#okay back to Not Talking About Politics i go

[klinefelterrible]

I would make a porn movie with a guy called Heimer, him being partners with another guy (or girl) named Rope, so, Rope and Heimer, two scientists trying to produce, along with a team of sexy scientists and some hot army guy, a gigantic ass-destroying bomb dildo. We have a scene with all of them in one room, talking. And fucking. All of the scientists are very serious gals in high heels. We have scenes with the beads in the jar, army guy talks about how much of Dildonium is already produced and how fast are they going to have enough of them to destroy the ass of Japan (in this role: Asa Akira). A factory full of dildos, producing plenty of new butt plugs and black dildos and stuff and they all talk to these scientists— meanwhile we had the courtroom, about the actual politics that happened back then. The army used the Ass-Tomic Bomb to destroy her… PUSSY! And Rope and Heimer were like WHAT/WHY/WE DID IT FOR ASS DESTRUCTION/IT IS DISGUSTING AND DISRESPECTFUL TOWARDS OUR WORK and they eventually win the case against the AmericanBadBitchTM who wanted them to fuck her and other American Bitches instead of Japan.

About making Barbie Boobie more pornographic, I would make it even more pink and weird and when Boobie starts feeling she feels instantly horny and not only dread of existence but also like a massive ass itching that could be only fixed by a KEN, a sex robotic doll who starts feeling too— a massive dick growing in his shorts

Okay I need to stop

I remember meeting a guy at a bar a year or so ago who told me he worked at the international consortium that does the porn parodies of all the top-grossing film releases. He said that the whole Barbenheimer situation presented his combine with some spectacular highs and lows. Because he said that with Barbie, right, the thing about Barbie is that there's already kind of a three-way ideatic, structural parallel between the curated artificiality of Barbie as a children's toy, the curated artificiality of Barbie as a mass market film, and the curated artificiality of pornography as a genre. Add on top of that that Barbie as a film is already feeling this tension, right where it's trying to be about a character graduating from the platonic sexlessness of a children's franchise to the functional-and-frank sexuality of being a living human woman, but it's also being bogged down in the "Everyone-is-beautiful-no-one-is-horny" aesthetic restrictions of any contemporary big-budget mass-market film so the two states end up looking pretty similar, he said. I mean the film itself is very aware of that tension, right, with that joke about how "casting Margot Robbie is the wrong move if you want to make that point," all that jazz. So, all that in mind, Barbie-themed pornography, he said, is in a weird way actually kind of complementary to the extant project, gesturing at unaddressed tensions and ideas, a dark mirror, the shadow self it wants to deny but can't, there's a lot of room to play in the space. He used the adjective "Lynchian" a couple of times, he seemed super stoked, he was talking with his hands. Oppenheimer, on the other hand. Oppenheimer he said presented a problem. Because obviously you can eroticize the detonation of an atomic bomb, we're all probably three mutuals removed from someone on this site who does exactly that, but obviously that's a niche market, and moreover it's a market that has a ton of overlap with high-minded thinkers who treat the historical use of atomic weapons against Japan with the level of gravity that atrocity demands. So they were stuck. They were really stuck. He told me that they'd been pulling their hair out for months trying to square the circle and all they had to show for it was a big whiteboard with the phrase "Grope-nheimer" written on it

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle��just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[losernb]

Valentine's Day Surprise

Sevika’s never experienced  this before. Valentine's Day is a Piltover holiday, there’s no time for stuff like this in Zaun. She never would’ve known about it if she didn’t decide to take you and the girls out for a fun day last week.

Valentine’s Day:

“Look over there!” Jinx points, drawing Isha’s attention to the giant sign. It’s bright pink, covered in a bunch of hearts, and it reads:

Valentine’s Day Sale- All the chocolate, flowers, and plushies a girl could ever want!

Isha’s face lights up with excitement as she reads it. Candy, flowers, and a new teddy bear?! I want them! She signs eagerly towards Jinx.. 

“You gotta ask Sevika, she’s the one with the money.” Jinx says with a laugh.

Without hesitation, Isha dashes over to where you and Sevika are talking, tugging insistently at Sevika’s sleeve. Sevika looks down at her, brow raised in confusion.

“What’s wrong kid?” Sevika asks, voice hinting with confusion. Isha points to the sign, causing both you and Sevika to turn and look at it. You laugh a little, knowing why she was drawing your attention to it. 

“Looks like we know what we’re buying today.” You laugh and pick Isha up, settling her down on your hip and kissing her cheek. She giggles and throws both arms up, letting out a victorious squeal. Sevika rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh, “Alright, c’mon girls let’s go see what this is about.”

The four of you walk into the store, taking in the assortment of flowers and the piles of plushies. Isha and Jinx are mesmerized. Before you can blink, Isha wriggles out of your arms, grabbing Jinx’s hand and dragging her toward the stuffed animals.

“The hell is ‘Valentine’s Day’ anyway?” Sevika asks you, never having heard of it before. You grew up in Zaun as well so you had no clue. 

“Maybe we can go ask?” You suggest, walking up to the first worker you see. It’s an older lady who smiles when she sees the two of you. “Hello, what can I do for you lovely ladies?” She asks, smiling warmly.

“Hi, I just wanted to ask what Valentine’s Day is, I saw it on the sign outside.” You reply, offering back a small smile. 

The woman lets out a small laugh, “Oh dear, you’ve never heard of Valentine’s Day? Are you new to Piltover?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually. We don’t really have fancy holidays in Zaun—just birthdays and anniversaries, mostly.”

Sevika shifts beside you, resting a hand on your back—a habit of hers whenever she senses something’s off. You glance at her, noticing the subtle furrow in her brow.

Then, the woman’s smile fades. Her expression stiffens, her warmth turning to something colder.

“Oh,” she says, voice suddenly clipped. “Well, it’s a day to celebrate loved ones.” The words feel forced, like an afterthought. “Excuse me, I need to go.” She turns abruptly, walking away without another word.

You turn back to Sevika and understand the look now, she caught the lady’s shift in attitude before you did. You kiss her cheek, as a reminder that everything’s okay. “Cmon Sevi, lets just get our girl and go.” Sevika nods, jaw tight, but says nothing.

You make your way over to Jinx and Isha, who are still enthralled by the plushies.

“Pick out anything you like yet?” You bend down to ask Isha. She’s holding a little brown bear and Jinx is holding a bunny. This one! She signs, putting down the bear to free up her hands.

“Excuse me.”

You turn to see a small man, his posture stiff, a name tag reading Manager pinned to his vest.

“Could you please leave?” His tone is polite, but his expression is anything but.

You don’t need to ask why. The woman from earlier must’ve told him where you’re from. Zaunites aren’t banned from Piltover stores, but some people—especially in places like this—act like they should be.

You sigh, standing up and gently gathering Isha into your arms.

What’s happening? Isha signs, confusion flickering across her face.

“We gotta go, kiddo,” Jinx says with a sigh, patting her back.

Isha deflates against your shoulder, small hands gripping your jacket. Her excitement, her joy—gone in an instant.

Sevika sees it, too. The hurt in Isha’s expression. The way Jinx looks away, lips pressed into a thin line. And something inside her snaps.

She steps forward, towering over the manager. “Yeah? And what exactly is the reason we need to leave?” Her voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

The manager swallows, visibly intimidated. “I—I just think it would be best if—”

“Best for who?” Sevika cuts him off. “We were minding our own damn business.”

His gaze flickers between her and you, then to Isha in your arms, her little brown bear still clutched to her chest. He hesitates, but the damage is done.

Sevika clicks her tongue. “Tch. C’mon, let’s go,” she mutters, turning on her heel.

Jinx nudges Isha. “Keep the bear, kid. They owe you.”

Isha nods hesitantly, tightening her hold on it as the four of you leave.

Surprise Set up:

A week had passed since that incident, and Sevika had mostly put it out of her mind, believing it to be a thing of the past. Little did she know, while she was busy in Piltover handling her Councilor duties, you and the girls had been hard at work planning a little surprise.

While you baked the cake and prepared the dinner, Jinx was in charge of the decorations and Isha sat at the table, her tongue poking out in concentration as she scribbled on a card.

“Isha! The cake is done cooling, do you wanna help me decorate it?” You called out to her.

There was no verbal response—just the rapid pat-pat-pat of Isha’s little feet racing toward the kitchen. She crashed into your legs at full speed, nearly knocking you off balance.

“Whoa—!” You let out a startled yelp, catching yourself on the counter.

“Slow down, you little tornado. Almost made me drop the cake.” She just nods in understanding before grabbing the stool, the one that was exclusively hers since she was the shortest, and drags it over. 

You leave Isha to do her own little thing, knowing it’ll be messy but heartfelt. With her focused on the cake, you wandered into the living room to check on Jinx’s progress.

Your jaw nearly dropped.

Jinx had outdone herself—balloons, streamers, and paper hearts covered the room. Candles flickered on various surfaces, their soft glow giving the space a warm, golden hue.

“You seem to really enjoy this, huh?” You nudge Jinx’s shoulder. She chuckles, admitting, “Yeah, its fun to be asked to spice up a room instead of just vandalizing it.” You grinned and pulled her into a quick hug. “It looks amazing. She’s gonna love it.”

Jinx smirked but looked away, pretending not to care too much. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Once everything was set, you plated dinner and let the girls eat even though Sevika wasn’t home yet. You knew better than to wait—whenever she had meetings, she always came home late.

After dinner, you put on a movie, intending to wait up for her. But before it even reached the halfway mark, the three of you had melted into a sleepy pile on the couch—tangled together in a mess of limbs, warmth, and slow breathing.

Sevika’s Arrival:

The front door creaked open softly. Sevika stepped inside, moving quietly in case you and the girls were already asleep. Sometimes, she found you curled up on the couch, waiting for her with a book in hand.

That was what she’d been hoping for.

Instead, what she saw made her stop in her tracks.

Balloons. Candles. Paper hearts covering the walls.

She blinked, wondering if exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But no—it was real.

Slowly, she walked toward the dining table. A full meal sat waiting for her, along with a very wonky-looking cake and a single handmade card.

She already knew whose handiwork the cake was.

With a quiet chuckle, she picked up the card and opened it.

Inside was a drawing—your little makeshift family. Jinx and Isha in the middle, Sevika on the left, you on the right. It was messy, colorful, imperfect, and completely perfect.

At the top, in bold, sloppy handwriting, it read:

Happy Valintinez Day!

Sevika swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Her vision blurred slightly. She hadn’t expected this. Not after the way that stupid Piltover store had turned you all away like you were less. Not after she’d spent years thinking she wasn’t someone people would celebrate, let alone love.

A quiet sniffle escaped her. She tried to muffle it, rubbing at her eyes, but the sound must have woken you.

Blinking groggily, you lifted your head from the couch, scanning the room until your eyes landed on her.

Sevika stood frozen by the table, her back to you, shoulders trembling just slightly.

You nudged the girls off you gently before getting up and walking toward her.

“Hey,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her from behind. “What’s wrong, love? Shitty meeting again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned around, cupped your face in her hands, and kissed you—soft, slow, and deep.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You smiled, brushing away the stray tears that clung to her lashes. “Oh, you big softie,” you teased, tugging her toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You shifted Jinx and Isha just enough to make space, then pulled Sevika down with you. Isha stirred slightly, snuggling into Sevika’s side while Jinx grumbled in her sleep before draping an arm over both of you.

Sevika sighed, her arms instinctively wrapping around the girls, keeping them close.

“I love you guys so much,” she whispered, like it was something sacred. Something she’d never dared say before.

You pressed a kiss to her cheek before resting your head on her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“We love you too,” you murmured.

Sevika glanced down at the small, sleeping faces tucked against her, at the mess of decorations still scattered around the room. Her heart was full in a way she didn’t think possible.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting sleep take her, safe and warm in the only place she’d ever truly belonged.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this T^T. I would've posted this earlier but I had to go to work lol

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY POOKS <3

[eclipixels]

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

      You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

      With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

      The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

      A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

      Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

      You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

      And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

      But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

      Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

      "You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

      "I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

      He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

      Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

      "Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

      His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

      Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

      "And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

      "Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

      Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

      "You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

      You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

      He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

      For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

      The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

      Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

      A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

      "I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

      Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

      “You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

      Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

      And just like that, he turned to leave.

      A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

      The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

      But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

      You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

      All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

      And you didn’t care how you got home.

      Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

      The last person you wanted to see right now.

      At least he wasn’t with her.

      "What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

      At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

      "The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

      God. The sheer audacity.

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

      His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

      Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

      "You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

      His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

      "Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

      For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

      Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

      Hurt?

      "Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

      You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

      "Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

      The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

      You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

      "That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

      Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

      "You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

      Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

      "She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

      His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

      And that—that—set you off completely.

      "Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

      As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

      His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

      He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

      Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

      His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

      Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

      Sylus stilled.

      He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

      His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

      The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

      “I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

      “I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

      “I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

      “Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

      “I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

      “You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

      "I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

      "Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

      "I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

      “Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

      Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

      You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

      His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

      You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

      His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

      Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

      His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

      You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

      Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

      And still, something in you wanted more.

      The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

      His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

      You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

      "That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

      He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

[swampgallows]

Transcription:

Wearing a mask was not political, but they made it political, so now wearing a mask is an act of resistance. I don't care how stupid that sounds to you and I'm gonna be very transparent, my goal here is to try to get you to wear a mask. So I need you to take whatever I'm about to say, pick the thing that resonates with you the most, and then have that be what drives you to wear a mask. Trump pulled the U.S. out of the World Health Organization and he instructed the halt of all communications from public health agencies. This includes the CDC, the NIH, the FDA on recalls, so we are even more in the dark than we were before on how bad things are right now. If you've been sick recently, you might know what I'm talking about. Flu A, COVID, Norovirus, all high—high transmission—but now with the halt of communications we are not gonna know what's going on. The CDC already sucked on that—I'll get to that shortly. All across the country, cities have called for and/or enacted bipartisan mask bans. Do you want to know what led to these mask bans? Well, it was anti-genocide protests. They don't want you to be able to hide your face because then you're easier to target. But what is the side effect of this? Going after people who mask to protect their health and the health of those around them. They don't like our calls for a free Palestine. One of these people who called for that was mayor of L.A., Karen Bass, and now that the fires have been raging, of course the city didn't have any stockpile of PPE for all the people who are inhaling ash, and wildfire smoke, and asbestos, and all the other chemicals that are burning with homes in the fires. No, that fell to mutual aid groups, specifically, anti-COVID and clean air groups. In the age of AI under fascist regimes, both Biden but especially Trump, when facial recognition technology can be weaponized against anyone, masking is an act of resistance. And finally, and most importantly, the number one core reason is because COVID still rages on. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when corporations and billionaire CEOs can lobby the government to shorten COVID isolation periods, and then Biden does so. Since the very beginning of the pandemic when they said, "No, it only affects this group of people", and so we said "Okay, yeah, no, that's not me. We don't have to protect them." They tried to get you to not care, further harming disabled and high risk individuals, and lying to your face in the process because we're all high risk. In 2024 we got to see COVID rip through the Olympic Village. What we did not hear so much about is all of the athletes that didn't make it to the Olympics despite their training all of their lives because they were disabled by COVID. A recent study showed that 1 in 4 U.S. Marines that got COVID met the criteria for Long Covid. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when COVID cases persist. When you feel sick all the time and everybody is having brain fog and you wonder why you are so tired, when they didn't bother clearly communicating that COVID is airborne, and that it moves like smoke, and that a lot of spread is asymptomatic or pre-symptomatic, meaning you don't feel sick, you don't know you have it, but you're spreading it.

Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when the World Health Organization told us that 10 to 20% of COVID cases result in Long Covid, and that doesn't account for consecutive infections. When that Long Covid can be mild, like the POTS [Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome] that I got from my COVID infection while being a previously healthy individual, or it can be severely debilitating and leave you bedbound. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when you get sick and they want you back to work and they gut worker protections—in a country that provides no universal healthcare, so you're left either in debt or without options, untreated, in a country that loves its Big Pharma and counts on you getting sick. Wearing a mask is an act of resistance when all of this is in the name of capitalism. They do not care if you get sick. They want you betraying your disabled and immunocompromised community members. They do not care that you want to protest for a free Palestine. They do not care that you want to protect your identity from their AI surveillance. They don't care that the general population is sicker than ever. They want you to ignore it, and they want you to attack the people who still wear masks, like myself. They want you to attack the messenger. They do not want you questioning the premature declaration that the pandemic had ended because then they don't have to atone for this: the wastewater data that shows how prevalent COVID still is in our lives. And when you think about how many COVID cases lead to Long Covid, they don't want you thinking about how they allow for the general population to become disabled, because that would mean that it costs them something to prevent it, that would mean that they owe you. By the way, with Trump's halting of communications we can count on this [wastewater data] to go bye-bye because the CDC can't give us that data anymore. Biden gave that "pandemic is over" premature declaration after the Democrats had an internal memo declaring that they would do so because it earns them political points. It would be cheaper to not provide you with what you need and it would score political points by declaring the pandemic a victory on Biden's part. I don't want this video to be too long even though I could go on, but take whatever I just said that resonates with you and have that be what drives you to wear a mask. It is the easiest way to care for your neighbor and simultaneously give Trump the finger. Because we can't do anything if we're all sick, we can't do anything if we're constantly disabling each other. Lock in. [End of transcription.]

"Mask" here refers to a KN95, KF95, or N95 respirator, not a cloth or surgical mask. A cloth or surgical mask is better than nothing, but they are nowhere near as effective at preventing airborne transmission as a well-fitting respirator. The goal is to form an airtight seal against the face so that all incoming and outgoing air you breathe is filtered through the respirator.

If you need access to free or low-cost masks, testing, air purifiers, and more, get in touch with your local mask bloc. Find one near you at CovidActionMap.org.

Listen to her. Please.

[stinkysam]

Choi Subong “Thanos” - 44.

Warning : body modifications (scarifications, split tongue, face implants, eyes tattoo.)

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “thanos with a reader who has multiple piercings. Like, in his ears, tongue, mouth, nose” -anon

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : bold is in English // was thinking about a similar thing the other night 💭 reader w/ lots of piercings and tattoos and some body modifications so I hope it’s okay 🥺

Thanos was waiting in line, one person before him emptying their cart slowly. Bored, he looked around.

Then you appeared behind him, waiting to pay for the items in your bag. When he saw you he had to do a double take. A not so discreet one.

Like, woah.

You had so many piercings on your face and ears, tattoos creeping up here and there on your skin.

He thinks you look really cool and can’t stop trying to look at you to get more details about how you look. He’s shamelessly turning around to simply look at you.

You gave him a polite but rather awkward smile which he took as an invitation to talk.

“Do you know me ?” He asked with a cocky grin.

“Do you know me ? You’re the one who’s staring.”

He ignored your comment, asking another question instead, trying to sound casual.

“You look cool. How many piercings do you have ?”

“44.”

“Huh ? All on your face ?” Now he was shocked. He could see you had a lot but he didn’t expect that number.

“Most of them are, but no.” You smiled, not elaborating. He looked at you up and down, trying to think where the rest could be.

“Wait- the… your dick ?”

You laughed at his straightforwardness.

“Tongue.” You said, sticking it out, showing your split tongue with a piercing on each side. “But dick too.” You added with a wink as you walked past him, emptying your bag for the cashier to scan the items.

Thanos was stunned. Oh, he had to get your number.

You put everything back in your bag and paid everything, smiling and waving at Thanos as you walked out the store.

He quickly gave his stuff to the cashier, before shoving them in any pockets he had, almost throwing his money at them to rush outside to go after you.

“Hey ! Pretty boy !” He called after spotting you, quickly running to your side. “Do you really not know me ?” He asked once he was next to you.

“I do. You’re that rapper. Thanos.”

He proudly combed his hair with one hand at your words.

“And ?”

“And what ?”

“Did you like me ?” He asked with a smug expression.

“No, sorry, I was rooting for someone else. Stopped watching when he left.”

He looked at you, shocked.

“Huh ?”

“The one with five consecutive ‘A’ in his name, all lower case except the middle ‘A’.”

“Oh, him.” He tsked, rolling his eyes. “He’s a fucking loser.” He said, making you chuckle.

“Didn’t you lose, too ? I saw the memes.”

He sighed, rubbing his hair in frustration.

“It’s not like that, you don’t understand, I still should’ve won. They were all against me. I really should’ve won !”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. What did you want anyway ?”

He looked at you up and down with a small pout, thinking before smiling and answering.

“Your number. You look cool. But your taste in rappers isn’t.”

You laughed at his comment.

“Okay, give me your phone.” You shrugged.

He handed you his phone and you typed your number with your name. You gave it back to him and he immediately dialed the number to make sure it wasn’t fake.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and he smiled, hanging up.

He was really annoying at first because he kept trying to get into your pants to see your piercings. He slowly calmed down about it, realizing you wouldn’t let it happen like that.

He’ll ask you all the basic questions. Did your piercings and tattoo hurt, which one hurt the most, what’s the meaning behind your tattoos, how much did it cost you, where did you get them ?

He’ll definitely show you his back tattoo. Taking off his shirt without any warning before showing off his back.

“Thanos…” You read aloud, thinking. “Did your tattoo artist know you ? I wonder if they thought you were just a big marvel nerd ?”

“Of course he knew me. I’m a fucking legend.”

“Did he tell you that ? Did he really say ‘yes I know you’ ? Or is it just your ego speaking ?” You asked, amused, placing your hands on his shoulder to make him face you.

He glared at you, putting his shirt back on.

“Want me to prove it to you ?” He asked, pulling up his phone to show you the Instagram page of his tattoo artist, it was full of lettering tattoos, they all looked really good despite how fast he was scrolling.

Then he clicked on a post, his freshly tattooed back appearing on the screen with a caption under the picture where the artist was tagging and calling him “the Great Thanos”.

He looked smugly at you.

“Ah, I’m so disappointed. Really wanted him to just think you’re a weird fan of that purple alien thumb.” You said as he hit your arm, unamused.

He definitely wants more tattoos but has so many ideas and keeps changing his mind all the time.

One day he told you he wanted a tattoo of his own lyrics. His favorite part of his best rap. But when you promised to get it tattooed as well if they were cool enough, he backtracked. Not that he didn’t want that tattoo anymore, but because he wants to make better bars, worth being on your skin.

It’s stupid, you have tattoos without meaning. They’re just here because you found them pretty. But he wants his tattoo to be your favorite one on your body.

He’s also thinking about more piercings. Mainly the ears and maybe some on his face, hesitating between a bridge, eyebrow piercings or dimples.

“Why not the lips ?” You asked, looking at your phone, slumped on the couch next to him.

“Don’t it fuck up your teeth ?”

“It can. Especially if you play with it. Or bite on it.”

“Do you ?”

“Yeah, fuck. Look at ‘em.” You replied, putting your phone to your side to show him your teeth. “I once bit too hard on a Pringle with my piercing by my tooth and a bit broke.”

“How the fuck do you bite so hard on a fucking Pringle you chip your teeth ?”

“I really wanted to eat.” You replied with a laugh, your focus returning to your phone. “Look, spider bites would look good on you.” You said, placing your phone before him, the front camera activated with piercing filters on.

Thanos grabbed your hand, angling the phone better as he observed himself, tapping on the screen to display more piercings.

He pouted, thinking.

“Yeah but eyebrow piercings…” He took a selfie and showed you the result, not before saving it on your phone so you’d have a picture of him.

“Why not both ?” You replied, tapping on the screen so the spider bites would appear at the same time as the eyebrow piercings. “Both sides or only one eyebrow ? You don’t look like a symmetrical kind of guy. More like- chaos ?”

“I like chaos.”

“Yeah I figured.”

“You… really are into fucking symmetry. And 44 ? How does it work with a dick piercing ?”

“I have two. Frenum and a dydoe.”

“Two ?” He looked at you surprised. “Why can’t I see ?” He whined, slumping down further, making you laugh.

“Just google them and you’ll have tons of visuals.” You snickered, rubbing his hair.

“Yeah but I want to see ‘em for real ! Are they healed ?”

“Yep.”

He sighed. A piercer saw your dick twice but you refuse to let him see it even once ? What kind of friendship is that if you don’t know what your friend’s dick looks like ?

You told him you wanted to go back to Japan to do some more body modifications, wanting small horn implants on your forehead.

Thanos is absolutely hooked. He’s so hyping you up.

You took him on your trip to Japan to visit a bit but mainly for these bodmod, having booked only a couple days. Though you were a bit stressed, you were mainly amused by Thanos who was silently staring all along. For once his mouth remained shut. But as soon as you were out he was yapping again.

He was literally jumping up and down holding your arm, wanting to show you to everyone.

Despite looking more intimidating than him due to all your piercings and tattoos, if someone tries to annoy you around Thanos, he will put himself between you two, down to fight the person getting on your nerves.

Even if it’s just old people displeased with how you look.

You generally place your hands on his shoulders to keep him from doing anything, smiling. You’re not a violent person so you prefer to calm him down rather than letting the situation escalate further.

You have a lot of pictures together, mainly selfies he took and sent you and a few from concerts or clubs you went to together.

You were going through your phone, your storage was full as you deleted some unused apps and photos. Then you saw it, the photo Thanos took the other day. You dialed his number.

“Why did you save it ?” You directly asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

“What ?”

“You took a selfie, the day we were looking at the piercing that would suit you. Were you afraid I didn’t have a picture of you ?”

“Ah.” He laughed. “Yeah. You need to have more pictures of your boyfriend anyway.”

“My-” You scoffed, chuckling. “My boyfriend ? I’ll let you know I already have tons of pictures of you on my phone, dumbass. It’s full of your stupid purple head.”

“You save the pictures I send you ? Aw. So cute, I love you too.”

“No. My phone automatically saves them... And I don’t know how to disable it !”

“How old are you again ?” He laughed. “Are you complaining about having pictures of your boyfriend ?”

“My storage is full, Thanos. Stop sending me selfies. I’ll block your ass. On all platforms.”

“Thanos ? Not T ?” You rarely ever called him by his full stage name, finding it too cringe.

“I’m serious.”

“Would you prefer dick pics ?”

“I dare you to try.” You replied. “No- wait- no- don’t. You’re actually capable of doing it. I don’t- I don’t wanna see your dick.”

Quickly you received a text from him with an attached image. You clicked on it, hoping it wasn’t a dick pic.

[Thanos]> “:(”

You sighed, relieved to see it was just yet another selfie.

“Don’t scare me like that !”

Thanos laughed.

“It’s natural to see your boyfriend’s dick at some point. Don’t be so scared of it.” He said in a sing-song tone.

You snorted. The nerves of this guy.

“Stop- you know what ? Okay. Alright. You’re my boyfriend. What do you plan on doing now ?”

“Well now I’m allowed to send a dick pic.”

“Sure. If you want to see the quickest breakup in history.”

“Ah, come on !”

You hung up, going back to deleting all the photos that didn’t interest you.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - He's Back - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

A confrontation long overdue.

(Happy Valentine's Day, folks :'D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: angst

"I trust," Silco says, breaking the quiet, "you didn't take that personally."

"What, you bailing midway?"

"Hm."

She doesn't frown. But her dipped eyelids shield a stormfront. "...Look. This arrangement? If it's not working out—"

"You know that's not the case."

"No?"

"I only needed..." To put my pieces in back together. "...Space."

"Yeah?" A flash a familiar vigilance.  "Sure it's not because of her?"

"Her?"

Does she mean Nandi?

Her sister's specter has ceased to interfere in the peripheries of their intimacy.

Or—gods, has she learnt about his dalliance with Medarda, the long-game laced together in exquisite deception?

Silco doubts it—he covers his tracks—but sometimes he underestimates the razor edge of Sevika's perceptiveness.

Too late to dissemble if that's the case. But before he braces for impact—before the blowback of her judgement leaves him a smoking crater—he prays for a chance to plead his case. To explain that Medarda balances on the precarious axis between personal proclivity and political leverage. To beg Sevika—

(Beg? That's unseemly for both.)

—convince her, that his attraction is a complicated calculus. His goals are on track, even if the rest's tangled in desire's gilded strings.  He'll not deny the thrall Medarda exerts; the fascination of her nimble wit; a rare gift in reading people, even the darkest facets of his own nature.

But it's survival—not need—that shares their bed. It's common ground—not devotion—that drives their bargain. It's the irrevocable necessity of circumstance—not goddamn choice—that turns him to the enemy as he once turned to drugs, drink, dissipation.

There is no tether there. Only game after bloody game, Sevika, and if you give the word, I'll burn the board to the ground—

"Sevika," he begins.  "I—"

As always, she preempts him.  "Jinx."

Silco struggles to conceal his surprise. "...Jinx.."

"You miss her. Miss her so much you'd rather be here, with me, than alone in your penthouse."

