the stretcher as she leaned closer, hands slick with blood, the baby inside her shifting as if aware of the chaos around them.

“Pressure’s bottoming out—”

“He’s tamponading,” Y/N said. “OR now. We need to move.”

They barely stabilized him with a rapid transfusion before wheeling him up. Her gown was soaked in blood. She stripped it off as they rolled the patient away, rubbing at a red streak on her gown as she stepped out of Trauma 3.

And ran straight into Frank.

“Y/N!”

His voice was like a whip crack. She looked up just in time to see him sprinting down the hallway, his eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell happened? Why are you covered in blood? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding up her hands, even as he reached out and started patting her down like he was checking for wounds. “Frank, I’m fine. It’s not mine.”

“You weren’t supposed to take any trauma calls!”

“There was no one else, Frank.”

He stared at her, face pale, then looked down at the stain on her trauma gown, the crimson gloves in her hand, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You’re seven months pregnant. You can’t be in there opening chests—”

“I didn’t open his chest. I stabilized him. Got him to the OR. The patient’s alive, Frank.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, he just looked at her—at the way she was standing tall, composed, despite the blood and exhaustion.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

She softened as she took the gown and gloves off. “I know.”

“I thought—” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought something happened. That someone didn’t notice you were pregnant and shoved you into a wall or—”

She stepped forward and touched his arm. “I’m still capable. Pregnancy didn’t erase my training.”

Frank pulled her into his arms anyway, holding her like he needed to convince himself she was real.

“You’re not a porcelain doll,” he mumbled into her hair. “I know that. But I—God, I just want you both safe.”

“I am safe,” she murmured. “Because I’m trained. Because I trust my judgment. And because I have a husband who follows me around with apples and prenatal vitamins.”

He let out a weak laugh, still holding her.

Later that night, after the trauma bay was clean and the adrenaline had drained from both of them, Frank found her in the break room. She was sitting on the couch, one hand on her stomach, eyes closed.

“You’re not gonna get away with that again, you know,” he said gently.

Y/N opened one eye. “With what?”

“Being the only senior resident and taking a GSW while seven months pregnant. I’m putting it in your permanent record.”

She smiled, too tired to argue. “How’s the patient?”

“Out of surgery. Stable. You saved his life.”

She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face, rubbing at her lower back.

“Come on,” Frank said, kneeling in front of her. “Turn.”

She did, and he began to rub slow, practiced circles into her back. “I’ve been reading up on prenatal massage,” he said casually. “This spot here? Supposed to relieve pressure.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd who loves you,” he murmured. “And this baby.”

The room was quiet except for the hum of the vending machine. Then she said softly, “I know I scared you. But I need you to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” he said. “I really do. But believing in you and worrying about you don’t cancel each other out.”

She leaned back into his hands. “Deal.”

Frank reached up and kissed her cheek, lips lingering slightly.

Two weeks later, she officially went on leave. But every now and then, Frank would find her standing in the ER doorway, arms crossed over her stomach, watching.

And he’d walk over, press a kiss to her temple, and whisper, “Still capable.”

And she’d whisper back, “Still protective.”

And both were absolutely true.

[astrstqr]

⸝⸝ㅤ⟡͟ ˳ WHATS IN MY BAG ?!

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ a pink miu miu tote bag! was a gift for my birthday in 2O25

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ the decor!

key charms ⭑.ᐟ a fan had gave them to me during a fan sign & i loved them ever since

photo cards ⭑.ᐟ my two photos of kwon i always keep with me. gotta keep my (secret) man close lol

hirono figures ⭑.ᐟ bought them while i was visiting paris during my first tour

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ next is the two front pockets, here you’ll find all of my little things…well some

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ first front pocket!

keys ⭑.ᐟ the keys to my mercedes benz, always a necessity and always need in hand

handsanitizer ⭑.ᐟ need i say more? practice good hygiene!

hair clips ⭑.ᐟ my hair is always getting in the way & it can be very annoying. so have to keep some on me

gum ⭑.ᐟ always got to have gum. either for long meetings and i’m just bored, or just to have my mind focus on one thing

airpods ⭑.ᐟ just backup in case my headphones die or when i want to share with someone

battery pack ⭑.ᐟ last but not least my battery pack, times where my phones are close to dying. always needed due to how much i’m in my phone lol

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ second front pocket!

my lippies ⭑.ᐟ always gotta keep my lips moisturize & juicy

travel size perfume ⭑.ᐟ can never go without smelling good. especially with my busy schedule, it’s nice to freshen up a bit

travel size mirror ⭑.ᐟ have to keep appearances. always on the move and in front of cameras, can’t get caught slipping lol

travel size toothpicks ⭑.ᐟ my smile is one my best features. always on the move, in front of cameras, and eating certain foods. can’t get caught slipping lol

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ lastly the main pocket, basically my life

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ my two phones!

pink iphone 15 pro ⭑.ᐟ my main and personal phone. here you’ll find all my contacts, games, social media etc. very cute

sliver iphone 15 pro ⭑.ᐟ my second and work phone. here you’ll find all my work emails, work contacts and so much more (can’t give everything away lol)

my camera & photo printer ⭑.ᐟ i can’t go anywhere with these, i live a fast life. i just love capturing my journey and things that makes me happy

ipad ⭑.ᐟ this is my baby, i have so many games in here and just things that’ll keep me busy during long work days/weeks

my vivienne westwood wallet ⭑.ᐟ literally holds my entire life in it i swear. to all my cards and my id

a charger ⭑.ᐟ in case my battery pack dies, or i need to charge my ipad/airpods

my headphones ⭑.ᐟ these are my life. i listen to everything in them. from music to tracks to videos etc. i love them

travel size jewelry box ⭑.ᐟ where all my jewelry goes when i’m done wearing it for the day and im not home yet. or whatever they get in the way during practice etc

my notebook & pens ⭑.ᐟ here is where i write my lyrics. whenever im out. when i get inspired i quickly jot it down so i can go back & look at it later

𓈒 ☆ ꒱ my snacks!

hot cheetos ⭑.ᐟ i love love LOVE hot chips. and they’re always my go to snack (along with the other on this list lol)

gushers ⭑.ᐟ 1. bc i always thought the name was funny & 2. they remind me of my childhood. i use to always eat them and i guess it stuck lol

gold fish crackers ⭑.ᐟ another childhood snack i can’t let go of i tried lol

travel size fan ⭑.ᐟ it’s always hot during award shows, practices, and ughh the summer heat..i hate it

a lighter ⭑.ᐟ gotta keep one on me when i wanna light up .. :P

crystals & protection spell ⭑.ᐟ i am connected with my roots heavily. dabbling in hoodoo and my ancestral practices

comb, brush & hair ties ⭑.ᐟ sometimes my hair can get wild or get in the way. gotta fix it somehow lol

﹫ib @chaaistained & @hrrtshape

[emotionalmessss]

Feelings: Sukuna Headcanon

A/N: here's a little headcanon for Sukuna, because I haven't written for him in forever lol. Basically, Sukuna develops a crush on Yuji's friend. Idk, this was stuck in my head for a while so why not. And I love somewhat soft Sukuna. Unedited and not beta read, sorry for any mistakes!

Warnings: violence, mention of blood, emotional and psychological abuse, some non-con elements (mostly touching and shit), unhealthy relationships. Sukuna is kinda soft-ish, but still a fucking sadistic prick.

Never in a million years would Sukuna imagine developing a fucking crush on you. He doesn’t care (except for himself and Uraume). He doesn’t love. He doesn’t have feelings. And he definitely doesn’t waste his time on insignificant humans. Especially human sorcerers who happen to be friends with that brat Yuji. Why waste his precious time on lesser beings? 

Sukuna tells himself it’s just boredom. That’s all it is. Being trapped inside Yuji’s body is tedious—and borderline demeaning for someone like the King of Curses—so why wouldn’t he amuse himself with you? You’re around Yuji often, constantly lingering around that brat like an insect that just won’t die. 

Not that Sukuna would ever admit it, but he finds you the least annoying out of Yuji’s friends. Tormenting Yuji and his friends has always been one of the many ways Sukuna entertains himself. But it became even more enjoyable when you came along. Of course, Sukuna would be his usual self. He’d mock, taunt, threaten, and laugh at you. Because why not? It’s fun. 

