#other than that her mental acuity is

[greenvertumna]

I have a pretty low amount of social energy okay. And my best friend calls me twice a day. And my grandma calls me five fucking times a day. I am constantly exhausted.

[wilwheaton]

The words below were taken verbatim from a campaign speech former President Donald Trump delivered in Potterville, Michigan, Thursday when he was attempting, at least initially, to criticize Kamala Harris’ record in San Francisco, presumably referring to her tenure as district attorney there: "She destroyed the city of San Francisco, it’s — and I own a big building there — it’s no — I shouldn’t talk about this but that’s OK I don’t give a damn because this is what I’m doing. I should say it’s the finest city in the world — sell and get the hell out of there, right? But I can’t do that. I don’t care, you know? I lost billions of dollars, billions of dollars. You know, somebody said, ‘What do you think you lost?’ I said, ‘Probably two, three billion. That’s OK, I don’t care.’ They say, ‘You think you’d do it again?’ And that’s the least of it. Nobody. They always say, I don’t know if you know. Lincoln was horribly treated. Uh, Jefferson was pretty horribly. Andrew Jackson they say was the worst of all, that he was treated worse than any other president. I said, ‘Do that study again, because I think there’s nobody close to Trump.’ I even got shot! And who the hell knows where that came from, right?

Questions surrounding Trump's mental acuity are a real 2024 story

Um. What?

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 11 - IQ Reduced

(CW: trans character, mental gap/time loss, teacher grad student dynamic)

“You know what I love most about the new batch of grad students that come in every year thinking they know so much about everything?” Avery’s eyes tried to focus as the teacher paced back and forth in front of the chalkboard. Her steps blurred together causing her to look as though she were moving in slow motion. Avery felt her head hurt with each attempt she made at focusing. Why was it so hard for her to focus, just a few minutes ago she had been so attentive and now she could barely keep her head from falling into her chest.

“They have such high IQ’s. Of course they do. How else would they end up in my class, after all, I designed it for only the smartest of the students, but every so often, one student who just doesn’t quite make the cut stumbles in. Isn’t that right Avery?” Avery blushed, she had taken the class even though her test scores didn’t quite meet the threshold. The guidance counselors had warned against it saying that taking Professor Bindi’s class was only for the most skilled students. But she knew she could do it, she would work even harder than she usually did. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to take the class.

Professor Bindi gripped Avery’s short brown hair and pulled her head up. The teacher looked down at her from above and Avery felt herself groan. The teacher was so smart, she shouldn’t have been here. She was stupid to take the class. She knew that now. She didn’t want to be here, she wanted to go home. But it was so hard to think of how to move. Even as the teacher pulled her head back smirking, Avery couldn’t think of how to move her own head.

“It must be so hard for you to think now. It doesn’t take long for the arrogant ones to show up and break.” Avery opened her mouth to protest but Professor Bindi quickly shoved three fingers into Avery’s mouth. Avery moaned, immediately licking at the fingers. A part of her mind reeled back against her instinct to do so. Why was she doing that, and why did it feel so good to have something in her mouth. Her attempts to complain quickly silenced with soft whimpers from deep in her throat.

“My you are a weak willed one.” Professor Bindi smirked and quickly pushed aside Avery’s notebook and slid onto the long table. Her skirt slid up her legs showing the bare skin where her tights ended just underneath. Avery’s eyes drifted downwards, she was so embarrassed.

“You see, my class is designed for only those with true mental acuity. After all, it is designed to explain how to manipulate those weaker than the smartest there are for our own gain. Subliminal suggestions, mindful triggers, and simple tricks that are designed to break the weakest minds without them even realizing.” Professor Bindi removed her fingers drawing a wet streak over Avery’s cheek before giving her a sharp slap across her face. Avery blinked, her mind focusing for a brief moment as she leaned back against her chair gasping as if she had awoken from a dream.

Professor Bindi was doing something to her. Avery slowly started to push her chair back with her feet trying to put distance between them. Professor Bindi raised one foot and quickly spun on the table, her skirt twisting. Her shoe slammed against Avery’s chest pinning her to the seat, the seat pinned to the table behind her. The heel pressed against the base of her rib cage sharply digging in. Avery gasped.

“Please…I’ll drop the course. I’m sorry for not listening to-“ Avery protested quickly shrinking in on herself.

Professor Bindi raised a hand quickly silencing Avery. Avery found her voice cut off as she mouthed silent words that trailed off into a jumbled mess of thoughts. “Avery dear, I have no intention of you dropping my class. You see, unlike most of the other mindless imbeciles who were already well on their way to being mindless thralls, you managed to write notes on every single thing I said. Even as you stared ahead blankly, lost, your intelligence dropping point by point into blissful oblivion, you managed to stay entirely focused on every word I said.” Professor Bindi lowered her hand and Avery felt her mind slowly start to piece itself back together.

“What- What do you want from me then?” Avery didn’t know why she couldn’t fight the control Professor Bindi had over her. She stumbled over her words, unable to look away from the professor’s face. She was so lovely, even in her older years she had managed to maintain a perfect physical form.

“I want to see how long you’ll last. I want to keep reducing those pretty little IQ points of yours only to let you have them back. I want you to be my experimental project. I want to see how much the human brain can truly withstand.” The older woman smirked, her teeth showing in a wicked grin. She looked like an animal waiting to devour Avery.

“But what will happen to me?” Avery tried to squirm breaking out of the teacher’s hold.

“Won’t it be interesting to find out?” Professor Bindi removed her shoe. Avery took a deep breath and began to move forward sliding in her seat. She could just run out the door if she tried. All she had to do was quickly grab her bag and make it the first few steps.

Avery quickly jumped to her feet her hand shooting out for her bag. Professor Bindi sprung quickly catching Avery’s wrist in her hand and twisting. Avery felt herself stumble, falling forward. Her mouth hung open as all of the thoughts in her head turned to pudding. She felt so wet and sticky all of a sudden. Everything started to blur, fading down into nothingness.

---

Avery awoke with a start, her mouth was full of something warm. She blinked trying to clear her head as she slowly woke up. She raised her head, the thing in her mouth falling out with a pop. She looked down at it. It was a dick. She had a dick in her mouth. The last thing she remembered was trying to run out of Professor Bindi’s class. How did she get here?

“Oh good, you’re awake. How are you feeling my teaching assistant?” Avery blinked and looked up. Professor Bindi was sitting on her desk wearing only a bra and her leggings. Her cock hung in front of Avery’s face covered in spit. Avery blinked confused. What had happened, how long had she been out? She looked down at herself and was pleased to see that she was still clothed.

“I asked you a question. If you’re going to be my teaching assistant you’ll need to be better and responding. So how are you feeling?” Professor Bindi clicked her fingers on the desk.

Avery felt her attention drawn to the fingers. They were like a ticking clock. Each rasp of her nails on the wood sent an echo through her brain. She could feel it like a countdown. Each second it was getting harder and harder to focus. Her mind slowly clouding and drifting away.

“It’s like hard to think. My brain goes all fuzzy.” Avery blinked and crossed her eyes focusing really hard. “What you did to me?” She asked shaking her head. The words were all jumbled and messy in her brain.

“Like I told you. I plan to reduce your intelligence down to zero over and over again, bringing you up just enough to see if you can still function. How did my cock taste?”

The tapping stopped. Avery groaned and grabbed her head. It felt so full all of a sudden. Did her head always feel like this? “Ungh. It was fine. Please. My head hurts so much.”

“Describe it to me.”

Avery looked up at the teacher. She had a notebook in her hands and was taking notes with a pen. “It’s so full. I can feel every thought in my head, every single one, remember everything. Why didn’t my head hurt like this before? What did you do to me?”

Professor Bindi jotted down her notes before looking over the notebook at Avery. Avery felt so small. “And would you say you want me to take those thoughts away again? Would you rather go back to being a stupid cock sucking toy then being my teaching assistant?” She smiled and Avery felt like she was trapped.

Avery looked at the professor’s cock, still glistening with her spit. It was so smooth, she could practically trace the vein with her tongue, or remember doing it only a few moments ago. It tasted so good, she couldn’t get enough of it. A good teacher’s assistant wouldn’t leave the job unfinished.

