#my apologies for the french in the middle of this rambling sometimes i can not keep the linguistic chauvinism in check

[rapha-reads]

Some IWTV s02e02 thoughts in no particular order:

Daniel: "Are you going to keep finishing each other's..."

Me: sandwiches.

Daniel: "Oh, I'm done thinking. Bring me the tequila and some popcorn, let's flip to channel 300-something, it's a Univision night!"

That, and the whole telenovela thing: MOOD. I love that guy's sass.

The vampire who goes and kills a guy behind Loumand flirting, and when he catches the head, goes "Merci !". That. I love that. I want a gif of that. But with the sound.

Louis goes and reads Daniel ('s mind, or, just reads him) whenever he feels like his own memory is lying to him, or when Danny boy strikes a chord he'd rather stay silent. But Daniel apparently has his own demons. That scene with Loumand teaming up to invade his mind was chilling actually.

Okay, can I be unnecessarily and gratuitously nitpicky for a minute? Because I'm gonna be honest, a good 75% of the French in this episode was not. Good. I mean, it was passable, but man did it grate on my ears. Also, I AM from Toulouse, and I'm sorry "Madame" but that was not a Toulousain accent. The couturière's def native French, and I wonder if Armand's French during the Murder Manoir scene is Assad himself or dub, because when it's Assad, his "Théâtre des Vampires" is uuuuh yeah, that's alright, but come on, for a vampire who's been living in Paris since freaking Charlemagne lui-même, ton accent laisse à désirer, l'ami. Il y a comme qui dirait des relents britanniques... Enfin. Je dis ça, je dis rien.

Oh, speaking about the Murder Manoir, I love the episode insider! Jacob describing the chaos during the filming of that scene was adorable. And Delainey's giddiness is so cute too!

Anyway, I love how that episode shifts tone and genre from one scene to another. Opening with the cliché Parisian ouverture, only thing lacking was the béret, I swear, then going full telenovela, and then straight into noir gothic, with some meta, vaudeville, pantomime when we're with the company... Oh, and full romantic drama during the Letter scene.

Now can we have Lestat back, I miss Sam Reid's unhinged presence.

[avemstella]

jeepers, sending this ask on the eve of the 4.2 stream and trailer ! do you have any thoughts on how genshin will approach tying up childe's storyline in the fontaine quest next update? if smfwtwd manages to predict something again, apollo's dodgeball of prophecy has a 2 for 2 streak lol

You don't want to know how long this response took pfft. I uh, had too many thoughts. Also, don't take this as spoilers for my fic, this is mostly stuff based on the Fontaine stuff. (also there is no leak stuff here because I haven't looked at any in relation to this haha, and uh, pls don't tell me any story leaks everyone)

under cut because I rambled too much lol (and I apologize because it's a bit of unorganized mess)

But yes, now that's out of the way! So since 4.0 I've been convinced Childe's whale/the thing that Skirk saw in him is some manifestation (or something) of the primordial sea (will be refereed to as PS from now on). Or maybe an abyssal taint within it. Not sure on the specifics, but the reason Childe was deemed 'guilty' was because the PS was the source of the disappearances, and well he is part of that sea.

Going to talk about Furina for a hot minute (it's relevant), and uh spoilers for my Furina fic so beware. I still stand by my theory from that fic that Furina is also connected to the PS and in fact in some manner the cause of the prophecy/PS being fucked up/is the reason everyone in Fontaine will be dissolved. A bunch of canon evidence about Remuria implies that Remus fucking around with PS is the cause of the current dissolve the fake french waters and I believe Furina is a product of those experiments, a literal false god made by a mad king.

And to throw a bit of a crazy theory out there, I think she specifically is the reason the big old abyss rift opened up in the middle of Remuria back then, and as we know from Skirk/the whale showing up in the present day, history is repeating itself as the Abyss is back here again.

And Furina knows that (or sometimes knows that, I'm in the boat that her mind is fractured, and she only sometimes is aware of certain things) and that's why she took Neuvillette under her wing. Because to her, he is the only one who can judge her and carry out the punishment. Basically, I think Neuvi is effectively her method of suicide, a punishment for her sins against Remuria and now Fontaine.

Okay, so the whale (and Skirk). To get this out of the way, I can see Skirk literally being the whale, or I can see her being someone keeping an eye on the whale for a variety of reasons. I'll be honest I'm not sure what is up with her (I still want to say she is Khaenri'ahn, but tbh I've just believed that for so long I'm a bit biased on that front lol). I'm thinking the latter is more likely, but honestly it can go either way.

But back to the whale, as I mentioned up top, it's very likely a manifestation of some kind of the PS. My speculation is that it's Furina's Abyssal counterpart. Whether it's literally Furina or parallel creature to her, idk (Furina's gameplay literally has her controlling little sea creatures...). But I would lean on the latter, I think the whale is like the 'natural' manifestation of it, while Furina is the man made one. Furina exists in the human world, while the whale is in the Abyss (Furina has a lot of duology in her design, her eyes, the flip-flopping of her personality, her gameplay modes, her con is half greek half latin, etc).

And finally I'm returning to Ajax, he is a child of two worlds. He crossed the borders between the human world and the Abyss and came out changed (but unlike many, he was able to leave with his mind mostly intact) He is named after a Greek hero (which side note, Enkanomiya, aka lots of Greek stuff, is where the prophecy about the Dragon of Water being reborn is from) and currently going to be facing a Roman goddess.

He, much like Furina is a nest of contradictions. His title Tartaglia, the old stutterer, doesn't suit him at all. His disconnect from the rest of the Harbingers (He is arguably the most sane of the bunch yet is a nexus of chaos), his obsession with childhood innocence despite his path covered in blood. He is human, yet can turn into a big old monster.

And while this is more generally a Harbinger trait, he much like Furina is a big old performer (The Harbingers are named after a French/Italian form of theater, and Furina is Roman goddess who rules a sort of French nation). And with that a massive liar to those closest to him (for Ajax it's his younger siblings and for Furina its Neuvillette). Not to get literary on us, but the two of them are foils to each other. The lying Celestial goddess and the child who fell into the Abyss.

He walks the line between the human world and Abyss (and is a representative of the divine via the Tsaritsa), and I think he's going to be the bridge between Furina and the Whale, and the means of which both will be saved from the corruption that has been eating them alive for thousands of years.

While I'm not sure what exactly will go down, we've been a bit spoiled by Furina's gameplay, which shows that she has gained control of the 2 sides of her. I believe the Furina that we've met so far is only part of a whole (possibly the other half is the Oratrice or maybe the Abyss as a big whale, maybe both maybe neither lol), and her story will be reuniting those pieces. And she'll be able to do that by seeing Ajax and his own contradictory pieces that are still a whole despite the disconnect. And maybe on Ajax's part, he too can learn to make peace with the contradictions within him, and he'll be able to turn into Foul Legacy without hurting himself (and maybe that Legacy will stop being so foul).

Um that was very rambly and got very esoteric near the end and probably didn't make a lot of sense. I'm likely super wrong, but it's fun to wildly speculate sometimes haha. Thank u for giving me the excuse, though I don't know if this is what u wanted when u asked me this pffft.

[darspeaksout]

The Confrontation

Hey Darwin. It's me, Jason from elementary school. I'm not sure if you remember me. I read your poem in the magazine. Congrats on getting published. You're probably wondering why I'm reaching out after so many years. I guess reading your work made me proud to call you my friend even though it's been a while since we last spoke. That, and I also feel regret for not having done anything to help when you were being bullied. I was the new kid and you were the one who took me around school and showed me where our classroom was. I remember struggling in French and you turned your desk so that it would face mine and you helped me with grammar exercises. Now that I think about it, you were one of the nicest people I met at that school and I wish I could've stood up for you because you didn't deserve how people were treating you. Anyway, sorry for rambling and for possibly disturbing you. Take care, and if it's not too much to ask maybe we can meet up sometime to catch up?

My first reaction when I read this message in my DM's was immediate skepticism. 2021 was about to end and Jason had probably made a new year's resolution that he'd make amends with people from his past. Instead of being grateful for his apology, he made me feel like a charity case.

I read it a few times over and decided to be cordial:

Hi, Jason. Yeah I remember you. It happened a long time ago and I'm a stronger person now because of it. Thanks for reading my poem.

I didn't reply to his invitation for a meet up, which now that I think about it I should've given him an explicit no. It would've saved the man from being rejected. Straight men in particular have difficulty processing the reality that not everybody wants them.

Do you want to get lunch anytime soon? How about this weekend? I still live in the area. What about you?

Persistent. I'll give him that. But over the years I've learned that being straightforward saves time and energy. Which is why I replied with, No, it's okay. I forgive you. And we don't have to meet up.

His typing bubble appeared but before he could send his message, I closed the DM and restricted his account. Removing him as a follower was too harsh. He wasn't being hostile so that wouldn't have been deserved. I just wanted to establish a boundary so restricting him was the reasonable choice. I closed the DM and went on about my day. I headed back to the office, had dinner downtown with a friend who I'd met at a previous job, commuted home and watched the snowflakes land on the window and melt upon contact. I showered, did my skincare, ate dinner, said goodnight to my boyfriend, and went to sleep. And from that day on I wouldn't hear from Jason until five months later.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

A couple minutes' walk away from my office was the coffee shop where I would stumble upon Jason again, this time in person. I had placed my order to the barista, swiped my credit card, and stood by the waiting counter for my iced espresso with oat milk. Instead of scrolling on my phone, I took in my surroundings: the elegant wood panels across the ceiling, the antique chairs and circular mahogany tables that graced the seating area by the window, outside which presented a sunny view of bankers and businesspeople on their way to work. We were in the middle of spring.

My therapist advised me that grounding myself in the present moment would improve my mental well-being. I started doing sessions two months ago as I was now in a position in life where I could afford to go to therapy - it was covered by my workplace. Focused on the present, I wasn't concerned with the worries of the past or the anxieties of the future. I simply was, I simply am.

I grabbed my drink from the counter and was about to take a sip when I noticed a familiar looking man sitting on one of the chairs by the window. He was dressed casually in gray shorts, a Lakers tee, and those Jordans that were trendy a decade ago. Seeing Jason, it's like I was transported to the past when all the guys in my grade dressed like that and behaved the same. And by the same, I mean homophobic. Either an active bully or a passive bystander. Before I could go about my way, he looked up from his phone and saw me. He waved and motioned for me to join him. Did he know I was here the whole time and was just waiting to grab my attention?

I hesitated but curiosity got the better of me. I had stopped replying to his messages five months ago so I took this as fate's way of bringing us together. I wonder how that conversation would've played out if I'd allowed it to continue, and today I was about to find the answer to that. I sat in front of him, noticing he didn't look that different from how I remembered.

"I never thought I'd run into you here," he said.

"My office is just around the corner. I'm on lunch right now."

His ears perked up at the mention that I worked in the financial district. Technically it's not in the financial district, it's one street over and my job has nothing to do with finance. But Jason didn't have to know that. I decided to let the man be in awe of me and my career.

"What do you do now?" he asked.

"Government," I replied drily, then took a sip of my beverage. "What about you?"

"Do you still speak French?" he asked. I don't know if he was intentionally avoiding my question or if he was just more interested in getting to know about my life than talking about his own. The irony. When we were younger, it felt like Jason and his friends overlooked me, and here I am today being interviewed. I took delight in the reversal of fortune.

"I do," I said. "In fact, it's because I'm bilingual that I got my job. And what about you?"

"I work at P______ at the mall, recently got promoted to a supervisor position." He shrugged as he said this, like he wasn't sure if it was worth mentioning. He told me he went to college for a year before dropping out due to the expensive tuition, worked part-time jobs to save up money then re-entered school only to drop out again, this time because he was sure it wasn't what he wanted. "I don't think school's for me, you know."

"Yeah. You never seemed like the academic type," I said. There was a lull in the conversation. Jason looked downward, his eyes drifting to the side. I wondered what was bothering him. I wondered if he took it personally that I didn't want to get lunch with him the first time he had asked.

As if reading my mind, he said, "I'm surprised you actually sat down with me. Last time we talked, it seemed like you didn't want to meet up. Darwin, I owe you an apology. I -"

"Wait," I said, setting down my drink. "You already apologized. There's no need to say it in person."

"But I want to. You see, what I didn't say in my message was that the reason I even thought to hit you up in the first place was because I actually joined the church group you used to be a part of."

This surprised me. Jason in a church group? I didn't remember him ever being particularly religious. Sometimes I'd see his family attending church but they weren't consistent. "You did?" I said, finding it hard to believe.

"Well, I never truly joined. I never served in it. Cedric invited me to an event sometime after you'd already left the group."

Cedric was our mutual friend from high school who joined youth group the same time I did. He was friends with Jason prior to. Cedric and I were cool with each other, but hadn't caught up much since I'd left. He told me he was happy for me for having moved on. I remembered that fondly.

"Long story short," Jason continued, "I got to meet some of your old friends and through them I got a better understanding of what you've been through and why you left."

"What I've been through," I repeated. "What do you mean exactly?" I was curious to know how these old friends relayed my story to Jason. Religious people will be passive-aggressive when someone drifts away from the faith. They'll say they'll pray for them when in reality they'll harbor resentment towards the person for leaving. I've resented people too, the only difference is that I'm more honest about it compared to a lot of religious people I used to know.

"They told me you didn't like how controlling everything was. That you felt like you couldn't be yourself. You had to hide important parts of who you were just to belong," Jason said.

I nodded in agreement. "So why apologize to me? You weren't there when I was in the church. What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Yeah, I wasn't actively against you. But I still contributed to it." He took a moment to think. "I'm saying sorry because now I understand that homophobia has been present in your life long after elementary school. You dealt with it in high school, and your church group was supposed to be a safe place for you to get a break from it all. But it still persisted there. I'm sorry because I think I made the problem worse by not sticking up for you when were kids. I think if I had, I would've been able to help you see that you have friends who will stand up for you, that you're someone worth standing up for. You're worth having as a friend and I regret not telling you sooner." He sighed. "Darwin, I'm just sorry that I did nothing."