Sukuna thrives off the fear and chaos he causes. And most of the time, just his name alone is enough to have sorcerers and curses fearing for their lives. You’re no different. 

Except, there is something about you that is different. Sukuna’s been watching you from the very beginning—from the moment you popped into Yuji’s life. Probably debating whether or not he should kill you or toy with you, probably both. Or maybe use you against Yuji? He especially enjoys needling Yuji about you. It’s just too easy to get under that brat’s skin.

“How’s your little pet today, brat? Still breathing?” Sukuna’s voice slithers through Yuji’s mind, condescending and intrusive. It’s not really a question because he already knows the answer. He’s been watching the whole time. As much as he despises watching Yuji fumble around you like a pathetic, horny teenager, there’s really nothing he can do about it.

“Shut up.” Yuji groans back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples. As if that would deter the curse living inside him to fuck off. It won’t.

Whatever the reason is, Sukuna spends a lot of time watching you, more than anyone else. 

Sukuna calls you pet names, and they’re almost always mocking. Little thing. Pet. Brat. He’s such a dick. He refuses to call you by your actual name unless it’s to make a point. And when he does? It’s slow, deliberate—like he’s savoring the way it sounds.

Of course, Sukuna wouldn’t be Sukuna if he didn’t take control of Yuji’s body at the worst possible times. When he does manage to manifest temporarily, he makes sure it’s whenever you’re around.

“Studying hard, are we?” The voice that suddenly slips from Yuji's lips is nothing like his. It's lower. Rougher. Coated in mockery and fucked up amusement. It's almost laughable—almost—how oblivious you are, so absorbed in whatever pointless little textbook you've got your nose buried in. “What a good little sorcerer you are.” The words drip from his smirking mouth like poison, sweet and condescending, meant to belittle, meant to sting.

Sprawled across the floor, you freeze instantly, the textbook you were reading just moments ago suddenly slips from your trembling grasp and lands with a soft thud.

Sukuna doesn’t sit up immediately, content with just watching you from Yuji’s reclined position. He lounges in the brat’s body like it’s his throne, sprawled lazily across the dorm bed, one arm slung behind his head, the other resting carelessly along his stomach. His eyes—Yuji's eyes, but not—are half-lidded and dark as he examines you up close for the first time.

For Sukuna, it’s almost fun to appear unexpectedly. There's something so delicious about the way your whole body tenses, the way your pretty eyes widen the second you realize it's him. He will never admit it, of course, but he adores your reactions when he manifests. No warning, no build up—just that subtle shift in posture, the change in voice. Being confined to his vessel's body is tiresome, infuriating, and beneath him. So when he gets the chance to claw his way to the surface, even for a moment, he takes it.

It's not always about violence—though the temptation is always there, testing his control. He could easily grab you and slam you against the wall. Would you scream? Probably. Would you fight? Absolutely—but not well enough. He could almost feel you struggling in his arms, your body twisting and squirming as he pins you down with ease. He could almost hear your pretty voice crack as you scream and beg.

But with you… it's more complicated. With you, he’s more restrained. Killing you would be too quick and easy. No. He’ll take his time with you, making sure he enjoys every second. He doesn't hurt you when he takes control. Not much, at least.

But at some point, things started to change. He started noticing too much, watching you too much, thinking about you too much, looking forward to seeing you too much. It’s infuriating and confusing. Why does he find himself actually paying attention when you speak? Why does he get nervous when you’re on an assignment? Why doesn’t he just kill you and be done with it? He’s had multiple opportunities. And why does his chest burn when Yuji flirts with you? 

And that’s when the frustration sets in. Sukuna despises this unfamiliar feeling.

Honestly, Sukuna isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what he’s feeling, he just refuses to acknowledge it.

In the end, I highly doubt Sukuna would ever admit to having feelings for you, nor would he change his behaviour too much. Don’t expect him to be all mushy and shit. That’s just not his style. But there would be some signs…. 

The signs would be subtle. The last thing he—and his pride—needs is people thinking he’s gone fucking soft. 

He gets quiet when you're speaking. Not out of politeness—he just wants to listen. He'll go silent inside Yuji's head, letting your voice wash over him. He memorizes your cadence, the words you use, the way your voice changes when you talk to other people. And when you talk to Yuji? He listens too closely.

Sukuna started watching you much more often. He finds himself paying extra attention whenever you’re around Yuji, and actually listening when you speak. For once, he’s not thinking about killing or toying with you—he’s just….observing you.

He notices everything about you. The way your nose scrunches adorably when you smile, the way your laughter makes his stomach twist in an unfamiliar way—he remembers every little detail about you, and he hates himself for it.

Whenever you’re on missions or assignments, Sukuna watches you even closer, especially whenever you’re around other curses. Again, he chalks it up to just being boredom, considering he’s stuck inside Yuji and all. But in reality? He doesn’t want you to get hurt. He doesn’t want anyone else touching you, or even coming near you. Just the thought of it makes him livid—not because someone threatened a weak sorcerer. But because they threatened you.

There was one time where you did get injured by another curse on an assignment, and Sukuna lost all composure.

Sukuna rarely steps in, even when Yuji is in danger, preferring to sit back and watch the sufferings of others. He’s selfish. Stepping in to save someone doesn’t serve his purposes. He doesn't protect people—ever. But the moment you were injured, the line was crossed. He forcibly manifested, motivated more than ever to gain control. The curse that attacked you doesn’t stand a chance against him. He’s more unhinged than usual. He doesn’t torture the curse for his own sadistic enjoyment—not this time. Instead, he barely wastes any time ripping it apart and then checking on you. 

“Pathetic.” He sneers down at your crumpled form, not bothering to wipe the blood off his scowling face. It’s difficult to tell if the insult is meant for you or for the curse he just sliced in half. Still, his tone is considerably less….biting than usual. 

Languidly, he crouches beside you, eyes roaming your body with detached curiosity. But something flickers in his crimson gaze—brief, almost undetectable. But it’s there. Concern? Rage? Whatever it is, it makes his glare falter, and his scowl deepen.

“Hurt, brat?” The taunting pet name rolls off his tongue, softer than he would've liked. His gaze shifts between your face and the gash along your side, silently assessing the damage while trying—and failing—to appear indifferent. Like the fact that you’re actively bleeding out doesn’t concern him in the slightest. But the sight does bother him. Deeply.

A low sound rumbles in his throat as he suddenly scoops you into his arms—a growl caught somewhere between annoyance and... something else. Frustration? Worry? Who fucking knows. “If you die from something this trivial, I’ll be disappointed.”

Sukuna doesn’t stop taking control of Yuji when you’re around. But when he first started feeling something deeper for you, he wasn’t around as much. It’s odd, especially since he’s always sought to control Yuji, and has been known to appear at random times. He’s probably been stewing somewhere in his domain, sitting on the mountain of bones as he tries to figure out what the fuck is wrong with him. He’s not fully manifesting, not always. But his presence is there, lurking.

When he takes control of Yuji, he doesn’t threaten or intimidate you outright like he did before. No. Instead, he’s just kinda… there. Almost like he enjoys just being near you. Still, he doesn’t completely stop messing with you—he’s got a reputation to uphold, after all. His threats become empty, more like teasing. More like taunts.

“Keep talking like that, and I'll carve that pretty mouth of yours shut.”

“Am I interrupting something important?” He drawls mockingly, tilting his head and flicking his nails as he tries to appear uninterested. Like whatever you were doing wasn’t even worth his time or energy. “You looked so focused, brat. So serious. And now you look like you’re about to piss yourself.” 

He starts to manipulate Yuji's sleeping patterns, taking control in the dead of night just to watch you sleep. Why? He himself doesn’t even know why. Maybe it's the way you look so unaware. So peaceful. Unlike the pure terror you display when he’s around when you’re awake.

Not that you could notice, but Sukuna doesn’t taunt Yuji about you as much. Not like he used to. The smug remarks, the crude innuendos, the threats laced with amusement—they've slowed, thinned out, almost like he's holding them back. Almost like it's not funny anymore. Because every time he sees Yuji laugh with you, or hears you say his name with that stupid softness in your voice, it sparks something ugly in him. Something terrifyingly possessive.He doesn't want to talk about you—or even think about you for that matter. Not to Yuji. Not when it means acknowledging that you spend more time with that pathetic brat than you ever will with him. So instead of mockery, there's silence. Cold, simmering silence. And if Yuji ever notices the shift, he's smart enough not to say a word.