Avery knew the thoughts weren’t hers, but they also were. Some part of her wanted this, but some part of her also wanted to be the smart student who could pass the class. She didn’t know what to do.

“Avery dear. If you don’t decide I’ll have to decide for you.” Professor Bindi slid her legs off the desk and gripped Avery’s head with her hand. She held out the notebook to the girl on her knees. “Take and record your thoughts and my analysis. Eventually perhaps I won’t have to do this by force.”

“By for-“ Avery’s words were cut off as the cock slammed past her lips. She felt it stretch her mouth wide as it pressed against the back of her throat quickly. She gagged but only for a second. It was as if everything in her brain turned off except thoughts of doing a good job sucking the cock.

Her hands reached up taking the notebook. She lowered it into her lap, her fingers fumbling with the pen. Slowly she began to write, she didn’t know what she was writing, thoughts were impossible for her now. She could only do it on instinct alone.

“Now as I was saying, I believe you enjoyed being put into a mindless no intelligence state so much, and who could blame you. Much like the other students who don’t belong in my class, your natural state is to serve and provide pleasure to those of use who are intelligent. However because you possess a beyond average subconscious, your brain is readily able to take over basic functions. I suspect it has to do with your need to prove yourself.” Professor Bindi released Avery’s head pulling her cock free with a loud pop. “Wouldn’t you agree Avery?”

Avery nodded, spit dripping off of her chin, her hair a tousled mess. “Yes…Professor…” She groaned, the life slowly returning to her eyes. She blinked and looked up at the professor.

“Very good. Back to it then.” The professor guided her cock back into Avery’s mouth. Her hands gripped either side of the student’s head. She rocked her hips roughly, her balls slamming against Avery’s chin. “My goodness your mouth is fantastic. I look forward to how much time we’ll be spending together this year.” She panted and pulled Avery’s head tightly against her stomach.

Avery could feel the cock twitch in her throat as the older woman unloaded into her stomach. Avery swallowed every drop hungrily. She would be diligent in her duties for the professor. In fact she would do anything for the professor. She would prove that she was worthy to take the class and maybe one day she could be smart too. If Professor Bindi allowed her to be.

The professor removed her cock with a heavy sigh. She held out her hand towards Avery. Avery quickly raised the notebook and pen, handing them over to her. Professor Bindi looked over her work, studying it. “Very good job Avery. I’m pleased with your work. You may wake up now.”

Avery blinked rapidly gasping for air. She suddenly felt fully in control again. It was as everything had been put back into its place correctly. She didn’t feel confused or heavy anymore. She missed the feeling a bit. Slowly she pushed herself up to her feet, standing there confused. Professor Bindi slowly turned around, her bare ass on display. Avery could see her cock still dripping a bit onto the floor. She felt as though she should say something, do something, but what was she supposed to do. It was as if Avery didn’t know herself anymore.

“Avery. Be a dear and fetch me my clothes from your desk.” Avery nodded and quickly walked over grabbing them. It was so strange, she hadn’t felt this docile in her life. She picked them up and slowly carried them back across the room. Why wasn’t she leaving or running or even telling someone?

“My office hours begin at eight tomorrow morning. I expect you there at exactly that time. We have quite a bit of work to do to get you prepared to be my assistant. If that is something you’d like. If not, I would suggest you drop my class. It tends to be quite a bit hands on as the year progresses.”

Avery blushed and stumbled over her words. “Professor I…I don’t think-“

“Precisely my dear. You don’t think. In fact I believe you spend to much time thinking rather than just doing. So if you would, just decide right now.” She raised her hand snapping her fingers.

Avery whimpered and crossed her hands shoving them between her legs. “I would like to be your best student and assistant. Please let me serve you in any way I can. I know I’m not good enough but I will do my best!” Avery quickly covered her mouth surprised at the outburst.

“Much better.” Professor Bindi pet Avery’s head smiling. “Walk me to my car Avery. We have much to discuss.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. But if you did enjoy this story, I will probably be continuing it on my ROM page so be sure to check it out there. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

[all-pacas]

ok i read a house fanfic where they had superpowers and it wasn't that good, but now i'm imagining a world of Thematically Appropriate Powers, but they're all still Terrible Doctors

house - human lie detector. taken to an extreme and meticulous depth; he's developed and practiced. he can tell when someone is lying. easy. he can tell shades of truth: when something is being hidden, when something is partially true. if he knows someone, he can even read them, uncannily, based on the lies and truths and secrets they keep. his ability doesn't tell him what the truth is, but by process of elimination and figuring out what they don't lie about, he can get close ("i am left handed" pings if it's false and not if it's true. ergo…). he can't turn it off entirely but he can avoid "listening" too closely.

wilson - the power to be believed. super persuasion. he can turn it on and off at will, he pretends to prefer to never use it. he can't compel people, he just exudes an aura of such honesty that people trust him, open up to him, end up doing what he says because he's their best friend. naturally, he is as close to immune to house's power as he can get; in turn, house can usually still tell when he's lying, even when he's being Super Sincere

chase - emotion manipulation. he can't generally do anything too extreme - no riling people up into murderous frenzies, or making them fall in love - but he absolutely uses and abuses it. sometimes just to make patients calm, usually to make people like him. it's not a charm power, he can't use it like wilson does, it only works on one person at a time: wilson is making himself believable, and chase is manipulating the feelings of others. he can just… always make himself seem likeable. always make a great impression. he uses it shamelessly and no one trusts him. it doesn't really work on house (house is too aware of the 'lie' of it), but it's why house hired him regardless.

cameron - the actual telepath of the group. she's no charles xavier, but she can read surface level thoughts and memories, as well as show her own - it's easier to show her memories than read others, and it's better if she can have physical contact. she insists she doesn't and won't use her powers on patients/people without their consent (to house's great annoyance). all the same, she uses them more often than she'd want to admit, since it's just so convenient. and then she feels bad about it, and then she does it again… house is not immune to her power, although he's stubborn enough to keep her from being able to pry too deeply, although she very much wants to at times.

foreman - mental acuity. he is immune to all mental powers and emotional control and psychic abilities. he is supernaturally aware of himself, his body/mind, and his surroundings. he knows when he's getting a cold from the moment it starts. he has a bit of a "spidey-sense" as well, and keen observational skills, both of which he uses to absolutely kick ass at his job. the "mental shield" thing is more of a minor side effect, in his opinion… or it was until he started working for house, at which point it became his most valuable ability by far.

[snowpoff]

have I talked about this before? yes? well I'm doing it again

here's my personal take on lorule's triforce that I've had since the game came out over a decade ago. time flies! see the explanation below:

TENACITY -- the quality or fact of being very determined; determination.

this is the piece I assigned yuga. like the wriggling worm he loves to accuse others of being, yuga is very good at his job of being a nuisance. unlike ganondorf, he lacks raw power and strength, instead relying on his guile and wits to see his visions through. he was the one who found the crack on the slate in the sacred realm. he was the one who went through to, I assume, gather information on hyrule and its triforce. he boldly traveled through unknown territory, at the behest of his princess, to collect... objects of import to their mission in order to gain the power to achieve his goals. how... courageous of him. and quite familiar.

ACUITY -- keenness or acuteness, esp in vision or thought.

this is the piece I assigned ravio. from both his time as a merchant and as his time as... whatever his occupation in the castle was, ravio's regularly observed being a very smart cookie. he is the type to think first, act later, and by act I mean larp as a salesman while he continues to cook up contingency plans in the background. furthermore, he was the one who attempted to convince hilda her plot was utterly insane and, when that failed, knew what he had to do next-- and boy, was it something truly out of the box. instead of cowering in lorule waiting for the world to end, he snuck away to hyrule to find someone more capable than himself to stop both hilda and yuga. he's later seen subtly guiding link along his path, giving him advice on where to go and who to speak with next. and at the end of it all, he reveals himself as well as his master plan, which surprises literally everyone in the room. he's both a wiseass and wise as all hell.