I considered his apology, now in the flesh. It's easy to delete a message from your phone, but it's harder to turn away a human being in front of you who is sincerely admitting where they went wrong. Part of me felt justified in my pain. In a way, I wanted to hold on to it because it was that pain of having experienced homophobia that had influenced significant parts of my personality, my outspokenness, my quick wit, my identity overall. Letting go of that pain and choosing to dissociate from it would mean having to let go of the very thing that has contributed immeasurably to the person I've become. But maybe I didn't need to erase the pain, I just needed to change the way I related to it. After all, it's still a part of me. It always will be.

I let my guard down. "Thanks for that, Jason. I forgive you. As I said in the message, it's all in the past."

He smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that because I was actually curious to see if you wanted to come back. The church needs you right now."

He was going in circles. Didn't we just agree to move on from the church? "What?" was all I could say, stupefied.

Jason explained to me what had happened in the past two years since I left. "Cedric got promoted to a higher position, which means your group is now being run by the new people."

I didn't like that he referred to it as being "my" group.

"Before he was promoted," continued Jason, "there wasn't adequate training given to the new presidents so now they're kind of scrambling. The annual camp is in two months and they haven't even met up to plan because they don't know what to do. The leaders before never gave them proper instructions. Liza went to Vancouver for med school, Paulus got a new job to pay off his loans, and Gerald wants to help but his dad's in the hospital so he's busy taking care of him while his mom's away in the Philippines."

"Stop," I said. "You said you never joined the group so how do you know all this?"

"Sorry, I should've specified. I didn't join at the time that Cedric first invited me. But honestly, now I'm considering it given how desperate the situation is. Even if the presidents start planning now for the camp, I doubt they'll have many people signing up. And they all told me it wasn't like this when you were part of it."

"So whose idea was it to reach out to me? Yours? You could've asked anyone else, someone who's actually still involved."

"It wasn't just my idea," Jason said. "Pretty much everyone agrees you should come back. And yes, everyone. Even the people who used to judge you."

I wasn't surprised. Everyone suddenly misses you once they're in need of something.

"I know you're busy with your life and you look like you're doing really well. But please Darwin, it's bad. Most of the people from your generation have left. If this continues, I don't know if there will be a church group to speak of by the end of this year. It's already dwindling in numbers."

Part of me felt sad to hear of the current state of the place I once loved, but a larger part of me acknowledged that that part of my life had ended years ago. I have since moved on, but Jason hadn't.

"You said it yourself," I replied. "I am doing well. Actually, this is the best my life has been ever since leaving. I have my career, friends who accept me, I came out to my family after leaving the church and they accepted me too. You apologized for not having been there for me and now it's my turn to do the same. I'm sorry, Jason. I can't help you and I can't help them. Church is like the closet for me and I'm not putting myself back there ever again, and I don't care who's asking."

His expression hardened - a mix of frustration, understanding, defeat, and relief. Frustration because I didn't give him the answer he wanted, understanding because he knew where I was coming from, defeat because he's running out of options for the youth group. And relief. Relief because, as his childhood friend, he's seeing that I've indeed moved on. I've transcended the self-hatred that used to bind me.

He put his head down. "I don't know what to do."

You can always leave, I wanted to tell him but I didn't have the heart to. I saw my younger self in Jason, the version of myself who was eager and who always tried his best not knowing what it would amount to. Leaving was what made sense for me but it wouldn't necessarily apply to Jason. I decided to take the opposite approach and asked, "Do you want to stay?"

"Only if I know I can make a difference."

"You never really know until after the fact," I said, speaking from experience. "I didn't know leaving was the right choice for me until some time had passed and I saw that I was able to be fully myself without judgment. I'm not going to tell you what you should do because what worked for me may not work for you. But also keep in mind that it's normal for any group to experience high and low periods. Right now, it's a low period. It'll pick up again, don't feel too discouraged."

He seemed to be okay with this, even cracking a bit of a smile. My alarm rang, telling me my break was over. I finished the rest of my coffee. "I have to go now. It was nice seeing you."

"Take care, Darwin." We bumped fists and I left the coffee shop. Immediately my phone began to ring. Cedric's name appeared.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What's this bullshit about you not coming back?"

I turned to glance at Jason through the window. Setting his phone down, he shot me a disappointed look. He had informed Cedric. The man, and his apology, were fake from the start.

Cedric continued to yell. "Are you there? Talk to me!"

"You and Jason planned this," I said calmly. "You sent him here to try and convince me. I told you I cut ties with the church a long time ago."

"You couldn't even do this one favor for me?" Cedric blurted out. "I was your friend. I joined church with you. You know what, Darwin? I feel sorry for you now because you have zero direction in life. You turned away from us for a fucking salaried position and your nightlife and your university friends. I guess that city life has finally gotten to your head, hasn't it? Well guess what, we don't need you either! You should be flattered I even considered asking for your help. Just know I tried all of the higher-ups first but none of them wanted to have anything to do with a dying chapter so you were my last resort."

What's gotten into him? This was not the Cedric I knew. Didn't he tell me he was happy I was able to move on - or was that a lie? "Is that really how you think of me, someone at the bottom of your priority list?" I said.

"Oh, cut the shit!" he yelled. "We're at the bottom of each other's priority list. I don't remember the last time you reached out ever since you left for university. You left me alone when I needed you to stay, leaving me with a bunch of general members and no real executive team to manage them. Face it, you've always been selfish, putting yourself first before us!"

"Cedric, even if I'd stayed it wouldn't have made a difference. I'm just one person, and one person who was tired of being held back by people who didn't accept me. Besides, you never reached out either. How was I supposed to know you were struggling?"

He scoffed. "Struggling? What, you think I'm having a hard time without you? You're not that special. Get over yourself. The only reason I was ever friends with you was because I saw you had nobody at school. So when I found out you were going to the same youth camp I took it upon myself to talk to you. When your Lola died and your parents were in the Philippines, I kept you company. I stayed by your side even when Kristina and Jeremy made you fucking president of the high school club and that position was supposed to be mine! I was there for you even after finding out you were gay." He spat out the last word, like an insult. "You're misguided, thinking you're above us just because you left!"

I was done being cordial. The man was about to have it. "Cedric. Take your homophobia, your higher-up friends, and your desperation, and go fuck yourself."

He was too stunned to retort.

I continued, letting everything out. "I'm misguided? You're the misguided one here. You're the one calling me on a random Friday afternoon to complain about how I'm no longer religious. Don't you have better things to do? If you took that same energy and put it into your love life, you'd have a girlfriend by now. And for the record, yes - I am enjoying my career, my nightlife, barhopping and hanging out with my university friends and my boyfriend." I put emphasis on the last word.

"They're not judgmental pricks like you and Jason. I've put you guys first time and time again, the mere fact I've hidden my true self just to be accepted by you guys and the rest of the church proves that. You're just bitter because you haven't done anything meaningful with your life beyond youth group. News flash, Cedric: that's not my fault, that's not God's fault. It's yours. You're the one to blame for your own misery because you decided to stay the same. You spend more time at church than you do finding a job. If I was broke like you, I'd be mad too."

"Don't bring that up!" he shouted, voice cracking.

"And unlike you, I'm no longer religious which means there's no doctrine holding me back. I can freely speak my mind, which is why I can tell you to go to Hell. Yes, you heard that right. You, on the other hand, have a reputation to uphold so I would think twice about insulting me any further before I record this conversation and expose you for being the hypocrite you are."

"Is that a threat?"

I stood my ground. "Yes, it is. You should know I've changed. You can't walk all over me anymore. Not you, not Jason, not anybody left from that crumbling church. After this phone call, I'm blocking you everywhere. Harass me again and I will call the police. Get lost."

"Don't-"

I hung up. My heart was racing. Jason was still sitting in the coffee shop. He looked at me, confused as to what had just happened. Holding his gaze, I gave him the finger, watched his face go red with embarrassment, and walked away. I felt awesome.

After work, I went out with my boyfriend to enjoy the downtown nightlife. We found ourselves at a rooftop terrace bar enjoying our surroundings of the endless lights and skyscrapers, laughing over the drama that had occurred earlier in the day. We raised our glasses and made a toast to moving on.

I never heard from Jason and Cedric again.

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Rarepair headcanons because I am ignoring my problems

Serodeku:

Izuku reenacts the Spider-Man movies with Sero. Izuku is MJ. They also alternate being Spider-Man sometimes

They skate together

They get very protective when people call their boyfriend “plain”

They play dnd together

Sero tries to make sure that izuku gets some rest

They’re both kinda insecure, izuku more than sero, but still; and they make sure to reassure each other as often as possible

Sero likes listening to Izuku’s ramblings and finds them cute. He has told izuku this, only for the poor boy to imitate a tomato

After Izuku has been particularly reckless, Sero takes advantage of his quirk, wraps Izuku in bubble wrap, and tapes it there

Tokodeku:

Jocknerd bf and goth bf, we love to see it

Tokoyami teaches izuku how to sword fight

They start a dnd club at U.A.

Izuku talks to dark shadow a lot, Dark Shadow approves of him, and has claimed the spot of best man at their wedding

Izuku comes up with ideas to help Tokoyami gain control with Dark Shadow

Dark Shadow is very protective over Izuku, no matter how many times Tokoyami tells him that he can take care of himself, Dark Shadow will put himself between Izuku and any form of danger as often as possible

Dekoyama??? Aoyama/izuku:

Aoyama gives him makeovers, obviously

Aoyama drags izuku to the mall and tries to revamp some of his wardrobe, but he actually finds the “pants” and “flannel” type shirts cute

They help each other train their quirks

Aoyama is trilingual, and teaching izuku English and French.

Izuku always brings Aoyama home some new cheese

Y’all, I love them so much. There needs to be more aodeku content

Monoshinsou:

They have people watching dates. They come up with stories for the people they’re watching; their job, family, background, etc.

They judge people together

They call each other “love”

They’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They jokingly sh*t-talk class A

Shinsou said “I love you” first, and it was because Monoma brought him coffee to class

Monoyama:

Like monoshinsou, they’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They go shopping together and pick out the most dramatic pieces of clothing for each other

I love them so much, please 😭✋

They have tea parties every week, where they sh*t talk everyone else and gossip

They are both fancy bastards, and they wear the most exquisite outfits to go grocery shopping, and the outshine everyone

They both actually make clothing, they’ll go fabric shopping together. Gift exchanges are often articles of clothing that they’ve made for each other

Momomei:

They work on gear together!!!

Momo makes sure that mei gets some sleep

Mei helps redesign momo’s suit

They often work together with izuku to work in gear and such

They actually got together after izuku introduced them. He had been working on gear with mei, and studying with momo and he thought they’d hit it off. He was correct

Shintsuyu:

Dude they’d be so cute

Tsu is a vent gremlin, and you can’t change my mind. So she and shinsou will play a game where they try to find each other. Tsu is in the vent and shinsou is in the classrooms. Shinsou will try to find whichever vent she’s in, or she’ll find whichever classroom he’s in, in 20 minutes or less

I always headcanoned tsu as a dog person, so they’d have two cats and two dogs, and a bunny that they named Deku

They like comparing their friends to animals, hence the bunny, Deku

Kamideku:

Kaminari is a flirt, and izuku does n o t know how to handle it

Kaminari likes listening to izuku’s ramblings, and can keep up with them. He’ll ask questions on things too, and Izuku has never felt more appreciated

I don’t know why I feel like they’d have so many animals, but I do. They’d have so many, man. Three cats, two dogs, four sugar gliders, a hamster

Adhd power couple. They hyperfixated on complimentary things at the same time one time

Kaminari tutors izuku in English, and izuku turots kami in some other subjects. He’s also teaching kami JSL on the side. Kaminari has a live of languages

Momochako:

Study dates, Momo asks ochako to quiz her a lot

Ochako takes to floating momo’s things when she wants attention. Especially when Momo is studying. She makes a game out of how many things she can float until the other girl notices

Uraraka’s confidence does wonders for momo’s. Uraraka always makes sure to reassure momo that she is strong and that she can do this

Momo makes Uraraka whatever her heart desires. Uraraka blushes all the time, and momo takes great pride in getting her girlfriend to blush

Minatoru:

Mina clings to everyone, but especially to toru

They give each other stuffed animals so often. They’ll go to the store to get food, and come back with three stuffed animals that reminded them of each other

Please, they’re so cute 😭✋

They will play hide and seek, I stand by this.

Mina helps toru design a new costume. I hate hers, it’s horrible, and sexist, and not suitable for a fucking child

Toru says that pink is her favorite color

They flirt with each other all the time. Half the class thinks it’s cute, half of them used to think it was cute.

Iidamomo:

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but study dates. they quiz each other, and it actually gets pretty competitive

They also have rage room dates. I will not budge on this. Iida tried to murder someone, and I am excited to see momo finally snap. She deserves it

They alternate paying for dates, don’t try me.

The go hiking a lot

They started liking each other after one late night, both having nightmares. Momo had tea, and offered some to Iida. They talked until the early hours of the morning

They can’t flirt. They try. But they’re horrible at it. They’ll compliment each other all day long, but they cannot flirt.

KIRIDEKU, MY BELOVED:

Y’all,,, y’all, I love them so much

They train together, obviously

They ran into each other one night in the common room after both having nightmares. They talked about middle school, how they were both bullied, izuku’s quirk coming in late, katsuki being abusive, kiri being bullied because his quirk wasn’t “cool.” After that, they were practically inseparable.

They started going on dates, not that either of them knew they were dates. The entire class knew, so did the teachers, so did the rest of U.A. Kirishima picked up on it first after a comment from Mina, he had is realization.