"That's not true." It is, and isn't. "I'm not here for—"

"Don't deny it. There's a piece missing with her gone.  And that piece won't be filled by any of us here."

"If by piece—," he dares a cautious sidestep "—you mean peace of mind—"

"You barely talk about her," Sevika cuts in. "Don't like to hear her mentioned. When I bring her up, you either ignore it, or change the subject. As if she's locked up somewhere too fucking precious to share with the rest of us. It'd be fine if you were at least drinking like a fish and smoking like a fiend and throwing yourself headfirst into anything involving disembowelment. Instead, you've been..." she gropes for a second. "Distant."

"Distant."

She gives him a meaningful look. "Like you're still in the Deadlands. Still… somewhere I can't follow."

Inwardly, Silco marvels. Outwardly, he says nothing.

It's true; he's kept himself to himself. Not because he's subsumed everything into his work—he has—but because he's lately sensed himself at a crossroads.

Not of Zaun but his own convictions.

Self-concept's not been in the cards for a while. It left when Jinx crashed into his life. Without her, he's not lost the measure of the game, but the measure of himself.

A father.

Except he's still Jinx's father. It defines him like a chalk outline around a corpse; a name carved on a gravestone. He'll always belong to her. No matter where their paths uncross into separate tangents, or where their roads lead together.

But Silco, himself? Beyond Zaun?

He's yet to find the answer, though tonight's left him on surer footing. 

From the streets, fireworks spiral, then fade. In the spreading silence, Sevika says, "You can be not-okay, you know. Nobody'd fault you."

Her gentleness unsettles. His deflection is reflexive. "No, they'd simply kill me."

"They'd have to go through me," she says matter-of-factly, "And nobody gets through me."

They trade a brief smile. Tight as tethers go.

Sevika says, "I figured… that was why you let them stay over."

"Who?"

"Pearl’s girls." She sips slowly. Her chest—still faintly sweat-sheened—rises and falls in measured exhalations. "The entire time they were over, you were so... unlike you. Or maybe you: times ten. Like you'd be with Jinx, only... safer." Her eyes meet his. "You must miss it. Taking care of a kid who looks up to you like you're Janna's godsdamn gift."

"Pearl's kin look to the future. Not to me."

"You care about them." A beat, "Same way you must've cared about Pearl."

Silco steels himself against his habitual response: Admit nothing, deny everything, destroy everyone.

Instead, he takes a long swig of tea, buying time before the final draft.

"Yes," he says.

"Yes, what? Which part?"

"All of it." A deeper swallow; tongue weighing each word. "I did care for Pearl. She was fine company. Generous with herself, and patient with my inadequacies."

Sevika scoffs. "Those being?"

"We both know better than to enumerate." A shadow of a smile slinks across his lips, then fades. "It was good, what we had in the Ditch. Not a matter of what my body needed. More... what my self required.  With Jinx gone, there was so little to steer me except survival. Except survival is a stalling tactic. It allows you to continue existing. But life, really living, requires meaning. And meaning demands engagement beyond oneself. Pearl gave me a second chance at that."

Silence from across the table. He waits her out: a stubborn force brooding in place. Finally Sevika shakes her head.

"I should've been there," she murmurs. "Should've gone with you."

"How could you have known I'd vanish?"

He thinks of all the things he could tell her of that time. His psyche-marred misery in wake of Jinx’s departure. His rage and emptiness. How he'd been left with the topsoil of his soul stripped bare. All that was left was a doppelgänger sustained on the fumes of memory.

A soulless medium compelled to descend to the darkest core to mine his purpose from stone.

Quietly, he says, "You pledged me your loyalty. Loyalty isn't grounds to follow a leader beyond death's door."

"Is that where you went? Six feet under?"

"A thousand fathoms deep."  Draining the mug, he sets it aside. "That's where Pearl found me. Her, and her girls. And from there... they guided me back. In their ordinariness, they were extraordinary. They had such little in the world. Yet they fought for everything in it. Tooth and nail;, blood and bone. Life took nothing from them without paying a price."

Sevika regards her own mug. "So they helped you figure out how to live again." 

A cogent summary. He nods.

"Were you and Pearl...?"

"In love? I'd not take it that far." Silco exhales. Pearl's presence is between his ribs—a vivid ache—but not a mortal blow. Her quintessence was pure steel; it'd steeled and purified him in turn.  Even in his blackest mourning, he'll carry that unyielding framework into the future. "We suited each other. A simpatico of spirit and flesh. In another life—perhaps that would've sufficed.  In this one..." He traces a fingertip down his left cheekbone: the rough corrugation of scar tissue like tear-tracks. "I'm grateful our paths crossed. But I'll always regret the way they did."

"Because she didn't make it."

"Because in seeking her out, I abandoned you."

Sevika doesn't flinch. But her expression, in tiny increments, softens. For the first time since his return, he sees forgiveness. Forgiveness, and a strange species of sorrow: as if she's bracing herself against worse to come.

She's already lost him in more ways than one; to war, to prison, to something else entirely.

To Zaun itself: the loss that keeps on giving.

"Do you ever wonder..." she falters, as if casual discourse might veer the night dangerously off-course. "...if it would've been better if we'd chosen a different path? Stayed apart, in Nandi's wake?"

"If our lives hadn't met at Zaun's center?"

"If the ...grief... hadn't changed us. If we never became this."

"This?"

"Us." She gestures: copper fingers singing on oiled servos. Their everlasting entanglement; their perpetual estrangement. "What if we'd kept it strictly business. No strings attached."

"Strings can be severance. Or safety ropes."

"What's the difference if both'll strangle you?"

"Have they?"

"Don't pretend." Sevika sets down her emptied mug. The knuckles of her good hand are pale on the handle. "If we'd kept it straight business, maybe we would've moved on. You with Pearl. Me with whoever this city threw my way. Instead it's always been this weird limbo. The life we're living, and life we could've been living. Except—it's not living at all. More like the coffin's nailed shut six ways from Sunday. But the grave's still yawning open. Open to chance. But ...never closure."

Hope's not a commodity Silco trades in. But right now it's rushing in like a high tide over sandbags.  

"Then—" he swallows, "—is it closure you're after? Or an escape clause?"

Sevika shakes her head. Her sigh is edgy.

"Escape," she says, "isn't freedom. Freedom's a choice."

Silco nods, but says nothing. The silence, seconds ticking by, is an unspoken invitation:

Step through, and show me what you'd choose.

"It's why we work," Sevika goes on. "We didn't choose each other. We chose Zaun. That was the big picture, and we were both in it, and the rest didn't matter. For the longest time, that was all I needed. It was enough. But then... then you were gone. Zaun fell apart, and everything else fell to me, and fell fast. And as it fell, I started thinking: what if things had been different? What if we hadn't been so afraid? Of failure; of fallout? Of... each other? What if I'd stopped staring at the big picture, and taken the risk on getting caught in close-up?"

She meets his stare dead-on. Silco forces himself to weather the spotlight of her scrutiny.  He feels, inordinately, like he's facing a firing squad, and his shirt's half-buttoned.

"The days dragged on, and there was no news of you. But even so—even though we'd been finished longtime—I kept wondering. Kept wishing. Just like the night we'd lost on the Bridge. Me, searching and not finding. Me, left waiting and not knowing where to stand."  The deep-seated hurt in her eyes—a flicker, then a flame—makes Silco want to gut himself.  "There were other offers. Same as last time. Other options. I could've taken 'em and escaped that fucking loop. But instead—fuck. I kept on waiting. I waited, and I waited, and I got sick of the waiting. And it hit me:  I wasn't waiting at all. I was stuck. Because I couldn't bear to start again, after losing so damn much. Because moving on meant stepping into the dark, and having nothing underfoot if I fell."

Silco starts to say something. He doesn't.

This is about honesty—not eloquence.

"You know what makes Zaun stand apart?" Sevika says. "We're all about change. About action, not inertia. Me? I wasn't acting. I was going through the motions. Surviving. And in my survival, staying in stasis. Meanwhile the gangs kept warring. The chem-barons kept demanding. The politics kept getting bloodier. My world was coming apart at the seams, and there I was, clinging to scraps like my sanity was worth less than a potshot to the skull." A hard smile surfaces: tough as nails, and molten bright. "It'd be easy to blame you. Say it all led back to you abandoning us. Except we both know the score. You taught it to me, over and over. Cost and reward. Win or lose.  Surrender—or fight like hell to keep going."

"You did," Silco says. "This city owes itself to your fortitude. Not mine."

"I tried," Sevika counters, blunt. "I held the center, until I couldn't. But that's the point. Holding the center isn't going anywhere. It's stalling in place." The smile fades, but the fire lingers. "I don't know what threw us together. Chemistry, or karma, or fate playing games. But I do know this. I'm done holding the center. I'm ready to move on. But I can't—won't—unless I know you're moving too. Unless I know you coming back is a choice. Not a dead man marking time."

The ultimatum is brutal. But he reads between the lines. She'd kept it together, and kept herself intact. Survived, not as his second-in-command or factional proxy but as a person.

Just Sevika, fighting for life in a universe of atoms.  Just as he had done in the Deadlands.

Tonight, closure's not un the cards. But choice is.

And upon that choice, the groundwork for the next stage of revolution.

"Sevika," Silco begins. "I never considered—"

"I'll bet."

"I meant—I never understood, either. That holding the center meant staying in place."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Because you're always ten steps ahead of everybody."  Her eyes flash a semaphore of secret admiration. "Every option weighed; every factor calculated.  No errors. No exceptions."

Her faith nearly fells him. He's never been more unworthy of it. Never more terrified of knowing he's unworthy.

"I'm not," he says, "as clever as you think I am."

Her snort snags between his third and fourth rib. "Bullshit."

"It's true. I'm—"

Gods, what does he tell her?

That for all his sturm and drang—laying waste to a city and resurrecting it into splendor—he's a fucking coward at heart? Too gutless to let himself bleed; too feckless to let himself hurt. That for ten years, he's held onto himself by the skin of his teeth, and kept a city in his crosshairs—only to be undone by a little girl's tears? Unmade by fatherhood and the promise a legacy more lasting than the wreckage in his wake?

That he's still unmaking himself, putting the pieces in patterns yet unseen?

And still, there's no promise the pattern will cohere into a whole. Into a man who is halfway worthy of a woman willing to be his spine, his shield, his tether. A woman who has been through her own hell, and yet embodies every quality forged from that hellfire: tenacity, toughness, truth. A woman who manages ninety percent of her life effortlessly and the other ten percent ruthlessly; who fights harder for Zaun than anyone but him; who demands respect without begging for approval; whose tolerance for bullshit ends at the doorstep.

Who grants him access to her body, but whose boundaries are uncompromising. Who compromises daily, for his city's sake, and his own, and still sticks around when she has no cause to care.

Silco starts to speak. Stops. His throat's seized up. Ten fingerprints; Vander's phantom chokehold.

And beyond that chokehold: choice.

Silence crawls between them: tense, terrible, tetherless.

At last, Sevika gusts a sigh.

"Forget it." Her chair scrapes across the tiles. "I shouldn't have brought it up." She rises with military precision: all the momentum, with none of the grace. "Let's call it a night. I need some shut-eye, and you need to be at HQ. I'll radio the crew—"

The mind-body connection reinstates with a wallop.

Before she can withdraw, he's cut off her egress. For some reason he cannot fathom, he finds himself kneeling, though what he has a right to profess at her feet is beyond him. 

Daddy, he thinks, proposed to Mother like this.

The recollection's absurdly random, and strangely relevant.

Stunned, Sevika backs into the chair, her elbow banging off the wood. "...What're you—?"

"I choose."

The dark lashes flutter. The tough exterior conceals a flashpoint of panic:

He's lost it.

He's gone mad.

Gone for good, oh gods—

"I choose," he repeats, compelling her stare with his. "I'd choose all the choices that brought us here. Because that's what it was: choice. Not karma, or fate, or sheer dumb luck. I'd still choose to crawl out of that river, and stick a knife in Vander's back. I'd still choose to ally with you, because there was nobody else worth allying with. I'd still choose Jinx, and all the wins and losses that followed. I'd choose freedom; I'd choose Zaun. I'd choose to march the streets with my army—every misfit soldier, every broken soul. And you by my side, leading the charge. As you've led everytime I couldn't.  As you've led me through the hardest parts of our journey—whenever I failed to light my own way."

The fear shifts to something else: half-formed, fiercer in its vulnerability.

"You—you don't mean that," she stammers. "You never would have chosen this. Not me, not us—"

Silco takes her good hand in both of his.

Sevika tenses, but doesn't tug away. Plainly her first impulse; to save them both from something irreversible. He recognizes that fear; it's his own. 

In another life, he'd never give credence to its silhouette. He'd take her hand, twine her fingers through his, hold on tight—all without a single red lie. He'd have cupped her head, smoothed her hair, then dragging her close, so their foreheads met in a familiar circle of warmth.

That'd been the go-to, once. When touch was easy, and trust a matter of course.

Replicating the gesture now seems a forgery. Worse, a travesty of what once was.

Except what once was is no more. Neither are they. Whoever he is—he must learn it all from scratch.

Starting now.

He stays his knees; he keeps her hand in his.

"I don't care," he says. "I don't care if the odds don't stack up. Or what probability matrix I'm fucking over. All I know is: I choose. Us—whatever us means. Whatever it doesn't. Whether it's you jettisoning everything we've built, or me burning it to ground zero—I'd still choose where it's led us. I'd choose whatever path lies ahead.  Even if it takes us out of Zaun's orbit altogether—or down to the last circle of hell. No matter where we fall on that spectrum: I choose, Sevika." He breathes, steadies. "I choose whatever's left."

The silence spins like a roulette wheel: a freefall between extremes.

Her hand's a tether. He holds it tight between his fists, until the subdermal tremor stills.

"Silco..."

"Yes?"

Her eyes are burningly dark. "I'm what's left."

"You are." He skims a thumb over her lifeline, where blue veins branch across her wrist. Life coursing beneath: vital, raw, real.  "And you're what I choose. Fuck the rest."

Her breath jitters on a rare laugh.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Funny."

"How so?"

"'Cause that's exactly how I feel."

He lifts her palm to his lips. Feels the pulse quickening at the base, overflowing with all he's lacked; with all he needs.

Warmth, want, wholeness.

Unexpectedly, her fingers flex; she twines them through his. The cybernetic hand reaches out to seize his jaw. Gently, then not. She drags him in even as he flows into her embrace. The kiss is like whiskey left mellowing over the hearth-flames: fiery, smooth, familiar. Cardamom lingers in the gaps; the rest's doused in the residue of adrenaline.