CAPACITY -- an individual's mental or physical ability.

this is the piece I assigned hilda. from jump street we are aware of two things: hilda's raw magical power, and her unyielding love for her people. the two of these combined created what is akin to mustard gas in a windowless room. that is to say, a recipe for destruction untold. despite that, these qualities are not inherently bad. they were misused, and she herself was manipulated. alas, hilda is not the wisest of the bunch, and lacked the ability to see the holes in her plans. she was blinded by her desire to help her people and, later, her desire for power. hilda is capable of so, so much-- most of which is pretty neutral. but things like love and magic are just as easy to mangle and twist as they are to embrace and use for the greater good. at the end of the day, hilda is a powerful sorcerer who has the ability to change the world around her for weal or for woe.

[pilot-boi]

for the man out of time au: does jaune show his friends his TARDIS ?, if so what are their reaction

He does! During the first break between V1 and V2, he shows the rest of JNPR

(I’ve always headcanoned that they visit the Arcs during that break, since Ren and Nora don’t have a home to go to. Pyrrha probably visits her mom in Argus for a bit, and then joins the rest of her team on the farm)

But yes, he shows them his TARDIS

She can feel his nervousness before he even opens Her doors. Her charge is worried about something, about making a good impression. He’s always suffered with self-image, something that hasn’t been helped by that image changing so much more than his adoptive family’s

So She is surprised when three other people step through Her doors. Not any of the Arcs, She’s known them Her charge’s whole life, She would recognize them in an instant

No, these people are new

She wasn’t designed to sense Aura, the primary life force of the creatures on this planet. Heart beats, breathing, mental acuity, these are all things She can measure. But Aura is different, it’s more personal, a force of energy completely unique to each living thing on this planet

With the addition of Dust to Her systems (this planet’s main source of energy), it was like She gained access to a new color spectrum. Suddenly She could sense the energy in the grass around Her, the sedate calm of the livestock on the Arc’s farm, and the light and hope in Her charge’s soul as he worked with child’s hands to bring her online

She’s felt it in the Arcs, bright in the two parents and dim in the children. With every regeneration, She’s felt it more and more in her charge, as each new body adjusts more to the planet

So when three new people step through, and She can feel the light and warmth of their Auras, She knows these people are different

Her charge feels as close to them as his family, closer even, his hearts beat with love and loyalty. And their Auras, although clearly separate and distinct, sing with unity. They are a family

The Green one is amazed by Her circuitry and is immediately down on his knees examining Her Dust couplings, the Pink one scampers through Her limited corridors and shouts with excitement, the Red one rests her hands delicately on Her dashboard and stares in awe up towards Her ceiling

Her charge stands by Her doors, wringing his hands and anxious. She realizes he’s worried that they won’t like Her, and She understands that in his mind not liking Her means that they don’t accept this so utterly different part of him

He needn’t worry. She can measure their Auras as easily as their height. Their Auras are separate, but together, distinct, but MORE as a collection. They are a family

She likes them already

[sophieswundergarten]

Considering a situation (Books) where Curtain captures the kids and then uses duskwort on one of them to give the others an ultimatum...

“So,” Curtain leered, circling the children in his wheelchair. “The rules of the game are this: You have until the serum I created works its way through young Miss Wetherall’s body to answer my question. If you are able to, then I shall provide an antidote.”

McCracken appeared from the other room, throwing a squirming Kate to the floor. The others rushed to her side, helping her up. Reynie noticed with a twinge of fear that she seemed to be less surefooted than normal, slipping and stumbling as they supported her.

“Now, now, ducky,” McCracken laughed as he followed Mr. Curtain out. “We wouldn’t want you to waste your strength.”

“Look who’s talking.” Kate bit back, but weakly; almost out of breath.

Reynie looked at Sticky over her head, concerned. He motioned the other boy to help Kate over to the corner, letting her rest against the wall. 

“Kate, what happened? What did he do to you?” Constance’s voice was small, scared.

“Oh, nothing much, Connie girl.” Kate inhaled, smiling, face pale.

Constance screwed up her face, concentrating. After a moment she stomped her foot angrily. “I know you’re trying to hide it from me! Stop it!”

“Constance,” Reynie murmured, “Why don’t you give Kate a break? I know you want to know what happened, but–”

“Oh no!” Constance cried, tears springing into her eyes. “They injected her with something. With– with–” Her eyes went wide. “With duskwort!”

Sticky glanced at Reynie worriedly. Normally it would have taken much more of a battle for Kate to give up any kind of information, her mental acuity allowing her to dodge out of the way of Constance’s probing.

Kate let out a weary sigh. “Yeah, they did. What, um, what does duskwort do again?”

Sticky pulled his glasses off, nervously polishing them as he spoke. “Duskwort, Translucidus somniferum, is a very rare lichen that only grows in certain, usually damp, areas. It is known for causing deep and uninterrupted sleep, as well as being a possible cure for narcolepsy.”

“Right.” Kate looked confused. “I knew that.”

Sticky nodded. “If he really did dose you with duskwort then it would make sense that you’re confused. Exhaustion, confusion, light-headedness, and dizziness are all symptoms of being injected with a type of sedative such as once derived from Translucidus somniferum.”

Kate didn’t answer.

“Kate? Kate!” Reynie began gently shaking her shoulders. “Kate! You need to stay awake. We don’t know if we’ll be able to wake you again if you fall asleep.”

Kate shook herself, leaning heavily against the wall as she tried to rise. She waved off Sticky and Reynie, who moved to help her stand. “I’ll be fine. Really, boys, I’ve got it.” She yawned, closing her eyes for a long, slow blink. Shaking her head once again, she roughly shoved herself up, falling to her knees as she did so.

Tremulously, she tried to rise, but Reynie quickly reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Kate,” He began, hesitantly. “I think… you should stay sitting down for a while. We need to start working on getting an answer for Curtain, and we can do that better without worrying about you.” He explained. “Right now all we need you to do is focus on staying awake.”

“If your body continues metabolizing the duskwort at this rate, then it’s likely you’ll fall into some sort of coma soon.” Sticky confirmed, looking around anxiously. "Try and slow your heart rate. Sitting still and breathing evenly should help."

Kate looked upset, but she nodded, slumping down and gritting her teeth with effort. 

[under-the-bunta-tree]

      ➖ for @sceyth

it was peaceful here on the island, but Verosha Aniseya was never at peace. not really, anyway. her master had taught her not to seek it out.

peace is a lie, he would say, there is only passion.

she had been his acolyte for nearly eight months now. some days were more difficult than others, be it a test of her physical strength or mental acuity, but she could feel herself becoming stronger—and, importantly, more intimately connected to the Force than she had ever been, as a Jedi.

it was the nights that were the hardest. the same nightmare, every time: the corridors of the Jedi Temple, each corner burned within her memory. a chase ensuing for an entity she could never quite reach.

—Mae.

always waking with a cold start and her name on her lips, reaching for her sister—her lifeblood that she had lost.

if the fates would allow it, Osha might find solace in a dreamless sleep. on nights like tonight, though, she was left to her own devices, crawling out of the cave as quietly as the skura that burrowed in the sands here, her practiced pilgrimage to the bathing pools designed not to disturb her master from his slumber—or. . . .so she thought.

his presence clouded her senses, drifted her consciousness away from anything concrete in favor of the idea of him. it was nauseating—no, intoxicating, and she knew that if she allowed herself to linger in it that it would eventually consume her.

her voice cut through the tension.

"Would it kill you to announce your arrival, Master?" the word felt heavy on her tongue, like it didn't belong to him. "I can feel your stare. It taunts me."