So, he started courting Izuku. Not thag izuku realized this. He brought him flowers on most ‘dates,’ he bought him hero action figures whenever he could, he complimented him until Izuku was red in the face (which was honestly very easy.) Still, izuku remained ignorant to the fact that he was indeed dating Kirishima.

The final tipping point, was due to Uraraka’s help. She was quite tired of watching the two of them pine for each other. It was amusing for the first couple months, watching Kirishima try so hard, and Deku being totally oblivious. However, she took pity on her friends after a while.

So, Uraraka devised a devilish plan to get the two together. She involved Mina, Sero, and kaminari in this plan. What was the plan, you ask? Oh, simply to trap the two in one room until they broke through izuku’s obliviousness.

Kirishima finally “straight” up admitted his feelings, to which Izuku had the sudden realization of “oh my gods, have we been dating this whole time??” Yes, Izuku. Yes you have.

They have two anniversaries after that.

Let’s be honest, they are really, annoyingly, horrifically lovey dovey. Kirishima brags about having “the manliest and bestest boyfriend in the world.” Izuku flaunts his many PowerPoint presentations on how talented and incredible Kirishima is

Uraraka doesn’t know if she did the right thing by helping them. She is so tired

Tsujirou:

Jirou makes playlists for tsu

The few sane ones in class A, I swear

They go on walks in the rain as often as they can

They go for dates in the bookstore too. They each pick out an album and a book for the other to listen to and read

Y’all, they make so much sense togetherrrrr, I’m love them 🥺

Jirou started liking tsu after the crew saved bakugou. Jirou sat with tsu after momo, Iida, kirishima, Todoroki, and izuku apologized and sat with her. They had movie night, and Jirou joined the Bakugou saving crew and tsu with taking well into the night. She just appreciated how much tsu cared

Tsu started liking Jirou after she helped Iida, momo, and izuku try to keep the class in order. She appreciated how diplomatic and calm she was

Jirou would talk to izuku all night long about how gay she was, and how adorable tsu was. So, izuku decided to try and suggest ways for Jirou to ask her out.

She did not end up getting to ask her out though, as Tsu walked up to her the next morning f and asked if she wanted to go on a date. Jirou said yes. Izuku cried

Izujirou:

They make playlists for each other

They go for runs on the beach a lot

They both have insomnia, and often spend time making blanket forts and talking, or FaceTiming and listening to music

Jirou walks into the common room once a week looking for new music. She started liking Izuku after he made a playlist for her for one of these occasions.

They’re both quite awkward when it comes to romance, but neither of them will shy away from facing the truth. So, Jirou made izuku a playlist filled with love songs that reminded her of him and sent it to him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou wrote a love song and told izuku that the song was for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou write analysis about izuku’s quirk for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell

So, then, after thinking that Jirou had done so much for him, izuku made her a playlist filled with love songs. Jirou took this to mean that izuku had finally picked up on her feelings, and accepted them.

So, they started to go on dates. Not that izuku knew this, as he is dense as hell. All leading up to izuku finally confessing his feelings on one of their ‘dates,’ to which Jirou responded, “dude, we’re already dating? Aren’t we? I- I thought that was obvious??”

May this awkward couple be forever blessed

Tokoyama:

Goth/prep boyfriends, we love to see it

At least once a day, Aoyama will proclaim that Tokoyami “shines almost as bright as he does, in his fabulous emo way”

They sword fight, and come up with really dramatic scenarios and scenes that they’re in

They bond over being in the izucrew and their shared love of swords. Aoyama took fencing classes in middle school, and Tokoyami got into sword fighting after watching it in pirates of the Caribbean as a young child. He is self taught and watched countless videos on the art of sword fighting

Tokoyami asked Aoyama our by dramatically presenting him with a dagger and going “will you accompany me on a formal outing as my lover?”

Shinyama:

They flirt constantly

No really, it’s getting quite annoying. Someone please stop them.

They both plop down in random areas and proclaim their deaths, the difference between them, is that Aoyama will burst into shinsou’s room, and yell “love, I’ve been murdered. Mourn for me” while plopping down on shinsou’s lap. Shinsou can be found laying face down outside aoyama’s door, and when Aoyama goes to open the door, he just goes “I’ve been murdered.”

^^ one time, shinsou did a very fun Halloween prank for this, where he poured fake blood all over himself for Aoyama to find him an hour later, asleep.

Nap dates. Aoyama get glitter all over shinsou’s room

Iiyama:

Aoyama enjoys making Iida blush, obviously. But he takes joy in doing it specifically when class is about to start. Aizawa is tired of his shit

Here is how I think an iiyama conversation might go:

Aoyama: I ask for one thing in this relationship-

Iida: Aoyama, you know that’s a lie-

Aoyama: for my boyfriend to carry me around all day-

Iida: Aoyama, I cannot feasibly do this with class-

Aoyama: and I don’t think that’s too much to ask for 😤

Anyway, Aoyama got carried around all day that day, despite Iida’s blush and Aizawa’s eye twitch

Everyone in the izucrew is close, but Iida and Aoyama started to get close after Iida told the crew about Stain. Aoyama wanted Iida to know that he wasn’t alone, and that he wanted to help him. So he started packing extra cheese for lunch and giving it to Iida. Iida was very confused at first. But this was Aoyama trying to court him. This was only made apparent by momo and Jirou telling Iida that this was aoyama’s attempt at expressing romantic interest.

Aoyama flirts with everyone, that’s just who he is. But with Iida? Oh it was tenfold. The poor boy was red in the face constantly. Aoyama was a persistent little bugger too, following him around and calling him ‘mon amour’

Kirikamideku:

My dearest traffic light trio, I’m love them

They train together, and kiri and kami always appreciate izuku’s analysis snd ideas

Kiri falls even more in love with izuku and kaminari when they go off on rants. Izuku rants and kami can keep up with him so he asks questions about it. Kiri loves to watch his boyfriends go on rants, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them

They started to get closer after kami and kiri found bakugou causing a ptsd flashback (could be on purpose of an accident, up to the reader.) they stated with him and tried to talk him through it. After this, izuku started to tell them about having been a “late bloomer” and being bullied, etc. (I don’t know, man; I tend to over share after flashbacks and after panic attacks)

Izuku tutors them in several subjects, but kami tutors them in English. Kiri just falls in love with his smart boyfriends

Izuku is teaching kami JSL and kami is helping izuku with English and Italian (personal headcanon that Italian has been one of kami’s special interests) kiri loves to listen to them, and finds it relaxing and calming to hear them do this. When he has panic attacks, he’ll ask them to tutor each other in different languages

[beels-burger-babe]

LMAOAOAO tell me more abt how you’d react to stuff so i can capture you more accurately :)

Alright folks, here we go. Bee as a MC

I'm gonna be following a character info format just FYI, do with this what you will

Basic Info

Full name: Bee Age: 19 Gender: Female Nationality: Canadian/French Nickname: B, Bumble Date of Birth: August 21

Physical Appearance

Race: Caucasian Height: 5'3" Hair Colour: Dark Brown Skin Colour: Fair Build: Curvy (I'm a mid-size queen according to TikTok) Eye colour: Dark brown (And I mean dark. It's almost black in some lighting, in the sun it gets some like lighter brown, chocolate hints) Significant props: Scrunchie on the wrist since I'm constantly taking my hair up and down. And if I'm at school, guarantee there's a pencil behind my ear. Costume/Outfit: My current fav is a black camisole with a knitted cardigan and denim shorts. I like to be cozy but stylish.

Personality

Intro/Extrovert: I describe myself as an Extrovert with Introverted tendencies. Accent: I don't know??? Atlantic Canadian with a very faint french accent on certain words I guess?? Hero/Villain?: I'm more Hero esque. I'm a goodie too shoes and hate breaking rules soooooooooo Hopes: To travel the world and become a travel journalist/Best selling author Fears: The dark, abandonment, and failure

Behavioural traits:

Hyperactive: I do have ADHD and as a result, I have a lot of pent-up energy. I usually let it out by stimming in some way or form. Usually humming or talking in a sing-song tone. Sometimes if I'm super bored or I can't focus on something, I'll just do a lip trill. If I'm trying to think, I'll tap my middle fingers and thumbs together repeatedly. etc etc. I have the tendency to ramble, especially when nervous.

Empathetic: I am too kind and polite for my own good. I apologize for everything, whether it's my fault or not. If I see someone struggling, I will offer my help, even if they're a stranger. I just don't like seeing people sad and do what I can to make others happy

Creative: 90% of the time, I am creating something. Whether it's drawing, writing, singing, cooking, dancing, I am almost always doing something creative, or I'm doing something to get inspiration for said creativity. This means I'm a half-decent problem solver, but I also have tendency to go "OH OH OH!!" Out of no where and either rush off to go do whatever the idea was or start rambling about it to whoever is closest.

Socially Awkward: If I am with strangers or am near a person I have feelings for, this is when I pull into my shell. I get all blushy, play with my hair a lot, ramble, make lame jokes, it's...it's a sight to see.

[astraeagreengrass]

French Press

Sam Wilson has a crush on two things: good coffee and you

Pairing: EMT!Sam Wilson x Nurse!Reader 

Word Count:1.981

Warnings: bad words, probably bad descriptions of medical professions and f l u f f

A/N: This is my submission to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ "Little Darlin's Mystery AU Challenge". Thank you Clea for hosting this challenge! My prompt was EMT/paramedic featuring Sam Wilson. Many thanks to the only person lovelier than Captain America - Dani @xbuchananbarnes​ who kindly kept up with me rambling on and on about this for weeks. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

Sam Wilson was having a really bad day.

He had slept in, having missed his alarm by well over forty minutes, and when his - goddamned, motherfucking, idiotic - roommate Bucky started banging on the door warning that they were going to be late, Sam rose in a flash, tripping on the strewn covers and stubbing his left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. Howling in pain, he half-entered, half-fell in the shower, scrubbing himself as fast as he could while muttering curses under the cold water.

The temperature was just warming up when he got out, only to realize he forgot to get a towel from the clean laundry basket. Trusting that drying himself off with a face towel was less humiliating than asking Bucky for a regular one - even if it meant going over his legs five times - Sam lost even more precious minutes, having to forgo his beloved french-pressed coffee in order to get to the hospital on time. Barnes could be a dick sometimes, but he was the best ambulance driver in the city, and, right now, Sam’s only hope.

Only they were not on the ambulance yet, and New York City's traffic didn't make way for Bucky's old Camaro - "It's vintage!" - the way it did for first responders. So when the tires screeched in front of Brooklyn General and the two friends rushed to the ER, they were greeted by the displeased face of their supervisor, Maria Rambeau.

"Please come in" she said in mock welcome. "I'm sure emergencies can wait for the princesses to get their beauty sleep."

And because anything in life that can go wrong will go wrong, you happened to pass by precisely as Sam was spilling out apology after apology. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stifling a laugh as you ducked behing Maria to get to the women’s rest room.

That was Monday.

Late evening blended into early morning and Sam found himself in the hospital cafeteria, upper body slumped on a chair and legs stretched in another. He always found it funny how healthcare professionals were usually the ones with the most unhealthy habits - like the irregular sleeping habits and the copious amount of bad coffee. Still, over and over again he took refuge on beige walls of the cafeteria, trying to find a modicum of rest between calls.

So far, the night had brought in an amateur archer with a cracked rib and a teenager with a allergic reaction to spiders. All in all, not a bad 24-hour shift.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the shutters when you walked in with Carol Danvers, another nurse. Your scrubs were rumpled and there was a dot of smudged mascara under your eyes. A thin line streamed your cheek from where the surgical mask sat and he was sure your hands were dry and scratchy from the latex gloves just like his were. Even so, to Sam, you were as beautiful as you did when you arrived yesterday morning, if only for the twinkled of mischief he could still catch in your gaze.

Next to him, Bucky snickered.

“You’re so whipped.”

That was Tuesday.

The first time you saw each other outside the hospital, it was a coincidence.

Sam turned left at the coffee aisle and there you were - almost unrecognizable in legging pants and a cap, bopping to a song he couldn’t hear on your earphones. You looked worlds away from the capable nurse he knew you were, staring absentmindedly at the rows of grains, weighing different options on each hand.

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the familiar white packaging on your right palm or the way the black pants hugged your calves and thighs in a soft curve your scrubs could never achieve. Somehow, finding you in the domestic setting of the local grocery store brought the words out of Sam’s lips, past lungs and vocal cords, toppling the insecurity that lived at the tip of his tongue.

“The Colombian one is great,” he blurted out.

Your removed an earbud, then the other. Your confused frown morphed into the most beautiful stretch of lips when you recognized the tall man at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” you beamed. “I know you.”

I know you.

I know you.

I know you.

“From the hospital,” you quickly explained yourself, not knowing you didn’t have to. “You're Sam, right?”

On the inside, he was hyperventilating.

Oh my God, she knows me.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sam Wilson.”

Two steps forward and he was close enough to extend his arm. The handshake was brief and polite, but thrilling. Sam sensed the gentle caress of your palm on every nerve ending of his body. He was wrong yesterday: your hands were so soft it felt as though you'd never once wore latex gloves.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said and damn it sounded so much better coming from your mouth rather than someone else’s. “Since you’re a friend, do you think you can help me understand this coffee?”

Friend. Friend. Cool. Helping a friend at the grocery store. He could do that. Friend. Get it together, Wilson.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Well, I use a French Press, so if that’s your thing I’d suggest a medium or dark roast. That one is one of my favorites,” he pointed to the small white bag you were still holding in the cradle of your elbow.

“Oh wow, you’re a pro,” you laughed. “I don’t think I can operate anything more complicated than a coffee bag.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“A coffee bag? Really? That’s like a crime against coffee!”

You giggled, carefree, melodious and slightly embarrassed, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, still shy and oblivious to her greatness.

“In my defense, I’ve been trying to get better,” you claimed. “I don’t think I can survive much longer with the cafeteria coffee as my standard.”