[cressidagrey]

I found you by accident! And of course I immediately started reading your works. The first thing I read was "Such a Mystery" and then I found Lando and Elizabeth. I fell in love with both stories and read them several times. Currently my obsession is the new story "White horse" I LOVE IT! Every day from the morning I refresh your profile to check if there is a new chapter. when I see that it is my day immediately gets better..

1. I love it when someone new finds out that Max is in a relationship. Pure chaos. Sometimes I get the feeling that Lando will have a heart attack because of it (especially because of dinner 😂)

2. The ring is gorgeous. It suits Belle

3. Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo make me want to punch them in the face

4. I'm trying to gather information from your answers and put them more or less into a whole. But oh my God I feel like it's going to be interesting.

5. Can we expect some bigger drama?

6. Can we know if there's another chapter today?

7. How did you come up with the idea for this story?

8. Are you overwhelmed by the number of people asking for more chapters because they're unsatisfied?

9. I’m sorry for my English, it’s not my first language (Polish is)

Once again I love your writing! Remember you are amazing! Have a nice day!

Ahhh I’m so happy you found me — even if by accident!! 🥹💛 Such a Mystery and The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince hold such a special place in my heart, so hearing that you loved those and are now deep in the White Horse obsession?? Truly the highest compliment!! Thank you so much for being here, and for rereading — I’m so honored 🫶🏻

Now let me go through your amazing list because I LOVE this message:

You’re absolutely right — someone new finding out about Max and Belle every chapter = pure chaos. And yes, Lando is absolutely one dramatic reveal away from passing out in a restaurant 😭🍝

I’m so glad you love the ring!! I imagined something vintage and intricate and very Belle — quiet, timeless elegance.

Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo... yeah. Fully valid. The rage is earned.

You're gathering clues like a pro 👀 and yes... it's going to get very interesting very soon.

Bigger drama? 👀 Let’s just say... yes.

I never want to make promises about exact updates because life (and law school 😭), but I do try to update as often as I can. If not today, then very soon! ❤️ (I had the chapter nearly finished and then I had another idea and it has now snowballed...once again.)

The idea for White Horse actually started as a one shot of May 2024. So that was the starting point. And then I realise that to give the story the time it deserved, I needed to start much earlier. It was pretty much a thought experiment at one point about how it would be to be a sibling to a famous driver who is the golden child of the family...and the main character just gets pushed to the side. again and again and again.

I’m not overwhelmed — mostly just very grateful 🥹 Sometimes it’s hard or even lightly annoying when people ask for more chapters in a way that feels like pressure, but most of the time, people are so kind and patient, and that makes it all worth it 💛 Though asking me when the next update is, is not gonna make me write faster. Mostly the opposite, because I need to answer that question and I could have written something in the time that took lol.

And please don’t apologize for your English — it’s fantastic and I understood every word perfectly! Dziękuję bardzo (I hope that's correct) for reading and writing to me — it truly means so much 🫶🏻

Sending you the biggest hug!! Can’t wait to share more of Belle and Max’s story with you ❤️✨

[southernbelllle]

And He Was Haunted

Richard Reiben x Reader

Prompt: The war comes back to Reiben in many different ways, and it's up to you to help him cope.

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I promise I will write for Platoon again soon lol. I just have to figure out how to finally tune my interpretation of Barnes into someone I can write something "sweet" about lol.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The train ride back to Brooklyn was long and bumpy. Arduous, Richard Reiben sat in front of a lady dressed from head to toe in an emerald, green dress and fur coat. The jewels that hung from her neck were gaudy and chunky. They didn’t shine, they just sat.

“Soldier boy,” she spoke, voice coated in sugar. “Am I to assume you’re heading home?”

Reiben simply looked at her completely devoid of emotion. He spoke not a word, simply looking at the older lady. He could see right through such an individual. He could even before the hellish torment that was his time overseas.

He continued to ignore her, unwilling to engage with the absurdity of the common civilian. He had seen enough; he no longer had the energy to devote himself to the pointless. He doubted if he ever did.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” She asked with a sly smile. “Must’ve had the breath taken from you on your travels.”

“Bitch, you ain’t got a fucking clue.” He thought to himself. His body rocked with every chug of the train. He averted his tired eyes from the woman to the window that he had sat himself beside.

“The strong and silent type I see…” she lowered her eyes at him like a cougar on the prowl. He could sense her growing need to pull him into her grasp. He wanted no part in it.

“Strong yeah but far from quiet.” He stated bluntly. An annoyed smile that faked congeniality spread across his lips. Like a dog showing its teeth, but not posing a threat. Not yet at least.

“Oh…is there a way I could test that theory?” The woman flirted.

“Fuck yeah there is.” He was growing more and more annoyed as the time on the train dwindled. The combined screeching of the tracks against the wheels combined with the lady’s redundant question asking made him wonder if making it out alive was really worth.

But then he remembered you.

And suddenly, he found the will.

A thin brunette boy who worked on the train’s service crew was walking down the aisle when suddenly, he felt an arm stiff at his side.

“Hey kid.” Reiben said. “What’s a poor bastard gotta do to get a scotch around here.”

“I’m sorry sir, no alcohol after 8 O’clock.’ The boy answered cooly. His voice was quiet like a kitten’s whisper. Barely audible over the chatter of the train.

“Mother fucker….” Reiben muttered under his breath. He brought a hand to wipe the sweat that hung from his brow.

“What- What can I get?”  He asked with annoyed desperation. “I need something to get me through this God forsaken train ride.”

“At this hour we are offering water, tea, coffee, or juice.” The boy counted the options on his fingers. A damply wet towel hung from his forearm. Reiben noticed the tiny ghost of a mustache and the thin pencil like straightness of his eyebrows. He reminded him of someone, someone he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Uh,” He glanced down toward his toes, eyebrows knit firmly together. His fingers running through his hair in frustration. “Can I get a- a coffee?”

“Of course.” The man nodded. “It’ll be right out.”

Reiben’s head fell into his hands. He craved a quiet moment. He hadn’t experienced a true moment of peace since he left. He thought about you again. God, he couldn’t wait to get back home to you. You were the life’s blood that ran through his veins. Your gorgeously delicate face lived on the backs of his eyelids. In just about, he looked down to his watch, 10 short minutes this train ride would be over, and he’d be on his way home to you, and he could put all of this shit behind him.

“You know, if your looking for a way to get through this train ride-“the woman spoke up again. Her voice dripping in the same seduction. However, Reiben had lost his patience.

“Look, look look listen lady,” Reiben lifted his head up from his hands. Anger burning through his tone. “I don’t want you. Ok? I just fucking don’t.” He flashed a sarcastic smile as he threw his hands in the air. “I got a girl at home. A beautiful girl. Who’s been writing me letter after letter about how badly she misses me.” He scolded. “I know that you won’t understand this, considering your sorry son of a bitch husband is waiting for you at home while you’re out stalking men on trains, but I’m one lucky bastard to even have a girl waiting on me. Ok? So, if it’s fine with you. I’d like to end this miserable train ride in silence.”

The woman was gazing scornfully at the soldier. Her ego clearly bruised as she accepted her defeat. “Well.” She spat. “I guess I know when I’m not wanted.” She picked up the fox fur that had been sat around kitten heeled feet. Reiben watched as the dead fox’s head whipped around her shoulders as she got up. Finally, one fucking free moment.

His back bounced against the seat as he let out an exhausted breath. He looked around the train at the other passengers. A man with a big black top hat and well pressed suit, a woman with blonde hair in a Dutch braid, two small children dressed in faux military costumes celebrating the end of the war. None of these assholes would ever be dealt the blow that he had been. If they did, they’d know that there wasn’t shit to celebrate. No, not a damn thing.

Good men died wearing the same uniform they did, except only that time, the blood and gore was real instead of imaginary.

As he began to look at the children closer, he noticed the stark height difference between the two boys at play. The tall boy had caramel skin and buzzed hair. He played with a wooden sniper rifle that he’d point at random passengers on the train. The second boy was little. He flew a small toy blimp around with his tiny palm. He had big brown eyes like a baby deer. He’d seen that look before, when his wounded friend was looking up at him from the dirt. He averted his gaze.