[saturninedreamgirl]

. 09 october 2024 . jupiter stations retrograde at 21° Gemini 20′ time to reevaluate our growth since july 14, 2024. has this summer felt like information overload or have you been able to discern what a healthy amount of data intake looks like for you? reflect on what your truth around communicating really is. how do you best learn, process, and express yourself? jupiter, when placed in gemini, was known to ancient astrologers as being “in detriment”; that is, opposite the sign of its domicile, rulership, or home placement. if jupiter is at home in sagittarius, then for jupiter to be on the complete opposite side of the zodiacal wheel indicates being the furthest away possible, completely unequipped with normal functioning. to be in detriment is to be in exile in a way, kicked out of your home and needing to find different avenues from what is comfortable and easy in order to survive. this framework is known as essential dignity and debility and is one way astrologers contemplate and interpret the stars.

under jupiter’s influence of abundance, gemini’s usual mental prowess and quick wittedness evolves into an overzealous mental tumor where over-processing situations and feelings becomes the norm. we don’t hesitate to second guess every possibility. long held beliefs become easily unraveled for the ever fluctuating gemini, nothing more than an endless queue of questions. jupiter in gemini is the embodiment of curiosity killing the cat.  jupiter in gemini is represented in the tarot by the eight of swords. the eight of swords shows a woman blindfolded and surrounded by a circle of swords. upon closer inspection, the swords are spread thin and no one is forcing the woman to stay. she needs only to remove her blindfold to leave her current predicament.

the suit of swords reflects an ever thinking mind, mental acuity, and intellect. by viewing the symbols present in this way, we can elucidate the real “swords” keeping the woman trapped are actually her own limiting beliefs, negative self-talk, a tendency to overthink, and in general, self-imposed limitations. the eight of swords (and tarot in general) clarifies a problem while also providing a solution to the difficulties presented—with jupiter in gemini we are being asked to remove the metaphorical blindfold by asking questions about how we actually communicate with others and ourselves. with jupiter stationing retrograde, we are more apt to have the capacity to pause, breathe, and lean inwards for these answers. here are some jupiter retrograde prompts to consider: where is your jupiter placed? how do you like to learn? what are some negative ‘swords’ holding you back right now that might be self-imposed? what would you like to be more curious about over the next few months? what are some ways you can incorporate that topic of interest into your daily life?

if you found this interpretation style intriguing, illuminating, or useful, consider booking a consultation with me at the link in my bio! i practice astrology from a traditional, archetypal lens, while also incorporating modern interpretations and a holistic understanding. i would love to dive into what the stars have to both impress and question about you!

[snow-and-saltea]

i know that in media you're constrained with things like budget, time slots and stuff, but sometimes i'm just like. my god. the insane shortcuts people take to write "smart / intelligent" characters, especially in plot-heavy stories, always pisses me off. they write them like they're sherlock holmes (bbc version, derogatory) but they fail to realise that even sherlock holmes (arthur conan doyle) was written with a lot of thought, suffered his own subconscious prejudices and had to learn from mistakes.

i guess what i'm trying to get at is—"smart" people don't magically get good at things overnight, the only difference between them and others is how much they're willing to go through to hone their mental acuity. which means when they try something new, they're going to make obvious mistakes, not understand how things work beyond the surface level, and make mistakes in judgements (like when you don't understand something well enough, your analogies and metaphors aren't 100% accurate or concise).

but it feels like there's a assumption hanging over our heads that, as readers, we don't WANT to see the smart one go through the entire nitty gritty of the learning process. we just want to see them do cool things, piece the puzzle together with a flourish, and clap our hands at the end. and in some parts, yes! that is what i want to see! but i am also interested in how they pieced it together. the joy of mysteries is, to me, that everyone is exposed to the same pieces of information, and we're given the chance to try to piece it ourselves. but then the smart character comes along and interprets those pieces of information in a not-obvious way to us, and it's cool!! years of living with a mind that is primed to turn things over in their head, to make sense of things, reveals to us how differently we experience the same reality, and it's wonderful. i'm able to learn from someone who sees life differently than me, and interpret information differently than me!

but right now i'm often left out feeling flat and confused in the mystery-type plots i've seen. the smart person will have been exposed to information we didn't even get the chance to see and interpret, and then they piece things together and everyone in the story claps their hands at the artificial pedestal that's been propped up under that character's feet. explanations of in-setting magic that can be retconned in and out at any point in time, so there's no logical consistency for us to nitpick or understand, so there's no basis to stand on that the story should be taken seriously. plot twists that make no sense as a gotcha. so many things!!

like. this particular example just my beef with g*nshin, so ignore it if you don't agree or smth. but the use of red herrings in the stories piss me off. the red herrings are either too obvious or nonexistent. they always use some random guy acting suspiciously and have the other characters react to it, as if we can't understand it on our own? but like. these red herrings, in the real world, aren't even red herrings. sometimes people just "act suspiciously" just by virtue of being human, not because they're complicit in some bigger overarching plot. sometimes people just stutter because of their anxious disposition, not to hide a guilty conscience. sometimes people are just defensive and irritable because they're a defensive and irritable person, it doesn't mean they're the ""bad guy"" who you need to crack down on and interrogate even further, especially if there's literally nothing that indicates this character is guilty other than their outward appearances.

but like. the smart characters/protagonist almost never get proven wrong. the stutterer was guilty all along and they're just a bad liar. the defensive guy is selfish and obnoxious, they're defensive because they're hiding something, not because it's a natural reaction on having one's sense of privacy and personal space violated.

the game sure loves trying to do nuance with "not everyone is 100% good or bad, we're all Flawed" but they can't put their money where their mouth is. everyone who is not guilty acts in completely transparent and "good" ways. everyone who is guilty acts in completely opaque and "suspicious" / "bad" ways. end of story. how the hell am i supposed to think anyone in this game is smart when they don't even have to use their brain to sift through, critique, weigh and interpret information? what use is there to do so? just use your eyes and ears. the stutterer is nervous for hiding a secret. the anxious is guilty. the angry is scornful.

there's also another rant here about how g*nshin fucking sucks at writing unique and flawed characters, because they like to make everyone the Specialest Guy In The World, but that's for another day.

[misfitwashere]

... keep the Democratic coalition together. If it’s the latter Biden should endorse her right away along with every other establishment Democrat and they should all campaign to the convention as if she is the presumptive nominee. (She was presumptively on the ticket that just won the primaries after all and the one that won the election in 2020.) That’s just me. Either stick it out or go with Harris right now as I’ve explained in earlier posts and will explain further in my column tomorrow morning.

Anyway, here’s a different view:

 Allan Lichtman, the historian who has correctly forecast the results of nine out of the 10 most recent presidential elections argued on Saturday that replacing President Joe Biden could cost Democrats the 2024 election.   Lichtman, a professor at American University, rejected the growing chorus of political pundits and Democratic activists who have called on Biden, 81, to bow out of the presidential race after his disastrous debate performance last week against former President Donald Trump. The pivotal moment brought fresh questions about Biden’s age and ability to serve a second term. “It’s a huge mistake. They’re not doctors. They don’t know whether Biden is physically capable of carrying out a second term or not,” Lichtman said during an interview with CNN of calls to replace Biden. “This is all foolhardy nonsense.”  Lichtman has correctly predicted the outcome of almost every election over the last half century, except for the race in 2000, using a series of 13 historical factors or “keys.”   The system includes four factors based on politics, seven on performance, and two on candidate personality. Lichtman said the incumbent party would need to lose six of those actors, or “keys,” to lose the White House.  The keys range from whether a candidate is an incumbent president to the state of the economy and the presence of third-party hopefuls. Debate performance, however, is not one of the factors that determines the outcome of an election, he argued. Lichtman pointed to historical examples, including the 1984 election in which former President Ronald Reagan swept 49 states despite poor debate performances and concerns over his age.  When pressed about whether the questions surrounding Biden’s age and mental acuity are “fundamentally different” than his metrics as president, Lichtman doubled down.   “Debate performances can be overcome,” he said. “At the first sign of adversity the spineless Democrats want to throw under the bus, their own incumbent president. My goodness.” 

It may be that history is not a very good guide to this election. I suspect we are in a new political era that runs by a lot of different rules. And the media is out for blood saying they are personally hurt and angry that the White House didn’t share with them the alleged fact that Biden is more or less a vegetable. That’s yet another very difficult barrier to victory since they seem to care more about that than they care about the fact that Donald Trump wants to put them in camps if they don’t do exactly what he wants.

But Lichtman’s been right before and maybe he’s right now. He says that Biden still checks enough boxes for re-election. I thought you should know.