“You’re right about that,” Sam said. Then, in a push of his good luck, he added. “Hey, if you want you can borrow my book on coffee recipes. When’s your next shift?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied. “And thank you! Are you sure you won’t need your book?”

“Not at all!” he shook his head. “Besides, it would a crime to let you keep using those coffee bags.”

And there it was again, the laugh. He could keep hearing it forever.

There was a pause, then. That awkward silence in the middle of a sentence when someone wishes they could say more but they don't know how to. It's child's play all over again, from the itch at the tip of the fingers to the flutter in the stomach. In a few moments of quiet, everything is a lot - emotions are too intense, too noisy and too much, toppling over careful overthought expectations of an infatuated heart.

He saves the memory of your smile, willing it to be good fortune, read from coffee grounds sitting on a an empty cup.

“Ok, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

That was Wednesday.

He found you at the nurses’ station.

Standard green scrubs, hair out of your face, glasses on the bridge of your nose. There was a pink stain on your middle finger from the neon pen you used to highlight patient’s prontuary.

He’d never seen you in glasses before and something about them made his heart beat faster.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, fingers drumming the countertop in a nervous tick disguised as smooth greeting.

“Oh. Hey, Sam, ” you offered. Next to you, Carol Danvers looked like the cat that ate the canary. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “What about you? Committing any coffee sins recently?”

“I’ll let you know my coffee bags are safe and healthy, thank you very much,” you grinned and laughter bubbled from him in easy breaths of adoration.

“Here,” Sam slid a small rectangular to you. “The recipe book I promised you.”

You held it to your chest like a precious gift and he crumbled, tiny pieces of man falling apart in earth-shattering joy.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please,” Sam whispered, either to you or to himself, he wasn’t sure. “Please do.”

That was Thursday.

It took Bucky a lot of convincing, but he eventually let Sam take the Camaro.

"Never call her old again, ya hear me?" he complained. "Not when she's helping you get your girl."

Sam was going to call it something a lot worse if he didn’t manage to find a place to park soon.

On it’s defense, it was Friday night on Fulton Street. Chances of finding a parking space were little to none, even if you were a man with a crush and a nice car. So when he finally reaches you, looking pretty in a dress under the artificial light of a café, he’s just a little breathless from racing down three blocks.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed and you beamed, brighter than the signboard, or his headlights or the first twinkling star shining through the foggy city sky.

“Hey,” you said. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Never,” he breathed out. “I just… Idrovemybestfriendscartoimpressyoubuttherewasnoparkingspace.”

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you, so I borrowed my friend’s car,” he admitted. “Only there was no parking space, so I had to go around the block a few times.”

Relief flooded from you and your shoulders visibly relaxed - but not enough.

The text came ungodly early, in an hour that most people would consider impolite, but not you and definitely not him. In your line of work, odd hours were just regular hours.

Hey Sam, it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from an EMT named Steve. He said he’s your friend. Anyway, there’s this café in Bed-Stuy that’s doing a “French Press Festival”. I don’t know what that means but I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. Like friends, of course. To honor good coffee.

He said yes of course. Perhaps more than once.

“I have something to confess, too,” you said. “I thought you’d found out about it and that’s why you didn’t show.”

Sam froze.

“I’m not a coffee newbie,” you admitted. “I actually know a lot about it. But when we met at the supermarket you seemed so enthusiastic… And honestly, I’d tried to find so many excuses to talk to you at the hospital but I was embarrassed - you make me nervous!”

And nervous you were, fingers twisting each other in a painful, agitated grip.

“I didn’t want to ruin the first good opportunity I got by saying that I knew the Colombian coffee was awesome, and yes, coffee bags should be banned from the face of the planet.”

There are moments that define a boy's heart. Shape it like more than muscle and blood, with something akin to manhood. Sam Wilson was grown - long limbs, tall frame and brave heart - but something in your presence screamed schoolyard crush and teenage fever at him. Like a toddler learning to walk or a boy tasting love for the first time. Like an adult discovering that some things feel better when they speed through older veins.

Sam’s smile was an earthquake - shattering the ground and dismantling structures in its wake. It rattled the five feet keeping you apart, pushing your bodies forward finally.

“I must say I was a little disappointed when you mentioned coffee bags,” he stated. Then he opened the café door and mentioned you forward. “But not as disappointed as I’ll be if say you’ll prefer Chemex over French Presses.”

You grinned and maybe Sam’s fortune was read before the coffee was poured.

“I guess you’re in luck, Mr. Wilson.”

That was Friday.

That was the beginning.

[harry-leroy]

👀 (I love your writing a lot :D)

Hi! Thank you so much for this:) (And thank you for that lovely comment on my writing, that made my day! ❤️) I apologize that it’s been a few days - normally I’ll send out and ask meme and then I’ll get crazy busy again as soon as I get asks (never fails!). But I hope you enjoy this - so this is some Dwight/George content for you. @upstartpoodle wrote this gorgeously heartbreaking fic about a scenario where George was actually taken to an institution, which I’ve also been thinking a lot about throughout watching S5, and especially after reading that fic. I’m gonna leave it under a cut because angst and it’s kinda long! Enjoy :)

“Might I examine him?” Dwight asked one of the other doctors, indicating George Warleggan out of the room full of shells of men. The man in question was standing by a small window, holding onto the wall and looking down at the floor with exhausted eyes. George appeared to stand apart from everyone else, though one could argue that Bedlam wasn’t much of a place for friends.

“To what purpose?” the doctor asked.

Dwight took a moment to comprehend that the man was nearly telling him no, which seemed absurd. He could barely look at the others in the room without feeling nauseous. If he could bring every one of them back to their homes he would, but he came there with a mission.

“I believe that he is fit to transition to being under my care,” Dwight said. “He was once a Member of Parliament. His family is quite well-known. It does not seem fit that he should be treated by a public hospital,”

The argument pained him. It didn’t seem fit for any of these men to be treated by a public hospital, especially one that treated its patients so terribly. Again, he had to think on when Cary had called him to Trenwith just two days before, looking himself somewhat ghostlike.

“Bring him home,” Cary had said. “Do whatever you can. They deny us when we go to visit. Valentine has been ill for some time now after George was taken and -“

It was not like Cary Warleggan to ramble, as he was generally known as being a man of few words. The man seemed to catch himself in the act. He took a breath.

“For God’s sake, just tell me he’s alive,”

It was then that Dwight understood that Cary had very little say in George being taken to an institution. None, in fact. The carriage had come to Trenwith without any warning. Faster than Cary or Valentine could comprehend, George was given a heavy dose of laudanum and dragged out of the house.

“I will do what I can,” Dwight’s heart ached even as he remembered the conversation. “Both for George and for Valentine,”

Dwight blinked the memory away as the doctor swung open the door to the room, allowing him to go get George and take him out and back to his little room down at the end of the hall.

He approached George slowly, taking him gently by the arm without saying anything at first. George turned around with incredibly slowness, losing his balance as he did and nearly falling, though Dwight held him steady.

“Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight began. “Come,”

“Where are we going?” George asked, his voice soft, tone exceedingly cautious and almost childlike.

“Home,” Dwight said, swallowing the urge to shed a tear at George’s state. He could feel it like a knot in his throat and under the back corners of his jaw.

“Oh,” George said, his constitution growing weaker with every moment he stood. Dwight noticed that he was trembling. His wrists were rubbed raw and they looked bonier than normal. His cheekbones were more defined. He hadn’t eaten, Dwight knew.

“Come,” Dwight began to walk forward, trying not to look at the other poor souls in that room. It reminded him almost too much of a certain French prison. In Dwight’s condition back in those days, he might have slipped into a similar place as his patient. He shuddered a little at the thought. George was slow to follow but eventually he did, looking at his feet and sometimes around at the other walls as he walked. Dwight was disheartened to see George’s stubborn pride beaten back into an innocent docility.

Once they had gotten to the door, Dwight nodded to the other doctor who had let him retrieve George. He felt his patient’s shakiness under his own arm where he held him.

“It’s alright,” Dwight said as he turned back to George.

George’s body took it like an order. Though still quite timid, he fought to control the trembling that had overtaken him, lest he get beaten again for continuing to show any weakness. What resulted was a kind of stiffness, a kind of position where the body settled when trying to convince itself and trying to persuade others that it was really alright.

“A little further, Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight became even more cautious upon seeing the man seize up. Once the other doctor began to follow, George kept moving for fear of being punished if he did not.

“Good,” Dwight said, trying to be encouraging, something he would have never tried had George been under his care for any other illness.

George’s room down at the end of the hall was nearly blocked from the light, though the setting sun gave them something to work with. There was a small bed made of straw in the corner. Next to it on the floor was a worn down piece of chalk and eighteen white lines marked down on the wall above it. It was, Dwight assumed, when the man stopped counting the days.

George stood in the middle of the room, unsure of where else to go or what else to do with himself. Dwight took the opportunity to begin his examination.

“Look at me for a moment, Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight said, his voice soft and gentle, almost as if he were talking to Caroline. George’s eyes turned towards the doctor with an incredible sense of lethargy. They seemed to have a difficult time focusing on Dwight as he blinked several times before looking in his general direction. Dwight took George’s wrist, the patient shying away from his touch. In George’s mind, he was prepared to be strapped down to a chair or chained to the wall once again, like he had been for the past two days. The only reason he was allowed some socialization today was that he had finally cried himself to sleep after hours of weeping and struggling. He was allowed out because he was now quiet. Dwight’s touch also aggravated the wrist’s broken skin, causing George to bite his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” George said, hiding his wrist from Dwight and tasting blood in his mouth. “Please, just don’t...”

He trailed off, now unsure of the sentence or the direction it was meant to be going in.

“It’s alright,” Dwight said. “If you will allow me to take your pulse,”

It was then that Dwight realized he needed to have much more patience than he might have expected. George normally wasn’t a man for patience and the conversations with him when he was healthy normally didn’t require much effort in that department, unless one were Ross Poldark. It wouldn’t be long before the man would start asking after George, so Dwight felt as though he had to hurry.

George extended his arm out this time, his fist still closed, though not tight. The two men exchanged a brief second of eye contact before George turned away, looking with blank eyes at the floor.

The pulse was quick, nearly unstable. Dwight felt his eyebrows furrow. As he held the red, angry wrist, he felt George start to tremble again.

“Has he been given any sedatives since his arrival here?” Dwight asked the other doctor, who had been watching their every move.

“Mr. Warleggan,” began the doctor, using the name as a point of mocking from how Dwight had used the same phrase earlier to address George. “refuses to take them. We find that other methods are better to keep him from hysteria,”

“Like chaining him to the wall?” Dwight said without a moment’s hesitation, staring straight into the doctor’s eyes. George looked up at this and tore his hand away from Dwight’s, keeping it now for himself. Out of his peripheral, Dwight could see George trying to rub his wrist as if to soothe it.

“George is mad. He needs restraint. He needs to keep his animality in check. What kind of place do you think we run here?” The doctor stepped forward.

“What George needs is kindness. What he needs is patience. You ask me what kind of place I think this is, and I think quite honestly that it is closer to Hell than to any kind of saving grace from madness,” Dwight spoke, the bitterness in his heart from what he had seen in the short time he had been there catching up to his tongue. “What other methods has George had to endure? What other tortures has he had to suffer through? When is the last time you checked his pulse? He’s -“

Dwight stopped when he noticed that George’s trembling had worsened. He was cowering slightly, feet turned away from the two men. His paleness had gotten worse. In this movement, George’s shirt had shifted slightly, exposing the skin on the upper back, on which Dwight saw parts of deep, bruised wounds. Wicked cuts surrounded by splotches of blue and black.

For the first time in a long while, Dwight winced. With quick resolve, he took George by the arm and looked back at the doctor, rage sitting on the throne of the irises.

“He’s coming back with me,”

[darlingrutherford]

Lana - 2, 6, 16, 25, 32, 48; Sarya - 3, 5, 9, 15, 21, 26, 35; Frederick - 7, 12, 18, 24, 30, 42, 49. Sorry, that's a lot but your babies are so fascinating!)

@liveinthehills​ asgjkhkjshg thank you so much for all the asks!

From the Super Detailed Questions About Your OCs list

For Lana Surana-

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Redcliffe are really the only two titles Lana has received (the obvious ones, from saving Redcliffe during the Blight and ending the Blight itself). Lana never becomes the Warden Commander of Ferelden, wishing instead to focus on assisting the wardens rebuild after the Blight with Alistair's help, rather than lead them. Alistair likes to refer to her as the Goddess of Ferelden, and does so often that at least a handful of people in Ferelden actually think that it must be the correct title.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Lana was very studious inside the Ferelden Circle. She enjoys quietly reading on her own, and spent a lot of time reading up on various magical theories as well as Andrastian history. She wasn't very fond of hands-on studies, not being too keen on casting spells even though she was very good at it. Irving would have had her take her Harrowing at a much younger age because of how quickly she grasped onto knowledge and magical skills, but her hesitancy to use them was what held her as an apprentice until she was 18.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

Once she leaves the Circle, Lana collects a tiny rock from each place they visit. The first one she collects is from the shore of the Circle. She does this as a reminder of where she came from, where she's been, and as a reminder of everything that's happened. She keeps them in a small pouch at her side. 

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

Lana adores Alistair's sense of humor. She's been through a lot herself, so she can appreciate the self deprecation of his humor. Lana may not have the worldly experience to get some jokes, but she can feel the levity emotion of the situation and enjoys hearing people's laughter more than anything. She doesn't crack many jokes herself, although when she does they're usually rather sarcastic. 

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

In the Circle, Lana tended to gravitate towards mage robes that had purples or blues in them, same for her nightgowns. After leaving the Circle, Lana wears the blue grey warden mage armor. Because of her height, most armor tends to be much too long on her and she ends up having to modify it, so she doesn't stray much from that uniform. She has a long tunic she never took in that she wears to sleep, although once she and Alistair start sharing a tent all the time, she either steals one of his clean tunics or otherwise they go without. Lana's hair is red (think very bright copper), and straight. It's to the middle of her back, and she always wears it in a tight French braid that begins near her left temple and ends at the right at her neck. It's a habit she still clings to of when her mother would do her hair growing up.