Then desire simmers back into the brew: a low smolder, but with the capacity to roar should they pour a stiff shot into the equation. Her arms span his shoulders; his teeth catch her lower-lip. The kiss drags them down deep.

 Love's like revolution. An entire paradigm rewritten from the ground up.

In the aftermath, there's always blood.

When they break apart, it's only to breathe. Their skins are pinked with inner-heat; pupils dilated. Sevika's grip is unyielding; her thighs have gone from a rigid V to a needy cinch. His body, fitted between, has traded languor for livewire greed. Memories of earlier burn viscerally bright. Himself inside her, a cock thrust deep; a body on fire against another starved of heat.

He lays a kiss, openmouthed, at her breastbone. Her throat vibrates against his ear: purr, chuckle, moan.

"You should get going," she breathes, "before this gets ugly."

He laps the words from her throat. "That's the idea."

"Tomorrow's schedule... is a shitshow."

"All the better to end on a high note."

"Silco..."

It's a quaver of syllables. Halfway to futility—all the way to surrender.

By nature, Silco presses his advantage: cool palms coasting beneath the hem of her nightshirt, blunt fingernails ghosting goosefleshed flanks. Her breasts fill his palms like decadent teardrops: nipples pebbling into silky little hellos as he rolls each with delicate intent, then roughly pinches. Her startled groan fills his mouth.

Gods above and below—the way she arches; the way she rocks. Her own kisses have gone from scalding to incandescent. He knows they're no longer going to make it to her bed—at least, not immediately. He'll have her here, first: in the kitchen, on his knees. With his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock in her cunt.

Nothing romantic to it, but what he wants is far more real.

"Sweet Janna," Sevika gasps, as he rucks up her nightshirt and fastens on her bare tit like candy, "do you ever ease up?"

Silco hums the negation between her breasts. "...You?"

"Gods, no—" She cups his skull, drags him closer, "but tomorrow—"

"Fuck tomorrow."  The crudeness earns him a grin. Her fingers tighten on his crown; her knee hikes higher around his torso. "Tonight's Jubilee. Not your father's bloody funeral. Save the damp squib for when it counts."

 Her spiky smirk was spreading. But somewhere, he's hit the wrong note. The spark douses into stillness. Her arms loosen; the Valkyrie wilts.

In her absence, there's only the shape of a wary woman: heavy-boned and hard-lined; scars all across the skin.

Breaking their embrace, she tugs her top down. Self-conscious; unlike herself.

"C'mon," she mutters. "Don't play roulette with the cards you're dealt."

"I thought that was our calling." Bemused, he searches her face. "Unless there someone else you're hedging your bets on?"

"No." An old exhaustion creeps into her eyes. One that prefigures Zaun in its entirety. "Just... no."

"No?"

"I need to be counting sheep tonight. Not stars."

 Rising, she gathers the empty mugs, ferrying them to the sink.  The shift is sudden and inexplicable. His XO is carved from bedrock, with all its obdurate depths.  Moodiness is a character flaw she rarely indulges. 

A premonition prickles along Silco's nape. The monster stirring awake. He's never handled disappointment well. Rejection, worse. It makes his knucklebones lock around a blade's hidden heft; ready to dish out whatever collateral damage is necessary until his goal is within reach.

Mine, the monster hisses. Mine.

Ours, he counters, and wills himself to stillness.

"What's wrong?" he says, as mildly as possible. "A minute ago, you were ready."

"I was." She rinses the mugs. Her movements aren't tense, only sharply efficient. "But... tonight's not ideal."

"Bad head?"

Her sidelong smile is wan, but warms her eyes.  "Nobody'd level that critique against you, sweetheart."

The Sweetheart is a token; Silco pockets it as compensation. They don't do endearments; haven't in years. Perhaps, tonight, it's one of many rules they're unwriting.

Or perhaps Sevika's setting new parameters for intimacy altogether.

Not his strong suit: abiding by limits. But, then, neither is sharing.

Yet here he stands. Near enough for her heat to soak into him; not so close as to invade her space.  He's in no position to inveigle, especially after laying his cards at her feet.

The dice is hers to throw.

"If we're going too fast," he says, "say so. I'll match whatever pace you set."

Her head pivots. She looks—truly looks—as if he's an anomaly she's never encountered.  Something enthrallingly new, and far too dangerous.

"You're not angry," she murmurs.

"No."

"Why not?"

His shrug isn't effortless, but it's honest. "We've had a string of long days. We deserve to take the edge off, however we like. If that means shut-eye instead of screwing, so be it. But," and here the devil seeps to the surface, "I'd be lying if I said a quickie wouldn't put a spring in my step tomorrow."

She doesn't laugh, but it's a close call. "I think I'll manage without the extra bounce."

"Are you sure?"

"You know me. Always on the ball."

"You're not. Though you do a damn good job hiding it." He reaches out, thumbing a tangle behind her ear. "You're wired. You're always wired. But this is the first time it shows."

She tenses. But the touch, lingering, softens something within. Her eyes drift half-shut. "...It's nothing."

"No?"

"Just... there's too much riding on the line."

"We're the line, remember?" The caress drifts lower, cupping her nape. She arches into his palm: a dragon seeking shelter.  Yet within their closeness is  sense of something sinister. A splinter of truth, caught in between. "Unless, in honor of Jubilee, you've chosen abstinence for the month."

"Hardly." There's a trace of a smile; a shadow of bitterness. "That was Nandi's cup of hemlock."

"Hyssop."

"Huh?"

"Hemlock's the killer. Hyssop's the healer." Off her stare, he tips a shoulder. "Your sister taught me the finer points of herblore. During our courtship, I was always bruised, bloody, and bone-deep in doom. She couldn't steer me tidy, so she choose to teach me how to triage a broken arm."

Sevika's scrubbing slows. "That sounds like Nandi."

"A born dogooder."

She laughs—a frayed but genuine sound—just as he suspects her mouth may be running short on indulgence.

"Nah. She had a wicked streak. Only difference is that hers came with a heart of gold. Whereas mine..."   She performs a neat sidestep to hang the mugs off their hooks. "Got mine from my old man. Not a lick of shine in sight."

"I disagree."

"Your eyesight's one flaw worth enumerating."

"If I had to list yours, self-deprecation wouldn't feature among them." He catches her wrist, but lightly. "What's wrong? Because something is."

"Something." Her shrug's an imitation of his, but a poor one. "I guess... I'm just being superstitious. Thinking: if I let myself go now, I'll slip up at the next critical juncture. Or get so fucking pissed when you're back to being Zaun's reigning bastard, I won't be able to keep a lid on it? Because—" She swallows. "That's the deal between us. There's always a catch. Cost; reward."

He lets her wrist go. "You think I'm playing games."

"Everything's a goddamn game with you. Same way everything's a game with Janna her-own-damnself.  And those games always end up at cross-purposes—and into clusterfucks."

Her silence doesn't quite sit right; Silco feels its surface ripple like a sine wave. There's something vulnerable inside. Something, conversely, walled-off.  It recalls the gloss in her eyes when they'd been going at it before. A stormfront brewing north.

Now it occurs to Silco the storm may not entirely be his doing.

"What is this?" He's prowling a circle around her now. "And if you say 'nothing'—"

She nixes the warning with a sharp headshake. "It's not."

"What, then?"

Outside the flat, fireworks: scalding showers of garnet red and verdant green. The eerie fractals dance through the blinds.

On the last ebb of colors, Sevika swallows.

"I can't—" Her voice snags; her lips pull taut. "—trust a single thing about tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you're you, and I'm me. Between us, there's always a flipside. Some wrench in the spokes. Some debt overdue. That's how this game works. That's how it's always worked." Her chin lifts, defiant, but the eyes hold a haunted sheen. "You drive a hard bargain, Silco. But tonight? This deal feels too good to be true. And whatever I have left... I'm not ready to lose. Not if—if you mean what you say. And not if this is the only shot I get at—at—fuck."

Abruptly, she punches the wall. The lapis tile cracks like ice beneath her cybernetic fist.

Dazed, Sevika stares at the damage, the copper knuckles flexing.

A heartbeat later, she's in tears.

Silco's at her side before he registers it. The monster—always slithering, always shapeshifting—is lured to the stress chemicals wafting in the air. The rest of him—the vestigial organ pumping the barest heat to every extremity—pulls rank over roiling appetite.

This isn't a foe to fight. Nor prey to penetrate.

This is Sevika baring a bellyful of hurt.

"Sevika." He catches her shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing." Furiously, she backhands the tears. "Look, forget it. Just—forget it. It's been a long fucking day. I'm tired. Tomorrow, everything will be fine. You'll be the terror of the deep, and I'll be the stone-cold bitch. Same old, same old. We'll move on; move forward. Like we always do."

"We will." His grip tightens, anchoring her in place. "But not tonight. Tonight, I want the truth."

"Nothing worth sharing." 

"Let me be the judge of that."

Abruptly, she wrenches loose.

"Since when do we swap sob stories?" she erupts. "Since when does the Eye of Zaun care what's going on between my ears, and not what deal's brewing in the the backrooms? Since when do you care about anything beyond the big picture, and not what's right in front of you? And why now, Silco? Why tonight, of all nights? When I'm at the end of my fucking rope, and it's just a matter of time before I slip up and strangle myself?"

"Because," Silco snaps, "I do care."

"You don't." She's breathing hard, as if she's sprinted miles to get here. "You're not Sil. You haven't been Sil in over ten fucking years. I was fine with that. Fuck, I was better than fine. I was grateful. 'Cause Sil was mine, and he'd stay mine, even if the rest fell, and our bones rotted. None of this—the dirty deals, the politics, the backstabbing—would touch him. He'd always be that dreamer with a big speech, and the best intentions, even if the worst came knocking.  But you—" Her mouth twists. "—you're the fucking monster, remember?  The goddamn anti-Sil. You're not supposed to care. You're not supposed to feel a thing. Except lately... you look at me like Sil used to. Like he's still in there, under fifty feet of icewater, and I can't take it. I can't stand you pretending to be him. You can't be. Because him, I knew. Him, I've I believed in. Him, I fought for, and for him, I'd gladly die. You—you're a changeling who stole his skin, and I hate you for it. I hate myself more for wanting you. Because it's too risky to want you. Not if it's all or nothing, and nothing's my most likely bet."

She's barely breathing by the end. The fury's spent itself. Her body's deadweight.

Silco's the one lost at sea.

"Is that what you think?" he says, low. "I'm a pretender in my own skin?"

"I think the last ten years have been a fucking nightmare. I think, whatever you are—whatever you've turned into—that you've still got a long way to go before you're a man I can trust."

"But you want to trust me." He's inching closer. "Trust us."

"I can't!" She jerks back. "I can't go back there. I can't let myself hope."

"Why not?"

"Because—" The bravado cracks. "Because what's left isn't worth losing. You're never gonna change, and neither will the game, and we're both too fucked up to make this work."

"You're wrong."

Inexorably, he advances; she retreats, until he's caged her against the counter. The monster's wide awake, instincts primed to strike. It's Silco's way; coercion as conversational art; proximity as pressure valve.

But here's neither advantage to be extracted, nor damage to impart.

Only his refusal to let her suffer alone.

"I won't," he repeats, softer, "And I'm going to prove it."

"How? By threatening your way into my pants?"

"By owning the truth. Whatever that truth is." He doesn't touch her. Only breathes the salt-scented air between them: stress, sex, tears. The sensory olio solidifies the stakes. "I'm not Sil, and I'll never be again. But he's what I became, Sevika, and he's in me. All the pieces, and none of the pretty. But whatever's left, you can have it all.  So long as you'll give me the same."

She shivers. Doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't lash out.

But nor does she run.

"You're asking a lot," she says, raggedly. "What if it's not worth it?"

"Let me be the judge." He holds her eyes. "Tell me what's eating you alive. Because whatever it is—whatever's got you so scared—it won't be the end of us, Sevika. I swear."

Sevika resists; a muscle quivers in her jaw. But the tears are relentless.  Each drop's a surrender, unmaking hard-won stoicism by stages.

Finally, she sags. Her voice is uncharacteristically small.

"It's my old man. He's back."

[cherryeclipses]

i love you, i'm sorry ☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

dean winchester x reader

angst, childhood lovers to enemies (potentially to lovers again), i love writing angsty dean I'm sorry. warning - I hardly edit any of my writing sorry

word count: 2.1K

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

cause that's just the way life goes ...

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

You were 16 when you met Dean Winchester, he and his brother Sam were new to your school. The moment you met you instantly had a crush on the boy, he was charming, funny, dangerous, and downright sexy. The only problem was every other girl in your grade felt the same thing, hell even some of the guys did. Dean had the kind of energy when he walked into a room all eyes were on him. It wasn't until a few months later when you would finally speak to him, it turns out his dad and yours were friends; hunting friends. Okay maybe friends is too much, more like acquaintances, they would help each other if they were hunting the same thing. John and your father had decided now that John was to be in your hometown for at least the next few months that the three of you kids could keep each other company.

The first time the three of you met officially it was a horrible stormy night. Something straight out of a horror movie, the rain was pelting against the windows, making them rattle, and thunder clapped so loud in the distance it sounded as though the apocalypse was beginning. John came over to your house with Sam and Dean to sit down with your father and go over the lore of whatever monster they were hunting now. "Darlin' you remember John Winchester?" Your dad said lazily, gesturing to the elder Winchester. You just nodded politely. "Well these are his sons, Dean and little Sam. " He continued. "I know, I've met them already." Both fathers looked at you confused for a moment. "I mean, they started at school last month. I think I have a couple classes with Dean." You shrugged, trying to play it off. You caught Dean's expression from the corner of your eye, he was smirking at you, one eyebrow raised in interest.

As the two men retreated to spend the night in the study you were left standing in the kitchen with Sam and Dean, awkwardly. "I'll show you both to the living room, we can order a pizza or something?" You turned on your heels and the boys followed you into the next room. You sat on one end of the couch, Sam on the other and Dean sat in the armchair across from you. Sam started flicking absentmindedly through the tv channels, trying to drown out the uncomfortable silence. "It must be nice to have a real home and don't have to move schools all the time." Sam spoke up. "Uh yeah, I guess it's alright. I mean it'd be even better if dad wasn't a hunter at all." You gave the young boy a sympathetic smile. You looked up to see Dean still staring at you, you couldn't tell if he was eyeing you off or judging you; but either way it looked like he was about to eat you. You felt your face heat up, your crush sitting meters across from you, in your house. It was unreal.