[ageofpiracyrp]

PLOT DROP 34: THE BEST OF TIMES AND THE WORST OF TIMES

Seemingly overnight, the galaxy has felt like a less safe place than it used to be. There isn't a big difference, really. No other crews have managed to get captured yet (thankfully), but there has been a noted increase in Galx patrolling since April. A few little jobs that don't require going to Earth have been all that Daphne has felt comfortable doing. Now, though, it seems like a good time to go back to Kraysha.

Kenna and her twins are there, and a great many family members of the crew are too. Julia and the rest of the The Bat Ray have a trial coming up later this year, and the matter of what the crew of Prosperity wants to do about that is still pending.

There are still ways to do good missions, but it might be best to regroup on Kraysha to take advantage of those.

--

Not all news has been bad, however. On Zuytri's intel, Ali, Sky and Samira visited an elderly erkuss named Medri at the Moon Retirement Community. Medri spoke fondly about her mother, the late and beloved djayyar Nyessanie. Medri was completely of sound mind and honesty, and expressed how Nyessanie had long ago discovered a way to use the special ability that djayyar have to imbue power into the ground and strengthen the inhabitants... that comes with no pain at all. By personally knowing and understanding all of the beings and plants of the ground, the bond goes both ways. Loving memories from the perspective of all of the sentient beings on that ground are shared. All people find themselves with increased strength, mental acuity, and memories. The djayyar's lifespan is unaffected, but the mental acuity, shared memories and to a lesser degree strength are granted through this bond.

Medri had never heard of the djayyar that helped found Kraysha. To her understanding, the special power of the djayyar was something used with very great care and love. It wasn't something that one did on a great scale (Nyessanie did it in the garden of her own ship), but it would probably work just the same in an elevated garden or a planter box. Nyessanie was unusually honest with her adopted children, and also a terrible liar when it came to them. If Medri recalls correctly, Nyessanie used the special power of the djayyar four times in her lifetime and was happier and at least as healthy as any other djayyar that she knew of. Medri enthusiastically (and kookily) shared pictures of her eccentric family (including a few from when Nyessanie shared love and power with her and some of the other children), many of whom she has dear memories from their perspectives that she cherishes to this day.

--

On June 15, a few hours before Prosperity would dock on Kraysha, Muffy distributed mugs of hot cocoa (or other hot beverages to everyone's preference) and reminded everyone that she had hope that things would be better soon. And that The Bat Ray, as frustrating as they could be, was not in a situation without hope.

[late-to-the-fandom]

Chapter 5: [De]vices and Vows

In which an unpleasant discovery by Renathal prompts a fight with the Maw Walker and an unexpected confession. Read on Ao3 here.

It was a testament to just how badly Renathal wanted the Maw Walker to stay with him that he was willing to back-burner Denathrius' fateful phone call completely and make a second trip to her squalid building on the outskirts of the lightless, lawless Maw. Worn and weary, running on fumes, but now brimming with a restless anxiety that craved the relief of concrete action, he drove there straight from the hospital, parking in the same inauspicious alley from which he had collected the Maw Walker on the evening of their first date. He kept his eyes steadfastly forward (except to shoot the fire escape a sidelong glare), tightening his wrinkled suit jacket around himself like armor as he hurried for the entrance - exhausted defiance notwithstanding, he was eager to put solid walls between himself and whatever dangers lurked in the dark.

The inside of the Maw Walker's building, however, was only infinitesimally lighter. A single, naked bulb hanging from the atrium ceiling illuminated the 'Out of Order' sign taped to the unlit elevator and the first few steps of the ramshackle stairs. Renathal, accustomed to the ill-lit passages of Revendreth, managed the trek to the sixth floor without incident. But as he skirted bulging bin bags, clutters of take-away debris, and several hazardously broken floorboards, he thought he better understood why the Maw Walker favoured the outside route.

Face screwed up against the smell of rubbish and neglect, he fumbled for her key the moment his feet hit the sixth-floor landing, traversed a short stretch of carpetless hall to the appropriate room number, and let himself hastily into the Maw Walker's flat. The flimsy plywood door shut quickly behind him was a barely effective barrier against outside odour, but it was not the lingering smell that made Renathal’s upper lip curl unpleasantly as he stared around at the room.

The room. There was just the one. And it would have fit comfortably in his own flat’s open living space with square footage to spare. In one back corner hunched a no-frills futon; in the other, a plastic foldaway table, which, judging by its contents, served as both nightstand and desk. Between them was left just enough space for a single person to squeeze through sideways (one of a rapidly growing number of reasons Renathal surmised why he had never been extended an invitation). Revolving on the spot just inside the door revealed a narrow clothes cupboard and purple overnight bag to the left, a small, discoloured sink set into the wall to the right, and … that was all.

Renathal, eyes bleary from lack of sleep and fluorescent hospital lighting, made another, more careful inspection of the room, checking the various sections of peeling paint did not conceal another door. But there was nothing. No secret en-suite, no kitchen annex, not even a private water closet.

And the Maw Walker preferred to spend her nights in this comfortless cube than his own spacious flat?

He shook his head briskly, casting off the offensive thought. He had neither the time nor mental acuity for suppositions at the moment. Turning in another slow semi-circle - now with an eye for the things the Maw Walker would need - Renathal snatched up the purple overnight bag, unzipped it, and set it open on the futon's threadbare coverlet, then plucked a toiletries kit from the edge of the dingy porcelain sink, rolled it up, and tucked it securely inside. Shuffling sideways between futon and foldaway table, he perused the latter for further necessities. Passing over two polythene cups - one containing an assortment of coloured pens, the other a small amount of cold, congealed coffee - he focused instead on the out-of-date tablet and the bulging purple three-ring binder, whose many unsecured pages spilled from the tops and sides.

Ingrained tidiness - and, perhaps, a whisper of curiosity - nudged Renathal's hand. He flipped the binder's cover open and shuffled the papers into a more orderly pile, rifling through their contents as he did so: loose leaf notes, printed syllabi, and what looked like hand-drawn maps of multiple campus locations. His gaze lingered for a moment on a crude depiction of the Revendreth department, its margins so crammed with notes in the Maw Walker's indecipherable native alphabet as to be functionally useless for finding one's way through the underground labyrinth of halls.

An odd pastime, amateur cartography, thought Renathal, tucking the now neat stack back into the purple binder and the binder into the similarly-coloured overnight bag; there were plenty of gratis maps available in the administration office. He made a mental note to pick up a few from Oribos for her as soon as he could find the time.

Speaking of time.

A glance at his glowing watch-face made Renathal wince. The morning was already half gone and he had not accomplished half of what needed doing, not the least of which was returning to his own flat to shower, sleep, and tend to Vrednic (not necessarily in that order). Stifling an enormous yawn, he turned back to the table for the tablet, and his fingers, trembling slightly with exhaustion, brushed the device’s sleeping screen. It woke, the bright glow assaulting Renathal's already bleary vision. And when he blinked the spots from his eyes, he found himself staring at a crowd of missed call and text notifications.

His own name - Ren, with a purple heart emoji beside it that made his skip a beat - took up most of the screen, with alerts labelled Theotar and Work appearing sporadically in-between. But there was one other contact who had apparently been as eager as Renathal to reach the Maw Walker; who, by the timestamps on the notifications, had not stopped most of the night - a picture-less profile assigned the simple, cryptic, and unpleasantly familiar moniker: T.A.

Someone's initials? Her distant, rarely-spoken-of friend, perhaps, whom the Maw Walker had stayed with over the fall break? Or was it a title, like Renathal's own? Did the Maw Walker keep close ties with teaching assistants in her other courses? Could that be how she passed them? And was that the reason she refused to spend a full night at his flat? Did his lover have other, similar arrangements scheduled after him?

Renathal sat. Fortunately, the futon was just behind him. The backs of his legs knocked hard against the metal edge, a pain he only distantly felt. On some level, he knew he was being ridiculous, that there were a hundred innocent explanations for the initials and their multitude of calls and messages glowing innocently up at him from the screen. But he was tired, hungry, emotionally drained, Denathrius’ phone call and its ominous implications looming over him as darkly as the Maw outside. He was too out of sorts to stop the familiar, furious prickling spreading like a wildfire through his chest.