Man, he was angry. He was an angry man before, when he was just another guy from Brooklyn spitting at the pavement and shaking his fist at the sky. Now, he was all of that plus running himself ragged from replaying the gut turning memories he’d collected from his time in France.

His ticket home was the worst thing to happen to him. He really did believe that out of the eight men he had been sent to search the French countryside with, he was the least deserving of coming home. He was pissy and rebellious throughout the whole mission. Quite literally even “giving up” at one point. Yet, he was the one chosen to come home. He knew that it should’ve been a soldier with talent and grit like Jackson, or a medic that had tended to the wounded quickly and devoutly, like Wade.

But no, it was him. One of two survivors. He’d made a point to fuck off as far away from Upham as possible because of the trauma that would flood his brain and make his face turn cold. He couldn’t look at him without seeing them.

The train whistled as it halted to a stop. The screeching of the tracks and abrupt ceasing of movement yanked him out of his thoughts.

He puled his gear out from the top compartment and slung it over his large frame. He started down the thin isle with steps heavier than boulders.

The two children dressed in the costume version of his current uniform ran past him. He stopped and stared as they ran toward the door.

One of the children, turned to look at Reiben, and with a toothy grin, saluted him. The boy then tapped the other boy’s shoulder and pointed at the towering man. Upon seeing him, the second boy shot the same nod and salute, then hurried off of the train.

Reiben was never a crier. He wore the rock-solid mask of a macho man everywhere he went before the war. But now, after the mission he’d had the misfortune of being thrust under, he cried at the drop of a hat.

Neither was he a Godly man before, but he felt God had temporarily shot his brothers down from Heaven for one last memory, seeing them one more time in a way that didn’t involve them groveling for mercy. Something to help him sleep at night. Jackson told him once that God would send him signs of his grandaddy randomly. He’d talked about how the two of them would go dove hunting every weekend, and after his granddaddy died, he’d have a dove gently rap outside his window. Peeking in to check in on how Jackson was doing. Reiben thought about how the two of them were probably flying across the Eastern Tennessee sky together now. It was bittersweet.

But he thanked God anyway.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Reiben stood still in the middle of the isle, lost in his own mind.

“Sir,” a man tapped him on the shoulder. Reiben was splashed by the surprise that washed over his face. It was the bus boy.

“We put your coffee in a cup to go. Your father suggested to us that you may want it for the walk home.” He said, handing the cup to Reiben.

“My father?”  He asked.

“Yes,” the bus boy said. “The man with the dark hair who ordered for you.” He looked across the aisle. “He must’ve gotten off already.”

“That’s impossible.” He spat. “I ordered by myself.”

The bus boy looked at him with confusion. “No sir. He told us that you preferred a lid because you take great clumsy, strides when you walk. He told us that he’d watched you walk in front of him and gripe. He seemed to have known you very well, sir.”

Reiben blanky starred at the thin boy. He looked him up and down with his, and gently took the coffee cup from his hand.

“Thanks,” He trailed off as he turned around, coffee cup in hand.

As Reiben walked off of the train (by this point he was the last man aboard) and grabbed the metal handle to help him step off.

Through the quiet of the train though, he could hear the gentle clicking and clacking of a typewriter tucked somewhere within the train car. He peeked back into the car and saw the small bus boy, clad in proper military gear, devoid of any scratches or stains, pecking on the keys of a typewriter.

Reiben remembered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

His Brooklyn neighborhood late at night felt more foreign than homely. He felt as though he was a phantom haunting the streets of an innocent community. His steps poisoned each broken slap of concrete on the sidewalk. His whole life felt like a dream at this point. He was the angry troll that had returned to the kingdom to terrorize the civilians with his gruesome aura.

He walked up the steps of your shared town house and fumbled with the keys to the door. It was an old, familiar sensation of tying to match they key with the lock. He felt as if it had been a decade since he had performed such a mundane action. A goblin breaking into the princess’ castle with a battering ram is how it translated in his head. He felt sick.

Once he had opened the door, he saw a welcome sight. A sight he wasn’t aware that he’d missed, he saw a room clean. The apartment was spotless. You didn’t know when Reiben was going to return, but you knew it could be any day, and you wanted to make sure it was welcome.

It was warm, too. He slipped his jacket off to stand in his olive toned sleeveless shirt and trousers as he stood in the doorway. A kitchen, a living room, a bathroom with a toilet. He could’ve cried.

His eyes then led him over to the staircase that led up to his favorite room. The room where he knew you were asleep, blissfully unaware of the man and his baggage that were standing in the house.

He gulped a nervous swallow as he slowly walked up the stairs. Pictures of you and him framed and polished held his hand as he took each agonizing step. Your eyes, full and bright in each picture. You almost seemed like a fantasized legend of folklore at this point. The sleeping mermaid princess being rudely intruded upon by the evil great white shark. The angry, great white shark.

He finally arrived at the bedroom. He perched at the doorway and watched your sleeping silhouette rise and fall at a snail’s pace. He could see your satin nightgown hug your curves as the blanket laid loosely on your frame.

He almost felt perverse for watching such a sight. It had been so long since he’d been able to love you the way he wanted. To touch you, caress you, gently nibble at the shell of your ear as he felt your weight on his lap. It felt like a lifetime ago, and with his newfound trauma, wondered if you’d even ever let him again. He thought about it all the time back overseas. He’d just never really thought it through.

He took his shirt and boots off at the base of the bed. He looked down at the empty space beside you that had grown cold and hollow. He forgot how exciting it was to simply crawl into a warm bed.

He laid down and to his surprise, felt the mattress welcome him home by reforming back to the comfort level in which he liked. At least the bed remembered him… at least.

He then turned on his side to you. Your back was turned away from him. Sleeping so soothed and gently, he wanted to touch you. Truth be told, that was the very least thing he wanted to do to you, but it was a good start.

Terrified, he reached the palm of his hand to rest on your shoulder. He could’ve cried again. You were warm, and your skin was soft. He hadn’t remembered the feeling of being warm and soft.

He couldn’t help himself; he brought another hand to your shoulder and did the same. Warm and soft.

Like a grizzly bear, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping you into a full hug. He loved it. He felt a sense of crazy euphoria. His skin goose bumped with the sensation. Bliss, that’s what it was, it was bliss.

The best part of the hug, however, was your sleeping figure turning to cuddle into his solid chest. Your nose brushing against his bicep as you settled into him. As if no time at all was lost, your two puzzle pieces fit back together and completed the picture.

He was angry, sad, and all ripped up inside when he came home to you, but with time, he felt that it would all be alright.

And when he awoke that morning, Reiben saw a white mourning dove sitting at his window.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

[returnofeternity]

I hope you're having a wonderful day!

I love Shauna. And I feel bad for Shauna. But could you possibly write something about shy reader crashing out and possibly fighting Shauna after they raid Natalie's hut or something? ...I just feel so bad for her and the finale had me sobbing 😭

Only if you want to/are comfortable with it!

(also sorry for any misspelling on any of my asks lol)

Thank you so much!

· · 𐂂 · ·

you were finally about to fall asleep after hours of staring at the roof of your hut when you heard the sound of multiple footsteps. it scared you at first, and you crawled over to peek out at what was going on. you saw about 4 of the girls masked up with their weapons heading toward nat's shelter, shauna behind them with her rifle slung over her shoulder. maybe she makes eye contact with you as she passes your hut, giving you a look with her eyes that says, "stay inside."

all you feel is anger as they practically shove nat out and push her to the ground, throwing her blankets on the dirt floor as they search her place. you're not the only one out of your hut and watching, there's also misty, melissa, and gen being nosy...

you snap after shauna tells everyone to get back to bed.

you don't rly know why, maybe it was the way they've been treating nat lately. maybe it's because you were trying to hype yourself up to say anything to shauna, making sure to say the words you want to say in your head before you stutter and make a fool of yourself and you took too long to do so.

"why do you do this?" you call out, proud of yourself for not mumbling for the first time in your life. but now all eyes are on you, and you're embarrassed again. "do you enjoy being this way?"

shauna turns to you, almost with a slight smile, but the way it looks in the fire has you on edge. "i didn't even know you could talk." she taunts, looking you up and down with contempt and then walking away.

you clench your jaw and look around, the stares of everyone making you flush. maybe with embarrassment, maybe with rage.

you hate how they all follow her lead. you hate how you can sympathize with shauna after everything she's been through, but still find her unbearably annoying. you stand your ground and walk closer, even when she turns back and raises her gun at you.

