#so they could logically co-exist

[vigilskeep]

um calenhad aeducan lore. known fondly as prince cal by the people of orzammar and also me. he’s called that after the founder of the theirin line, because after ferelden successfully rebelled against orlesian rule, orzammar was like oh fuck we’ve got to repair that relationship as if we didn’t just sit by the whole time that was happening. so there were a bunch of these kind of uh diplomatic publicity stunts happening around the time he was born. and nothing about his life has ever not been someone else’s angle

his mother was one of endrin’s lesser concubines from a lower status house, and every jealous eye turned in her direction when she bore the king a son. despite that, endrin’s queen took her and the baby under her wing. it wasn’t entirely altruistic. the queen had no sons of her own, so cal could serve instead as her “contender” for heir against trian, the son of her long-time rival, a favoured concubine called lady rosdrada. the queen also happened to be a notable warrior, a powerful reaver, who died years later on a deep roads expedition under mildly suspicious circumstances, with many blaming lady rosdrada. (she was never publicly accused but neither did the king ever marry her and allow her to rise to the queen’s vacant place, a fact bitterly resented by her faction.)

cal’s mother, who returned the queen’s protection and favour with fierce loyalty, was first among rosdrada’s accusers. furious that punishment never came, she changed almost overnight from a shy, humble woman to a politician who could in her own right engage in the life or death battle for succession, raising her son to be the fulfilment of the late queen’s ambitions. he was trained since childhood in both the ways of princely charm and the ways of a reaver warrior, all to be the vengeance of a woman whose face he sometimes struggles to remember. perhaps there was a time, as boys, when he tried to be a brother to trian despite it all, but with his mother’s teachings always in his ears and trian less bearable each year, he’s long since accepted that deadly conflict between them is inevitable. he’s never eager to be the ruthless aeducan prince, but he’s always done his duty, however ugly. he never turns down the foul-tasting reaver concoctions, or quakes when he’s sent to the deep roads. he always defends his house’s honour and makes the point in blood. anything less is death; his mother tells him so

he doesn’t truly want the throne. he just wants more than anything to have the weight of expectations off his shoulders, and to no longer dread that his mother, his second, and all who support them will pay the deadly price of his failure. he’ll jump blindly at the chance to get this fight over with—and that’s all the opportunity bhelen ever needed

[danzainosolitude]

Why did they never elaborate on the fact that there are *presumably* human versions of all the characters in Japan

[euclydya]

💰

i think it's sooo fucked up how Rhetoric is just a giant centipede looking thing? like dude you're not even centipede-ing right the guy has arms for legs and too many torsos and I think a. stinger? like a scorpion one. and I'm like Hi! you sre so scary ♥ . also it's tall. everybody's so tall exceot for liej 2 other people .

anyways rhetoric likes to pick me ip by the scruff and im likw Screams. please put me down,

-Electrochem

[seiwas]

omg im scared my tags are gonna get cut out

were he not born to be a hero he must surely be born for this. <- I LOOOOVE THISS my GODD are u KIDDDDINGME i looooove that so much monty :(( how it ties back in to the start!!

and the way!! he uses what he learned on izuku. and izuku really DID burst into a million tears 🥺 poor guy probs needs it THE MOST WAAAH i loooove this lil interaction i am MUSH

and when he realises its different from touching you??? OHHHH. BOYYYYYY.

i love this monty thank u for writing this

STEADY BEGINNINGS ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship (eventual friends to lovers), touch starved shouto, physical affection (hand holding + long hugs), good god the yearning, obliviousness, jealousy, fluff + angst, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 3.8K

series masterlist: 2/5

Shouto was born to be a hero.

It is a sentiment shared by reporters and fans alike. Todoroki Shouto, the pride of Endeavor, the saving grace of his family name. True, his development had been entirely up to chance—no matter the intent or cruel desperation behind his father’s actions, he had to rely on the probability that the next offspring would win the genetic lottery—but low and behold, he did, and to many people that alone was a sign of destiny at work.

Ultimately, he chose to continue the path of being a hero himself, but no higher being put him there. His father did. At the time of his birth Shouto had not been a son, not even a baby. He was a project. A small, shapeless, squirmy thing. Malleable, like any young mind. It’s a miracle he retained any will and individuality.

Sometimes when alone with his thoughts, Shouto would hypothesise on the whys and the hows. The conclusion he always comes to is this: any sort of reality in which Shouto succumbs to his father’s ideals and manipulation would have to be a world in which his mother does not exist.

While his existence was planned, and wanted, he was to be a hero and as such, wasn’t cut from love—that came after. He loved his mother. So much so that when she hurt, he hurt. When she cried, he cried. She taught him what it meant to be gentle, to have hope, to aspire to be his own person. Years spent amongst the country's finest heroes and Shouto still regarded his mother as the bravest woman he knew, strong because she refused to be hardened by her circumstances; soft so that she can’t be broken again.

You are like his mother in that regard. Those same echoes of reassurance that softness isn’t weakness, and it isn’t earned. You’ve been touching him more as of late, as if determined to prove it. Static between brushed fingertips, words expressed by simply pressing your knees together, the weight of your hand on his bicep to garner his attention. The build up is subtle and cumulative and yet each instance strikes him with the magnitude of a thermodynamic explosion.

Nobody bats an eyelid to this shift in physicality, which makes it all the more difficult to determine whether he is reading into things or not. It could be that he’s noticing those small instances only because it’s you, and you are all he can think about lately.

You’ve given him permission to reciprocate. He merely has to ask for more if he wants it. What Shouto hadn’t accounted for is the unbearability of being vulnerable enough to ask. An innocent “can you hug me?” becomes so much more daunting to voice with all that longing crowded up behind it. He can’t help worrying you’ll see right through to the bottom of his desires.

A hand comes into view. Bakugo’s ash-smudged finger and thumb pinch and snap together in front of his face. “Come back to Earth, dumbass. Your thousand yard stare is scarin’ my new assistant”.

Shouto blinks out of his stupor and the blurred vignette surrounding his vision recedes. He glances at the skittish man sitting outside Bakugo’s office currently sending worried glances over his shoulder. “I think he’s more scared that you’re back,” Shouto intones dryly. “Isn’t he the fourth one this year?”

“Not my fault they’re all wimps,” Bakugo huffs. A slap reverberates around the office as he throws down a manila folder onto his desk and drops heavily into his chair. He regards Shouto with suspicion overtop his computer monitor. “Whatever you were just thinkin’ about—stop”.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about”.

“I know you always manage to make Olympic level leaps in logic,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and tears open the folder. He slides out what Shouto assumes is a debrief and flips it between his fingers. Shouto keeps quiet. He reclines into the couch cushions and returns to reading the incident report on his lap, counting down from ten in the privacy of his mind. Anytime now.

Three, two, one.

“So what is it?” Bakugo asks, trying too hard to sound flippant but landing squarely on irritation. “Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm”.

Shouto opens his mouth and closes it again. A wave of hot embarrassment washes over him. He knows Bakugo will do him the kindness of being blunt and honest but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating to admit.

In their younger years Shouto saw something of a kindred spirit in Bakugo. He too did not like touch and aggressively voiced his distaste for it whenever he got the chance—which was often, because divine intervention sought fit to give him the most tactile, handsy friend group possible.