The rest of the night dragged on, you watched a few movies and ordered pizza, none of you talking very much. Eventually Sam fell asleep so you got up off the couch to cover him with a blanket. As you passed Dean to pick up the blanket he finally spoke up. "So what classes do we have together?" He asked innocently. "What?" You asked startled. "When your dad was introducing us you said we have a few classes together. A beautiful girl like you, I'd remember. So I'm curious." You were stunned, there's no way he just said that. "Um I think English and history maybe." You answered, sitting back down besides the sleeping boy. "No wonder I haven't seen you." He laughed. "There's no way anyone could make me sit in the most boring classes of the day." You rolled your eyes, yeah sure they were tedious but you actually wanted to graduate. "So what do you do with all your spare time then? Surely not studying?" Now it was Dean's turn to blush, you had heard a few notorious stories about Dean and a certain janitor's closet. He just shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

Ever since that night Dean started showing up to his English and history classes, and not only showing up but coming in early to make sure he had the seat beside you. During breaks he would find you out by the football field and join you for lunch. You had so much in common, not just your unstable life as a hunter's kid but same taste in music and cars. It felt like you finally met your soulmate.

Eight months later it was time for the Winchester's to move on. The longest they had stayed anywhere (thanks to Dean) but John wouldn't be delayed any longer, he had a lead two states away and was determined to follow it. The night before he left, Dean snuck in through your window to say goodbye. Gifting you a dainty necklace adorned with your birthstone - you didn't even realise Dean knew what a birthstone was! "What's this for Dean? So my heart can break everytime I put it on?" You ask, looking up at the boy with tears in your eyes. He takes your left hand, running his thumb over your knuckles comfortingly. "No, this isn't goodbye forever, just for now. Just until dad ganks this son of a bitch and then I can come and see you again. I promise. Just wanted to get something for my favourite girl." He leant down to place a kiss on the top of your head. Wrapping your arms around him you pulled him in for the tightest hug you could muster. "I don't believe you, but I still love you." You chuckle against his chest. You feel his heart skip a beat, pausing before he replies "I love you too."

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

It didn't take long after graduating high school for you to fall into the hunter's life. After spending your senior year fighting with your dad about the future, you did exactly what he expected and gave in. He had taught you how to hunt from the age you could hold a shotgun.

It was the reason your mum left.

Although you were fulfilling your destiny of becoming a hunter, you refused to hunt with him. After a particularly explosive fight you called your boyfriend. Dean knew about your daily arguments but he also could feel that this one was different. This fight was bad enough, pushed you far enough to call him crying and begging to meet him wherever he was. Dean was currently hunting a vampire nest with John only a six hour drive from you. The minute your phone lit up with an address you jumped in your car and sped off. Not looking back for a second.

"She's on her way." Dean announced to John, shoving his phone back into his pocket. John sighed in response "she'll get her anger out on this hunt then she'll drive right back home. Don't expect her to stay with us. Even if she wants to, the answer's no." He said solemnly. "I don't think so, this is different. She hates this life, so it'd have to be really bad." John nodded not looking up from his paper. He tolerated yours and Dean's relationship. He had nothing against you personally, he just didn't believe you could be in a relationship and live their life. He would put up with you for as long as it took you to realise that and run off to find someone stable.

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

That was almost four years ago. Since then you had joined the Winchester family on most of their hunts, surprising John with not only how well you could research and retain lore information but also how quick you were in a fight.

You had begun to grow close to Sam, he was like your best friend and the little brother you never had. When you were left alone to research he would often confide in you his feelings and dreams for the future.

One evening Dean returned to the motel alone, John abandoned him for a dive bar down the road, to you and Sam asleep on the couch. Your head resting atop his, your hoodie covering the younger boy from the chill in the air. Dean adored how you loved Sammy, how you both got along and you took care of him. He kissed your cheek and noticed how cold you were. Removing his eather jacket and gently placing it around your shoulders before settling into bed for the night. He didn't dare wake the two of you.

Over the years, you had the privilege of watching Sam grow into a young man and live out his dream of leaving the hunting life for college. The weekend before he left he made sure to visit you to say goodbye. Hugging you goodbye and making sure you had his new number but not before making you promise you wouldn't give it to Dean or John. "Cross my heart. I'll take this phone number to my grave along with every embarrassing crush you've told me about." You giggled, making an x across your heart. "Okay, okay, thank you. I just want to start over and I can't if they're trying to track me down." He smiled sadly. You looked up at Sam (he had now grown 10 feet tall and towered over you) "I get it but I can't promise they won't try to track you down anyways." You shrugged before giving the boy one final hug goodbye. "Good luck little Sammy." You joked as he left for good.

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

Ever since Sam left things had become tense among the Winchesters. Well, more tense than they already were. John was more irritable, it seemed like he would take his sadness and frustration out on you, yelling at the smallest mistakes or refusing to give you details on their next hunt. Dean was torn, it was wearing him down, trying to deal with his brother leaving and his father and girlfriend fighting. You had had enough and had thoughts about leaving for awhile, just taking a few solo hunts away from John until things cooled down - you really wished you could steal Dean away as well but that would make things so much worse.

"-absolutely not! You go out there and do what needs to be done Dean. This has been going on for far too long and you know it." You heard John shout from inside his and Dean's motel room. "You don't know what you're talking about, she's the best damn hunter we've ever worked with." Dean responded, sounding just as furious. You hesitated going inside. You were going to tell Dean about your plan to give John some space but now, now they were fighting about you. You took a step back, you couldn't just leave without saying goodbye, so you waited. Anxiously twisting the birthstone around your neck your back against the wall, you waited for the screaming match to be over.

"She's bad news, always has been. Just like her damn father Dean. You can't keep dragging her around, it ain't fair." "I love her. " Dean growled. "You wouldn't know love if it hit you in the face." And with that the motel door flung open to reveal a furious Dean.

Tears stung your eyes, threatening to overflow. "How much of that did you hear?" Dean asked. "Enough." Dean took a deep breath and led you away from the motel door. "Look, I'm sorry. Honestly I never wanted you to hear that fight. But there's something I gotta say." Your breath caught in your throat, it felt like you were going to puke. You couldn't say anything back, so you just waited for him to go on, "I-Jesus-I can't do this anymore." He chokes out. "We need to break up." Tears pour down your cheeks silently. "We need to? Or John wants us to?" You seethe. "We need to. It's not fair, you never wanted this life. I know what you wanted, you truly want what Sam left for. An apple pie life. You could still go to College, meet someone normal. I can't, no I won't, keep bringing you down like this." His voice raises. "Seriously? After everything. You're giving in?" Nothing. Dean stands there, looking like a lost puppy. "Fine, I'll leave, I know when I'm not wanted. But before I go, I hope you're aware you sound just like John now. Congratulations." You whip around and walk as fast as your legs will take you to your car. Speeding off down the highway, making sure to stick your middle finger out the window for Dean to see.

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

currently writing a part 2

[bitchinbarzal]

We’re a team | J Middleton

summary: your five year old has a genius plan to get her parents back together.

-

You weren’t sure when the shift had happened, but things with Jake had become tense. It wasn’t just the natural awkwardness of co-parenting with your ex—the man you’d once envisioned forever with—but something deeper.

It started subtly. Jake showing up to drop Jade off with a frown, responding to your polite questions with clipped answers. You figured it was hockey stress or exhaustion from travel, but then you noticed it was mutual. You’d catch yourself rolling your eyes at his texts, your patience wearing thin whenever he questioned something about Jade’s schedule.

And then there were the accusations.

“You don’t think I should be spending as much time with her?” he had snapped one evening as you tried to wrangle Jade into her jacket.

You blinked “What? I never said that”

“Jade told me you think she should be with you more. That I’m too busy with hockey to be a proper dad”

Your stomach dropped “Jake, I would never say that”

“Well, she didn’t pull it out of thin air” he shot back, the hurt clear in his eyes.

It had spiraled from there. The next week, you picked Jade up and she asked “Mommy, why don’t you want Daddy to have a girlfriend?”

You nearly choked “Excuse me?”

“Daddy said you got really mad that he was dating someone” she continued, swinging her legs happily.

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel “When did I say that?”

Jade shrugged “You just did”

You tried to brush it off, but irritation simmered in your chest. And when you saw Jake at drop-off the next day, you didn’t hesitate.

“I don’t care who you date” you told him, your tone sharper than you intended.

Jake’s brows furrowed “What?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been telling Jade, but she said—”

“I didn’t say anything to her!” he interjected, throwing his hands up “She told me you were the one saying stuff about me!”

The argument escalated, voices rising in the entryway as Jade sat quietly in the middle, her head ducked.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples “What is going on?”

And then, a small voice broke through the tension.

“I lied”

Both of your heads whipped toward Jade.

She looked down at her hands, swinging her little legs “I lied” she repeated softly “I just… I wanted you and Daddy to like each other again”

Silence.

Jake knelt in front of her “Baby, what do you mean?”

Jade sniffled “You don’t laugh with each other anymore. You don’t hug. I thought… if you got mad, then maybe you’d talk more. And then you’d want to be together again”

Your heart clenched.

You crouched beside Jake “Oh, sweetheart” you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Jake’s expression was pained as he cupped the back of Jade’s head “You don’t have to do that, okay? Mommy and I both love you so much. We’re always going to be a team for you, even if we aren’t together anymore”

Jade sniffled “But I miss you both”

Jake glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. It had been so easy to focus on the friction between you two, but in doing so, you’d missed the way it affected Jade.

You took a deep breath, softening “We’ll work on being better, okay?”

Jade hesitated, then nodded.

Jake shot you a look, a silent agreement passing between you.

That night, after tucking Jade in, you lingered at the door “Maybe we can be better about this” you admitted “Less fighting. More talking”

Jake exhaled, running a hand through his hair “Yeah. I’d like that”

And for the first time in a long time, the tension felt like something you could mend.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Good Dolls Don't Lie

(A stand-alone follow-up to Good Dolls Play Pretend)

The cafe was on the top floor of the library. The trip into the city was nice; all you needed was to be told the directions once, and you could find stillness as you travelled.

Before long at all, you reach the top of the steps, and see him waiting for you. He notices you and waves, before getting up from his seat, leaving his coat and bag behind to come and great you.

"Hey! Hey, I'm… really glad you made it. Was it cold?"

You smile, giving him a little curtsy. You tell him you're glad, and that the weather wasn't a problem.

"Oh, right, that... yeah. Doll. That makes sense."

The line for the counter is just a few people long, all of them going to sit to wait for their drinks. As they wait, the person is nervous; he's bouncing on his feet and rubbing the lining of his pants pockets. The doll is still.

"Hi there, how can I help you?" The barista asks with a deliberate smile.

"Oh, I'll just have a hot chocolate."

"Of course. And for the doll?"

"Um…" he looked at you.

You politely give the barista your order, a chai latte.

The barista is surprised when it hears you speak your own order. "Alright, coming right up! Please have a seat." She says in a cheery tone, turning back away from you to address the person.

He leads you to your seat. It's in the corner, giving you a wonderful view of the people below. There are people waiting for the bus, walking along the sidewalk as they talk into their phone, and there's even someone sitting just outside of the library trying to eat a sandwich without taking off his mittens.

You're lost in thought, for only a moment. You think about people, how rich the lives and inner worlds are of everyone you see. Every direction you look has a million people doing a billion different things. Every stranger having struggles you could never have the chance to help with.

"H-hey, so uh..." You turn to face the stammering person across the table. You can tell he's still fidgeting with his pockets. "Thanks for meeting up with me today. You really didn't have to... sorry, is 'you' okay?"

You give a polite nod, telling him you don't mind and thanking him for asking.

"I didn't wanna just assume." He smiles back. "Anyway, uh... yeah. I wanted to apologize about the party, I never would've invited you if I knew about the whole, uh..." He gestures towards you.

You forgive him, and thank him for inviting you, and then for recognizing your discomfort in the moment.

He forced a nervous chuckle. "You're not just, like, saying that, right? I know that like, dolls are polite and stuff, but..." He trails off, looking to you expectantly.

You softly shake your head, and tell him that good dolls don't lie.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. He takes his hands out of his pockets, one resting on the table as the other glides through his long hair. "Okay, that's... really great to hear. I'm glad."

A call for a hot chocolate and chai latte from across the seating area. You begin to stand. "Oh, let me!" He slides out of his seat, turning to leave, but quickly turning back. "Unless you want to? I can like, let you, if this is a doll thing."

You tell him it's fine. You worry about tone a little too late, and decide to smile at him after he's turned back around. He looks excited to be so helpful. It's the closest he's been to the supportive rock he acted as at the party, when he got to help you.

You look back out the window. The sandwich man's given up and taken his mittens off. His hands look cold.

The person sets your tea down in front of you and takes his place. He watches you as you take a sip, seeming almost disappointed when your reaction is poised and subdued. You quickly take a second sip. You compliment the drink to him.

"Oh, cool! Makes sense you've got a taste for that kinda thing." He doesn't smile much, but he doesn't seem all that nervous anymore. He goes to take a sip of his drink, but sets it back down once the heat reaches his lips.

"So, I know tea is like, a doll thing. Is it... is it a physical thing?" He shrugs, unsure of himself. "Like when people are vampires, and normal food stops being, like, tasty."

You explain that it is simply something you enjoy, and your body lacks the needs of a human's.

"Oh, wow, that... yeah, that totally makes sense." He nods along knowingly, as if your words were more for confirmation that information. "So, uh, did it... sorry if this is a weird question, but did it hurt? I mean, when you, became." He stammers, gesturing vaguely in your direction.

You answer him, saying it was uncomfortable yet relieving, and comment that he seems interested in dolls.

"Oh! Well, like, a normal amount, I think." He adds, talking quickly and just a little excited. "I mean, it's just... interesting right? Just the idea that a person can just... stop being themselves. I mean, like, I get the idea that a lot of dolls say they were never human to begin with, but, just, y'know, the whole... becoming. And everything. It's neat."

You ask him if he's considered it.

He moves around more than this entire meeting up to this point as he considers his answer, talking as if he's desperate to convince you of something, but isn't sure what it is. "I...! I mean, like, who doesn't think about that sort of thing, right? I dunno, I mean, maybe if I was, like, one of those dolls they make from scratch, then y'know, obviously that'd be really cool, but like, I've just got, y'know..."

He trails off. He tries to take a sip of his drink and burns himself again.

You ask him, again, if he wants to be a doll.