Jealousy. It was Renathal’s greatest prevailing vice, and one he had never managed to overcome. That gut-wrenching, blood-boiling, detestable sensation, like the ground had been pulled out from under him and he had no safe place left to stand. He wallowed in it for a few miserable minutes, fingers tapping an aggressive rhythm across the edge of the device still resting in his lap. And it was not until the screen went dark again and Renathal swiped it angrily back to life that he noticed the picture hiding behind the myriad notifications, now gathered into one tidy stack.

He blinked - a very Maw Walker-esque expression of his surprise. Holding the tablet up to the window, he let the screen catch its thin, choked rays of light, but the picture did not change, and, unfamiliar as it was, there could be no doubt of its subject. It was Renathal himself: standing in profile before the range in his own kitchen, white apron round his waist, spatula in hand, face bent intently towards the pan.

The Renathal sitting non-plussed in the Maw Walker’s derelict flat squinted at the tablet, trying to determine what his picture-self was cooking, but the cluster of notifications hid the counter from view. It might have been one of any number of dinners he had prepared while the Maw Walker watched. She must have snapped the picture from her phone when he wasn’t looking, then sent it from her phone to her tablet, then made it the tablet’s lock screen background. Which clear evidence of forethought and affection unwound the knot of tension tightly-coiled in Renathal's gut. A weight seemed to fall physically from his shoulders. He rolled them experimentally, and, for the first time that day, felt his lips stretch in an almost effortless smile.

Renathal stood, clicked off the tablet and nestled it securely into the overnight bag; then, with new purpose and vigour, squeezed past the futon and foldaway table for the clothes cupboard and began rummaging through its narrow insides. The smile was still pleasant and warm on his face as he thumbed through the sparse wire hangers. The Maw Walker cared for him - he had seen the irrefutable proof. Everything else - Denathrius' ultimatum, whatever role he might have played in the Maw Walker's accident and what she was hiding that could cause him to do so - it would all be worked out later, after both of them were rested, rational, and safely returned to his flat.

Except perhaps, realised Renathal, shuffling through the hangers a third time as if some new, more cast-accessible items might appear, the issue of what the Maw Walker was going to wear for the next six to eight weeks.

Apart from the dress he recognised from their Ember Club date, the Maw Walker’s wardrobe consisted entirely of a few camisoles and blouses and one extra pair of jeans. A single set of black-and-gray tracksuit bottoms branded with the university’s logo were folded at the bottom of the cupboard, but even these Renathal doubted would fit easily over her cast’s bulky plaster. He stroked the hair on his chin for moment, considering. Then his eyes fell on a camisole the exact shade of purple as the heart emoji the Maw Walker had added next to his name. And he made up his mind.

Shutting the cupboard door, Renathal returned to the futon, hastily zipped up the overnight bag, and abandoned the shabby room to itself without a backward glance.

The following morning was spent perambulating department stores choosing new clothes for the Maw Walker; a much more enjoyable task. Perhaps too enjoyable, Renathal considered when he arrived back at his flat with more bags and boxes than could be carried from the garage in one trip. But he couldn’t help it. The memory of himself in place of pride as her tablet’s background appeared before his eyes every time he saw an item he thought his lover might conceivably need.

And those were many. From socks, which he had not found in her clothes cupboard, and easily slipped on shoes, which the Maw Walker did not own, to a new coat and hooded sweatshirt to replace the ones that had been ruined; as well as undergarments, which Renathal had forgotten to look for in his haste to leave her flat. In addition, he chose two sets of loose-fitting silk pyjamas and one perfectly innocent nightgown, several casual, mid-length dresses sans constricting sleeves, and a few other ensembles he deemed likely to fit over both her casts. He did his best to set his personal taste aside and select with an eye for the Maw Walker’s preferences (plain, comfortable, and - wherever possible - shades of purple), but it was still with some trepidation that he unpacked the shopping bags and inspected his purchases before hanging them in the wardrobe next to his own clothes.

When he had finished, Renathal stood back, admiring the effect. The new arrivals added something to his monochrome sartorial collection he had never noticed was missing: a colour and a vibrancy, very much a match to the contributions the Maw Walker had made in his day-to-day life.

With a glance at his watch and a start at the time, he closed the stuffed wardrobe with a snap and reached for the overnight bag. This took only seconds to unpack. Toiletries, three-ring binder, and tablet were set on the little bedside table he had cleared for the Maw Walker's use. The latter he plugged in to an extra charger while valiantly resisting the urge to revisit her notifications and check if T.A. - whoever they were - had called or texted again.

All mysteries would be cleared up soon - quite soon, Renathal reminded himself with a prickle of excitement. In just a few short minutes, he would be locking up and heading for the hospital, on the way to collect his lover for her first, and long-overdue, night at his flat.

-

"Shall I confess something?"

"Yes, please."

"I have wanted to do this for some time."

"Really?” The Maw Walker craned her neck gingerly to the right, attempting to catch Renathal's eye with her good one. “Help me wash my hair while keeping my casts out of water? That's a very specific fantasy."

Renathal’s reply was to reach around and daub shampoo lather bubbles to the end of the Maw Walker’s nose, upsetting the careful decorum she had maintained throughout the undignified bathing ritual as well as her precarious balance on the edge of his claw-footed tub. But she was laughing as she slipped and he was laughing as he caught her, and it was several mirth-filled minutes and inelegant contortions before both were back in position.

"The fantasy,” he explained around the dregs of amusement as he resumed scrubbing the top of the Maw Walker's head, “was to have you in my bath. I admit, this was not precisely what I pictured."

"Oh, I see." She cocked her head to the side again and Renathal could see the hint of a smile play around her swollen, bruised lips. "How did you picture it?"

He made a thoughtful sort of noise and scrubbed in silence for several seconds, as if only now considering the details of a fantasy he'd had ready and waiting for weeks.

"Well, there would certainly have been wine,” he said at last - the Maw Walker hmmed her approval. "And candles perhaps. Bath salts. Bubbles."

She wiped a bit of lingering lather from the side of her nose.

"We do have those."

Renathal chuckled but otherwise ignored this interjection as he finished, “And we would both of us have actually been in the bath. And with all our limbs safely intact."

“Ah, I see,” the Maw Walker said again, though this time the smile in it was shaky. Renathal could feel the tension settle stiff in her shoulders as he worked shampoo through the ends of her dark, wet hair. “That does sound lovely. I'm… sorry to disappoint.”

Renathal craned his neck to place a kiss against his lover’s bare right shoulder.

“You are not remotely disappointing,” he murmured, enjoying her little shiver. “We will just have to do it again sometime, will we not? Under different circumstances. Now, lean back.”

The effort required to ease them both into positions where Renathal could rinse her hair precluded further conversation beyond quick instructions and the Maw Walker’s strained groans as she stretched muscles that clearly ached. Renathal kicked himself for not remembering her medication before they started. His lover had been eager to wash off the remains of blood and filth, and he eager to help her, unaware of how complicated and time-consuming the process would be.

Truthfully, none of the practicalities of her convalescence were quite as romantic as Renathal had imagined. From the surprisingly difficult to procure wheelchair and the rearranging of the furniture in his flat to accommodate it, to the sheer physical labor required in hoisting the Maw Walker back into it once the protracted affair that was drying and re-dressing her after her bath was finally complete. Her shock and self-conscious protests at the discovery of her new wardrobe, at least, were expected, and Renathal had rattled off his well-prepared arguments for its necessity as he tugged the sleeves and legs of the silk pyjama set carefully over her casts.

The upshot of which was he had no spare moment to think of, let alone discuss, any of the mysteries still lurking at the back of his mind until he had settled the Maw Walker’s chair at the kitchen's alcove table (Vrednic, suspicious of this new wheeled addition to the flat, stationed protectively at her feet) and began preparing dinner.

“Did you happen to grab … my tablet?” the Maw Walker choked around a series of coughs, having just swallowed a veritable mountain of prescription capsules.

“Of course,” replied Renathal, and his own throat convulsed at the abrupt resurgence of his former nest of viperous nerves.