As they got older though, Shouto began to realise that the protests and threats were hollow. Despite being vehemently against affection, Bakugo would allow it anyway, and sometimes even seek it out. The aggression was bravado. Bakugo liked having his friends draped around his shoulders. He liked when Mina kissed his cheek, or Kaminari played with his hair, or Kirishima gathered him into a too-tight hug, or Sero tangled their ankles together on the couch.

Only, for him to comfortably accept it, Bakugo needed to act as though he were doing them a favour by allowing them into his space. And Bakugo’s friends played along without complaint.

From what he’s observed you are also an affectionate person. You are liberal with your warmth and adapt seamlessly to the boundaries of those around you. But you were also visibly uncomfortable whenever people took that affinity for intimacy as an open invitation, and recoiled if they encroached on your own.

Shouto has imagined reaching out only for your body to flinch away from him more times than he can count. It’s a battle staged in his head, ingrown fears. The possibility alone was enough to keep him from reciprocating, set in a state of fawn-like inertia.

“There’s somebody I want to get closer to. A friend,” he begins. Bakugo makes an inquisitive noise, props his cheek against his fist and narrows his eyes as he listens. Shouto retells the story in part, deciding to omit your name, and by the tail-end of it Bakugo’s forehead is deeply creased in dissatisfaction.

“You make all your own problems, Halfie. Y��know that?” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and sinking back into his chair. “Fine, you don’t want to make this person uncomfortable, or whatever. If you need a hug so damn badly, why not ask Deku? Not like he’d say no”.

Knowing Bakugo would make his dilemma sound ridiculous is one thing, actually hearing it is another. “How do you know it isn’t about Midoriya,” Shouto returns petulantly.

“It ain’t Izuku or anyone else from your nerd squad,” Bakugo says, dropping his hand to drum on the desk. “I would’ve heard about it”.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t touch people. And that’s fuckin’ fine, yeah? But if you had, I know for a fact any one of them would’ve burst into tears and told everyone in a five mile radius”.

“Oh,” it leaves him a little off-kilter to hear. Shouto leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, setting the report on the dark wood coffee table. The corner of the page is curled, and the spine is creased, and the ink annotation has smudged under his thumb. He details these things as he deliberates, the excuses cloying in his throat and thick like he might cry too.

Bakugo was right—if he craved close contact so badly, why couldn’t he go to Midoriya? He knows he would likely be met with enthusiasm.

“You don't have to tell me who. I don’t care. But you’re overthinking it,” Bakugo grunts at his lack of response, in a way that very much suggests that he cares. “Go ask. If they say ‘no’ it’s tough shit, but the world isn’t gonna end. From what you’ve told me they wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway. Dumbass”.

Shouto nods and gives up the pretense of reading the paperwork. He feels coltish as he stands and brushes down his front, straightening the creases.

“You’re right”.

“I know”.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” he says. A small smile unfurls across his anxiety-bitten mouth. “You’re a good friend”.

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles. It’s a testament to his concern that he hadn’t cursed Shouto there and then. “Now get out of my office. What are you doing here in the first place? You got your own!”

“Yours gets all the sunlight. And it’s always quiet because nobody comes in here,” Shouto ignores the baleful slit of an eye Bakugo turns on him. “I’m going to take my lunch now”.

“Do what you want,” Bakugo dismisses haughtily, and Shouto smiles while thinking, not for the first time, that he’s very lucky to have friends like these.

The fidgety assistant bows as he exits and turns into the sun-drenched hallway. Warmth drapes around Shouto’s shoulders, lingering at his nape while he descends the dark stairwell where the light doesn’t reach. His boots thud against the linoleum, and he counts each footfall to keep his face neutral as his legs carry him toward your department.

Somewhere between one and one hundred and thirteen, a fraction of Shouto’s courage starts to dwindle. He grits his teeth. A hundred steps can’t be enough to dissuade him after decades of denying himself any kind of indulgence.

The further he goes into the support wing the more elaborate the layout becomes. You’re in research and development, assigned a workshop close to the quirk analysts. Heads turn as Shouto rolls through. Heroes didn’t often make personal visits to this area. If he thinks hard enough he could count a grand number of two past visits and neither of them were for you.

His stride falters when he catches sight of your nameplate. It is fixed to the wall outside your door, polished and gleaming proudly. Shouto traces the characters of your name engraved into steel before raising his hand to knock.

Your voice rings out from inside, “Come in!”

A pitched beeping sound comes from overhead. The workshop doors begin to open in a theatrical fashion, receding like curtains to reveal your space. The floor is mapped out with tape. Clear boundaries drawn between the work benches, the fume cupboards, the vault and your personal office, in an attempt at organised chaos. He might have been more interested in poking around for the first time if he had not felt on the edge of intrusion.

You’re tucked behind your curved desk surrounded by numerous monitors that dwarf your frame. Shouto furtively takes in your cute, rumpled appearance. The upper half of your coveralls have been undone to reveal an undervest, sleeves tied tight around and accentuating your waist.

“Take a seat, I’ll be with you in…” the dull tapping of practiced keystrokes comes to a stop as you notice him in the doorway. The professional veneer disappears. “Shouto?” you say, mostly to yourself. Your gaze slides beyond his shoulder, looking for whoever might be accompanying him. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a worried twist in your mouth that he wants to smudge away. A look in your eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugged at his being. Shouto rolls his shoulders, shaking off the tension, and moving deeper into your office. The doors close automatically behind him. “I’m okay,” he assures, taking the seat across from you.

Your expression gentles, and he likes how your gaze follows him. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he continues. “But if you’re working I can head back”.

“Lunch?” you repeated. Your eyes darted to the corner of the monitor closest to you and promptly widened. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

An upswing of fondness catches him like a blow to the chest. His mouth quirks into a smirk. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long. I got lumped with a new project a few days ago and it’s almost done,” the monitors shut off one by one as you sheepishly press each button. Then you gave him a soft, apologetic look, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Must’ve missed me if you came all the way down here”.

Dread shriked through him. The low whirring from the equipment scattered around your workspace is suddenly inordinately loud. Was he that obvious?

You, however, fail to notice Shouto’s anxiety and grab him around the wrist as you pivot the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go before the good stuff is gone,” you tell him.

Shouto had absolutely no clue what the ‘good stuff’ entailed—maybe he should’ve bothered to ask. Atleast it would take his mind off your hand. It’s wrapped around his sleeve, right where the fabric ends, loose enough for him to unshackle from if he wants. When he doesn’t protest the contact you stroke your thumb in an arc over the heel of his hand and squeeze.

Shouto falls into step, too caught up to realise you’ve taken him to the cafeteria. He expects you’ll drop his wrist in the presence of your colleagues, yet you adjust your grip and glance back at him with an encouraging tilt of your head.

“I’m starving. I think I’ll get a rice bowl. Smells pretty good today, don’t you think?”

Shouto hummed his agreement. He felt out of his depth, and he didn’t trust his voice. The spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to his throat. The line is mercifully short and before long he has a warm bowl of food held against his front.

“Did you want to sit in here? I can take us to one of the senior staff lounges instead if you want,” you cast a nervous look across the sparse crowd. “I mean, support engineers aren’t really gossiping types but…”

A petty part of him hoped the whispers would escalate. To have your name linked with his, to be known as a person that you cared about—he found that deeply satisfying, for reasons he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

Then again, being alone with you far eclipsed the appeal of flaunting your friendship. “The senior staff lounge sounds best,” he answers after a minute of feigned consideration. You nod, regretfully having dropped his hand, and motion for him to follow once more.