"I... I mean..." He looks away pensively, his gaze landing out the window. You glance quick, and see that the sandwich-eater has moved, and she has much longer hair than you could see before.

"What are people gonna say?" He shrugs, leaning forward. "I... I've got this whole life as a person. And besides, I... it's not something I really want anyway. I mean, like, you always hear about dolls that always knew, kids that pretended to be dolls on the playground, and I... that's not me. I wouldn't wanna, like... I dunno. I can live with being a person, really, it's not... I don't want it that bad."

You tell him good dolls don't lie.

He almost... flinches, like you touched an exposed nerve. Just beneath the surface, he's fighting off a giddy smile. "Uh, s-sorry, I, uh... yeah, I, I mean... it's..."

You give him a nod, and ask him if he'd like to visit Miss's manor some time. His smile finally bursts to the surface.

. . . . .

The new doll opens the door mere seconds after you knock.

"Oh, sorry, was this one late? It got a little distracted..."

You tell that one that it's fine, and it's perfectly on time. You can't help but peek behind it, only for a moment, seeing the full-length mirror. That wasn't there last night.

"Thank you so much for guiding this one..." The new doll sounds so heartfelt, its voice bubbling with gratitude. "It's... very excited to begin!"

The other doll excitedly follows you out, a spring in its step and a shine in its smile. All of its nervous apprehension cracked and discarded like an eggshell.

[tobiasdrake]

Still thinking about Brave New World. I should note that the film had five writers and extensive reshoots after test screenings. It even changed titles at one point during the re-re-rewriting process, originally being Captain America: New World Order. So that explains why there is some jankiness where things it sets up suddenly go nowhere or certain things seem... oddly handled.

Ross is the biggest victim of this, sometimes feeling like he's flipping back and forth between different creative intents for his character from scene to scene.

That being said, I've seen some criticism that the film repeats TFATWS's problem of having Sam take a position of obnoxious centrism, and I don't think that's true. I think Sam takes a very clear and unambiguous position.

It's just that it's not necessarily about what the fandom might be more interested in talking about. Here we go with spoilers.

Sam doesn't engage much with the adamantium treaty in the film. He does briefly engage with it. He takes the position that going to war with Japan over resources would be bad and Ross should not do that.

But Ross is positioned as being in the right about the treaty from the start. He wants to enact a global agreement between nations to share adamantium with the world rather than any one country hoarding it to themselves. It's a startlingly progressive position both for Ross and for the United States, and makes up the bulk of the film's attempts to make us sympathize with what is otherwise a complete fucking monster of a human being.

Sam, for his part, only really engages with the treaty insofar as trying to hold Ross to what few principles the man has and keep him from being provoked into ruining it.

But Sam Wilson's deal in this movie isn't about international treaties for natural resource allocation.

Sam's deal is about a criminal justice system that is disinterested in justice. It weirdly dances around the topic of race; Isaiah Bradley and also four white guys, it's not about race, there were four white guys too gets arrested for a crime he didn't commit and then the four white guys are immediately killed by the villain so we don't have to ever talk about them again. Uh. Okay.

No reason is ever given why they didn't kill Isaiah too. It's like those guys were literally just there to downplay the optics of a black man being arrested and scapegoated for a crime he didn't commit. Arrested, I should note, by a white authority figure who then tells Sam he's not good enough to wear Steve Rogers's mantle and calls him "son".

You can feel one creative intent trying to talk about a thing and another creative intent going "Oh no but this isn't actually THAT. We don't need to talk about THAT, right?" But we kinda do because that is what the movie's about, for Sam.

That is the unambiguous position that Sam takes. From the moment a bunch of cops surround Isaiah with guns drawn and it's really tense because we know just how bad this can go, that is the political space that Sam occupies.

This man has been arrested for a crime he didn't commit, and even when the truth comes to light, the government is going to let him be put to death for it because it's more politically convenient than the truth. That is what the film wants to talk about. You can even see the throughline between what is being done to Bradley and what was done to Sterns.

Sam tries one time to talk to Ross and say, "Hey man, let's actually investigate this thing properly and find the truth." And when Ross responds by throwing a racist tantrum and telling him to go fuck himself, Sam responds in kind and breaks into government facilities to find out what they're going to kill Isaiah to keep hidden.

Sam takes a very clear position. Isaiah is innocent and Sam's getting him out of there whether the government likes it or not. He is determined to expose the truth and hold power accountable.

It's just that it gets lost in the five-scripts-frenzy of Ross's many conflicting interpretations. Ross's racist tirade? Never comes up again. In fact, at one point, one of the writers has Sam stand there and sympathize with him, saying in a moment of pathos that he knows what it's like to be prejudged by people.

Which is a wild position to write into your script. Like. Yeah, being a black man in America, that's the same as people hating you for the many awful crimes you've committed in your rise to political power. Weird thing to have a character say in an awkward bid for sympathy towards Ross's misguided redemption arc.

But Isaiah's innocence? That the government is about to do something abominable to him, and Sam needs to get him out of there no matter what it takes? The film never wavers on that point.

The movie is basically Captain America: Civil War if the fandom got what they wanted and the Accords were presented front and center above the Bucky story.

[wisteria-lodge]

To clarify, I included other peoples’ perspectives because it felt more accurate than just sending you my thoughts about me.

Okay, that's fair. And also a very Bird secondary (or Bird secondary model, in your case) thing to so. Giving me more "objective" data.

I often think of myself as cold, awkward, and a mess but I’ve been informed repeatedly that’s not true.

I will agree that it doesn't seem true, going from the anecdotes you've shared about your life. I'm going to say that this particular string of adjectives points more to a Burnt secondary - you don't feel immoral, stressed, or lost (more the sign of a burnt primary.) All of is is language about how you doubt your ability to problem-solve and exist in the world.

This could be because I still feel corroded by the childhood trauma, like there’s something tainted in me. That’s why I’m so bad at self-care. I care for people that I value and cherish, but I’m not one of them (I’m working on it.)  

Good. I mean, Loyalist who kicks themself out of the group is a whole specific thing in this system. Very Tony Stark (Snake Lion.) I am still tentatively liking Badger secondary for you. I'm wondering if you might like my Sally (Nightmare Before Christmas) sorting. She's got a Badger secondary that's been sort of 'poisoned' by her particular situation, she's built a 'safer' Bird secondary to live in.

It's interesting that you read me as prioritizing groups because I don’t really think of relationships that way. I prefer seeing friends 1-1 or in small groups where everyone’s individually friends with each other (as seen in my perfect day). But even then, I view the friendships as separate, overlapping connections, not as a group I’m loyal to. I’ve had friend groups fall apart, but it was fine because I stayed friends with the couple people I was close to. It’s nice hanging out with a group in this new city, but I’m more focused on developing individual friendships with a handful of people. 

Oh that's very, very interesting. Because now you're sounding a lot more Snake, and I'm wondering if that's it - you're a very expansive Snake. I mean I just brought up Tony Stark, and that's his entire deal.

When I’m stuck about a decision and talking to friends, I go separately to different people. But I usually know what I want. I didn’t question the opportunity I moved for, for example. Years ago, I did something similar, moving across the country where I didn’t know anyone. Back then, I felt trapped and had the chance to work on a political cause I cared a lot about. It was a way to make a difference and do what felt right, but it also made me feel alive. 

And then you will just drop in something that feels very classic Lion: Political cause, going at it alone, 'felt right' 'I know what I want.'

I was vague about my people for length, but in the interest of details: I care deeply about many friends—and love my cat more than almost anything—but my most important people are my little sibling, a college friend, and 2 friends from my old city (3 out of the 4 are badger secondaries, the other is a bird.) I used to think my college friend was the closest one could get to the platonic ideal of a person, but thankfully I’ve grown out of putting people on pedestals.

Oh that's very, very young Snake.

I will say it sounds like you have an unusually large inner circle for a Snake... but the way you think about them, and feel about them - yeah it's Snake, not Badger. And you know, if a Snake primary's People are safe and doing well... they will often model one of the other primaries over the top. This definitely sounds like it could be the case with you and Lion.

I wasn’t doing it deliberately, but I did know I acted differently around my lion secondary ex! Their fun energy was one of the reasons I liked them. And I wouldn’t care if a friend applied for that workshop scholarship, even if wasn’t strictly speaking necessary.

Yeah, you're not a Badger primary. That mirroring still sounds pretty Badger secondary though.

I didn’t because applying would’ve said I needed it and that’s misrepresenting myself (No clue why that matters so much.) But morality can differ; everyone weighs choices against their own conscience.

Hmmm. Identity angst like "misrepresenting myself" does often go with Lion primaries. Lying isn't an issue (if you view it as purely a problem-solving thing, which it sounds like you do.) But presenting *yourself* falsely is annoying to an Internal primary, because your inner self is the truest 'true' there is.

Frankly, I’m jealous of my snake primary friend because she’s not as rigid or worried about these things. 

And now I'm thinking you might be a Snake primary yourself! It's absolutely a thing to be jealous of people who share your sorting, but generally only if you aren't able to express that sorting yourself. Like if you're Burnt, for instance. But... you don't really seem Burnt? You talk about friends, you talk about going to them with problems, you seem to have a large, intact circle, which I wouldn't expect from a Burnt Snake....

Except... maybe you're almost like, stealth Burnt. You do say things like "People can hurt you, or they can leave, or change. Or you could leave them, or hurt them, or make a bad decision on who to trust. It just seems so precarious and vulnerable" which is pure Burnt Snake. You also talk about running solo across the country to follow Idealistic causes, in a way that you don't consider to be 100% healthy ("I know it’s not healthy to be consumed by a Purpose but I want to be.") And I have SEEN Burnt Snakes do this. People aren't safe, so model Lion and lock onto a Cause. (Lions do the inverse: Causes aren't safe, so lock onto a Person.)

I’d never considered being a badger primary before. Community is important, it’s good to help people, I’d help a stranger or an acquaintance if I easily could— but I wouldn’t feel guilty saying no. When I no longer loved my ex, I stopped feeling like I had to help her. I was also younger then. These days, I have fairly good boundaries with people. Nonexistent boundaries at my old job, but that was also tied up in the political cause. I’m still recovering from the burnout; friends said for years that I should leave but I ignored them until I couldn’t. I’m not involved in the cause anymore, but now I can prioritize my art. Maybe I’ll go back eventually, but I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would. 

Yeah, okay. I'm kinda liking Burnt Snake with a Lion model for you. (And your Snake Primary was at one point much more Burnt than it is now.) The Lion, the focus on political causes, it's a coping mechanism that turned unhealthy (which, sure, could point to a Badger on another person, but in that case I would expect more of a focus on either more on the organization, or the people they were helping. "Work until they get pissed about it" isn't really a Badger motto, it's a Lion motto.)

And not to get all 'tell me about your mother' - the inability to trust your family growing up, and the pressure to perform what sounds like a Badger secondary, it is going to make it harder to be vulnerable around the people you love, which is the Snake primary dream.

For my perfect day, I picked a prize because they’re more strategically useful: usually gives more money, can be included in bios, CVs, etc. Bread baking’s also more of an experiment for me than community. I love tweaking and inventing recipes. (My dad taught me how to bake; he can be a bit of a mad scientist with different types of flour.)

Aww yeah, and you're dad's a Bird secondary too. I see it. I enjoy the Bird secondary reasoning behind what sounds like a very cottage-core day.

Bread can also be unpredictable so it’s a little different every time! Cake, on the other hand, is challenging because all the planning is done in advance. It’s harder for me to make small adjustments (or be impulsive) on the fly. 

Little bit of Improvisation secondary energy getting in there? Interesting.

External validation/recognition is nice, but I don’t find it especially motivating. If I feel that I didn’t do a good job, other people liking it doesn’t really sway me.

Evidence of an internal primary (Lion or Snake.)

I’m more motivated by an internal drive, which, uh, hasn’t always worked out well. I did two theses as an undergrad: one for honors for one major, and another for my second major. Literally everyone in my life said I shouldn’t do the honors thesis, but I wanted to, so I did. That was one of the three big burnouts of my life, an ex had to give me an intervention—and if I went back in time, I’d do it again (but try to sleep/eat more).  I also don’t particularly yearn to trust everyone. I’m very private so that sounds uncomfortable. But I do want to be more vulnerable with people I love. I’m open to a point; I can keep even my very favorite people at an emotional arm’s length or isolate from them. Sometimes I think of love as deep water with seemingly no end. I’m working on being more vulnerable in therapy because it’s necessary for the intimacy I both crave and fear. 

Badger and Snake are such an interesting pair, because they are SO similar... but they're also flipped. Badger is External: they want their world to be safe, and to then to be a part of that world. Snake is Internal - they want to feel safe, they almost want to bring their chosen People into them, and make themselves a world that way.

Deep down, I’m still scared of the risk of fully trusting people. It feels like taking off armor and handing them a sharp knife. But that’s the work, to quote my therapist. (Romantic love is still entirely terrifying. I’ve only been in relationships that I knew would probably be temporary. Once, I realized I was falling in love with a close friend and completely panicked because there’s no way that could be casual.)  

This is the internal tragedy of the "fun" Snake character in a lot of media - flitting around, never settling down. Klaus Hargreeves gets into the pain of this, a bit.

Turning to my childhood, yes, I handled most of my problems and organized holidays, but I wasn’t an easy kid. (She loves me because I’m her child but has never really liked me. She tries at least.)

Just that matter-of-fact way you say that is so devastating. It sounds like you've processed it, at least.

I fought with my mom constantly. I’d find ways around my parents’ rules so I wasn’t technically breaking them—or figure out how to break them without getting caught. Concerning the party, I totally could’ve faked being social, that’s why my mom was frustrated. I just was bored and didn’t want to. 

Fighting with parents is just a human thing, but it's more common for someone with Lion in their sorting, either Primary or Secondary. Makes me think you built your fiery Lion primary coping mechanism pretty young, probably as a way to handle your family.

Is that a snake mask? I’m confused about the difference between badger and snake secondary shifting.  I bounce off energy/shift unconsciously because if I try it deliberately, I usually second guess myself, feel like I’m bad at it, then also feel guilty because it feels like the wrong way to do things. I worry I come across as fake, but I’m not. Even when it feels like I lose myself, reacting without thought, I’m still me. 

Okay, wow. If I had this bit all on it's own, I would 100% say that this is a description of Snake secondary shifting, and not Badger secondary mirroring. And I mean, we *know* that you were low-key required to do a Badger secondary thing by your family growing up. Does that mean the Badger is *also* a model, and underneath that is Snake? I mean if that's the case, no wonder you're confused about the difference.