He gave himself one preparatory minute - pulling a pot from a cupboard and setting it in the sink under the running tap to fill - before fetching the device from his bedroom. He set it down on the table in front of her, then returned to the sink to shut off the tap, reciting his memorised lines in a tone of unimpeachable nonchalance all the while.

"You had quite a few missed messages. Mostly from myself, of course. And work, and Theotar, who sends his best. Oh, and a good many from another concerned T.A."

"What?"

Shooting a furtive half-glance over his shoulder as he transferred the pot to the range, Renathal watched the Maw Walker slide the device towards her with her good hand, click it on and inspect the glowing screen. She swiped through the notifications without blinking - which he found telling; though what it told him but that the messages were not a surprise, he could not say.

“Oh, her. That’s not a T.A., it’s a... classmate," she explained, though there was a brief hesitation before the word Renathal was sure he had not imagined. “We’re on a... a sort of a group project together,” the Maw Walker continued, not looking up. “She'll be livid she hasn’t heard from me. I’ll have to ring her back tomorrow and explain.”

She clicked the device off and pushed it away across the table with a little groan that contained notes of both frustration and physical pain, then wriggled in her chair, adjusting her plastered leg with her good hand in an attempt at a more comfortable position, while Renathal, watching from the corner of his eye, pulled pasta and salad ingredients from the fridge and digested this new information.

“You are welcome to do so now,” he offered, still perfectly casual, but the Maw Walker shook her head.

“No, it can wait. I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with her, to be honest. She can be a bit… accusatory. And it’s not like there’s anything I can do to help her right now. Ugh!” She exclaimed abruptly - the sound making Vrednic lift his head - and ran her good hand through her damp hair. "I forgot about exams! I've missed all of them, haven't I? After all that bloody stupid work I put in, too."

“Ah, as to that…” Renathal leaned against the granite counter, dinner momentarily abandoned as he remembered the other, even more troubling problem than the Maw Walker’s dubious classmate. “I took the liberty of sending an email to the professors on your course list. It was nothing -” he inserted quickly, correctly interpreting the Maw Walker’s budding protest and holding up a hand to forestall it. “It was an email - hardly taxing. And most were happy to offer extensions or makeup exams under the circumstances. So, you certainly have not failed them all.”

He made rather a production of adjusting the fold of his shirt sleeves (rolled to the elbow the better to wash his lover’s hair), then fetching his white apron off its hook and tying it around his waist, giving himself a few extra seconds to decide how best to phrase what must come next. But the Maw Walker spoke first.

“You said most were willing. Who wasn’t?”

Something in her tone convinced Renathal she already knew, and when he admitted, “Denathrius,” she gave no telltale blink, or any other hint of surprise. He turned away, fumbling cutting board and proper knives from their drawers as he went on, “His excuse was that it would not be equitable to allow you more time to prepare. I did try to reason with him, but I am afraid he is immovable on this point. He wants you-” Renathal paused, face twisting at the taste of the words, then tried again. “He proposed to take you on as a private intern next semester. If you agree, he will waive the exam grade. If not, you will have to retake the class.”

He snatched up a cucumber and began to dice, rather rougher than strictly necessary. For a few seconds, there was only the angry, wet slice of blade through veg and the rhythmic thud as it hit the wood cutting board. Then -

“You're joking.”

The Maw Walker’s voice was flat as the grim, stretched impression of a smile Renathal shot her.

“I assure you, I am not.”

There was another half cup of diced cucumber's worth of silence before she spoke again.

“Well. That is... unexpected.”

Looking up from his work, Renathal watched confusion and some sort of shrewd calculation do battle across the Maw Walker’s pale, puffy face. It was odd, seeing so much open expression on it - a result of days on pain-killers, he supposed - but more notable still that none were the indignance, disapproval, or even outright anger he had expected. On the contrary, when at last she exhaled and looked directly at him, she was wearing an almost lively smile.

“I guess I'll have to think about that. It might be a good idea.”

The knife missed the cucumber entirely, slicing through the side of Renathal’s finger instead.  He dropped it with a clatter, his hiss of pain echoed from behind by the Maw Walker, amid a rattle of wheels as she pushed from her chair and Vrednic's high-pitched yelp as one of them trod his stump of a tail.

“Sit,” Renathal snapped automatically - both human and canine froze at the command.

"Are you alright?" the Maw Walker asked in audible pain and alarm, all of which Renathal could barely process - no, he bloody wasn't alright, but it had little to do with his freely bleeding finger.

“It might be a good idea?” he repeated, snatching up the nearest dishcloth and pinching it around the offending digit.

“What?”

“Denathrius’ internship - you would seriously consider it?”

The Maw Walker's wide, pale eyes, pupils constricted from medication, flicked from Renathal’s face to his finger, clearly struggling to grasp the thread of his ire.

“I - yes? I mean... why not? I have a decent grasp on the basics now. An internship might move things along more quickly than sitting through another semester's class. Not to mention,” she added hastily before Renathal could question this odd assertion, “it has the added benefit of keeping you out of trouble with your boss, doesn't it?”

Words failed Renathal. And anyway, his jaw was clenched too tight for speech. Of all the things currently plaguing him, this particular ingrained fear had not featured, but now it returned with a vengeance, crawling painfully across his skin like he'd been dipped in dry ice. Possible competition for her attention with the mysterious T.A. was one thing, but to lose her to Denathrius? That he could not bear. And when at last he managed to unlock his jaw and say the Maw Walker's name, his voice was raw enough to make her struggle from her chair in another vain attempt to reach him, Renathal too preoccupied to stop her this time.

“You cannot take this internship."

“Why not?” she asked, brow furrowed in confusion - or possibly the effort it took to stay standing; Renathal, already ranting, could not decide.

“Apart from the fact that it would certainly increase the time you would be required to spend in Denathrius' presence - something you have always vehemently claimed to dislike? Then because you are in no way qualified for such a thing! You have only just scraped through this class, and that on my assistance - which I would be hard pressed to give you when you are under the Professor's thumb and forbidden to speak of what you are working on. It would be up to you to fool him into thinking you knew the subject well enough to be there, and, as much I love you, you are simply not that good."

Renathal caught it too late. And, by her blink, the Maw Walker had caught it, too. Vrednic, either sensing the tension or sick of the dramatic scene, slunk to the sitting room, claws clicking disapprovingly across the faux-wood floor. A beat of silence passed, as throbbing and uncomfortable as Renathal's finger, before the Maw Walker shook her head slightly to clear it, then spoke as if nothing monumental had just occurred.

“I know I’m not qualified," she said with slow, careful emphasis, gripping the edge of the table hard with her good hand, "and you know that, and Denathrius has to know it, too. So, don't you think his offer is suspicious? Don’t you want to find out what he’s playing at?”

"Of course," retorted Renathal stiffly, unsure if he was more relieved or offended to have his inadvertent admission so summarily ignored. "I should like to find out a great many things. Why Denathrius is interested in you at all, for one, and why you are interested in him for another. But not at the expense of your welfare."

"My... welfare?"

The Maw Walker's face was screwed up in perplexity again and, like a light had been switched on somewhere in his brain, Renathal was abruptly aware of how unnaturally pale it was, and that she was panting, and that her one good leg was shaking as it fought to remain upright. All his remaining outrage leaked from his chest as though it had been punctured. He was at her side in a shamefilled heartbeat, bloody dishrag dropped carelessly to the floor, catching her under the arms just before her collapse and easing her back into her chair.

"Dearest, I - I am sorry." He mumbled the words to her cast as he arranged it delicately on the footrest. "I - this was not the right time. I only meant..." Renathal stroked an absent pattern across the plaster, remembering Denathrius' last phone call and the conclusions he'd had no choice but to draw. "Only, I no longer know what Denathrius is capable of," he admitted in a rush. "I don't ... I do not think I know him as well as I once thought."