The lounge is a modest room with a kitchenette, a breakfast nook and a few bean bag chairs. It smells faintly like peeled oranges. There are post it notes and blueprints haphazardly stuck to the pinboard, covering an out of date calendar filled out in illegible scrawl. This is no shop awning. There is no rainfall to lend to the ambiance. But you are together in an enclosed space, and that is enough to make his heart beat in anticipation.

You scoot into the breakfast nook. He sits on the same side of the table and tries to subtly spread his knees enough to nudge your thigh. You side-glance in surprise but choose not to mention it. Instead you smile through your first mouthful and ask, “How've things been since I last saw you?”

Achy, like he’s used an atrophied muscle. Lonely, and frustrating beyond words. But he doesn’t say any of that. He digs crescents into his thigh through his pant leg and says, “Boring”.

“Figured that might be the case. I saw the livestream of you fighting Haywire,” you bump your shoulder against his. “The Commission probably dumped a whole load of paperwork on you, huh?”

Shouto wrinkles his nose. He hoped you hadn’t caught that fight. The pursuit of Haywire—an eco terrorist with an electrical quirk—managed to cause an unprecedented amount of damage to the city infrastructure.

“You handled it as best you could. The power grid can be fixed. What’s important is people are alive because of you,” a warm weight covers the fingers restlessly whittling at his pant leg. You pet his hand, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt”.

Guided solely by his impulses, the instant you start to draw back he envelops the top of your hand and sandwiches it between his own. He goes hot and cold all over in quick succession. Boundaries, he reminds himself. But you’re not pulling away. You’re studying him with a knowing gleam in your eye.

Shouto clears his throat. Heat pricks across his skin, concentrated in his cheekbones. “Sorry,” he says. You can ask, a memory echoes. “Is this okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise. I told you it’s fine,” you reply firmly. “I’m happy to remind you if you need to hear it”.

“No, I…” his brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking”.

“That’s not good”.

Shouto snorts and shakes his head, his amusement petering out into a shallow breath. “I want to ask. I’ve wanted to ask like you said I could,” he explains vaguely. “I’m not very good at it, I think”.

You make a soft, understanding sound that immediately sets him at ease. “I guess, after denying yourself something for so long it can be scary to let yourself have it again,” you murmur, a faraway look in your eyes. After a pensive moment the sheen fades and your laughter lines deepen, “I’ll do what I did before, then. If you look like you need a hug I’ll ask you instead”.

“In what way do I ‘look like’ I need a hug?”

“You get this—I don’t know how to explain it,” you gesture vaguely at him. “This blankness about you, but not your normal resting face, I mean you don’t seem all there. I don’t like it. I like it best when you’re happy”.

“Ah,” comes his eloquent response. Shouto drops his gaze to where your hands knot together. Every quark in his body is urging him to get closer, and remain close. “Bakugo thinks I should try to hug Midoriya, too,” he adds, oddly flustered.

“Huh. You talked to Bakugo about—? That’s a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean! Well, Midoriya does give great hugs. It would be good for you to…”

Shouto’s thoughts grow louder and he frowns down at his rice. You’re saying something about physical touch and wellness and friends. Dopamine and serotonin. It barely registers. Two truths are pinging around his skull.

You have hugged Midoriya. Of course you have. You’re friends.

You think he’s great at it.

Why is that so unsettling? Teenagers think like this. Single minded and overly emotional.

He feels the shifting of your knuckles under his palm. “Hey. You’ll need one of these back if you’re going to eat,” you say.

“Right,” he lifts his left hand and picks up his chopsticks to take a pinch of rice from his bowl. He chews until the clamouring in his mind has settled, and you patiently accept his stoic silence without explanation. Shouto hasn’t been this awkward since highschool, and even then he was too wrapped up in his familial problems to be aware of it.

“What’s the project you’ve been working on?” he eventually asks.

You take the change of topic in your stride, leaning closer and lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “I’m not supposed to tell you but—it’s for Deku’s new costume”.

“Midoriya is getting a new costume?” Shouto replies. You playfully shush him and he pouts a little.

“Don’t sulk. He doesn’t know yet either,” you poke a chopstick at the corner of his jutted mouth. “It’s my job to prepare a design portfolio and talk through everything next week. You’ll get a new one too, when you break the top five”.

“If,” he amends.

“You don’t think you’ll move up?”

“Reaching the top was never really a priority for me,” Shouto’s attention splinters, half of his focus on the conversation and the other on the sensation of your skin. He considers overturning his hand to entwine your fingers. “I just want to be the best hero I can be”.

You hum, and as if plucking the desire right from his mind, absentmindedly slip into the gaps between his fingers. Shouto steadies his breathing and takes another mouthful.

The rest of the hour passes, syrupy and slow like molasses. By the final minute Shouto’s palm is sticky and reluctant to part from yours. You usher him out from the breakfast nook first, stacking the empty bowls before directing him back toward the emptied cafeteria.

You slide the bowls along the counter for the kitchen staff to take. Then you wipe your hands down your front as you pivot to face him, thrusting out both arms as he stands frozen.

“Can I hug you?”

Shouto touches his face and you laugh.

“This is because I want one,” you clarify with a warm grin, beckoning him closer.

Shouto inhales steps into the embrace, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back. There are less layers this time—the heat of your body is overwhelming, alongside the gentle rise of goosebumps across your bare shoulders. Your breath fell gently on his collarbone, his head lowering to curl into you. He thinks, were he not born to be a hero, he must surely be born for this.

“Thank you,” you mumble, squeezing his waste a final time as you retreat. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Shouto nods. Your presence moves away like the sun being blocked out and he watches you go, departing words caught in his teeth, an incessant buzz in his fingertips. The walk back to his office is a gauzy yellow haze. Every physiological response in his body told him that he was in a free fall, despite his feet being firmly on the ground.

“Shouto!”

Shouto halts mid-step at the familiar voice. He turns to look at Izuku, at the tentative beginnings of his smile. “Izuku,” he says.

“We missed you at lunch—are you feeling alright?” Izuku asks, slightly bemused. “You look kinda… floaty,” his eyes are dark, softened in the afternoon light as they sweep over Shouto’s figure and his face.

"Izuku," Shouto said before he could convince himself otherwise, “Do you want a hug?”

The innocent question appeared to crash into Izuku with the levity of a bullet train in motion. Tears sprang to his eyes, brighter now. Shouto tenses as he is swept into a solid hug. Izuku smells like fresh air, sweat and sweet-salty broth. He holds Shouto as though trying to keep his seams from bursting; thick arms are secure around his shoulders, and a rough palm rubs broad strokes down his back, smoothing the tension until Shouto is relaxed.

You were right. Izuku does give great hugs. Shouto came away doughy, and fuller, and with the stark realisation that while touching Izuku soothed the ache, it still felt completely different to touching you.

Later, as he leaned his head against the desk surface, he sluggishly contemplated the implications of that.

[kavehater]

Dahlia pulling me out of making dumb mistakes that could humiliate me >>>

[xxblairexxss]

Cookies!

Pairing : dad!Jude Bellingham x reader

Them : Angst, I think.

Word count : 2k

Jude had a bad day and it seemed like a cookie wasn’t enough to cheer him up.

I haven’t written in soooo long. Apologize for any mistakes. Might delete this one. I don’t know. Sorry! Should start writing more. 😔

Jude and you were highschool sweethearts. Back when eveyone thought you guys wouldn’t make it because kids in love? Yeah, who would have thought you guys could pull through.

But you did.