"i said, get back to bed." her voice is full of authority, and she glares at you when all you do is scoff.

"fuck you, shipman."

shauna cocks the gun.

nat walks over and tries to defend you, telling you to drop it and just do what shauna says. you're still seething with rage, having a stare-off with shauna as she dares you to move forward and see what happens. nat has to drag you to her hut before you do anything stupid, and you make sure to pick up her tossed blanket on the ground and flip off shauna before going in with her.

you swear you could've heard hannah and van hold her back.

that's all i got but thinking about nat thanking you for sticking up for her 😞 maybe you've always had a tiny crush on her so you just smile and revert back to ur shy mode. being so shy that you never rly talked a whole bunch with the yjs and she tells you that ur voice is pretty :(

[elizabeth-mitchells]

What do you think Laura Lee and Lottie’s relationship was like pre cash? I think Lottie kinda finds Laura Lee irritating when she interrupted LL at the party when Jackie was trying to mediate the group after that almost cat fight between Van and Shauna. Although during the plane crash, they were holding each other. I do think Lottie wasn’t particularly close with anyone though pre cash. I headcanon her as having social life but it’s all surface level friendship. What do you think?

pre-crash lottielee my beloved! <3 they were just babies. they would've been so cute together...

okay so! yes, Lottie says "Oh my God" a little exasperated when Laura Lee keeps telling everyone they're beautiful in the eyes of the lord lol (please forgive her, that's her best attempt at flirting) but i love being delusional and i'll say it was fond exasperation! besides, let's also look at when most girls yelled "shut the fuck up Laura Lee" and Lottie didn't! (and Van, (i also keep pushing the Van and Laura Lee best friends agenda)) so I don't think she finds her irritating or annoying or doesn't like her. but well they're teenage girls and when even your best friends do something annoying, That thing is annoying, but you still like them

that being said! i agree with you. and i think both actors for Lottie and Laura Lee have talked about picturing their characters as a little lonely. exactly what you said, friends with the team but at surface level. so, canonically, no they probably weren't very close. but!! i'm choosing to believe they were at least a liittlleee closer than with most of the other girls, OR at least got along pretty well and were both aware of this

i say this based on very small details but isn't that what friendship's about? i mean, they weren't strangers to each other, look:

Laura Lee was enthusiastically in on the "Thank you Mr Matthews" joke. you have to be at least a somewhat good friends with someone to joke so much about their parents dont you

*I* think it looked like they purposefully sat close to each other on the plane. no one was as close as jackieshauna to sit fully next to each other. but this was the closest thing. to me it looks like laura lee chose her seat first, and lottie followed, so she obviously wasn't avoiding her. and with the way laura lee moved, to me it looks like she was about to kneel on her seat to look over the back to talk to lottie!

now, as the plane was falling, sure, everyone panicked, they were desperate, but i think it's kinda obvious to like. curl up and protect yourself, right? and laura lee was busy praying, you'd think she'd do that the entire time. but no! they reach out for each other. nearly fall from their seats just to reach each other and desperately hold on. you don't do that with just any classmate and teammate. you don't get ready to die holding hands with a girl you just tolerated you know? that seems at least a little bit personal to me

when laura lee finds coach martinez on the tree and lottie is the one to pull her back, i dont know about you but that was a very intimate hold. or at least i'm saying they have hugged before and there is a level of familiarity between them

lottie knowing leonard's name is just. adorable. and friend behavior

[calebslittlecrow]

Why are you letting antis shake your belief system?

No, like... seriously? Why are you handing your entire belief system over to the first troll with a Wi-Fi connection?

Every few days I scroll through some shifting spaces, oftentimes out of boredom, and sure as shit I will find someone crumbling under some "shifting isn't real" - comment they found out in the wild. And I am not talking about skeptics asking some respectful questions, I am talking about comments from the "Haha, look at the delusional people! I feel superior now!" - crowd of people. The ones who feel slightly accomplished by repeating the same 7 dismissive arguments like a broken record, because they can't come up with anything new or creative.

I do get that it stings when somebody makes fun of something that you care about. That's a natural human reaction. It's not fun and sometimes it hurts, especially if you get insulted out of nowhere. The part I don't get? How can a few of those negative comments rip your entire belief out at the roots, as if you never believed in shifting in the first place?

Imagine someone going to a monk and saying "Meditation is bullshit and enlightenment is fake!" Do you think the monk would throw their mala beads away and say: "Yes, you are right. Time to take a job at the bank"? Very likely not.

Most people who follow weird, metaphysical, or spiritual aligning paths don't usually crumble the moment someone disbelieves them. Subliminal and Manifestation communities don't implode because they are called delusional. Christians don't abandon their faith just because someone said "God isn't real lol" So why is your entire belief system collapsing the moment you see one or two of those comments?

If one snide remark can repeatedly throw you into a spiral, and I say this with love and all that shit, your belief system is barely held together by gum, coffee, and anxiety. Maybe it's time to stabilize that unstable belief with inner trust and emotional concrete.

If antis are shaking you that much, it isn't about them and their comments. It's about that inner fear you probably haven't faced yet. That gnawing, inner fear that maybe shifting isn't real or you can't do it. Ignoring that fear won't make it go away. Spiraling won't make that fear go away. But facing that fear and working through it can immensely help.

A solid belief doesn't mean you aren't allowed to doubt. But it should mean that you can hear someone say shifting isn't real or just dreaming and go "Huh. K. Whatever" and move on afterward. Like swatting away a pesky fly. It can be annoying, but won't derail your entire life and make you abandon everything. Letting antis get to you that deeply isn't some sign from the universe that they are right. It's just a sign that you give way too much power to other people and their opinions. When you are outsourcing your belief to others, you are not building a belief system, you are starting a group project. And when one person drops out, the entire thing comes crashing down. You are not here to start a group project of holding each other's beliefs because it could break at the slightest bit of wind. You are here to build your personal shifting path. Checking in with what you feel is true, strengthens what you want to believe. Look, it is of course completely fine to look for reassurance. We all need it sometimes but don't offload everything to a stranger. Trust yourself and tend to it. Also a good time to remind people to just use the block button, there is no need to waste energy arguing when it leads to nothing anyway. You got this shit. Not every voice needs to be kind and understanding, only your own needs to be. Shifting isn't one stupid comment away from breaking apart, start treating it as the powerful, personal, and real thing it is.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

uhmm hi...i LUV ur posts..i have to rq... something along the lines of epilogue bill with a sweet needy girlfie who keeps begging to do stuff with him, but he keeps trying to play it rlly cool & nonchalant, just reading his comics cuz hes just so stubborn & consumed with his interests...so she just decides to have her way with him while he does whatever hes doing...u can take that however u want to ehe..

; /// ; im sorry if this is too much or too dumb eheh..‪‪❤︎‬ i ask on nony because im shyy...

(Lol don't worry I get it <3

Epilogue Bill x ~needy~ girlfriend

Bill sat cross-legged on the ratty old couch, comic book open in one hand, the other buried in a half-eaten bag of Red Vines. His eyes scanned the page like it was sacred scripture. You, curled beside him with your chin on his shoulder, had been pouting dramatically for the past ten minutes.

“Biiiiiill,” you whispered, dragging the syllable out, lips brushing his ear. “Baby, pay attention to me.”

“Nnnnnope,” he muttered without even looking up. “Busy. The Mutilator’s about to bisect a camp counselor with an oar. This is important literature.”

You groaned and draped yourself across his lap like a bored kitten. He barely reacted, just lifted the edge of the comic so he could still read over your body.

“C’mon,” you whined, running your fingers up the front of his faded tee. “Don’t you wanna do something fun with me?”

“I am,” he said flatly. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

You sat up a little, straddling his thighs now, face all flushed and hopeful. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh.” Flip of a page. “And I wanna read about entrails. We all got dreams.”

But you didn’t budge. You just stayed there, looking so sweet and warm and needy, squirming against him just a little. Just enough to make him notice how soft your thighs were around his hips. He was still pretending to read — the comic hadn’t changed pages in a while — but you could see the twitch in his jaw, the way his hand flexed against the cover.