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend?

Lana's a bit nervous around large groups of people. She has a bit of trauma related to being attacked for being a mage, so she's always worried of how people will react to her if she doesn't know them. With her friends, however, tight knit celebrations are something she can enjoy. She's had to be dragged into a few she definitely didn't want to attend (a status such as Hero of Ferelden will do that), but her fear of disappointing someone overrides her fear of being judged.

For Sarya Lavellan-

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Sarya enjoyed her childhood very much. Growing up without her parents, Keeper Deshanna raised Sarya to be kind and groomed her for a role of leadership at an early age. Sarya took to it with stride, really enjoying everything she learned and the opportunity to be an asset to her clan at such a young age. Her fondest memories are of the harvests she would participate in, as well as all the times she would sneak out at night to explore the Free Marches (sometimes alone, sometimes with her close friend Shala). A more bad memory would be when her clan visited Wycome for trading. Sarya witness a young child burning himself on a forge, and so she quickly helped cool his hand by dunking a cloth in a bucket of water and freezing the cloth with a bit of ice magic. The kid was excited at the show of magic and grateful, but the adults around became concerned and alerted the Chantry about her. Even though the Chantry has an understanding with the Dalish’s ways of having a few mages in one clan, they sent a couple of templars to investigate anyway. They confronted her in the forest outside of Wycome, but ultimately left without incident. Sarya is convinced that, if she hadn't been with a group of their hunters at the time, she would have been carted off to a Circle. This experience grew a small fear of humans for her that nagged at her mind for a small while when she was brought to Haven.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

Sarya was an only child, so no siblings for her. She is very close with a lot of people in her clan, though, and thinks of them as siblings. Renan is the most prominent one, since he's always been one to stay close to her and want to protect her. Her relationship with him became strained once his feelings for her grew into more than friendship, feelings which she never returned. I'll leave it at that, since it effects her in ways that would spoil later chapters of To Weather the Storm ;)

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

I like to joke that Sarya is my “Disney Princess” OC. She gets on incredibly well with animals, and they seem to be drawn to her calm demeanor. The halla that traveled with her clan always knew they could find a treat in her pocket, and it's not uncommon for her to be able to calmly talk herself out of a bad situation with a bear, something that catches Cassandra entirely off guard in the Hinterlands.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Sarya enjoys cooking. She's good at taking what she has on hand and making something edible out of it. Because of this, she's usually the one who ends up preparing food at the campsite with her companions, and she does it gladly. After the time they let Varric make the stew, she now offers her services first thing.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Sarya has the patience of a saint, but she absolutely loses her temper when she's pushed too far. She never screams or throws things, but she's not above yelling and pointing her finger. Cullen knows better than anyone, having been at the end of her temper a few times just because of how stubborn he can be, always in cases of him not taking care of himself or not allowing her to help him (most commonly with his lyrium withdrawals).

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

Sarya hums when she's happy, and smiles a lot. She wears her emotions on her sleeve when she's in a good mood. If they get a few drinks in her (or one or two particularly strong ones), she's a very happy drunk and will spend a lot of time singing and dancing with a bright smile on her face.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Sarya loves sweets. This would probably be considered an unguilty pleasure, since she does nothing to hide the fact, so much so that it's not uncommon for nobles to send sweets along with their letters in hopes of gaining the Inquisitor’s favor (her favorite are the hard cookies with orange zest dipped in chocolate that Gaspard sends with his correspondence). As for a guilty pleasure, Sarya has secretly read one of two of Varric's books in her spare time when no one is looking. She never had access to romance books like them, and finds herself quite engrossed in the stories.

For Frederick Trevelyan-

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?

Frederick's parents had him spend a lot of his time studying, so he didn't have a lot of close friends growing up. He did have a friend, Caleb, whom he considered his closest friend growing up, though they grew apart once Caleb settled down. 

12. What is their favourite food?

Frederick would never admit it to his parents, but he's a sucker for Orlesian cuisine. He loves the sweetness of their foods, preferring it to the more lightly seasoned vegetables and meat one gets in Ferelden. Frederick isn't vegetarian by any sense, but he does tend to gravitate towards vegetables and fruit over meat. He's especially fond of carrots that have been glazed with honey.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else

Frederick loves poetry. He and Cassandra have been known to sneak off together to read aloud with one another, just two friends enjoying a romantic prose. He has a wealth of knowledge when it comes to Ferelden history, but he had to study so much of it as a kid that his reading of it is more out of habit than anything.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Frederick sleeps like the dead. Once he's out, he either needs to wake up on his own or else be shaken awake. He doesn't move much in his sleep, although Dorian will often shove him over onto his side to stop the snoring that ensues when he's on his back. He definitely prefers a softer mattress, and eagerly returns to his bed after a week with his bedroll on the hard ground.

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

Frederick does yoga every morning. It's a ritual to him, something his mother encouraged from a young age to calm his high energy. If he's unable to do it he's off for the day: he'll be a bit less level headed than usual, antsy, and turning a few heads as he runs back and forth across Skyhold trying to busy himself. Frederick still has quite a bit of energy even after his morning routine, but it grounds him and allows him to take the day a bit more slow.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Frederick only wants to do his family and the Maker proud. He feels a bit of guilt, knowing that he can never make them happy in the way they had imagined before he came out, and works his hardest to make them proud in other ways. After being with Dorian, this extends to him as well. He realizes that family isn't only blood, and he finds himself wanting to do everything he can to make Dorian proud of him. Frederick would sacrifice anything for the safety of others. It makes him reckless, but it's something he feels very passionate about. As far as secret ambitions, Frederick does want a family, although he isn't sure how that will play out with the path that was given to him.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Frederick was never sentimental before. After Trespasser, the message crystal Dorian gifts him becomes his most prized possession. With Solas’ threat and everything Dorian has to take care of in Tevinter, they have to be apart for some time, but Frederick always keeps the message crystal close to his heart and converses with Dorian multiple times a day.

[to-write-ornah]

It’s a Date

A/N: kinda random but here we go

Warnings: none

Pairing: Lafayette x reader

_________

John finished his story, earning disbelieving laughs from his friends.

"I swear!" He said, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "And that poor girl was probably so confused! But I was just way to shocked to even explain," he shook his head as his sentence trailed off.

"And you're sure it was Adams?" Hercules checked. "Like, absolutely positive?"

"Dude it had to have been Adams. I'm positive.” John let out another chuckle as Alex gave him a playful shove.

"Did you at least get that girls number?" He asked.

"Alex, I'm gay." John deadpanned. Alexander shrugged.

"Maybe you are, but we're not."

"Oui, mon ami." Laf said. "You mentioned twice how pretty she was. That means she must be tres belle."

"And you didn't even think to help a brother out," Herc said with fake hurt, exaggeratedly placing his hand on his chest. John rolled his eyes.

"Look, just go to the mall after school and pretend you don't know what happened. Ask her if she saw a teacher in there yesterday and then ask what the teacher bought. Boom. Are you happy now?" The rest of the group ignored his sarcasm and quickly began discussing when they could go to the mall.

John was still rolling his eyes at his friends when the lunch bell rang and the group made their way out of the cafeteria. John and Lafayette turned down one hall toward English class, waving at Alex and Hercules as they headed to science.

By the time class was over, John almost regretted telling his friends about the pretty girl who'd helped Mr Adams at Hot Topic the day before.

..........

"Okay, one more time."

"So we saw one of our teachers leave the store yesterday, and we would've asked about it then, but we had football practice, so we came to ask today." Lafayette recited the story they'd come up with on the way to the mall. Alex gave a satisfied nod. It technically wasn't a lie. All three boys had had football practice the day before. (John played baseball, claiming football was too rough.)

"Good. Perfect, actually. Well, of course it's perfect, I came up with-"

"Yeah yeah, we get it, you're a genius," Hercules interrupted, "can we go in now?"

"Hell yeah."

~~Y/n POV~~

You had just finished putting away some new merch when several voices at the front of the store caught your attention. Looking up, you saw that your coworker had taken her break, so you hurried to the counter.

After just a few steps, you turned past a shelf and ran into a wall. Stumbling backwards, a hand was suddenly on your waist, and someone had caught you. Looking up, you realized that the 'wall' was actually a person. And a good looking one at that.

"Je suis très désolé, mademoiselle," the boy who had caught you helped you stand straight as he apologized. You didn't have to think as a response naturally came to your lips.

"L'amende, monsieur. Je peux vous aider?"

Glancing behind him you could see two other guys, about your age, all of them staring at you as though you'd grown a second head. You shook your head internally. How were they all so attractive?

"Sir? I'm sorry, do you not speak French?" You asked, puzzled at their reaction.

"Non! No, I do! Please forgive me, mademoiselle, I'm not used to hearing such a pretty girl speak my mother tongue in a casual setting. "

You blushed slightly at his compliment, but attempted to retain a professional composure. You failed slightly when you realized his hand was still on your waist.

"I grew up in France, I moved here when I was fourteen." You said. Feeling bold, you added, "If you wanna get coffee sometime, I'll tell you all about it."

He gave you a bright smile.

"I would love that."

You briefly caught his friends exchanging smirks in the background, and suddenly remembered you were at work. At the same moment, the tall boy with a dark complexion nudged Frienchie in the side. You were slightly disappointed when he removed his hand.

"We actually had a question for you," the shorter boy piped up. The French guy nodded and started to talk, his accent thick.

"Did you happen to see an older gentleman-"

"Okay, Adams isn't an 'older gentleman', he's an old geezer who doesn't actually do his job. Or have a real one for that matter! He just sits at his desk all day making students get him coffee and give presentations on stupid stuff. It's not like we really need his class to graduate, we only have to take it because-"

"Alexander!" The tall one behind Frenchie cut off his rambling friend. Alexanders face blanked before he offered a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. Go ahead Herc."

"Anyway," Herc said, giving Alex a slightly exasperated look, "we wanted to know if you remembered what he bought. I mean, we were here yesterday but we had to go to practice, or we'd have asked sooner. It's just, I'd never expect to find Adams in Hot Topic!"

You laughed, and couldn't help but notice Frenchie staring at you. Despite that, you managed to somewhat ignore him and answer his friends.

"Does he have glasses and a really bad toupe?" You asked. Both boys quickly nodded. You laughed again and shook your head yes. "I remember him. He bought fishnets."

Alex, Hercules and Lafayettes jaws all dropped. Hearing it from John was one thing, but having another person confirm the story made it feel more real, and way more hilarious.

"No freaking way," Alex whispered. "What the hell is he gonna do with them?"

"That's the best thing I've ever bothered to know about any of our teachers," Hercules added. Both stared at each other, wide-eyed.

"Next step is definitely pictures." Alex said decisively, turning and walking toward the stores exit. Hercules followed his friend.

"I agree. I wonder if he wears them to school..."

You heard the last of their conversation as they left you and their friend standing in the middle of the store. He was still staring at you, a faint smile on his face.

"So," you started, causing him to snap out of his trancelike state. “Do I get to know the name of the cute French guy I'm getting coffee with?”

He gave you a charming smile, accompanied by a slight blush.

"My friends all call me Lafayette, or just Laf. And for good reason. My full name is quite long." He chuckled, and you swore your legs almost gave out. You couldn't help but laugh with him, his melodious laughter was infectious.

"Well, just Laf, my name is Y/n." You offered him your hand, and were completely surprised when, instead of a handshake, he brought it to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. If you weren't blushing before, you definitely were now.

"Y/n," he tested out your name, "what a beautiful name. It suits you. How long until your work is over?"

"Actually, my shift ends right now," you said, grinning. "Care to go get that coffee?"