There were ups and downs especially at the beginning of his career. Those multiple rumors and gossips came flooding all at once and you went from a normal girl to someone who was known to have a famous boyfriend. They ven called you “the girl who hit the jackpot”.

Some even called you lucky.

A few months after your marriage, Jude and you were blessed with a little girl named Aaralyn. Jude was a perfect father figure to her though to be honest, her arrival wasn’t really align with the immense growth of his career but he managed to balance it all out.

But there were still ups and downs.

The small little hand was flipping through pages of pages from your baking cookbooks whilst her other hand kept on tapping on her chin. Her soft little hums filled through the air.

“Have you make up your mind, honey?” You asked whilst rummaging through the cupboards to take out every baking tools needed.

Jude had been feeling under the weather these days. He tried to hide it from you as he always did but you always catch on it. You knew him very well.

And so did Aaralyn.

Apparently, your little girl was fully aware of it too. Aaralyn woke up this morning and came up with an idea to bake cookies for Jude because it was her favourite and based on her logic, whatever foods that made her happy, should made others happy just as much.

“Mommy, we… bake choco cookies!”

You let out a cackle. “You flipped through the whole book just to decide with a basic one?”

“It’s Alyn’s favourite!” Her small little hands started patting on her chest with a proud expression written all over the face.

“Of course, baby. Can you let mommy see the ingredients, please?” You were about to pull the book closer to your side but your duaghter was quicker.

She snatched the book back with her lips jutting out. “Alyn can read!”

“Okay, read it out loud while mommy gather all of the ingredients, yeah?”

“This one says..powder!” Her little finger pointed to the first ingredient on the list.

“What kind of powder?”

“Co— cocoa powder, mommy! This one..” The little finger then slid to the second ingredient.

••

Your little girl’s eyes widen when the sound of a car came from the garage. There was no other car that could have parked in the garage except for your husband’s.

“Daddy is here! Mommy, daddy’s here! We need to be faster!” She made a hop sound as her dangling little feet touched the ground and scrambled to get her princess plate from the cupboard.

“Use Alyn’s plate!” She lifted her pink coloured plate up high for you to place one of the baked goods.

The sound of the door slammed put your little conversation with Aaralyn to an end. There were no words exchanged as both of you stared at Jude. He threw his bag on the couch, the things inside hit with some of your daughter’s toys.

“Alyn, I told you to clean up your toys, didn’t I?” The tense in Jude’s voice was enough to make his mood known to the rest of the family members.

“Uh-oh, mommy wait!” Your daughter tiptoed to place her plate back on the kitchen counter before scrambling to the living room.

You were looking from afar as she straighten her arm to grab on her little toy whilst Jude was ignoring her existence, eyes solely on his phone.

“Daddy, can help me? Please?” Aaralyn mumbled a little as she patted on her dad’s laps.

“You should clean up your own mess. We talked about this yet you still refuse to learn.” He stood up, picked up the bag which he threw earlier and headed straight to the bedroom, leaving your little girl alone.

You saw she brought her little hands close to her chest, lips pouting as she stood there, completely baffled with what just happened.

“Baby, it’s alright. Mommy will help you.” You picked up your daughter’s toy box and brought it closer to the couch, Aaralyn then made a little noise as she jumped on the couch to gather all of the toys left.

“Daddy might be feeling a little sad today. I’m sorry about what happened, sweetheart.” You cupped on her chubby cheeks to give them a little kiss.

“It’s awright! Daddy will be happy after my cookie!” She squealed.

Your brows lifted, smile widen as she mentioned the main point of the day. “You are right! I forgot about the cookies. Should we bring it to daddy?”

“It’s okay! Alyn will do it.”

You trailed behind as she ran back to the kitchen, boths arms high up in the air to get her plate back.

“Be careful!” As soon as you handed her plate back, she already made her way to the room where Jude went.

“Alyn will come back after I make daddy happy!” Her voice sounded afar as she ran to the hallway.

Aaralyn’s pace stopped in a sudden as she nearly hit the closed door. There came a new problem as she couldn’t knock on the door whilst holding the plate.

“Uh-oh..” The soft little mumble slipped out from her mouth.

“Daddy? It’s me!” The back of her hand hesitantly knocked on the door as she took a step back, waiting for a response.

Jude heaved a sigh, arm propped up to cover his eyes. He wished a second for himself and he got was continous knocking sound greeting his ears.

“Daddy…?”

“Daddy!” She crouched down to carefully put the plate on the floor before bringing both of her fists thumping against the door.

“It’s me, Alyn!”

“What do you want from me?!” The inside of the door banged agaist the wall of the bedroom as Jude opened the door. There was nothing but tense in his voice.

Jude saw his little girl struggling to stand up straight with the plate of cookies right as he brought his gaze on her.

Startled by the sudden loud noise, some of the cookies in the plate fell onto the floor. Most of the perfect sized cookie now turned into little bits and pieces.

“Alyn just— just wanna give daddy a cookie…” Your little girl immediately cut the vexed gaze from Jude, her head hung low and she bit on the inside of her cheeks.

“You are making me suffocated. I need a fucking break and I can’t even do that in my house?!”

“Sorry daddy…” Her words turned into a mumble, lips started trembling.

Jude heaved a sigh when he spotted the cookie crumbles now all scattered on the floor. “Great, another mess. Clean it, Alyn. Now!”

Hearing the voice of your husband gradually got louder and louder, you immediately flipped the main valve. You barely had any time to wipe your hands as you scurried to the bedroom where you saw your little girl crouching on the floor, her little chubby hands quivered as she picked up the mess she did.

“Jude! What was that for?!” Fuming, you pushed him by his chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

“I just need a rest, Y/N,” He rolled his eyes with no hint of guilty.

“You could have just said so instead of cursing to my daughter. She did nothing wrong!”

“She should have just left me alone. No one gives a fuck about a fucking cookie right now! I couldn’t play for 2 months and you didn’t even ask me if I’m doing fine!” Jude responded back, not giving any sign to back down nor to tune down his voice.

“I know you aren’t doing fine. Alyn knows it as well. In fact, she knows it better than me. She planned all this. She planned a movie night, we waited for you to come home only to find out you spent a night at Vini’s without telling us beforehand. Alyn wanted to cook your favourite food. We did and you weren’t able to come home again. She then decided to bake her favourite cookies, thinking it could cheer you up only for you to shout at her face. Is it her fault that you have to rest for two months? That you had to lash it all out on her? Do it to me! Scream in my face, Jude! Do it.” Jude didn’t flinched when your fist repeatedly hit on his chest.

“This isn’t about you, Y/N.” He breathed out.

“So, is it about your daughter? Is that why you lashed out on her?”

Instead of saying anything else, he heaved a sigh and made his way to the bathroom.

You went back to where your little girl was sitting. The tears stain were immediately gone as you quickly wiped of your cheeks before crouching in front of her.

“Come, baby,”

Your little girl pulled her hand back from you and went back to picking up the crimbles. “Daddy— daddy asked Alyn to clean up this mess first or daddy will be mad again…”

Your heart broke when she kept her head low. Aaralyn always loved to make eye contacts, she had always been the mood maker in the house.

“Mommy will clean up the mess. Can you go back to your room, please, baby?”

“Daddy won’t be mad..?” She lifted her eyes and you were greeted a pair of puffy eyes, her cheeks were more round as she jushed her lips forward. She looked exactly like Jude and it broke the dam of your tears.

“Daddy won’t be mad at you anymore. Go back to your room? Mommy will see you once I clean this all up, alright?”