“You’re getting hard,” you whispered, saccharine.

His eyes didn’t leave the page, but his voice dipped. “Yeah, well, I’m alive. Don’t let it go to your head.”

You leaned in, kissed his neck. “Can I please ride you while you read your little comic book, Bill?”

He finally looked at you over the top of the page. His eyes were dark, narrowed.

“...You’re so fuckin’ weird,” he muttered. “You get off on me ignoring you?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, sweet and slow. “Only when you pretend to hate it.”

He groaned — full-body, annoyed and aroused and resigned. He leaned his head back against the couch and slapped the comic down on the cushion beside him.

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” he said, pulling you in with one hand on your waist. “And insane. Mostly insane.”

You grinned. “So I can?”

“I swear to god, if you crease my issue of Cannibal Sluts of Swamp 6—”

You cut him off with a kiss as you ground down onto him, his breath hitching despite himself.

Yeah. He was still pretending not to care.

But he let you have your way real fast after that.

Hell yes. Buckle in — this is gonna be hot, messy, and so very Bill. First: a continuation where you start riding him while he tries to read, and he’s desperately trying (and failing) to act like it’s not affecting him. Then we’ll roll into the aftermath, where he pretends he didn’t like it… while keeping you close like his life depends on it.

You sink down onto him slow, teasing, your hands braced on his shoulders — and Bill’s whole body goes stiff under you. He exhales through his nose like he’s so annoyed, but his grip tightens on your hips like he’s clinging to sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re seriously gonna do this while I’m tryin’ to read?”

“Uh-huh,” you purr, already rocking your hips, feeling him twitch inside you. “Keep going. Don’t let me distract you.”

He glares at the comic like it betrayed him. “I hate you,” he mutters.

“You love me,” you breathe into his ear, nails scraping lightly down his chest.

And the thing is? He does. He just won’t say it. Not now, not while you’re ruining him one slow grind at a time, whimpering sweet little gasps into his neck.

His breath hitches again. The comic book starts to tremble in his grip.

You lean back just enough to see his face — flushed, jaw clenched, stubborn eyes locked on the page. But he’s not reading anymore. He can’t. Not with the way your hips are moving, slick and needy and just slow enough to torture him.

“You’re gonna make me drop this fuckin’ comic,” he warns, voice hoarse.

“Then drop it,” you whisper.

And he does.

He tossed it off to the side like it never mattered, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you hard — desperate, filthy, like he can’t believe he waited this long. You whine against his mouth as he thrusts up into you, his pace suddenly rough, fast, full of every ounce of restraint he’s been fighting.

His mouth is all over you now — jaw, neck, shoulder — biting down hard enough to leave marks.

“You think you can just crawl in my lap and ride me while I’m tryin’ to have a normal night?” he growls into your skin, voice ragged. “You’re such a brat.”

But he’s loving it.

He's so close, panting into each other’s mouths, bodies locked together. You cry out his name, clenching and fluttering around him, and that’s it — he spills into you with a low, broken groan, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle it.

You both collapse into a sticky, tangled mess on the couch, limbs heavy, breath shallow.

---

You’re curled against his chest, all soft sighs and kisses against his jaw.

Bill stares at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

“…You’re outta your fuckin’ mind,” he mutters. “Seriously. Unhinged. Who does that?”

You hum, sleepy and smug. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I was complaining.”

“You were moaning.”

He scoffs, grabs the nearest blanket to toss over the two of you. You nuzzle into his chest, fingers drawing lazy circles on his stomach, and he tenses like he’s gonna protest—

—but he doesn’t push you away.

He wraps an arm around your waist instead. Real quiet. Real subtle.

“…You creased my comic,” he grumbles.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“You better.”

But he presses a kiss to the top of your head anyway. Doesn’t say anything else. Just holds you tighter.

And keeps holding you long after you fall asleep on his chest, like maybe you’re the only thing in the world he doesn’t hate.

---

[flaming-thing]

Well that's still inconsistent, just... purposefully inconsistent

I guess the reality of the table will forever remain a mystery

Allen's just big. Like, he's not fat or anything, just a huuuuge person. He looks giant even compared to the crowd when he runs away after fighting cgi coran, u thought he was an actual giant or something for a while

Aah I see, I knew it was canon, but I never knew it had actually been confirmed *in* canon

Oh my god Ellis being to big to ride ava would be tragic. But I need hem to come back

The :) makes me fear for corvus. But I have genuinely no idea how you could spin that to hurt him in some way, so I will trust that he's gonna be ok for now

They're gonna have to drag her to the other side if the nexus just to keep lujanne alive. And i bet once lujanne realises that it annoys her, she's gonna be saying stuff like that all the time. That seems like something she'd do tbh

I would recommend the whole 'porcelain heart' album, specifically 'monster' and 'warrior'(because they're the two I already knew and am familiar with so ofc they're my favourite). I haven't gotten round to listening to the rest of her songs yet, but I'll let you know if i find any good ones!

...that actually makes me *more* scared for his life. Not that he's gonna die, but. There's a lot of ways someone can die, whether it's due to natural causes, illness, maybe even getting in a fight or getting lost in the forest. But what's gonna happen to him that's gonna leave him a different person?? There's like?? Nothing?? That i can think of?? Is he going to be ok?? Is *andromeda* gonna be ok?? Is ANYONE gonna be ok?!? (Hypothetically ofc)

Your meme is being released into the wild lol

I ruthlessly use the 'you're just a baby', but on people that are actually babies. It somewhat looses effect when the child is to young to understand what you're saying

Well all of my previous cats have had eating disorders (literally. They were all rescues with some horrible relationships with food and eating), so I haven't actually had a fat cat yet. They were all very skinny. But our cats now (still rescues but we got them at 9 weeks) LOVE eating, so we now have a fat cat

Maybe they went around the bottom if the nexus? So they didn't run into lujanne? Or they just told her they'd changed their minds (although she probably wouldn't have believed them)

Get like. 5 different people to help write it (I volunteer but my writing skills are below zero)

Different Path Taken Ch24

It's just a full chapter lore dump thing. Enjoy.

���So . . . Ram was telling me a little bit about Moonshadow history earlier,” Callum asked curiously as the elves and humans settled together for a meal that evening.  

For once they were all sitting together - the table Lujanne had created was somehow large enough to accommodate them all this time.  She sat at one end with Runaan at the other.  He was flanked by Rayla on his right and Skor on his left.  On Skor’s side of the table, Callisto, Ram, and Andromeda sat together.  On Rayla’s side sat Ezran, Callum, Ellis, and Corvus, the tracker as far from Skor as could be managed.

“Was he?” Runaan prompted politely when Callum paused for a minute, the elves all occupying themselves with the fruit they had gathered rather than touching Lujanne’s illusions. 

“Yeah,” Callum confirmed somewhat unnecessarily. “But he said you and Skor were the ones to ask for a more in-depth history of how the assassins started.  Like, why is the assassins’ guild a thing?”

The older man sat back in his chair with a deep breath, exchanging a glance with Skor and then Lujanne, visibly thinking it over. “Hm.  While the current Assassins’ Guild was only established around three hundred years ago, the history of it begins as far back as the Mage Wars.  That is quite a lot of history to cover.”

Callum shrugged. “I mean, what else do we have to do for a while?” He pointed out. “While your arms and Skor’s ankle all heal, we’re not traveling anyway, and we’d love to learn more about your people.”

Ezran nodded quickly and swallowed his bite. “Yeah!  It’s always good to learn more about your allies, Dad says.” 

The older elves exchanged glances again and Ram coughed politely. “Just tell them, Runaan.  You know you want any excuse to talk about Moonshadow history.” He jabbed lightly.

Runaan bared his fangs at him halfheartedly and Ram didn’t back down in the slightest, just smirking broadly until the older man rolled his eyes and closed his mouth. “Fine.”

“This is perhaps the most appropriate place to tell such stories,” Lujanne said cheerfully. “After all, if there’s any uncertainty, we can simply call upon the ancestors and check.”

“That’s true.  We already did that a little earlier, didn’t we?” Rayla said, eyes wide with interest, perking up as she looked at Runaan.