The major difference between the two strategies is that Snakes are more conscious/deliberate about their switching. They will also switch multiple times during an interactions (Badgers usually don't, or at least they don't like to.) Snakes often have a 'face' that they wear for a specific person. Also, sadly, they are more likely to feel guilty about this way of doing things... especially if there's any Badger in their sorting or their environment. @air-in-words has written beautifully about the self-hating tendencies of Badger Snakes specifically.

These were the bits that really made me think Courtier Badger for you:

I can’t do it deliberately though, I overthink. It just…happens. Like I’m bad at flirting if I try but I’ve accidentally hit on people before. There’s been multiple times where I’ve had dinner with a friend and then realized it accidentally turned into a date. I do reflexively adjust to people’s energy around me. It isn’t conscious, but sometimes I shift too much and lose myself in it. I wasn’t doing it deliberately, but I did know I acted differently around my lion secondary ex!

Which is very, very Badger! But now I think I should have focused a little more on that "I overthink." Because that's Burnt secondary language, and specifically Burnt Snake language. You TRY to do it deliberately... but overthink.

Now that I think about it, deliberately shifting is easier around new people because I’m less worried. During that meeting, I was fully pretending I already knew the information. It was an external meeting so I didn’t know much about the person or company. I began by asking questions to learn more but also to stall while I was rapidly googling and putting pieces together with what I already knew. Thankfully this was on Zoom so I could get away with that. If it was in person, I probably still would’ve pretended but said something like “It’s been a bit, I’ll just double check if they updated their system.”

It was stressful but also exhilarating, reminding me of a game I played during a college seminar, where I would see how little of the reading I could do and still participate in class (most of the books were about like white men looking at trees, okay, it could only be so interesting.)

Oh that's EXTREMELY snake secondary. A Badger would not have fun doing that. And that's key, also. Using your secondary feels good, it feels powerful. It sounds like you've been living in your Prep-Work models kind of a lot recently. I'm not surprised they're a bit burnt out.

Describing this as a mask feels too distant from myself; it feels more like switching faces. However, I’ll also bounce off energy instinctively, without meaning to or a plan. 

... almost like you're improvising. This is definitely Snake language. I've definitely heard different Snakes use "mask" and "face." Badgers and Birds talk about their social shifting very differently.

I’m more comfortable being manipulative with language. I’ll make arguments that I know will appeal to the person, I’ll phrase things to match how they think. I’ll strategically leave things out.

Snake secondary.

I can be blunt, but usually only when I’m tired or around friends. 

Snake secondary going into Neutral.

I do over plan, but I also struggle with boring work or consistently working on a big project a little bit at a time. I thought badger secondaries valued diligence? I feel like I’m too restless. Could it be a model?

Again we've got some negative/self deprecating language attached to your prep-work secondaries. Badger secondaries get restless like anyone, but yes they do value diligence, and work for it's own sake. It takes a lot (too much probably) to get a Badger to cut corners, and that doesn't describe you.

The whole “learning how to be good at things, figuring out what situations need, and people liking me”— I do that because it works. It’s easily adaptable and a pleasant way to move through the world. But when I think about what I do for no gain but my own enjoyment, it’s like recreationally lying to Uber drivers. 

I've never heard a more Snake secondary thing in my life. Unless you count my Snake secondary mother, who likes to recreationally talk to MLM recruiters and pretend she's interested. Also that whole "I just do what works thing... you seem in a pretty good place with it right now, but that can be a huge sign of a Burnt secondary. When you're living in it, no type of problem solving is more fun or satisfying than any other. You just do whatever, until the thing gets done.

Anyways, I’m curious to see if this changes or reinforces any of your thoughts! Thank you for the time you’ve spent on my sorting and all your helpful writing on this system.  <3

You had a very interesting one. A lot of models. Here's what I think is going on with you in terms of the system:

You're a Double Snake, but growing up in an environment that wasn't especially conducive to a Double Snake. It didn't feel safe to trust people, and felt safer (and still satisfying) to trust causes instead. So you were a firey intense kid and you built a Lion primary model, and did that until it obviously wasn't working. You also have a snake secondary model, but are definitely conflicted about using it, and use it very sparingly if at all. You prefer to live in your Prepwork models (and you've got a lot of important Bird and Badger secondaries in their life, it is very common for Snakes to build models 'for' or at least inspired by the people around them.) The Badger seems... comfortable, and the Bird seems like a fun toy. However they both seem a little charred from overuse, at the present time.

I hope very much that you can find a way to relax back into both your Snake primary and your snake secondary a little more (without feeling guilty about it!) and not have to be putting in all this effort with the rest of your models all the time.

Thank you to R for such an excellent follow-up! If you'd like a Sorting of your very own, commissions are open on my ko-fi. :D

badger primary + badger secondary (slightly burnt-out bird secondary)

unBurning snake primary (lion model) + burnt snake secondary (badger model) (bird model)

 Hi, Wisteria! I’d love to get your perspective on my primary/secondary; it feels like I’ve been going in circles. This got so long omg, but hopefully it has everything you need. My guess would be that I’m a lion primary or snake primary (maybe burned?).

Interesting. Because Burned primaries... especially Burned internal primaries... often come across as an unhappy version of something else. Or else they think they're an *unsuccessful version* of something else. I'll keep an eye on that.

For secondary….not lion probably? I feel like I don’t really ~get~ lion secondaries, but they’re charmingly incomprehensible and have fun energy to bounce off of. This might be why I’ve dated multiple lion secondaries. An ex of mine once said that I was much more playful and sillier around them than with other people.

I'm wondering if you might be a Badger secondary. Courtier badgers can kind of unconsciously "bounce" off other people's energy like that, and the fact you didn't notice the change taking place, it had to be pointed out to you, makes me thinking that the shifting probably is unconscious.

I have a lot of Opinions about the proper/moral way to act in the world and they can be rigid (funny enough, lying isn’t on that list). I also tend to make most decisions into moral questions.

Oh that's some Bird primary energy right there. You're mentioning a list (even as a joke, even in passing) and you're talking about your Series of Opinions Which Answer Moral Questions, rather than "being passionate" or "being stubborn" or just listing me some of your positions... which would be the more Lion-flavored thing to do.

And not finding lying inherently morally objectionable - that's just a pretty standard utilitarian thing. I think that was John Stewart Mill's thing, it's only the purpose of the lie that's important.

Once I wanted to take a writing workshop that was kind of expensive. But I didn’t apply for one of the scholarships because I technically could afford the class, even though it was a stretch. Intellectually, I knew that it would’ve been fine but applying for the scholarship would’ve felt wrong.

Hm. The scholarship would have helped but it wasn't necessary... so you felt bad about taking away from someone who needed it more? That's sounding a bit like Badger primary need-basing to me. Badger? Badger-flavored Paragon Lion primary? I see what you're saying about Lion vs Bird though: intellectually knowing that something is probably fine, but not doing it because it just Feels Wrong is certainly Lion.

Things feeling “right” is so important to me. When I’m making a hard decision, I’ll make pro/con lists and talk it over with friends, but I’m always keeping an eye on my own gut feeling. It’s helpful when a friend suggests an option and my gut goes “NO”. Like, scratch that off the list! 

I mean, Birds *can* use their gut as decision-making factor. But because this anecdote is about problem solving strategies, it goes in the Secondary category. And this is pretty darn Badger secondary, using the group as such an important part of your problem solving strategy.

Normally I’d say something about wanting to try and make the world better but all I want to do right now is sit quietly and make art. That’s the burn out though.

That's a pretty idealist primary answer. But also... one you don't feel 100% great about, going by that caveat about "burn out." Starting to see why you think you might be specifically a Burnt Lion.

I’m usually fairly intense; a coworker once compared me to that army charging down the hill in the Narnia movie. 

That could honestly be any secondary, but what has me interested is that this is the second time you've used the words of someone outside of you (your ex, your coworker) to define yourself. Which is more of an external primary thing (Bird or Badger.)

(I framed it above as “making the world better” and that is something I really care about, but honestly, part of it is that I like winning.)

I mean, no one likes losing. And "making the world better"... like what person wouldn't say that? They'd all just have different ideas of what that meant.

Describing a fantasy feels overwhelming, my gut instinct is to say “feeling free” but that’s not concrete.

(correct :)

I guess my perfect day would be waking up early, getting lost in an art project for hours while bread bakes, going for a walk by the ocean, meeting up with friends for brunch, wandering around with them, getting the news that I won a prize for my art, having dinner with some other friends, and then going home to call a long-distance friend, read a book, and fall asleep cuddling my cat. 

Three separate outings with friends in one day! :D So what I'm getting from this is that community is really, REALLY important to you. Your perfect day involves meeting two groups of friends, catching up with a long distance friend (presumably someone who's harder to keep in touch with, so chatting with them is itself a bit of a fantasy in itself.) And then you win a prize, ie - you are recognized by the community for your art. Also fresh bread specifically is such a shareable baked good... and none of this is problem solving. I'm wondering if you might be a Badger primary, just going by how much community has been weighted in this ask so far.

One of my friends suggested that I might be a snake primary

And to keep count, this is the third time you are defining yourself with the words of someone in one of your communities.

because I value loyalty and friendship so highly. Most of my happiest moments, when I felt the safest, were being around close friends.

You use a lot of collective nouns, which is a trick I use to divide Snakes from Badgers (because of course, they're both Loyalists.) You've used the word "friends" five times. With Snakes I hear a lot more "my partner" "my sister" "my best friend."

I definitely rank people in my life, and I don’t feel bad about prioritizing my favorites over others.

Badgers do prioritize the people they like slightly more. Badgers are *people,* and people have preferences. But they are also very aware of who has the most *need.* Like that writing workshop scholarship: you didn't need it the most, and so you felt bad about taking it. I bet you would have felt equally bad if one of your friends who also didn't exactly need it applied.

However, I’m really, really bad at basic self-care (we’re talking “eating regular meals” and “getting enough sleep.”)

I mean, this can be evidence of all sorts of things I am not qualified to diagnose over the internet... but having trouble with self-care is something that Badgers historically struggle with. a lot.

(and something that Snakes, even Burned Snakes, don't really have a problem with.)

Also, I recently moved away from most of my friends for an incredible opportunity. I miss them, but I never seriously considered not going. 

I'm going to take a guess that this new opportunity involves a group of some kind. I mean, clearly you have a lot of different groups of friends, which is fantastic.

A different friend, who is a snake primary, pointed out that I always need some cause or project. I do tend to get caught up in things and vanish for a couple months but always reappear eventually.

That's interesting. Because so far, when you've talked about a cause or project, the the recognition/other people involved seems kind of key. You like "winning": It's "I won a prize for my art" not "I sold a piece." And that's amazing, that's a great way to keep up energy and motivation. It just means you've probably got an External primary. (Bird or Badger.)

I know it’s not healthy to be consumed by a Purpose but I want to be.

Going from the tone of this ask, you seem a very upbeat, lively, dynamic person. Except when you're talking about these Idealist causes. Then it goes from "my happiest moments, when I felt the safest, were being around close friends" to "I know I'll burn out" and "it's not healthy." Where is all that coming from?

It feels stabilizing, invigorating—and safer than centering people. I even get stressed about how much I love my cat. People can hurt you, or they can leave, or change. Or you could leave them, or hurt them, or make a bad decision on who to trust. It just seems so precarious and vulnerable. I’ve had a hard time my entire life opening up to people -

I'm just going to point out, that I've written a bunch of these, and objectively... it sure seems like you've opened up to a LOT of people during your life. Now, maybe that's not as many people as you would ideally like, but that's also kinda a Badger primary thing. In a perfect world, a Badger primary would like to be able trust everyone. But when doing that doesn't feel safe... then the Badger primary burns a little. And, Burned Loyalists have a way of looking like stressed-out Idealists. (the same way that Burned Idealists will look like stressed-out Loyalists.)

I'm honestly not getting much Burnt Badger energy from you though. Maybe like, a light toasting. On your bad days.

- or letting myself need them.

There we go. I mean partially, yes having trouble needing other people is a human thing. But Badgers primaries are so, so much happier being needed and useful themselves than the other way around. (It's why they tend to have boundary issues.)

I’ve cut friends out before and didn’t feel bad about it because they hurt people and didn’t take responsibility for their actions—

Sounds like they hurt the group? Which is a very Badger primary way of thinking about it, and a good example of Badger primary opt-out loyalty, versus Snape primary opt-in loyalty. A Badger will say 'I will care about you until you do xyz' while a Snake will say 'I won't care about you until you do xyz.'

but none of them were in my inner circle. On the other hand, I had a hard time setting up boundaries with an ex because I loved her and she needed help.

Boundary issues. Need-basing. (Badger)

(I used to wonder if she was a good person who sometimes did selfish things or a selfish person who was capable of great kindness. Eventually I decided the question was reductive and didn’t matter.)

I think you're right about that. I suspect we are all both, at different times.

My family is….complicated. I was the kid who had to be okay.

Ooof, I hear that.

Like, I started to organize the holiday cooking/baking schedules when I was a teenager. When I was a child, I went through some trauma that I kept hidden from everyone, including my parents, because, like, why would I tell an adult? What could they do? I was a mess, but learned how to seem like I was fine. I read my parents’ child psychology books so I could tell when they were using things from them on me. 

Yeah, this is brutal. It'd be brutal for anyone, but especially brutal for a Double Badger, which I suspect you are. You're describing a situation where, very young, your community just was not safe. It couldn't help you, or protect you, it was even trying to "trick" you (with child psychology methods.) And in that situation, what do you do? Well, you're a child so you go Invisible Badger, where your identity just /is/ whatever the group needs. And apparently... your family needed an easy kid who planned holiday get togethers.

My dad’s a double bird.

Maybe *that's* where some of your Birdy language is coming from.

My mom’s either a badger secondary or has a badger secondary model (maybe actor bird?). She has a very obvious Socializing Mode and it used to frustrate her that I didn’t follow suit. She once told me before a party “you’re charming when you want to be, so please want to” (the year before, I had brought my history textbook to this party so I could look studious and get out of talking to people). 

That is both very relatable, and has a number of potential causes. (I have a very hard time at a lot of holiday parties, I find them very overstimulating, and will absolutely find ways/excuses to tuck myself away for a little bit.)

Your mom strikes me as more an Actor Bird than a Courtier Badger. She just has this 'Social Mode' setting which she can just turn on, even if (presumably) she's not feeling it that day. And she thinks that you do too... but I think you might be wired differently. And that's the Courtier Badger thing: in the moment, you have to authentically /become/ the thing, or it doesn't work.