**

Jude clearly forgot what happened after. He was literally losing the grasp on time as soon as he woke up from his nap. The blanket was pushed aside as he grabbed on his phone. The brightness made him squint his eyes. The picture of you and your little girl greeted his sight.

3:02

Even in the dark, without him having to turn his head aside, he could still feel the bareness. He wasn’t sure what it was yet. Not until he tapped on the other side of the bed.

It was empty. Untouched even.

“Honey?”

His heartbeat gradually turned even faster as every call was left unanswered. You were a light sleeper. Even a slight noise could have woken you up. Soon as he left the master bedroom, his feet bought him to your little girl’s room. The light was left on but there wasn’t any sight of his baby girl too.

“Aaralyn. Honey?”

Jude went uneasy. His skin turned sticky as he broke intol cold sweats. Part of him wished all of this was just a dream. Before he reached the main door, he caught a glimpse of a pink coloured plate on the dining table with some sort of yellow coloured paper by its side along with a box of crayon pencils.

“Daddy’s

— Aarlyn ❤️”

••

You could have brush it off if it was only between you and him but not to your little girl. Aaralyn was clearly upset. Even when you packed her stuffs, she remained seated at the dining table, staring at her remaining cookie.

As you rearranged her folded clothes into the luggage, she came back into her room, looking determined as if she had to get something done. You let her be as she ran back outside as she took out her crayon set with a piece of paper from her notebook.

Unknown to you, she actually wanted to leavr a little message to her very first love.

“There! For daddy!” She mumbled, the crayon in her hand was slipped back into the rest of the set as she left the paper right beside her plate. Her little hand then rearrange the cookie right in the middle. Not before she took a small bite at the corner of it.

“Daddy will like it…” She murmured with a small smile on her face.

“Come, baby. We gotta go.” You called out to your little girl, voice half whispering not to wake Jude up. After all those things that he did, you dtill couldn’t believe he had the audacity to just call it a night.

“Okay, mommy!” Aaralyn hopped off the chair and ran to you as you crouched down to put on her shoes. As she remain still with her little leg on your lap, she sticked her index finger in her mouth, eyes locked at the dining table area.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?”

“Alyn forgot to keep my crayon…” She answered.

“That’s alright. Just leave it be.” You picked up your luggage bag, your free hand locked on your little girl’s wrist.

“Mommy, where are we going? Aaralyn asked.

“Daddy needed some time alone so it’s just gonna be you and me.”

[helluvapoison]

how would the overlords propose?

Say Yes

how the overlords would propose

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Romance isn’t an afterthought to her, as hard as that is to believe. Carmilla is a very passionate woman… it just comes after logic. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve been put to the test much earlier on. (How you treat her daughters and how they like you is the most important part, if you didn’t pass you wouldn’t have made it this far)

By now she knows you’re worthy and she’ll bring you into her world permanently. Carmilla plans something intimate. She surprises you in her office for a candlelit dinner, courtesy of her private chef! She is a businesswoman first so she gets straight to the point and asks for your hand, literally, slipping the band into your finger.

“Marry me,” Carmilla says, uncharacteristically soft, “With you at my side, I will be complete.”

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Telling himself there’s no rush, that he could wait a thousand more lifetimes to make you completely his, doesn’t cure the urgency to do it anyways. He’s seen any ounce of goodness down here nabbed before anyone else can take it for themselves. Zestial never claimed to be unselfish, only patient. He tests the question to himself first very early on. Then he phrases it differently to you or refers to himself as your husband to others. You mistake it for a slip up and smile anyways. A delightful sign in his eyes.

Zestial is pleased that you don’t suspect it. How could you when he’s merely being his usual, charming self? He takes you strolling down the same path you took when he first began courting you. Ever the gentleman, he pauses before the bridge over the river of magma and actually kneels.

“Would thou spend the rest of this infernal afterlife beside thyself? Say yes and I swear never to stray and never to allow harm to befall thee. Thou shall only know happiness from this moment on.”

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Love at first sight doesn’t exist so do not twist his words when he says he knew you belonged to him the moment you met. Feelings were bothersome and you flooded his entire being with them with a simple gaze. Lingering between the emotions was always pain, which he was familiar with. Unfortunately for him, the cure for his ailment was always you. Marriage was not in the cards for either of you. Alastor thought he had no intention of going through such hassle until he couldn’t stop staring at the vacant spot on your ring finger. Bothersome.

Truly you had no idea what he was plotting. It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you to his radio tower, going over notes with him or just quietly hanging about while he worked. He told you there would be a guest on his next show and he wanted to rehearse the questions. Simple enough. Before you even read the last one Alastor stopped you with a finger to the lips,

“Pardon my dear, you’ve been a wonderful co host— utterly indispensable these past few years— but that’s my line!” There’s a flicker of hesitation before his smile takes a slightly gentler form, a side of Alastor only you’re privy to, “Will you marry me?”

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Since she was married a few times already, you thought Rosie would be over the whole thing by now. Well you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried! She adores weddings, from organizing them to being in them; the whole shabang is right up her alley! There was a reason her ex husbands didn’t work out but you don’t have to worry about the whys and whatnots. You’re oh so very special to Rosie, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you!

The fact you think marriage is off the table has her giddy. She loves having the element of surprise! Cannibal’s left and right are in on the plot, making sure you’re exactly where you need to be all day long until you reach the town square at sunset. Crimson rose petals lead you to the gazebo where candles are lit all around your Radiant Rosie. She smiles so fondly at you it makes your knees weak as you climb the steps to reach her. She poured her love into two pages, prepared to make it her best speech ever but the second you were in front of her everything went out the window!

“Oh! I can’t wait another minute! Marry me, won’t you?”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ the vees might get their own part cause, i feel, they’re particular about marriage

[pumpacti0n]

We should always be aware that it isn't some innocent mistake that authoritarian "leftists" have constantly failed to acknowledge systems of power other than a vulgar "anti-capitalism" or "anti-imperialism", like they've carelessly left out an ingredient in a cake recipe.

"Whoops, we've acknowledged one abusive hierarchy, but the other ones slipped through our fingers, silly us!" Nope. The reason this analysis of power isn't included in their ideology and praxis is because they consider these hierarchies useful to their projects.

This is why they'll mock or ignore discourse related to youth liberation, disability justice, gender self-determination or anti-patriarchal struggle, for example, or engage in apologetics for capitalist regimes in other countries -- they want to "have their cake, and eat it too".

A key reason why "the left", as some might call it, is not as powerful as it could be isn't because of some lack of discipline (or "degeneracy"), but rather a lack of intersectionality, a criticism that many of those within the black radical tradition, (black feminists and transfeminists more specifically,) have been highlighting in one way or another for at least 50 years.

Authoritarian "leftists" don't want to sacrifice the power that these hierarchies afford them, which explains why they're largely not opposed to prisons, borders, police, the enforcement of gender roles and even capitalism itself, if it's under the purview of the "socialist" ("workers") state and its bureaucrats.

And this is why I keep putting "leftist" in quotes...We're not free until we're all free, so the implication that we should settle for addressing one or two systems of domination while allowing all the others to flourish until we address them in some vague point in the far future is a distortion of what truly radical liberatory politics should entail.

It's simply a myth that we can address capitalism while leaving racism, ableism and misogyny etc. intact, as if they aren't mutually reinforced by one another, as if fascists and reactionaries will forget that they exist once capital is abolished. This is a fantasy, a delusion.