"It would be my pleasure."

~~~~~~

Lafayette would remember to thank John later.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Do you think Napoleon is the kind of guy to go to the kitchen at 3 am so he can eat shredded cheese (or whatever french people eat)

Bahaha just the mental image alone of him in a nightshift with stockings on standing there in the Malmaison kitchen eating Roquefort. Beautiful. His expression when Josephine walks in is: What??

In actuality? Historical Napoleon, no. He ate the regular proscribed meals but didn’t snack between. The meals themselves he never ate in entirety which is to say, he’d have a plate but not partake of the multiple courses as was normal (for evening meals). No matter the meal he’d generally  excuse himself after twenty minutes since he was done. He was a relatively simple eater for the time and avoided lush or rich dishes.  

Between meals it’s not recorded that he ate anything (or drank anything, my god man, have a glass of water). 

Breakfast was often chicken with cooked onions and some oil. Sometimes it was cold cuts. He also ate a lot of bean salads for breakfast. 

His favourite foods were really hot soups (Napoleon, perpetually cold, liked everything hot), boiled beef, and lentils. He also liked poached eggs, simple omelettes, and roast chicken and lamb. He preferred his meats undressed - so no drowning in rich sauces or creams. He liked the taste of green beans but disliked the texture - gag reflex kicked in for him. Oh! he loved potatoes and had high expectations for bread quality. 

Desert was usually a piece of strong cheese - such as Roquefort or Parmesan and fresh almonds. He was especially fond of almonds. Sometimes he’d have some fruit, but he wasn’t a big fruit eater. When he was feeling lush he would have a small, plain crepe with a little bit of fresh creme in it. 

Napoleon’s work habits were intense enough, and his sleep habits irregular enough, that I’m not sure there would be a fixed “wake up for late night snack” time for him. If he and others were working very late, past midnight, he’d order a cup of chocolate for everyone but that’s it for late night indulgences that I am aware of. 

Now, Modern AU Chanterelle Napoleon? Probably. He’d wake up at four and Josephine would find standing in the middle of the kitchen in boxers eating a bowl of raisin bran. Still beautiful. Still wearing an expression that says: What??

:D Thank you (and apologies for the Napoleon Food ramble) 

[sorunuah]

Pivot

Warnings:  vomit, death, unreality/delusions

Word Count:  2,764

I was always...different.

Some of my earliest memories are of my maman comforting me from yet another nightmare. I remember always asking her why I had so many of the dreams in which I'd die in various, grotesque ways. The mes in my dreams didn't always look like me; sometimes they were girls, sometimes boys, sometimes neither, or both; sometimes older, sometimes younger, sometimes taller, or shorter; some had different hair, or eyes, or lacked the freckles that my maman said make me unique...but they were always still distinctly me. Some died in car wrecks, some drowned, some starved to death, some were killed by thieves, and some died in wars. Some bled out slowly in an alleyway as the heavens mourned their loss, while yet others went quickly in their sleep.

My maman has always insisted I had the nightmares because I am special. Yeah, right, I always thought. I'm just me. I'm not especially tall, or handsome, or smart, or strong. I've never had any real friends, either. In fact, I was never exactly well received by my peers.

I remember, when I began school, some of the other children with older siblings telling stories that only made me have more nightmares. It was then that I began to have a hint of just how 'special' I am. Or, was?

I learned that those nightmares of mine? Everyone has them. Our reality, or dimension, or world, or whatever you want to call it, is a bridge between all other realities. It's not uncommon knowledge; there's a day once a year when we can see other versions of ourselves for six hours starting at sunset. I like the versions of myself where I'm taller, and have longer hair, although I'd never wear my own hair long. They walk around through our world like ghosts, interacting with ghost objects only present in their own worlds. It's useless to try to talk to them. Well, most of them anyway. They can't see or hear us, other than the rare few.

...I'm...rambling. The nightmares, those are visions of our other selves dying. They say whenever you narrowly avoid death in this world, one of your doppelgängers die. Then, you dream about it. They say it's a gift from God to our world to make us appreciate our lives more...but it's only really ever made me hate mine. If there is a God, I bet it was an experiment, not a gift.

I was 'cool,' in elementary school. The girls liked my copper red hair and freckles, and the boys thought I was 'edgy' because of how many nightmares I had. They thought it was cool, and I wore the bags under my eyes as medals of honor. Each sleepless night a testament to how difficult it was for me to die.

In middle school, no one cared. Everyone was into something different, and I faded into obscurity.

After my first year of high school, my maman and I moved far away. Far enough that everyone doted on my accent, and I had to speak English instead of French. I didn't question why we had to move. My life had grown boring - monotonous. I began to have nightmares more frequently after I turned sixteen, and, as it was 'cool' again to have them, I ran my mouth. At first, I was 'cool,' and I had a lot of 'friends.' Then people stopped believing me. "There's no way!" "Not every night!" "How important do you think you are?" "There's no reason for you to come so close to death all the time!" "No one's going to try that hard to kill a loser ginger like you!" So I stopped talking about it, and I lost my friends. My maman worried, but I kept my grades up, so she never worried too much.

When I was seventeen, on the Night of Viewing, I wandered outside to walk through the streets and pretend I was a ghost like the other versions of me. I noticed how few of me were left. I wasn't as surprised as I should have been, I think. That night, I saw some kind of creature. Thinking back, maybe I should have told someone. Maybe someone could have done something, maybe I could have done something differently, spent more time with my maman.

...No. No, no one could have done anything about it but me. I'm certain of that now. A lesson learned is a lesson learned, even if it is learned too late.

The creature came to me, spoke to me. It said it was going to kill me. It said it was going to kill every me out there, until it killed the right one. It apologized. It said it would rather not have to go through all the trouble, or cause all that trouble for me, but that it had to. It said that it had to, that it was for everyone's sake, that it needed to kill the right me in time, whatever the cost. That it would all be over by the time I turned 18, one way or another.

I took no heed of the creature's warning, although I think it was less of a warning and more of a...declaration of intent. Still, I didn't care. I just went on about my life, not thinking anything of it.

Throughout the next several months or so, I had more and more nightmares, up of five a night. I stopped having dreams entirely in which I'd have a lover on my arm and we'd be sitting close together on a porch swing with the sun setting behind us.

I started to go mad. I started skipping school. I started writing poetry, then. I started shouting a lot and getting into various forms of 'trouble,' mostly fights. I started listening to punk music way too loud. I stopped sleeping. I found that, if I went for a few days without sleep first, I would be too tired to remember the nightmares when they came. I started going back to school.

My grades weren't the best they'd been, since I never slept and had difficulty paying attention in class. I doodled on all my assignments and wrote short little poems in the margins.

One of my teachers noticed. She asked me to write a poem for an upcoming young writers contest. I submitted to her a poem entitled Running.

About a week later I got a notice saying I'd placed. Tortured souls really do write the best poetry, I suppose. It was only second place...but still. I don't think my maman had ever been so proud of me. I don't think it was that good, but hey. Who am I?

People are fickle things, and as soon as things starting seemingly going my way again, everyone 'forgot' entirely to hate me, and started swarming me again. I had 'friends' again. People helped me along in the classes I slept through, although no one ever questioned me as to why I slept through all my classes and seemed so tired all the time. No one ever actually cared is all, but that was never really important to me. I didn't want friends, I wanted the nightmares to stop.

Weeks passed. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes! It came time to read the poem in front of the school and accept my prize. My maman dressed me in a nice black suit with a black tie with green and white stripes. I walked in for the ceremony and feel asleep immediately after arriving and sitting down. I placed second in my class. They called my name twice before the person sitting next to me managed to nudge me awake. I dreamt of black.

I walked up onto the stage, stumbling and stepping all over myself the whole way. I was handing the nice, two page long print out of the poem I had originally scribbled on a scrap of paper that was supposed to be for calculus notes.

The man from the contest read aloud one final time my name and submission title.

"Kylian K. Quick, with his entry, Running."

I coughed once, then stood and looked out over the crowd, my tired eyes not really taking anything in. I started reading from the sheet without any further ado.

"Running away from your troubles is like matches and wood, 'cause it burns like the sun when it sets in your eyes.

"And it falls through the cracks like water through a sieve, like tears through the lines in your skin.

"And it hurts like needles in all the wrong places, like cuts under salt burn in the light.

"And you just want to run more, like when you're out of breath, but it hurts just right. Like when you're addicted, you can't stop now.

"And it sounds like bones in a fire crackling away, like birds singing songs in the dead of the night.

"'Cause it's wrong like a right that just wants to be heard.

"'Cause running never saved anyone, but it makes the pain duller, like nasty medicine; yet...pain begeh...huh?"

I dropped the mic and let the paper flutter to the ground. I had lost the ground from under my feet and the next thing I knew I had managed to get onto my ass and was leaned over forward hurling all over the stage. The next thing I remember – it happened right before that, but it was as though I didn't finish processing what I had seen until my stomach was half empty – was another nightmare. Not of me dying, but of the creature. It had been in broad daylight, and I hadn't been asleep. It had seemed so unimportant, and foggy, like out of a dream, when it apologized and said it was going to kill me. But this time it had seemed so...vivid, so...unsettling. I had seen it while I was reciting the poem. It had been watching me momentarily before slipping out the back door of the auditorium.

It was huge, and moved in slow, long steps with its shoulders hunched forward in a way that made it look like it was trying to appear gentle despite its size. It looked like it was made of tar, black ooze sliding off its body and splatting onto ground with a sick sound that was the only thing I could hear.

Lumbering was the only word I could think of to describe it as the vivid image of it burned into my mind while my stomach emptied itself of water and bile.

After that incident, things changed.

Yet again, no one would associate with me, and I only ever heard cruel remarks and quiet laughter. I didn't care. I had gotten what I wanted. The nightmares stopped. I was finally free to sleep again. In fact, I felt freer than I ever had. I no longer dreamt of anything, just empty blackness.

It was heaven. At least, that was what I thought at the time. It was at that point that I stopped having the nightmares, yes, but I had not yet escaped them. It was at that point that I began to live the nightmares.

It was not long at all before I began wandering through my life in a daze. I started seeing the ghosts – the other versions of people – at all times. There were none of me. Sometimes I thought I was talking to the right person, and sometimes they talked back, acting like they were the ones seeing a ghost. Which, I guess, they were.

People probably started to think I was going crazy. I never heard my maman mention it.

They stopped laughing. The closer it got to graduation, the less they laughed. At first, I thought it was because they were maturing, or perhaps the humor was wearing off. It never had before. I had no right to think it was then, either.

Teachers started forgetting to call my name during roll. I would gently remind them I was there, and upon a second, confused glance at the sheet, they would say, "Ah, yes. Mr. Quick. You're so quiet I nearly forgot about you!" and they would laugh, nervously, before scribbling furiously on the attendance sheet.

Even people who had previously been civil with me began acting like I wasn't there. The only one who showed no sign of this was my maman. I'm not sure if that made it better, or worse.

Eventually, I started forgetting myself. I would catch myself thinking things like, "wait, is purple my favorite color? Or was it yellow?" and realizing I had no answer. Even now, I can't remember what the truth is. I think it's maybe green.

It came to a head during graduation. I don't think anyone had spoken to me (save my maman) in days, and I hadn't been able to get them to hear me, either. The teachers insisted someone was pulling a prank and had added my name to the roster.

My memories become sparse around here.... But I remember walking on stage, clad in a dark purple, or maybe blue, silk dress shirt, and a black robe. I came across the stage to receive my diploma. They didn't say my name, but I walked on stage anyway. I can't remember why....

I was handed a blank sheet of paper. The words, "You aren't a student here, and you never were, I checked the records," were whispered into my ear as I walked past.

I went home. I remember going home.

I walked.

My maman was acting out of character when I got home.... She got pale when she saw me, as if she, too, were seeing a ghost. She made some small conversation, I think, and the next thing I remember after that is waking up the next morning. Was it the next morning? ...It had to have been. It was my birthday. I think that must have been a million years ago, but it was just this morning.

I woke up. I woke up, and I got out of bed. I woke up, and I got out of bed, and my maman couldn't see me, and the fringes of my sight were gone. It seemed as though the only thing that existed for me was what I was looking directly at.

I ran.

I ran, and ran, and kept running. The entire time, more and more of my world going black.

Now, there's nothing left. It's just black, and there's only me. I can see myself – I haven't gone blind – but I can't move! There's no ground for me to walk on. Only this black emptiness.

"What could have caused this...?" I voice to the darkness. It feels like I've never spoken before. I suddenly have a half-formed memory of dying as a baby – but at the same time, a half-formed memory of waking up in a tub.

There's a voice all around me, as though I'm inside it. I vaguely remember the voice of the creature as being the same.

"T H A T   I S   C O R R E C T.   T H A T   W A S   T H E   P I V O T.   I N   T H E H U B   W O R L D,   T H A T   I S,   T H E   W O R L D   T H A T   Y O U   H A V E   M E M O R I E S   I N,   Y O U   W E R E   M E A N T   T O   B E   G R E A T.    T H E   F A T E S   H A D   A   G R E A T   D E S T I N Y   P L A N N E D   F O R   Y O U.   Y O U   W E R E   T O   B E   K I N G   O F   M E N.   C E R T A I N   T H I N G S   A R E   F I X E D   B Y   T H E   F A T E S,   W H I L E   Y E T   O T H E R S   A R E   P I V O T S;   P O I N T S   W H E R E   T H I N G S   C A N   G O   O N E   W A Y,   O R   A N O T H E R.   I N   T H E   H U B   W O R L D,   Y O U R   M O T H E R,   H A V I N G   P R O P H E S I E D   Y O U R   K I N G D O M,   D R O W N   Y O U   A S   A   B A B E,   T O   P R E V E N T   T H E   T E R R I B L E   O U T C O M E   -   Y O U R   I N E V I T A B L E   A S S A S S I N A T I O N.   F O R   S O M E   R E A S O N   I   C A N N O T   F A T H O M,   Y O U,   T H I S   Y O U,   W A S   P U L L E D   F R O M   I T S   W O R L D   I N T O   T H E   H U B   W O R L D.   T H I S   C R E A T E D   A   R I F T   B E T W E E N   T H E   W O R L D S.   F R O M   T H I S,   I   C A M E   I N T O   B E I N G   -   T O   R E P A I R   T H E   R I F T."

I remember this creature saying that it had to kill me before. This must have been what it meant. ...It said by the time I turned 18. ...It was too late. Is this the end of the world, then?

The voice echoes around me again.

"D O   N O T   W O R R Y   C H I L D.   D O W N   T O   T H E   S E C O N D,   Y O U   A R E   N O T   Y E T   E I G H T E E N.   D O   N O T   W O R R Y   C H I L D.   W E   W I L L   B O T H   D I S A P P E A R   S O O N.   T H I S   H E L L   I S   N O T   F O R E V E R.   Y O U R   S U F F E R I N G   W I L L   S O O N   B E   O V E R,   A N D   T H E   R I F T   W I L L   B E   G O N E.   Y O U   W I L L   N O T   L E A V E   S A D N E S S   B E H I N D.   N O   O N E   W I L L   R E M E M B E R."