For years, I thought I was a bird secondary. I love systems, I love knowing things, I love having something in my back pocket. I even used to have a system to determine which color of heart emoji to text (it was based on the closeness of the friend and the level of affection expressed).

That's adorable. And honestly, very useful-sounding.

I find roles comforting. I used to do costuming for theater and I still pick out my own outfits like I’m dressing a character, paying attention to what mood/vibe it communicates.

All of that sounds extremely Bird secondary. I will say though... it sounds like you had to build a model to survive your childhood, you had to "learn how to seem like I was fine." Bird is the most common model to build (especially if your dad is right there as a model.)

The issue is I like roles until they feel restricting or boring or I’m annoyed and feel like causing problems on purpose. As a kid, I was fairly mischievous. I convinced this kid in my class that I had a treehouse in my backyard where two Dalmatians lived, just for the fun of it. 

That feeling of getting "stuck" in a role is absolutely something Actor Birds struggle with. This, and the example near the beginning about getting more Liony with your Lion friends, makes me think that what you really like is having the opportunity to bounce off other people's energy. I get that. It's what I'm doing right now.

Sometimes I find my plans and elaborate systems claustrophobic. I automatically reach for them when I’m feeling anxious, but do they actually help?

Sounds like your Bird model functions as coping mechanism. I mean it's also a toy that you like to play with, yes, with your costumes and your systems. But it doesn't sound like it's necessarily something that you want to live in.

But I don’t know how else to tackle problems.

I mean, I'm hearing that you like to reach out to your friends, and then have quiet periods where you just buckle up and do your own thing.

(I think that your Bird model is just a little bit... burnt out. You've been using it so much that it feels like a chore, and that's where a lot of this burnt secondary language is coming from.)

Still, planning can absolutely trip me up. Some of my most successful moments came from just reacting.

Courtier Badger (or Snake. And I guess a very social snake /is/ possible. But Snake secondaries, and especially Badger Snakes, have a way of being either a little more deliberate (or a little more *guilty*) when it comes their face-changing.)

I can’t do it deliberately though, I overthink. It just…happens. Like I’m bad at flirting if I try but I’ve accidentally hit on people before. There’s been multiple times where I’ve had dinner with a friend and then realized it accidentally turned into a date.

Yep. Relatable. Badger secondaries (and not just me) often talk about getting into a "flow" state where you're completely in tune with the other person, reflecting them or bouncing off them. Sometimes you're not even sure how you got to a certain place, and have to come back down.

Sometimes I’ll do things instinctively and then have to backtrack to explain my reasoning to others (when explaining how to filter information in a database, “vibes” is apparently an insufficient answer).

I feel the same way about editing. I *love* editing, and I am aware that at this point I edit based on "vibes." Like yes, I'm sure I could think about it and logically explain my choices, but that's not what the process in my head looks like.

If there’s nothing I can bounce off of or if I don’t know how to read a situation, I freeze up. 

This is why Badger is a Prep-Work secondary, even though Badger secondaries are not generally comforted by very elaborate plans the way that Birds are. You get better the more you know about a situation and the people who are involved with that situation.

I don’t think that I’m a badger secondary.

Interesting. :) Let's hear the reasoning.

I do work a lot, but it’s not in a consistent, methodical way. My phone lock screen used to say “Work until they get pissed about it.” Lately though, I’ve been wondering if this burn-out inducing work ethic actually leads to success. I’ve achieved things through sheer effort but

I'm wondering how much of this "methodical" work ethic is you over-using your Bird secondary a little bit. Too many charts, too much planning. I'm wondering if maybe your dad was like that... and maybe it worked for him, but it sounds like a chore for you.

it feels like I’ve gotten where I am more by learning how to be good at things, figuring out what situations need, and people liking me. 

That is a straightforward description of a Badger secondary. ESPECIALLY the 'figuring out what a situation needs' and 'people liking me.'

I do reflexively adjust to people’s energy around me. It isn’t conscious, but sometimes I shift too much and lose myself in it.

SO. BADGER. When I shift too much, I can have almost a slight hangover feeling afterwards.

Like, I’m so focused on the moment that I’m not thinking about a longer term strategy. 

Badger. (But you are prepping. Because you're learning.)

Shifting does feels like I’m fooling people a little. Improving my way through a meeting at work instead of being prepared ahead of time feels like I’m getting away with something or cheating.

Nope. That's the Bird secondary in your head talking.

Still, it comes in handy. I once was in a meeting about something I vaguely knew how to do, but it turned out that it was actually about this very technical aspect that I didn’t have experience in. So, as I was talking around the issue, I was googling and speed reading. 

See, this where I think Badgers actually do shine. Because yeah, you didn't know the specific topic. But you knew the other people there, you knew the company, you knew what was needed, and so I bet you were value added, even just keeping the energy up.

I really want to be this super organized, steady person but I’m just not. I’m mercurial, easily bored, and so restless.

It sounds like what works best for you is friends, and play, and that's something that can kind of go missing from your life. But you like you love your job, you're good at your job. And I think you need to give yourself (and your Bird secondary model) a break.

But I think I do need a routine? My old job was intense and I was constantly on call. Now I’m in a new job that is more predictable and has very flexible hours. I can go grocery shopping any day of the week and it’s overwhelming. I don’t know how to be structured without feeling stifled. 

Going from a job where you are constantly on call to one with flexible hours is just going to be an adjustment, no matter what. You've also just recently moved, and are presumably building up your community in this new place. I think you're going to be just fine. The fact that the job is predictable will help, the fact that you're working with other people will help.

Thank you for your time! Hope you have a good day!

You are very, very welcome. <3

Thank you to R for such an excellent submission. If you'd like a Sorting of your very own, commissions are open on my ko-fi. :D

If you'd like to read more about the system I'm using, my explanation is right here.

[qqueenofhades]

Is it foolish of me to sympathize with how marginalized people on the far-left are incredibly frustrated that the Democratic establishment isn't as scared of/desperate to please them as the Republican establishment are toward the MAGA fringe? I guess from their perspective, voting feels like begging - most of the people who hear you won't even glance at you, let alone drop you a coin. But you still have to do it, or else you (or worse, your family) are *guaranteed* to starve.

Okay, a few thoughts here. Note: for you and the other people who have recently sent politics asks, I have been very deliberately NOT talking about it for the last few months. I had to break it yesterday because of the Orange Menace finally getting fucking convicted, but I do want to go back to not doing that (at least for the next few weeks/months/until whatever else stupid happens). So while I will answer this, I am generally not going to answer others and my apologies for that, but yeah. It's just so much and I have GOT to keep myself sane until November somehow. (Or God forbid, afterward, but you know.)

First off, most members of the American far left aren't actually marginalized people, or at least not marginalized enough that their personal well-being seems in any way likely to be affected by their loud and ceaseless campaign to tell other people not to vote. Actual marginalized people who have lived in America for any length of time are *well* aware of how the government and the state can be weaponized against them; witness how black community organizers will voice well-deserved criticisms of the Democratic establishment or other aspects of American party politics that are frustrating for everyone, but they will still always tell people to vote. Black people are also extremely aware that earning the right to vote was an incredibly long, difficult, and bloody battle that they were never given it for free, and the white power establishment fought them having it at every turn. They are thus far more aware than your average white online leftist that voting matters, because they had to work so hard to get it (and still to defend it as various red states launch openly racist assaults on voting rights, especially aimed at disenfranchising people of color). Witness how Bernie also got literally zero traction with African American voters, despite being the darling of the (white) online left.

Hispanic people are also (rightfully) frustrated at how both American parties can use Latino immigrants as a political football, but they're still backing Biden by 30-point margins. We hear a lot of chatter about Trump supposedly gaining ground with voters of color -- maybe he has, though I doubt it, but that's still incremental gains from the massive holes he was in before, and where he generally remains. Arab Americans are (rightfully) angry with Biden over Gaza, but even in the much-hyped Michigan primary, he got roughly the same amount of "uncommitted" voters as Obama did as an uncontested incumbent in 2012, and most of them have said they'll grit their teeth and vote for him in the general election anyway. Yes, a few of them have decided not to, but they are not the size of the Black and Latino populations in America insofar as electoral power, and many of them have grudgingly decided that as bad as Biden might be on this particular issue (though far less so than the social media groupthink would paint him) the alternative (i.e. Trump openly promising to deport everybody who's not white and crack down on pro-Palestinian protests and anything else) is much, much worse.

And yet, white leftists seem utterly incapable of making these same calculations. Frankly, I'm not sure they actually care about Gaza, let alone anything else they say, because if so, they wouldn't be slavering at the mouth to let Trump back in there to "teach a lesson" to Biden, Democrats, and everyone else who was not Smart And Clever Enough to sanctimoniously sit on their hands and let the fascists take over. I know this because they spent all their time lying about Biden and distorting his record and insisting people not vote even before October of last year, and then it only got ten thousand times worse. I'm not saying that all leftist or leftist-identified people are white, but they are disproportionately predominant in leftist spaces and in pushing the idea that there's "no difference" between the parties and somehow Trump and Biden are morally equivalent or will have the same amount of impact on what will happen after one of them is elected. That is, yes, because they are white and they have the privilege of assuming that a weaponized fascist government will not go after them for that reason (even though Trump and his surrogates are now claiming that "everyone" who opposes Trump has to be "dealt with.") As such, when you say that marginalized far-left people are frustrated with the Democrats, I'm... not entirely sure that's true. Marginalized people AND the far left are both frustrated with the Democrats, but one of those groups has generally still decided not to voluntarily disenfranchise themselves, and the other is pumping out Vladimir Putin-wet-dream anti-voting propaganda at every chance they get.

There is also the fact that America is not a left-wing country in any sense of the word, and that while it's easy for the MAGA Republicans to go ever further far-right and promise to be even more outrageously cruel and stupid and fascist than ever before, but that's not an actual policy or a plan. It is also a strategy of diminishing returns; witness the fact that for all the cruelty and stupidity Republicans have pumped into the public arena since 2016, they haven't actually been that good at winning elections, and most of their major successes have come from Trump winning in 2016 and thus being able to stack SCOTUS and the district and circuit courts with hand-picked right-wing nut jobs, who are functioning exactly as they were designed to do. (Which Hillary Clinton warned about, along with everyone else, and yet she was taken out by the exact same dirtbag leftist disinformation moral purity machine that is working overtime to handicap Biden for the exact same reasons.) Mainstream Democrats warned about this before the 2016 election and were scorned and laughed off. Indeed, the entire Online Left continues to resolutely deny that the extremist SCOTUS is responsible for anything (It's Biden's Fault) and thus are likewise identical to Trumpies. And since they also want Trump to get back in there and teach a lesson to the Democrats, they're just as anti-democratic, dangerous, stupid, and deliberately short-sighted as actual MAGATs, and can by no means be considered allies to the singular movement of keeping fascists out of power. That is our only present goal.

If Democrats bent over to everything the far left asks for (which is often a combination of tankie gobbledygook, various vague ideas about Communism utopia where capitalism magically vanishes with no consequences, half-baked revolution cosplays, and other stuff that is functionally equivalent to the wildest lunacies of MAGA) they would never win an election again, and that would be exactly what the fascists want. Witness how they struggled when they were branded "defunders of the police" and "socialists" and other effective responses to the mildest milquetoast efforts for reform or accountability. And the political climate right now is just far too dangerous to throw everything to the wind and prance out some pipe-dream perfect-utopia plan. I'm sure you've heard about Project 2025 and how the far-right Heritage Foundation is planning to systematically implement fascism at all levels of the country, the instant they have a compliant Republican president and congress. I would take all these people crying about Biden even a fraction more seriously if they weren't openly jonesing for something that is so unbelievably, incredibly worse.

For example: I currently have major beefs with literally the entire foreign policy of the Biden administration right now. I think they're being too hard on Ukraine (forbidding them to strike targets on Russian soil with American weapons, which would end the war faster) and, despite some promising signs and open displeasure, still far too easy on Israel. They looked foolish after insisting that Rafah was a red line and then essentially making up an excuse that what's going on now is not a "major operation." Secretary of State Blinken floating the idea of helping Congress censure or neuter the International Criminal Court arrest warrants issued for Netanyahu and co. was also one of the fucking stupidest things I've heard from a serious (i.e. non-Trumpist) American diplomat in a long time. So we respect the ICC when it issues warrants for tyrants we don't like (Putin), but when it issues one for tyrants we still do, apparently (Netanyahu), then bingo, it's back to the bad old habit of ignoring international law like we're special and it doesn't apply to us, and allows all the other bad actors around the world to do the same by pointing at America and correctly pointing out that we ignore it when it doesn't suit our purposes. I think this is wrong and I don't agree. So? What am I going to do?

Well, you see. I'm going to vote for Biden and I am going to give him money and I am going to remind everyone I know that they have no moral option but to do the same. I do this because I am aware that despite my disagreements, Biden is acting from a cautious anti-interventionist standpoint and does not want to throw American military might around recklessly or dangerously like good ol' George Dubya or Trump or even Obama and the drones. He is listening to sober mainstream advisors who have (however incorrect and useless) ideas about "avoiding escalation" and trying to bring conflict to a managed end. He is doing this with a realistic appraisal of the power of the office of American presidency and he's not going to capriciously end democracy and become a full-blown fascist dictator on day one, as Trump has openly and repeatedly promised to do. Yes, if there was a viable option apart from Biden, maybe I would think about voting for them, but there is not, and literally everyone who does not actively vote for him is helping Trump. I do not care about any other contrived and disingenuous online squealing. I know that Biden does not want the war in Gaza to go on for no reason and for maximum carnage; Netanyahu and Trump both do. That is just to name one thing.

So: yes. I absolutely understand being frustrated with the Democrats and wishing they would push harder and etc. But I am also aware that they can be pushed, that they are the only option right now, and the people who huff and puff and whine and groan about how it's such a moral imposition to vote for them are literally doing the fascists' work for them, and that is not acceptable. If they want a better system or a better world that isn't just useless internet fantasies about magical end-of-days Raptures fixing everything, also a la the crazy fundamentalists, they will have to get off their ass, do the work, and create that change. I will be happy to vote for that candidate when or if they arrive. In the meantime, I will continue to do my damndest to ensure that we even have a chance to get there. So yeah.

[snobgoblin]

why are people so fucking rude. screams

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[screamingcrows]

To anyone coming here from the mains discord server, hi, Dottore would be proud of your curiosity for coming here ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ nice to meet you!