Authcoms love to pose questions like "without a state to enforce class rule, how will the proletariat defend itself?" but a better question would be: "if we fail to acknowledge the hierarchies that atomize and disempower the masses, how could we ever be a threat to capitalists in the first place? how would abandoning the most vulnerable populations serve the interests of the "working class" and "anti-imperial" struggle?

For example, (cis) women make up approximately 50% of the world's population -- so if women are still subjugated by patriarchal rule and the gendered division of labor, how will we have the numbers to fight?

Similarly, a significant portion of the world's population are currently incarcerated. If we don't abolish prisons, allowing the State to continue extracting labor from prisoners and destabilizing untold millions of social relations in the process, how can we hope to match or exceed their powers?

If we do not challenge the capitalist, productivist logic of endless resource accumulation, with its constant pollution of the environment and the displacement and erasure of indigenous peoples and non-human animals, there will be no habitable planet left for us during this "revolution", because we will have destroyed all of it in the name of profit...so what would be the point?

These aren't minor concerns that we can put off indefinitely, and it isn't some innocent mistake that they are left out of the discourse, but are instead deliberate attempts to co-opt liberation struggle for the sake of advancing counter-revolution and authoritarian projects.

It's no wonder then, that they are eager to dismiss any criticism of their projects the result of "western propaganda", as if these same critiques aren't leveraged by very people belonging to populations they constantly tokenize whenever it suits their agenda.

They'd much rather treat every marginalized community as some monolith or as primitive victims in need of saving and representation by a vanguard. This chauvinist, colonial, assimilationist, antisocial attitude is endemic in (often white,) authoritarian circles, because it forms the basis of their position towards racial and gender hierarchies, that they are a natural and inevitable factor of organization itself. They are wrong.

In this sense, they aren't meaningfully different from the capitalists they pretend to hate so much. In truth, they are just jealous and greedy for more cake.

[frosted-hyacinth]

You have a bad day

Feat. sae itoshi

Tags. fluff

cw. near-death experience (if there are any more, please let me know)

        You practically collapsed on your chair after you finished the huge mountain load of work and documents. After how tiring and mentally draining your day was. You'd almost gotten hit by a car that screeched to a halt after seeing you in front of it, crossing the road. It was a green light so you proceeded to walk across the road, looking around to check if there were any cars around. After making sure that there were none, you crossed the road only to be met with headlights in your face and the loud noise of brakes. You were shocked, after all, you almost got killed on your way to work. You stood there stunned before seeing the flashing red numbers on the traffic light and ran towards the sidewalk. You were expecting to continue on your way to work peacefully, continuing on your day like you hadn't almost died but just before you could take a step forwards, the driver of the car decided that this incident was entirely your fault and logically, the only thing they could have done was to open their car window and start screaming at you.

        They thought that it was because of your carelessness that they could almost have been sent to prison yet the driver was the one who almost ran a red light. So you just sped up and walked to your work building. As you finally arrived at the building, you set your stuff on your desk and sat down on your chair, opening your computer screen since you were preparing to pick up on the work you were doing yesterday. Before you could open the document, your co-worker tapped you on the shoulder. You didn’t notice but she had been silent walking behind you while you got your things prepared.

        “The boss asked for you.” She said, a smile on her face.

        “Thanks Mika.” You replied with a similar smile then took your laptop with you to walk towards a glass covered room. These types of rooms made you nervous, not only because every time you came into these types of rooms you were going to have serious conversations but also because the room itself felt scary. Sometimes it could be claustrophobic and feel like the perfect environment to have panic attacks but this time, you were seeing your boss. The one that helped you keep your job but also the one that could fire you at any moment. You couldn’t just break down in front of them, that could make you risk your job that you’d worked so hard on finding! You walked into the room with some non-existent confidence that was made last moment, taking a deep breath before your eyes were met with the very direct eye contact of your boss.

Her eyes were still on your but she gestured for you to take a seat on the chair in front of you, an order to which you easily complied to. The two of you sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds that felt like hours. If you had to sit there any longer in silence, you felt like you would suffocate. Thankfully, before you could die mentally, your boss spoke up.

        "I have been... Watching your work that you hand in, and I've noticed some things about the pattern that you give me your work. You tend not to finish you work as fast as other employees and to try to make your adaptive skills better, I have decided to assign you an amount of work that you must finish today." She said while reaching under her desk and handing you a pile of papers and documents.

        You nodded slowly then was motioned to get out of the room and resume your activities with the workload that your boss had just given you.

        You walked as quickly as possible out of the room as an attempt to get more time to work done.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

        You sighed, clicking off your pen and shutting down your laptop. You were finally done. When you walked into the elevator, you heard a small ding sound coming from your phone so you turned it on.

Sae: When are you coming home

        When you saw that text, you let out a small chuckle as you realised that you forgot to tell your boyfriend that you would be coming home a little bit later than usual due to the work that you had to quickly finish. You stepped out of the elevator once it had reached the floor you needed then you replied to the text that Sae had sent you with some explanations to why you were late but not much else other than that. You didn't send him the time that you'd get home since it was dark out. When you sent the message to him, it had the symbol that it was sent underneath the text and just as soon as that appeared, it was read by Sae.

Sae: Do you need a ride

        You looked out of the building. It was snowing. So it was cold, slippery and dark outside... Not the best combination, not the safest either... You responded with a quick and straight forwards, yes.

Sae: I'll be there in five

        And now you were set to wait five minutes before your ride arrived. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

        Sae's car arrived in front of the building, you saw so you walked out of the warm building towards the car. Just before you entered the car, a large gust of wind caught you off guard, making you shiver and stumble backwards before opening the car door and entering the car. You slid swiftly into the front seat of Sae's car, when you made contact with the seat's leather, a large and fluffy jacket was placed over your body, covering your head as well. You pushed the jacket off your head and smiled at Sae, buckling your seatbelt. When you smiled at him, he saw a glint of stress in your eyes but right now, it seemed like all you wanted to do was go home. He'd ask you about it later but for now he'd focus on driving.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

        You and Sae changed into a comfortable sweater, you having stolen a hoodie from his closet. When you finished changing, he quickly pulled you to the couch, on his lap, making sure that you were comfortable then he looked directly into your eyes.

        "Did anything happen today?" He asked, tone dead serious. "..Yes'' He continued staring at you, initiating a silent request for you to tell him what happened. You were hesitant to tell him but continued anyway, listing everything that happened, from almost getting killed by a car on your way to work to getting overwhelmed with work. When you were done saying everything, you asked him if he could watch Howl's Moving Castle with you to unravel from the day, he silently agreed then proceeded to turn on the tv, playing the movie you mentioned. For half the movie, you watched with your head nuzzled into your boyfriend's chest until you dozed off.

        He stayed in this position with you for a few hours, almost falling asleep in the process but he managed to somehow stay awake. He quietly crept out of your grasp, grabbing his phone and wallet from the table, getting ready to use any and all contacts he possibly could to try and fire your boss and make the life of the person who had almost killed you, a living hell. So don't be surprised if you wake up to find that your boss has been fired. It shouldn't be shocking if you have a boyfriend like Sae.