He nodded as he finished off his berries and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “The earliest origins of what would become the assassins were the guardians of the Nexus, when our people still populated these mountains.” He said slowly. “Highly trained warriors meant to protect our people and our sacred places.  They were held separate from the warriors that fought in the Mage Wars - few of the latter survived the war at all.  Historically, Moonshadow elves are . . . poorly suited to open battle.”

“Precision violence.” Corvus mused out loud, and his eyes widened briefly when they all looked at him.

“Precisely,” Runaan said instead of scolding him for the interruption. “The Mage Wars ended with a Sunfire queen suggesting simply segregating humans from elves.  The Archdragons agreed with this decision, and the new lines were drawn.  It left Moonshadow holdings on the wrong side of the border, but it was the most even split that could be managed of land.  The Archdragons Avizandum, Rex Igneous, and Sol Regem joined forces to crack the world, creating the river of lava we now know as the Breach.”

The human children’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Wow!” Ellis burst out. “Dragons are so powerful!”

“I didn’t know the dragons made the Breach,” Callum said in awe.

“This is why one does not argue with Archdragons.” Ram said dryly.

“It is exceedingly unwise,” Lujanne agreed.

Runaan cleared his throat to get their attention again and continued his narrative, leaning forward now to rest his elbows on the table, gesturing loosely. “Many of our warriors and able-bodied adults were lost in the war.  Many, many more were lost in the exit from the newly identified human kingdoms.  Large numbers were left behind, unable to keep up with the emigration, or held back by conflict with the angry humans who had also just been displaced.”

“The Moon Druids and Guardians remained behind the longest of any groups,” Lujanne said. “They destroyed all that they could of our sacred places to keep their power from being corrupted by dark mages.  Few survived to make the eventual escape to Xadia.  Our records and stories say that our people numbered nearly a hundred thousand living throughout these mountains in the old days, before the Mage Wars, but between the losses we suffered from the war and the ones lost in the emigration, only around a fifth of them made it to Moonshadow Forest.”

“There was also the issue of being unable to settle when we first arrived in Xadia,” Ram pointed out. “Nearly all the land there was already claimed by other elves.  While we could have lived among them, and some do - few, now, but still, there are a few - we had none of our own sacred places that way.  We had no space for our more secretive ceremonies, things that we would normally hold private.”

“Moonshadow Forest is the strongest concentration of Moon magic on the Xadian side of the border,” Runaan said evenly. “But it is not as pure as the magic of the Nexus.”

Skor cleared his throat and growled. “Moonshadow Forest is the dark side of moon magic.  This place is light illusions and contact with the dead.  Moonshadow Forest is death itself calling the living with falsehoods that convince you they’re true.”

“It is to this day a very dangerous place to live,” Runaan agreed.

“I remember when I was little, the pride leaders always told us, four is enough, three is a risk, two is a danger, and one is a death,” Rayla piped up. “That’s how they told us not to run off into the woods alone.”

Andromeda snorted. “We were right to tell you so!  That illusion spider of Lujanne’s is a larger version of creatures that haunt every corner of Moonshadow Forest.  And they’re one of the less dangerous enemies there.  The forest itself is hostile, especially at certain times of year, and it took centuries to tame it enough to have safe zones and paths through it.”

“I’ve seen maps of Xadia,” Corvus said carefully. “Moonshadow Forest is a terribly small area to be containing twenty-thousand or more people.  It must be pretty densely populated.”

The elves exchanged glances and Runaan sighed, folding his hands in front of him on the table again. “And now we return to the history of the assassins,” He said. “Twenty-thousand settled in Moonshadow Forest, which was a much larger wooded area at the time.  We lost more than we gained in the centuries that followed, the population dwindling as the forest ate away at the fringes of our camps and we learned how to navigate its dangers.  Warriors were pulled away for the remaining war efforts at the border, as well, to beat back the humans and keep them in what was once our home, leaving our people even more vulnerable.

“As our numbers dwindled, some of our people became . . . desperate.  They sought ways to preserve our kind.  We invented marriage as a contract between two adults to produce children - the contract has been loosened to a commitment in the modern age, but that is the level of desperation we had reached.  Before that time, we saw no need for a formal contract to identify our mates.  Some, however, took a different tactic.”

“Some began to seek immortality,” Callisto said, frowning at the table, sitting back as if having lost their appetite. “Such a search isn’t unfamiliar, many people have tried, human and elf alike, but the problem was, with how deeply connected the Moon is to the cycle of life and death, they found it.  By taking life from others, under the power of the Blood Moon - the harvest moon - they were able to extend their own, indefinitely.  A cult formed around this concept and began to hunt.  It was only . . . around a thousand years after the Breach was made, yes?”

The other elves replied with general nods, hums, or rumbles of agreement and Runaan took up the story again. “The Cult of the Blood Moon, as we called it, hunted within the shadows of the forest for millennia before they could be stopped.  The old Guardians, who had largely fused with the Druids in our exit from the mountains, did their best to hunt the Cult back, but with limited success.  The Cult’s rituals gave them more than new life - it gave them speed, teleportation, power like we could not understand nor effectively fight.  And so our numbers continued to dwindle as the Cult spread, and hunted us down like animals.  The younger the prey, the better - the more life that could be taken from their futures.”

“So what stopped them?” Callum asked, brows furrowed with concern.

“Back up a little,” Corvus said at the same time, and winced when he realized and they all looked at him. “Why exactly did the Druids and Guardians fuse into one after leaving the mountains, though?”

Lujanne was the one who answered him. “The Moon Druids’ purpose was to maintain our sacred places and perform our ceremonies,” She reminded. “With those places destroyed, what was left but to maintain our people and our rituals?  The guardians were meant to protect those sacred places, and without those places, they were left with protecting our people.  Their duties began to overlap so heavily with only the people and ceremonies being left to us, and so few of either order remaining, that the remainder simply chose to share in those responsibilities until there was no longer a distinction between the two.”

“Those guards, which we call Rangers now, were not enough to stop the Cult.” Runaan picked up where he had left off. “But eventually, during the reign of Queen Aditi of the Sunfire Empire, the Cult began to broaden their hunting grounds, as our warriors had begun to gain ground on them.  We had warned Queen Aditi of the growing threat of the Cult and been dismissed.”

“That, by the way, is a detail that the Sunfire elves tend to conveniently leave out of their version of events,” Ram said pointedly. “That we warned them, and they failed to heed the warning.”

“Most elves are more concerned with the version of history that’s most flattering to them than the truth,” Lujanne admitted.

“You don’t seem all that concerned with the truth yourself,” Andromeda pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her, and Lujanne shrugged unrepentantly. “But for most Moonshadow elves tasked with keeping the history, our pride is in keeping its accuracy.  We can call upon the dead to ensure it, so we are the ones most capable of keeping it accurate.  So even when history paints us poorly, we remember it.”

Callum frowned. “But how do you know if the dead are telling you the truth?” He wanted to know. “Why is that any more accurate than just relaying the stories?”

“The shades summoned back to this world from the realm of the dead are not full people any longer,” Ram said seriously. “They do not have the capacity to make anything up to lie.  Whatever they say must be something they truly believed in life, because they’re no longer conscious enough to have new thoughts.”

Lujanne waved a hand. “Legend has it that wasn’t always true in the Moonhenge, that a door could be opened to allow the dead to cross entirely back and interact fully with the living.  But that ability is long lost to us now.”

“To bring this back to the original point,” Runaan interrupted, giving them all a slightly quirked eyebrow when they looked back at him and fell quiet. “The Cult’s aggression outside of the forest sparked a war with the Sunfire Empire and the dragons.  Other elves such as the Riders of the Drakewood were also enlisted here and there.  However, because the Cult appeared to be Moonshadow elves to everyone else - little attention was paid to the separation between them and the rest of our people.”

“We had reason to be upset,” Ram pointed out bitterly. “We had been driven from our homes, we were dying out slowly, we were given no support and barely hospitality from the other elves and from dragons, especially after the disappearance of Luna Tenebris.  It made sense for them to assume that we were angry about those things.  We had reason to be.  I can follow the logic, though it was wrong.”

Runaan hummed a concession to this. “The war that followed lasted for a century, and was vicious and bitter for our people.  We were trapped between the Cult that continued to prey upon us and the Sunfire Empire who thought us the same.  Over half of what was once Moonshadow Forest was burned to ash, the towns and villages completely destroyed.”