Its right, I think. I can't remember anymore, either.... Is this what becomes of us in death? Is this

[lunar-winterlude]

Tour ramblings below. :)

I’m not going to write a show summary since cool folks like @chellann-nicollares have written excellent posts about the whole thing. I will say that the show didn’t present much of anything I hadn’t already seen before, BUT it was all put together in a package that felt fresh and entertaining. I was never bored and left feeling very happy. ^^ Got to meet @rhettandlinkarelife who was super nice. :D I'm only sorry I wasn't able to get a VIP pass.

Got there early enough to see them briefly through the upper windows outside. Cole and Rhett’s parents were chatting up there for a while. I saw Rhett’s nieces and nephews and let’s just say that the Mclaughlin family resemblance is Strong with the nephews. They’re both quite tall.

After we got inside, I stopped by the merch table before going to my seat (after checking that there WERE seats and it wasn’t a mad dash to stand at the front). Rhett’s parents, Link’s mom and her husband Louis (I’m assuming) were all sitting together. I saw Link’s dad a little bit later.

Jessie was sitting with Cole’s fam in the middle section over, and Stevie was sitting in the row behind them. As I said before, I was Shook. I wasn’t sure if it was Jessie at first, but I had a moment of “oh ...!!! OHHH!!!” when I saw her going to her seat. XD Didn’t see the kids or Christy anywhere, but I thought I heard someone say they saw Lando? Not sure.

At the start of the Q&A, Link said he was battling a sore throat but honestly it didn't seem to have affected his singing at all. Their harmonizing voices were beautiful. They seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. Rhett moves very gracefully. Link moves like he's auditioning to pop n lock for a hip hop group. XD

When Rhett started checking out Link’s mom in her Project Lionel picture, Link just said, “She’s here.” And Rhett made a big show of apologizing and feeling awkward. XD It was too dark to see Link’s mom’s reaction, though.

The two volunteers for the Project Lionel demonstration were sisters and both very good sports. :D The guy they brought up for the pineapple demonstration was a ham and cracked everyone up. The audience was pretty responsive throughout. :D

Rhett had me howling with his Ken Burns’ documentary-like reading of a letter to Jessie. XD

Q&A

Someone asked if they realize what impact they’ve had other people, etc. Rhett talked about the relationship that internet creators have with their audience, etc. and how much it means to them.

A girl who’d just graduated from Harnett Central asked who their favorite teacher was. Rhett’s fave was her fave, apparently. Link said that he slept through every minute of French class, but he somehow remembered a lot.

A girl asked about their upcoming Will It’s and Rhett said something like, “Oh we gotta clear that with Stevie. Good thing she's in the audience.” The next Will It is meatloaf apparently. Link mentioned the possibility of Will It potato chip. They asked the girl if she had any suggestions, and she basically suggested Will It house, which is something I can wholeheartedly get behind. Rhett asked if she was looking for a job and told her to fold her resume into a paper airplane and throw it down to the stage.

A guy proposed to his girlfriend, which I didn’t see since they were up on the balcony. Afterwards, Rhett said, “For anyone who didn’t realize what happened, somebody just got engaged.” He said he explained this because he saw his mom look at his dad and ask what happened. XD

Someone asked if they’ve learned anything about each other on the tour. Rhett talked about how there’s sometimes just “comfortable silence” between the two of them. <3 He repeated what he’d said before about how he doesn’t greet his own reflection in the morning, so why should he greet Link? Old news but I love hearing how he FREAKING CONSIDERS LINK A PART OF HIMSELF LIKE HIS OWN DANG REFLECTION.

Link said in one fancy hotel, he found a remote control in the bathroom and was confused by it. When he pressed it, a screen turned on in the mirror?? I think? Then Rhett had to point out that he encountered the “sink remote” as well and was NOT surprised by it. XD

A kid asked if Link considered his new haircut to be going up or down. Link said it was more sideways.

A guy with a man bun asked Rhett how he felt about having one for Buddy System. Rhett said he hated it for the first two weeks since it was itchy, but felt much better once he switched from the weave to clip-ons. The guy asked if he should keep his own man bun. Rhett said yes. Link said that if he’s dating someone, it should be up to them.

Link mentioned how, when they were doing the sound check, his grandparents came in so they could get their seats early. He said it was just like back in the Rhettandlinkast days when they were the only in-person audience. :’)

Another little kid asked how old they are. Rhett said he was 27 and Link was 26. When they gave their real ages and asked how that made the kid feel, he said it was weird. That really cracked Link up.

(btw, the only reason I remember anything from the Q&A is because I yelled most of this post into my phone while driving home.)

[tvdas]

Banning Evil

In the Shadow of Christchurch, Quasi-Religious Myths Can Lead Us Astray

written by Michael Shermer

On March 15, a 28-year old an Australian gunman named Brenton Tarrant allegedly opened fire in two Christchurch, New Zealand mosques, killing 50 and wounding 50 more. It was the worst mass shooting in the history of that country. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, who was rightly praised for her response to the murders, declared: “While the nation grapples with a form of grief and anger that we have not experienced before, we are seeking answers.”

One answer took form a week later, when Ms. Ardern announced legislation that would ban all military-style semi-automatic weapons, assault rifles and high-capacity magazines. Will such gun-control measures work to reduce gun crime? Maybe. They did in Australia following a 1996 mass shooting in Tasmania in which 35 people were murdered. A 2006 follow-up study showed that in the 18 years prior to the ban, there had been 13 mass shootings. But in the decade following, there had been none. Gun culture is different in every country. But there is at least an arguable case to be made that the newly announced controls will make New Zealand a safer country.

But banning certain tools that may be used to commit murder is one thing. Tarrant’s rampage also has led to calls to block ideas that allegedly fuel murderous extremism. In the immediate aftermath of tragedy, it is understandable that every conceivable means should be employed to prevent a recurrence. But censorship is almost invariably the wrong response to evil actions. You cannot ban evil.

Before the killings, Tarrant authored a rambling 74-page manifesto titled The Great Replacement. The document is difficult to find online, as most platforms took to blocking it as soon as its appearance was flagged. I was quick to grab a copy early on, however, because such documents inform my longstanding research into extremist groups and ideologies.

The Great Replacement was inspired by a 2012 book of the same title by the French author Renaud Camus—a right-wing conspiracy theorist who claims that white French Catholics in particular, and white Christian Europeans in general, are being systematically replaced by people of non-European descent, especially from Africa and the Middle East, through immigration and higher birth rates. The manifesto is filled with white supremacist fearmongering. “If there is one thing I want you to remember from these writings, it’s that the birthrates must change,” the author tells his audience (whom he presumes to be white). “Even if we were to deport all Non-Europeans from our lands tomorrow, the European people would still be spiraling into decay and eventual death.” The result, he concludes apocalyptically, is “white genocide.”

Like many cranks and haters of this type, Tarrant has a weakness for codes and slogans. He references the number 14 to indicate the 14-word slogan originally coined by white supremacist David Lane while imprisoned for his role in the 1984 murder of Jewish radio talk show host Alan Berg: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.” Lane, for his part, explicitly extolled the writings of white supremacist William Pierce, who in turn inspired Timothy McVeigh to blow up the Oklahoma City federal building in 1995, killing 168 people.

Accusations of racism and white supremacism are thrown around so casually these days that the meaning of these terms has become diluted and ambiguous. So, for clarity, I will state the obvious by emphasizing that the writings of Tarrant, Lane and Pierce all reflect attitudes that are completely racist and hateful, as such terms are properly used.

And yes, there is a connection with Nazism. The number 14 is sometimes rendered as 14/88, with the 8’s representing the eighth letter of the alphabet—H—and 88 or HH standing for Heil Hitler. Lane, who died in 2007, was inspired by Mein Kampf, in which the Nazi Party leader declared: “What we must fight for is to safeguard the existence and reproduction of our race and our people, the sustenance of our children and the purity of our blood, the freedom and independence of the fatherland, so that our people may mature for the fulfillment of the mission allotted it by the creator of the universe.”

But even here, the bibliographical trail of hatred doesn’t end—because Hitler copied much of his anti-Semitic conspiracism from The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, a tragically popular hoaxed document purporting to record the proceedings of a secret meeting of Jews plotting global domination. Nor was the Protocols itself conceived out of thin air: It was plagiarized from Biarritz, a luridly anti-Semitic 19th-century novel; and a propaganda tract called Dialogues in Hell between Machiavelli and Montesquieu, which had been written by a French lawyer as an act of protest against Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte; both of which, in turn, drew on anti-Semitic tropes going back to Roman times. So if you’re looking to root out and ban the political ideology that produces Jew hatred, you’re going to have to purge whole library shelves. The same goes for Islamophobia, anti-black racism, and virtually every other kind of bigotry you could name.

And yet, there are those who argue that mass censorship is justified in the name of heading off hateful indoctrination. That group apparently would include leaders of the Whitcoulls bookstore chain in New Zealand. Late last week, the company announced it was banning one popular book, “in light of some extremely disturbing material being circulated prior, during and after the Christchurch attacks.” Yet the book wasn’t Mein Kampf, which you can still buy on the company’s site for $44.95—or anything of its ilk. Rather, the chain is boycotting Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life, a self-help book that has no connection at all with the mosque attacks or their perpetrator.

What is the “extremely disturbing material” in Peterson’s book? Whitcoulls doesn’t say. I’ve read the entire book, along with much of the University of Toronto professor’s 1999 massive first book, Maps of Meaning. And I’ve watched many of his YouTube videos and media interviews. I have yet to find anything remotely reminiscent of white supremacy, racism, anti-Semitism or Islamophobia.

On Twitter, I suggested that those who think Peterson is the ideological culprit behind the New Zealand massacre have lost their minds. I added that I’m no toady for Jordan Peterson, inasmuch as I disagree with him on many subjects—including his theory of truth, and his largely uncritical endorsement of religious myths as an organizing principle for human cultures. But the banning of Peterson on any theory related to preventing mass murder doesn’t even rise to the level of wrong: It’s demonstrably absurd—akin to banning spoons and skateboards as a strategy to stave off prospective arsonists.

When I asked my social-media followers for examples of anything Peterson had said or done that could be construed as inviting mass murder, the only remotely relevant responses I got pointed to photos that random fans had taken with Peterson, one of which featured a guy sporting a t-shirt proclaiming himself to be an “Islamaphobe,” and another (more ambiguous) example of someone holding a Pepe the Frog banner. But this proves nothing. Peterson has taken photos with tens of thousands of people at public events in recent years. In a typical fan-photo cattle call, fans are cycled into frame with a celebrity roughly every five or six seconds—typically by handlers, not the celebrity acting in his or her personal capacity. I’ve done a number of these during book tours and can attest to the fact that it’s completely unrealistic to think that Peterson could screen the clothes worn by all these legions of photo seekers for ideological purity—even if this were something he aspired to do.

On March 23, I received an email from Change.org, the left-leaning political action group whose stated mission is to “empower people everywhere to create the change they want to see.” In this case, the change users wanted to see in response to the New Zealand massacre was… to ban PewDiePie from YouTube. “One of the largest platforms for white supremacist content is PewDiePie’s YouTube channel,” the petition informs us. “PewDiePie has on many occasions proven once and again to promote and affiliate himself with white supremacist and Nazi ideologies.” The petitioners then list the YouTuber’s alleged sins, including using the N-word, playing videos of Adolf Hitler’s speeches, and giving the Nazi heil in a video.

For those unaware, PewDiePie is a Swedish comedian and video game player named Felix Arvid Ulf Kjellberg, whose YouTube channel has a massive following and whom Tarrant referenced in his manifesto (along with Candace Owens, Donald Trump and others). It is true that PewDiePie once used the N-word during a video game competition (and then apologized profusely for doing so). He also has used brief audio and video snippets of Nazi imagery as part of satirical responses to attacks against him that he lampooned as melodramatic. The idea that any of this betrays PewDiePie as a closet white supremicist is absurd. Even without Change.org’s urging, YouTube already has demonetized the videos of such avowedly anti-racist and anti-supremacist moderates as Dave Rubin and Gad Saad, as well as anti-anti-Semite conservatives such as Dennis Prager. YouTube is acting on an ideological hair trigger: If there were any evidence whatsoever that PewDiePie had expressed real Nazi sympathies, he would have been axed from the platform long ago.

Responding to evil by banning random controversial authors or YouTubers is completely irrational. But that doesn’t make it inexplicable. Manifestations of great evil provoke a desire to do something—anything—to reestablish moral order. Remember when millions of people tweeted #BringBackOurGirls after the terrorist organization Boko Haram kidnapped dozens of Nigerian students in 2014? Murderous rapists don’t give a fig about being mobbed on Twitter. But it made people feel useful for an instant—as if they had done something. We all entertain some version of this instinct in times of tragedy—a reflex satirized by The Onion in the days after 9/11 with the headline Not Knowing What Else To Do, Woman Bakes American-Flag Cake.

Intertwined with this instinct is the idea that there is some abstract force called evil that exists in the cosmos, a force that we are all called upon to confront and defeat. As I argued in my 2003 book, The Science of Good and Evil, this belief—that pure evil exists separately from individuals—is a myth. “Evil” makes literal sense as an adjective, but not as a noun (except in a figurative sense), because there is no quantum of something called “evil” that exists in human hearts, or, indeed, anywhere else.

Thus concluded social psychologist Roy Baumeister, as reported in his 1997 book about serial killers and other career criminals, Evil: Inside Human Violence and Cruelty. Ironically, Baumeister found that the myth of evil existing as a standalone force may, itself, lead societies to become more violent: “The myth encourages people to believe that they are good and will remain good no matter what, even if they perpetrate severe harm on their opponents. Thus, the myth of pure evil confers a kind of moral immunity on people who believe in it…belief in the myth is itself one recipe for evil, because it allows people to justify violent and oppressive actions. It allows evil to masquerade as good.”

This helps explain the grimly bizarre manner by which violent criminals and terrorists find ways to justify even the most horrifying and nihilistic acts. Consider this 1994 police record of Frederick Treesh, a spree killer from the Midwest who explained, “Other than the two we killed, the two we wounded, the woman we pistol-whipped, and the light bulbs we stuck in people’s mouths, [my accomplice and I] didn’t really hurt anybody.” After killing 33 boys the serial killer John Wayne Gacy explained: “I see myself more as a victim than as a perpetrator. I was cheated out of my childhood.”