“Renathal.” The Maw Walker said his name in that unique way she had - the tender care of the consonants, and her hand on top of his, stroking his knuckles, melting some of the tension bunched up along his spine. “I’m so sorry. About all of this. Everything. You've done so much for me, and I know - I mean... I don't know - I can only imagine how this all must seem to you. I wish...” Renathal looked up as she paused, watching her bite her swollen lip over whatever she meant to say next. “It doesn’t matter," she decided, shaking her head. "None of it matters, really. Not Denathrius, not his class, not... anything else. Certainly none of it is worth hurting you. I won’t take the internship," she concluded firmly. "I will... figure out another way.”

“Really?”

Wholly taken aback, the word was out of his mouth before Renathal realised he had spoken aloud. And the raw vulnerability in it would have mortified him had the Maw Walker not smiled - a tired, but genuine smile - and gently squeezed his hand.

“Yes. Really. I -” She paused again, drawing a deep, shuddering breath before confessing, "I love you, too."

All the many ways Renathal had envisioned a joint declaration of love were nothing like this: him stuck in a knee-cracking crouch beside the Maw Walker's wheelchair, cupping her bruised face carefully in his still-bleeding hand, while she leaned down at an equally uncomfortable angle for a clumsy, desperate kiss they could take no further tonight. Dinner was no more romantic - the Maw Walker managed only a few mouthfuls before her medication took earnest effect. And no fantasy of Renathal's had ever seen him heaving his semi-conscious lover into his bed, propping her casts on a series of strategic pillows before tucking himself in awkwardly at her side.

Then her good hand crossed the fort of pillows to find his bandaged one in the dark and bring it to her lips.

"Thank you, Ren. For everything," she murmured drowsily against his fingers. "I love you so much."

And this at least - the exquisite warmth vibrating up his arm to his chest; the sensation both of being loved and being appreciated for his - was every bit as glorious as Renathal had always dreamed.

No one expected this update less than me. There's only the one chapter left (and two more smutty one shots) but I have no timeline for them and make no promises they'll ever actually see the light of day.

[timhatchlive]

The Power of Love

The power of love cannot be overstated. Song of Solomon is a book about love between a husband and wife as a picture of God's love for us in Christ and our requisite love for Him. The book is in the Bible because of love's unrelenting power. Studying this short book reminds me that God is fully aware of our reality, our emotions, and our true need to know and love Him as we know His love for us. 

Song of Solomon 8:6 (ESV) Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD.

Notice those words in verse 6. "Love is strong as death" and "jealousy as fierce as the grave." Wow. Everyone who has ever loved or lost loved knows this is true. Love can make us do incredible things, and foolish things, and love can be one of the riskiest things we do in life. 

Song of Solomon 8:7 (ESV) Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If a man offered for love all the wealth of his house, he would be utterly despised.

Love cannot be stifled or drowned. If you think you can purchase it, you're a fool. Why? Because love is more than a tangential reality. It's beyond our physical world and it surpasses our mental acuity. Why do we love someone? At first, it may seem obvious. But sometimes you can see two people loving each other beyond the superficial realities that brought them together. Marriages grow deeper and stronger with time in many cases despite some of life's most challenging moments. What keeps them together? Something more powerful than looks or attraction. Love. 

With all that is said about love in Song of Solomon, there is wise advice in the final passages for those who seek it out. 

Song of Solomon 8:8 (ESV) We have a little sister, and she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister on the day when she is spoken for?

Notice the communal and familial protection for the little sister in this passage. We should understand this to highlight the importance of keeping yourself away from the dangers of love when one is too young. You need guardrails established to keep you safe. 

The brothers go further:

Song of Solomon 8:9 (ESV) If she is a wall, we will build on her a battlement of silver, but if she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.

The image of a "wall" is referring to a young girl not yet developed. The image of a door is that of a woman seemingly open to sexual advances. They are determined to protect her at all costs. Would that every young woman had people like this in her life. 

For the man's approach to love, verse 11 and 12 read thus:

Song of Solomon 8:11–12 (ESV) Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-hamon; he let out the vineyard to keepers; each one was to bring for its fruit a thousand pieces of silver. 12 My vineyard, my very own, is before me; you, O Solomon, may have the thousand, and the keepers of the fruit two hundred.

The image of the vineyard refers perhaps to Solomon's harem. But verse 12 shows the main woman in his life would not be like one of those loose women. She was to be cherished and kept in a sanctified manner. The point is simple, love between man and wife is far more intensely satisfying and fulfilling than all the sexual congress imaginable. We are made for singular devotion to one person. This is a picture of our union with Christ. This is God's offer to us in grace. 

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[pridelessdaydreamer]

On this crisp morning (or whatever time Linhardt sees fit to exit her room for the first time in the day), a small brown paper package blocks the door of the Hevring heir's dorm room, nestled in close to protect it from the elements and from passerby alike.

Inside, cushioned by shredded paper, a copper candle holder gleams with a polish strong enough to nearly function as a mirror. Around it curls an awkwardly proportioned plush cat: an elongated forest green body with stubby limbs and thick, visible stitches holding it all together. It rests with closed eyes made of two long lines of embroidery thread. Atop both of them rests a handwritten note:

Happy Birthday Linhardt!

Your first gift was letting you sleep in as long as you want today. You're welcome. (A face is drawn next to this text, sticking its tongue out at the reader.)

I know you'll never stop staying up all night reading stuff, so this candle holder is supposed to help you strain your eyes less in the dark! Handling glasses seem like it'd be a real hassle with all the places you like to take impromptu naps, so you should try to take care of your eyesight a little, y'know?

I don't know any laws about sleepy, stubborn cats owning not being allowed to own another cat, so the last gift is just a napping buddy for you.

Eyes flutter open unusually late—though, Linhardt doesn’t realize this at first. Rather, they presume the hour to be the same as usual—reasonable, though lacking in recognition. With a slightly lesser degree of tiredness, they sit up in bed, and with a sharper mental acuity than normal, they get up and get dressed.

It is when she arrives at the door, however, that things finally start to click into place. (It is not an immediate process by any means, but now she was thinking about things—not just mindlessly going through the motions.) There is a weight behind the door that she did not expect, and upon inspection: a package. (They couldn’t imagine what for, but might as well open it.)

And so Lin reenters his room, setting down the package on his desk and then opening it. First paper, then the container, then the cushioning and a note—

Oh right. My birthday.

—and that is all that is necessary for the boy to know the source. (Well, he also signed it at the very end, but you know how it is with recognizing your best friend’s handwriting—it’s far more immediate than that, so really, why wait?)

“Hmph,” mage smirks, already endeared by the words of it alone. (There’s also an audible laugh when they see the face Caspar had drawn mid-note.) Though the other boy had the tendency to be… politely put, a bit of a fool, it was evident, the heart put into the gift they’d received—and the wisdom, they would admit. (They had actually intended to get a candlestick for themself in town soon eventually at some point.) Caspar had also gotten them a nice one. They’d have to thank him later.

Or perhaps now, she considers, eyes now paying keen attention to the cat plush. Her mind is immediately drawn back to the hamster she’d made him (that was certainly not a coincidence), and here, she laughs again—louder, full smile.

“Well, Caspar,” he muses aloud, “I’m glad to know you like it so much.” And with that resolve, cat is taken from its perch (the candlestick set upright on his desk), and Linhardt exits, navigating his way to…

…What time is it again?

Ah well. Finding Caspar wouldn’t be too much issue really anyway; classes could wait.

[ahedderick]

Choose.  Violence.

   Baxter’s learning-to-farm journey took an unexpected twist yesterday afternoon when he learned that water is wet. I -

   Ok. I was walking the dogs in my favorite spot along the stream. Baxter was following along, in between going bonkers because a few tiny flying insects have come out. He saw Lady cross the stream, (it’s about 2 yards wide and only a few inches deep most places) and decided to follow her. So he gathered his little haunches and then just . . jumped right in the water. Jumped right-the-hell back out again, shaking his feet and looking upset.

  Baxter. My guy. Water is Wet. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I set him very gently out on a rock, then laid another rock in the middle of the water to give him feline-sized stepping stones. He hopped across and had a good time sniffing smells and clawing bark. Given his lack of mental acuity, I made darned sure he got back across the stream before I left the area. We all headed home together, some bouncier than others. Chance and I aren’t very bouncy these days.