-I don't actually have a job so... This is probably inaccurate. I also don't know how this ended up this long but... Also, I don't have much on Sae's personality so he might also be a little out of character. 映

[sixth-light]

the thing that fascinates me about the whole Brandon Sanderson episode 2x08 meltdown is that, look. he is EXTREMELY popular with a certain very specific subset of SFF fan who loves 'Magic A is Magic A' type magic systems where it's really sci-fi in fantasy dressing and part of the fun of the exercise for him and his readers is interrogating it to find all the logical loopholes and cool shit that you can do while still being within the rules of the system and so on. and that's perfectly legit.

but it's also...even though WoT does have aspects of this, in that channeling is a very rules-based magic system compared to e.g. magic in LoTR (which is the classic 'no rules only vibes' high fantasy magic) it also co-exists along magic which is MUCH more vibes-based (whatever Min does, Ogier Treesinging, Wolfbrothers). RJ was also never interested in writing the sort of edge-case rules-lawyering that BS obviously loves; it's pretty clear he wanted channeling to have rules to give himself rails to run on when incorporating it into the plot, not so he could logically deconstruct the thing. (like, how exactly did Mierin Eronaile and Beidomon use the One Power to drill into the Dark One's prison the first time when the Dark One is outside the Pattern? we have no idea because it doesn't matter, it just matters that they did it.) there's also plenty of inconsistencies and weird notes in the earlier books because he hadn't fully settled on how things worked yet - famously, Moiraine's staff.

and none of that matters really, because ultimately the internal logic and ability to be gamed out of your magic system is not a sign of writing quality, it's an artistic choice about how you want to depict magic in your SFF setting and also about what helps you as an author to write an internally coherent story. there's a lot of very good fantasy where the magic is EXTREMELY handwave-y and it's fine because that's not the point of the thing.

so to see that BS apparently seems to think that it IS a sign of writing quality and furthermore that the show is bad if it doesn't meet *his personal standard* of magic system logic, which he is somehow 'qualified' to have because...he likes to write magic systems with lots of rules a lot...is just. wild. sir, you have identified a very specific niche of nerd who will give you lots of money for your very specific books, that's great for you but the world of SFF is much bigger and weirder and cooler than that and that's okay.

[sant-riley]

is it ok to request some headcannons with the team? if so, could you do a reader that’s covered in tattoos? like heavily tattooed. even their fingers. right? anyways, the reader is always covered during missions (like ghost level covered) and the team have subconsciously created this image of them under it all but haven’t really seen them until one day reader is wearing normal clothes and they’re like 🧍‍♀️ what? you have tattoos and like barely any skin 🧍‍♀️ IDK I JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE NVM THOUGH IF U DONT WANNA WRITE ❤️ NO ISSUE IF YOU DONT!

[Task force 141 and Laswell with reader who has a lot of tattoos)

A/N: I am not heavily tattooed yet but I did love this request sm soooo here this is :) Ty for the suggestion and I hope you enjoy!

They can’t really be blamed for not knowing about the tattoos, y’all are all covered typically in heavy gear and clothing and weapons most of the time. And they don’t question it when you’re covered up even more than usual bc yk, Ghost exists walking around in a Halloween costume 365 days a year. They’re used to it so they won’t prod.

Most task force members have tattoos of their own, it’s not a strange concept but they just assume you have none, they see you covered up and that’s that.

But then one day, let’s say there’s a mission and you guys get fucking d r e n c h e d in water, and you’re in a cold climate so leaving your clothes on is not an option. They need to dry by the fire and you cannot catch hypothermia.

Whatever reason you cover up, you know it’s only logical so you shyly take off your gear, quickly going by the fire while the guys quietly stare at your figure, staring at the ink decorating your body. Yes you’re beautiful and yes it’s their first time seeing so much of your skin but is that a fucking narwhal on your arm-

You have to snap at them to quit their staring bc you think they’re only staring at your chest or at your underwear but soap just blurts out “YOU ‘AVE TATTOOS?” And everyone else nods.

~

Individual reactions:

Ghost:

Ghost fucking loves it so much, he could stare at your tattoos for hours on end. He rolls up his sleeves to show you the ones decorating his forearms, letting you trace your fingers over the skull and withholding a shudder.

He immediately brings his hand up and traces yours back, asking questions about them and how long they took with you sitting in the chair, grunting in response as he zones out.

Asks why you cover them up as often as you do but when you send him that look he quickly says never mind.

Soap:

He immediately asks you about the meaning (if you have any for them). He admires them and thinks they make you look beautiful and badass.

He also will take a marker and draw ones on your empty bits of skin and color any grayscale tattoos you have.

If you were to ever get one of his doodles or drawings tattooed he would probably tear up on the spot. Also maybe kiss you stupid bc wow you have something from him on your skin forever and he loves you sm.

Would design y’all matching pieces, in your line of work tomorrow isn’t guaranteed so if you’re down, he’ll make the appointment for you both.

Price:

I personally don’t think Price has tattoos or would ever get any bc he doesn't care for them but he has an appreciation for yours.

Everyone would think he would be the type to talk down on them but all he said to you was “do you like ‘em? You do? Then why the fuck would I care?”

In between breaks, he’ll casually ask if you got any new ones and that he’d like to see them.

Gaz:

Gaz doesn’t have any but that’s just because he can’t fully decide on what he’d get, he’s young like you and cannot handle the commitment.

Therefore he lives by you and eagerly encourages all your ink and will always go with you to your tattoo session if he’s free.

He’s the best kind of person to have come along esp for long sessions bc he’ll go get you food, drinks, etc while he sits with you.

He always says he’s gonna get one when he goes with but always said never mind lmao.

Bonus <3 Laswell:

Now she's no stranger to ink, she's not covered up but she does have a matching tattoos with her wife and a few small patches of her wedding flowers on her.

She absolutely adores your ink and will not hesitate to defend you and it if someone were to disrespect you bc of what you've done with YOUR body.

She's a mom what can I say, she knows her authority and won't be shy to use it.

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom @solarslushee @areislol

@cluelessyasmin @sesshomaruwaifu @chaos-unchecked @kalamataolivesssss @arunasmisfortune @tbrfic

[fatehbaz]

Goldstein and Mahmoudi point to what, on appearance, is a relatively new phenomenon: namely the use of digital technologies in contemporary forms of surveillance and policing, and the way in which they turn the body into the border. [...] [T]he datafication of human life becomes an industry in its own right [...] [with the concept of] “surveillance capitalism” - a system based on capturing behavioral data and using it for commercial purposes [...] [which] emerged in the early 2000s [...].

In contrast, scholarship on colonialism, slavery, and plantation capitalism enables us to understand how racial surveillance capitalism has existed since the grid cities of sixteenth-century Spanish Mexico (Mirzoeff 2020). In short, and as Simone Browne (2015, 10) has shown, “surveillance is nothing new to black folks.” [...]

[S]urveillance in the service of racial capitalism has historically aided three interconnected goals: (1) the control of movement of certain - predominantly racialized - bodies through means of identification; (2) the control of labor to increase productivity and output; and (3) the generation of knowledge about the colony and its native inhabitants in order to “maintain” the colonies [...].

---

Identification documents and practices can, like so many other surveillance technologies, be traced back to the Middle Passage [...]. [T]he movement of captives was controlled through [...] slave passes, slave patrols [...]. Similar strategies of using wanted posters and passes were put in place to control the movement of indentured white laborers from England and Ireland. [...]

Fingerprinting, for example, was developed in India because colonial officials could not tell people apart [...].

In Algeria, the French dominated the colonized population by issuing internal passports, creating internal limits on movement for certain groups, and establishing camps for landless peasants [...]. In South Africa, meanwhile, the movement of the Black population was controlled through the “pass laws”: an internal passport system designed to confine Black South Africans into Bantustans and ensure a steady supply of super-exploitable labor [...].