“That’s where we get the story of the first assassin,” Rayla piped up, practically vibrating in her seat. “That was one of my favorite stories growin’ up.”

“So it was,” Runaan agreed with a little smile for her. “Andromeda, your husband has a ballad about the first assassin, does he not?  Would you like to take over?”

Andromeda perked up in her seat as well. “I can,” She said graciously. “The first assassin was one of the guardians, one whose village was attacked by the Cult before the arrival of the Sunfire soldiers.  His mate, his love, was gravely wounded by the cult, and he begged the soldiers for help.  They offered him mercy, help for his mate, on the condition that he help them rout more of the Cult from within the forest, and he agreed.  His mate was taken away into the Empire’s custody.

“For months, perhaps years, he served the Empire.  For his betrayal, he was rejected from Moonshadow society, shunned from our villages, left alone.  He was an extremely skilled warrior, a hunter who struck quietly and carefully to eliminate cult leaders.  His mate was held safely within the Empire, and he was rarely permitted to see her.  Eventually, though, he discovered that the villages he had been locating, clearing of the Cult, and reporting back to the Empire, were being burned down after he left.  The soldiers did not trust his word that the villages were safe.

“The assassin crept back into Lux Aurea and freed his mate, fleeing back to Moonshadow Forest.  The truth was revealed to our elders and he was welcomed back into the fold, and he shared his skills with other guardians and warriors among our people, broadening our successes.  Between this new form of quiet, precise attacks and the sweeping violence of the dragons and Sunfire soldiers, the Cult was almost completely wiped out.

“In the end, the cult’s leader and founder, the Bloodmoon Huntress, surrendered herself to Queen Aditi to avoid the Moonshadow justice.  Aditi spared her life, trapping her in a chain that bound her to the queen’s will and that of her descendants until the Huntress paid off her debt.  Because of her surrender, and the First Assassin’s years of service, the rest of our people were offered similar clemency.  The violence would stop, if we continued to provide warriors to the dragons and royalty.”

“The position of the Assassins’ Guild is one of service to Xadian royalty, despite having no royalty of our own,” Runaan summarized. “We serve our own people by paying debts incurred by the Cult.  We make no choices of right and wrong, just or unjust.  We do what we are told, but we cannot afford to become heartless in doing so.  We take it upon ourselves to remember that the lives we take are, nevertheless, still lives.  They are people with the capacity for love and kindness, and we are removing that from the world.  Sometimes a person’s capacity for hatred is greater than their love, and that is when it becomes necessary to . . . eliminate the threat.  To become heartless in the taking, to stop caring, makes us no better than the Cult that led to our subjugation in the first place, and sometimes worse than those we take.”

“It’s not an easy peace to make within yourself,” Andromeda admitted as Rayla shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I try to remember that I do what I do to keep our people safe, not just from the threats we fight directly, but to maintain the treaty established with the Sunfire elves and dragons to halt the Bloodmoon Massacres.  Doing what we do is our best hope in keeping our forest safe enough for our children to grow up.”

“It chafes,” Callisto said with a little sardonic twist to their mouth. “Knowin’ there’s no path to freedom.  The best we can do is keep them happy, so they don’t care what we do in the shadows.  The forest is our cage, the Guild is our chain, but we are free to do what we like within those bindings.”

“That’s really sad.” Ezran said quietly, pushing his cake around on his plate, and he looked up at them all with serious, but dry eyes. “I’m sorry you have to live like that.  This isn’t going to change that for you, either, is it?  Bringing Zym back home.  It might stop the war, but it won’t . . . it won’t free you.”

The elves exchanged glances and Runaan sighed through his nose. “No.” he said softly. “It won’t.”

Ezran frowned and looked back down at his plate, and then at Zym, clearly thinking something over.  Andromeda bit her lip. “Don’t worry about us, Ezran.” She said. “We know our place in this world.  It’s not your responsibility, or Zym’s, to change it for us.”

“Whose responsibility is it, though?” Ram asked, frowning down at the table, leaned back with his arms across his chest.  He looked up and met each of the other elves’ gazes in turn. “It’s been three centuries, have we not paid enough?  Who decides when we have given enough blood to make up for what was lost, through no fault of ours?” 

The other elves shifted uncomfortably and Rayla was frowning rather violently at her own plate.  Skor stood up with a rough growl and rolled his shoulders. “We can’t fight them.” he said flatly. “The dragons decide.  We don’t judge.  We don’t run.  We just take.” He didn’t bother to elaborate further, just stalking off towards the house he, Callisto, and Corvus had claimed.

Callisto huffed gustily and rose as well. “I’d better go make sure he stays off that ankle so we can get back on the road sooner rather than later,” They said. “Good night, all.” They took a few quick steps to catch up to the other elf but fell in step with him as they vanished into the darkness.

Runaan hummed and looked up at the sky, which was fully dark and twinkling with thousands of stars already. “Did that satisfy your curiosity?” He asked Callum.

Callum nodded, though his brows were drawn with thought and the heaviness of the information. “Thank you.” He said anyway.

“Good.  It may be best we get to bed, at any rate.  We should rest as much as we can while we are here.” Runaan said, rising from the table with Rayla on his heels. “Andromeda, do you need anything before we part ways?”

“A hug would be nice,” Andromeda said shyly, and stood up too.  To the humans’ surprise, Runaan moved readily to give it to her, enfolding the woman in his arms and letting her burrow into his coat the same way Rayla did.  He scent marked her shoulders and hair as well.

He cleared his throat as they parted. “If there is anything else I can do . . .”

“Ram has been plenty of help,” Andromeda assured him. “Thank you, my friend.  Good night.”

“I’m a glorified heat pack and snuggle toy, but that’s fine,” Ram said, dry as dust, and yelped when Andromeda responded to this by dragging him out of his seat onto his feet. “All right, I’m coming!  Demanding woman.” He huffed good-naturedly, and ducked when Andromeda swiped playfully at his horns. “Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep some of this off.”

Rayla tugged on Andromeda’s arm and pulled her into another hug before she left, and Andromeda kissed her friend’s hair before letting go of her.  Runaan raised a brow at the affection and when Andromeda walked away, ruffled Rayla’s hair over the spot, covering Andromeda’s scent with his own.

The humans, of course, likely did not realize the significance of all the scent marking going on, but Callum, Corvus, and Ellis all noticed the touch.  The groups dispersed to their own sleeping spaces readily at this point, with Corvus cringing as he approached his bedroom bracing himself to hear something from the other one.  He heard nothing and when he entered the building found Skor sitting in the main room letting Callisto apply a compress to his sprained ankle.  Ellis, as before, slept on top of Ava in the main room of Lujanne’s manor house.  Callum and Ezran shared their guest room and both lay awake for hours thinking over what they had been told.  Runaan brooked no argument in taking Rayla back into the room with him that night, cuddling her to ensure they both had a better night’s sleep than the night before.  They would have to leave as soon as Skor could walk efficiently again.

Two days’ travel away, a small mishap involving a misplaced bit of magic and some leather resulted in a young mage and a soldier losing their horses.  The horses, fortunately, escaped and made their way comfortably to the village at the foot of the Cursed Caldera, or Lunar Peak.  The mage and soldier were left to travel on foot the rest of the way to the mountain.  The delay wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

[obwjam]

OMG UR BACK!!!

hello yes i am kind of back!!! believe it or not i am always writing and dont post stuff like 90% of the time… it’s been so long but i was like damn i want to post again! i want to share this w ppl! so i did!

[eggtomatosoup]

Another OC pmv, featuring gay people* and a bunch of bird** images!

(some still frames I liked under the cut)

*in yuri civilization, nobody jumps for th

**passenger pigeon, red-necked phalarope

[moonshynecybin]

Marc would LOVE being álex’s pseudo-step-parent-in-law! The exploration of this dynamic on top of their insane codependent sibling dynamic is soooo interesting i want 10 billion dollars of research to go to this field of study immediately

marc sometimes is lowkey a tennessee williams character. not least of all in that this would delight him in a deep lizard brain sorta way

[gingerswagfreckles]

Living is New York City is annoying because someone will ask you where you live and you say oh I'm from New York City and terminally online weirdos will go omgggg here the New Yorkers go again thinking they are soo cool and special. Like ok I think maybe you are just a jerk actually.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today