Modern campaigns aimed at shutting down this or that speaker implicitly present evil as something that may be communicated from one person to another, like bacteria. By this model, censorship is akin to quarantine. But Baumeister tells us “you do not have to give people reasons to be violent, because they already have plenty of reasons. All you have to do is take away their reasons to restrain themselves.” It is absolutely true that some extremist ideologies can encourage adherents to abandon the sense of restraint that Baumeister describes. But the campaign to ban the likes of Jordan Peterson and PewDiePie—individuals whose work bears no relationship at all to the extreme forms of hatred we should be most concerned about—suggests that censors aren’t actually thinking through such propositions. Instead, they seem to be operating on the idea of evil as a quasi-mystical force akin to Satan. In this conception, Peterson and PewDiePie are seen as carriers of evil, much like witches channeling demons from below, no matter that they never actually say or do anything evil in nature.

As Baumeister argued, this mythical idealization of evil as being an actual force in our universe, rather than a descriptor of human motivations, isn’t merely harmless ersatz spiritualism: It causes people to act worse, sometimes murderously so, by allowing them to imagine the locus of evil as lying completely outside their own intentions and actions.

Which gets to the (necessarily political) question of who should be identified, stigmatized, and even punished for being a “carrier” of evil? Who gets to define that class of people? Me? You? The majority? An evil-thought committee? The government? Social-media companies? We already have law enforcement and the military to deal with evil deeds. Controlling evil thoughts is far more problematic.

Campaigns aimed at banning evil in its own (mythical) right almost always include efforts to ban evil speech—or even, as in the aftermath of the New Zealand mass murder, speech from someone who has not said anything remotely evil, but is seen, in some vague sense, to be contaminated by evil. When western societies were religious, evil speech was tantamount to anti-Christian speech. In a secular age, we call it “hate speech,” a reformulation that does nothing to solve the always contentious issue of distinguishing between evil speech and free speech, and the problem of who gets to decide where one ends and the other begins.

It is my contention that we must protect speech no matter how hateful it may seem. The solution to hate speech is more speech. The counter to bad ideas is good ideas. The rebuttal to pseudoscience is better science. The answer to fake news is real news. The best way to refute alternative facts is with actual facts. This is just as true now as it was in the moment before 50 innocent Muslim lives were taken in New Zealand—even if our emotionally felt need to put a name and form to evil now makes this truth harder to see.

Michael Shermer is publisher of Skeptic magazine, a Presidential Fellow at Chapman University, and the author of The Moral Arc. 

[sizzlingvoidnerd]

how do you write like you're running out of time? chapter 1

Summary: Alexander keeps leaving his own original works on the shelfs of the library and John is a librarian who reads his stories and is starting to form a crush on Alexander. I suck at summaries. Based of off a prompt. Lams. Based of off this prompt that I unfortunately can't find anymore: "I'm a librarian and you keep leaving your original works on the shelf and these stories are great but you should really publish these before sticking them in the library." If anyone knows who posted this prompt, please tell me so I can credit them.

There he was again. Every week or so the dark haired beauty came to the library to borrow a couple of books. Every so often he would leave one of his own original works on the shelves. The first time John realized someone was putting their own books on the shelves was when a middle-aged woman came to him complaining about not being able to scan a book. After looking through the library's archives he found that the library didn't own that book nor anything from the writer, Alexander Hamilton. After trying to explain the situation to the woman and apologizing repeatedly, John was finally able to take a break and left the book on his desk, deciding to take care of it later. After his break Lafayette needed his help and Hercules stopped by, distracting John for the rest of the afternoon. John had shift until eleven p.m. that day, Lafayette was clocked out around six o'clock and John was stuck with Samuel Seabury for the rest of the night. To say John and Samuel didn't get along was an understatement and in order to keep everything civil they tried to avoid each other as much as possible. That being said, his shift was very boring, not many people went to the library at that time and John had no one to talk to. As John looked around for something to do he saw the book lying there, having nothing else to do, John picked up the book and started reading, soon fully captivated by this Alexander Hamilton’s writing. The second time, John saw Hamilton put a book on the fantasy shelf. Instead of confronting him, John decided to wait until Hamilton, who by the way looked like he just stepped out of some fashion magazine, with his hair done up in a bun and wearing a very fitting suit, left the library. When he did John grabbed the new book and again he found himself being drawn in by Alexander’s writing. From that day on, John kept an eye out for Alexander, and over time John started to notice little things about Him, like the way he somehow always looked tired, like he never got a full night of sleep, though, then again, with how many book he read and the fact that he must spent a lot of time writing as well, it really shouldn't be that surprising. John noticed how Alexander could apparently pull off just about anything. Some days he would wear a hoodie and sweatpants and look adorable, on others he would wear a suit and look breathtakingly hot, sometimes he would just wear a button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, John suspected that Alexander did that just to annoy John with his beauty. He noticed how some days Alexander looked like he was on a mission, looking at all kinds of nonfiction books and usually going home with a very large pile of books, books that he would usually return only a few days later. On other days Alexander would take his time, looking through some nonfiction books, though on those days he would mostly look at fiction. He'd look through everything, from thrillers to romance stories to fantasy books, on those days he would go home with about two or three books and when he'd return them it would be quite obvious that he didn't sleep much. He looked happier on those days. John sometimes saw how Alexander started to shine when he had found a good book and expected Alexander to be the kind of person who could go on and on about a good book. John also kept reading the books Alexander left behind, he wrote all kinds of books, all belonging in different categories and all were amazing. He even wrote one book about working as a journalist, it was very interesting what with Alexander obviously having poured all of his anger towards his work and his coworkers, mostly a Jefferson. He had wrote about how annoying it was that Burr would never let his own opinion show, making all of his articles, in Alexander’s opinion, very boring. About how much of an asshole Jefferson is, always thinking he's better than everyone, boasting about how great he is. Long story short, John figured that Alexander a journalist was and that he wasn't not too fond of his job. This lead to John looking him up online and finding out that Alexander had a way of making the most boring stories sound interesting. Over time, John had formed quite a big crush on this Alexander. It kind of scared him actually, having grown up in an extremely homophobic environment. John had come out to his father six years ago when he was eighteen years old and had saved enough money to get himself a small apartment when his father had disowned him and kicked him out of the house. John had expected this to happen and had planned everything, this didn't mean it didn't hurt though, somewhere he had hoped his father wouldn't react like he had just told him he had killed a man, oh well, you can't have everything. Now he lived in a small apartment in New York, he worked at the library, he liked working at the library, he could read as many books as he wanted and it paid decently. He had a couple of friends here, he was finally comfortable with who he was and everything was pretty great, still, crushes scared him, dating scared him. After his father showed such blatant disgust towards what was such a big part of him, John became very scared of even the possibility of someone he liked doing the same. Today though, John was going to talk to Alexander, he gathered all of his confidence and walked up to Alexander. “Uhm, hi.” John said, awkwardly waving is hand in a manner that reminded him of ‘hi, Zuko here’. “Uhm, so, I am a librarian here and I noticed you keep leaving your own original works on the shelves and, uhh, well, I mean these are really good, but you should really publish them before sticking them in the library…” he trailed of, well that went better than he had expected honestly. “Oh, uh, yeah thanks. Do you really think they’re good though?” Alexander asked, blushing a bright red. He couldn't help it, the boy, John Laurens, his name tag said, had caught him of guard. Plus, he wasn't really used to being complemented, and especially not by someone this cute. Sure, Washington sometimes complemented him, but that was it. Everyone else just thought he was annoying and surely this John would too once he got to know him. He really hoped not though, he didn't have any friends, well besides Burr, but Burr wasn't really a friend. Plus this guy was really cute, with his bushy hair and what seem like millions of freckles and his adorable smile and the slight blush on his cheeks. “Well yeah, of course! Your writing style is really unique!” John exclaimed, immediately noticing how enthusiastically he had said it and feeling himself reddening. “Well thank you, John Laurens.” Alexander said, pointedly looking at John’s name tag to indicate that he knew his name because of his name tag and that he wasn't some creepy stalker. “My name is Alexander Hamilton by the way, but you can call me Alex, everyone calls me Alex. Well, except for Jefferson that is, but he isn't allowed to. Oh, and Burr only calls me Alexander... Okay, well, only Washington calls me Alex. But still, you can call me Alex.” Alex said, rambling a bit, having found his voice again. Alexander held a hand out for John to shake, already excited at the prospect of possibly making a new friend, maybe even more. “John, pleasure to meet you.” John replied, shaking Alexander’s hand. “So, John, what is a pretty boy like you doing here?” Alexander asked, smirking. He had decided to try to get John to agree to go on at least one date with him, that is, if he is even attracted to guys, before he realizes that someone as gorgeous as John shouldn't settle down for someone like him. A loser without friends, with a stupid journalist job that pays just good enough for him to live of off. Someone who spends all of his time outside from work locked up in his room, reading every book the library has to offer and writing books that he still doesn't believe are as good as John seems to think they are. “Uhm, I uhh, I work here?” John stammered, accidentally kind of phrasing it as a question. Honestly though, what did he expect, what with Alexander flirting with him so casually. Like honestly, how did he even do that. I mean, John had flirted before, he had dated before, but somehow he couldn't even try to talk to Alexander without turning into a blushing and stuttering mess. Alexander chuckled. “I meant, why are you working at a library instead of doing a photo shoot for the cover of people's magazine as sexiest man alive?” Honestly, why was this guy wasting his time on Alexander, why had he not walked away yet? “Oh, right uhm, I don't- do you- I- sexiest man alive? I don't think-” John stammered, not being able to find the words to respond, his blush darkening by the second. “John? There you are, I need your help. Could you come over here for a second?” A tall man with a heavy French accent called. “Oh, uhm, yeah sure Laf, I'll be right there!” John replied before turning back to Alexander. “Okay, so I gotta go, but, uhm, do you- do you like wanna go on a date sometime? I mean if you don’t that's fine of course.” “Uhh, yeah sure” Alexander replied, a bit taken aback. “Great, uhm okay, wait here for a sec.” With that John ran of somewhere and came back a few seconds later with a piece of paper, pushing the paper in Alexander’s hand, he called a quick “call me!” Before running of to go help his friend. Alexander looked down to the piece of paper in his hand. On it was a phone number, ‘John’ written in neat but hurried handwriting and a little heart drawn next to it. Alexander left the library that day with a big smile on his face and something to look forward to, feeling happier than he had in weeks. I am going to post this on Ao3 as well, but I don't have an account yet...

[tycwi]

!!! skgsdjds u dont have to apologize for not knowing how the italian school system works because sdgjsdkd it’s super stupid and i also really love bloom being a year younger bc it’s just. so cute and fitting

basically school in italy is:

elementary school (5 years, 6 to 10 years old) middle school (3 years, 11 to 13 years old) high school (5 years, 14 to 18-19 years old) university (thats not different from the rest of the world)

it’s only mandatory until the third year of high school (16 years old ish) but unless you do the whole five years you would not have a high school diploma. since italy was (.......is, stil, sometimes) a poor country for many many years, now that there is enough money that school is affordable to most, a majority of parents do not approve of their children dropping out of school before finishing their fifth year. so the only way for someone to finish high school early would b like,.... oh uh one of my classmates in my first year of elementary school skipped to the second year bc she was older than us by a few months as she was born in like late december or early january idk and she already knew a lot of the stuff u learn in ur first year so she got to skip. (theres a rumor she regrets it but that mightve just started from the aforementioned parents disapproving of children who do not get The Most School). and since bloom’s canon birthday is in december that could happen actually. i didnt think of that when i saw the post bc skipping a year is a very Exceptional thing though.

i keep rambling here so im gonna put a cut hope it works lmfao. feel free to not,.,.,,., read it/respond to it cause i just explain a lot of italian stuff slkdgjdsk

 oh also something u might be interested in !!!!!! in ur third year of middle school u choose which high school to go to. that is because every high school has a different Specialization ! for example i go to art high school (liceo artistico! and i study set design, specifically. each art school then has its own specializations). theres liceo, istituto and professionale. licei have a greater focus on givign students knowledge about A Little Bit Of Everything, so theres all the theoretical subjects like art, art history, maths, chemistry etc on top of the specialization, which means that i, for example, even though i go to art school, can then go study to be a doctor in university because i have the basics in Everything. however this also means that i will most likely Need to get a university degree as well to start working. licei are the most ‘popular’ choice. istituti tecnici focus on giving students an Economic or Scientific education. some istituti have students prepared to enter the workforce right after finishing high school, but with most u at least need a university degree, though not necessarily a master’s like licei sometimes do. professionali prepare students for work Right As they finish high school, though this means that if they decide to pursue something else they’ll have a harder time as this means they’ll need to catch up on the basics. 

off the top of my head theres: classical (liceo classico) and scientific (liceo scientifico) (the most attended. classical teaches like latin and greek and in general has a great focus on all theoretical subjects, while scientific is... like.... the most stem-like liceo i guess? lmao), language school lmao (liceo linguistico, in which u study english + two extra foreign languages. usually the choices are like french german spanish, but theres one near me that teaches chinese, however each language school has its own languages just like each art school has its own... arts), human sciences (scienze umane. it’s psychology, sociology, etc), musical (liceo musicale. it’s music LMAO. there’s FEW of these) i dont know many istituti but i know theres alberghiero, where u learn to like cook and manage businesses such as hotels or restaurants, and one where u learn how to FAAAARM HELL YEAH ITALIAN MOMENT sdlòkgsdgsdkjsgd. i know nothing about professionali because the idea of locking myself into one career path terrified me as a 13 year old LKSDGJKSD

i was abt to explain the CULTURAL INTRICACIES of choosing a high school but uh, i’ll refrain. if u want it u can ask but sldkgs this is already much too long LMAO.

n thank u to replyign to my ask it made me really happy :D

ur art is my ART GOALS omg omg omg it's SUPER GOOD

GAH THANK YOU SO MUCH THATS SO SWEET😭😭😭 also I just checked your tags on the age post and I am so sorry I have no idea how your school system works and forgot to check it out because I became so attached to the idea of bloom being a year younger than everyone ajsjfjggk

Thank you again so much for the kind words!