On the plantation itself, two forms of surveillance emerged - both with the underlying aim of increasing productivity and output. One was in the form of daily notetaking by plantation and slave owners. [...] Second, [...] a combination of surveillance, accounting, and violence was used to make slave labor in the cotton fields more “efficient.” [...] [S]imilar logics of quotas and surveillance still reverberate in today's labor management systems. Finally, surveillance was also essential to the management of the colonies. It occurred through [...] practices like fingerprinting and the passport [...]. [P]hotographs were used after colonial rebellions, in 1857 in India and in 1865 in Jamaica, to better identify the local population and identify “racial types.” To control different Indian communities deemed criminal and vagrant, the British instituted a system of registration where [...] [particular people] were not allowed to sleep away from their villages without prior permission [...].

---

In sum, when thinking about so-called surveillance capitalism today, it is essential to recognize that the logics that underpin these technologies are not new, but were developed and tested in the management of racialized minorities during the colonial era with a similar end goal, namely to control, order, and undermine the poor, colonized, enslaved, and indentured; to create a vulnerable and super-exploitable workforce; and to increase efficiency in production and foster accumulation. Consequently, while the (digital) technologies used for surveillance might have changed, the logics underpinning them have not.

---

All text above by: Sabrina Axster and Ida Danewid. In a section from an article co-authored by Sabrina Axster, Ida Danewid, Asher Goldstein, Matt Mahmoudi, Cemal Burak Tansel, and Lauren Wilcox. "Colonial Lives of the Carceral Archipelago: Rethinking the Neoliberal Security State". International Political Sociology Volume 15, Issue 3, September 2021, pages 415-439. Published June 2021. At: doi dot org slash 10.1093/ips/olabo013. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[bloo-the-dragon]

Run Boy Run

A bit of an experimental one shot focusing on Bloodmoon (sams) and FC set when Bloodmoon was under Foxy and Monty's command many months ago, which is actually when i first drafted this lol. Woke up in a cold sweat and wrote most of it before forgetting about it until today.

So basically it's a what if situation where Stitchwraith shows up and Bloodmoon fulfils his command to protect FC. It's really not a redemption thing, more a what if they obeyed their command kinda deal. About 2.7k words!

(Also on AO3!)

~~~

Bloodmoon was guarding FC at the daycare. They did not want to be here. They would rather be anywhere else than stuck in this accursed place. Perhaps it would not be so bad if there was human children running around, but it was well after hours and it was just them and the little fox brat here. And he was under very strict orders not to harm the child lest they find theirselves swifted wiped from existence.

So here they sat, grumbling and clawing at the playmats as they were co-erced begrudginly into playing a game of castles by FC who wanted them to be the monster in the loch that surrounded his mighty castle made from those stupid barrels.

Admittedly the sight of the spherical objects made the twins a little uneasy, memories in the back of their shared mind of being faced with one held by a certain yellow animatronic, a flash of light and then nothing. But the barrels were supposedly safe now and no longer a danger. They remained skeptical of this, and so chose not to touch them leaving the fox child to stack them as he wished while they lay sprawled out on the ground, tearing fresh holes into the gross blue mats.

They wondered how much longer of this hell they would have to endure. One half was consistently egging the other to make a break for the doors, they could so easily clamber up the woodwork and squeeze between the gap toward their freedom. Multiple times the more logical half had to remind their erratic twin of the bomb planted so neatly into their head. And more so again as FC bonked them with a barrel to get their attention. They did snap their jaws in warning though, which ceased FC's actions and they snickered as the little fox suddenly startled and fell backwards.

However they quickly realised it was not them who caused FC to startle so. Hearing the sounds of uneven footsteps, they snapped their head around to see the Stitchwraith making it's way toward them.

Immedietely Bloodmoon was on their feet, teeth bared and claws out ready to attack. But experience had taught them to not immedietely jump and to be wary of the abomination as they knew it had many foul tricks up the cloak it wore. They made the mistake of jumping into action against it once, they would not do so again.

'FC' The Stitchwraith called out, drawing out the C' in a sickeningly soft voice. 'Come here, come to me.'

FC did not respond. He appeared to be too frightened, crouching behind the barrel that he had been hitting Bloodmoon with not a minute ago. Stitchwraith took another step forward and Bloodmoon growled, snapping their jaws in warning. The command to protect FC was starting to kick in in full and despite how much it sickened them, in the end they hated Stitchwraith more than they did the fox and his brat.

Stitchwraith seemed to notice their presence, and it called out to them next. 'Bloodmoon. Bring him to me. Now.'

Bloodmoon twitched at the command. They almost complied, the accursed instincts to follow orders activating. Plus it being Stitchwraith, someone they had unknowingly followed like an obediant dog for months.

But Stitchwraith was no longer their ward, their master. They had none.

Was Foxy their master? Coding said yes but Bloodmoon aggressively disagreed. 

The old fox had treated them well though, better than the others. While they were forbiddan to maim people they were still provided sustenance as meager as it was. Animal blood couldn't compare to human blood afterall. It was less sustaining. But it was something.

FC whimpered, as Stitchwraith called for him again. This time Bloodmoon recognised the voice, the so called 'nice' one. They knew it to be a lie. They knew that one was more a snake than the other.

The twins considered briefly their next course of action. One side, the more angry one wanted to follow as they had been told and to lunge, kill the Stitchwraith as was their command.

Attack ATTACK it is weak, we shall maim and tear and feast!

No.. Something is wrong brother. Surely you feel it too. Weakened as it is, i sense something is amiss.

Their spiral eyes narrowed, and they growled menacingly as they lowered themself to the ground ready to pounce or bolt. Yet there was something... off about the Stitchwraith. When they first spied it they immedietely noticed it appeared to be more damaged than it had been the last time they'd seen it. The steps it took were uneven and it walked with a heavy limp. They could hear a sickening grinding noise with every movement almost as if it were forcing itself to move. It did not sound comfortable. It sounded like it was in a great deal of pain.

And that meant it was weak. Less of a threat, easier to take down.

But still they'd held their ground. Past experience aside, the closer it got the more the twins sensed that it seemed to be almost more.. powerful than before. Despite how badly damaged it was, the red core that sat in the center of the mangled robots chest thrummed with such potent energy that even they could sense it.

The abomination's patience appeared to wane, as with a sudden burst of energy it took a couple of quick steps forward, claws outstretched toward FC.

'Come here. Now.'

Bloodmoon saw red. Quite literally.

The red core in Stitchwraith's chest began to glow and Bloodmoon reacted on pure instinct. Twisting their head, they clamped their teeth onto the scruff behind the tiny fox's neck elicting a startled yelp from the child before turning and bolting out of the daycare on all fours.

There was an angry shout, something that sounded like a 'No!' But Bloodmoon didn't dare look back, didn't slow down. They scrambled up the wooden doors and squeezed through the gap at the top just as one half had been pre-planning prior to this. As they lept down, the wooden doors cracked and splintered before bursting open with a looud bang behind them.

But the twins and the little fox within their jaws were already up the stairs. They ran faster, running in an erratic zigzag as bolts of red electrical like energy struck the ground on either side of them.

They dashed out of the daycare, their claws scrabbling to find grip on the marble floor that led toward the main entrance. They began making big leaps and bounds, almost like a bunny and at one point they even ran briefly across the wall before finally making it to the double doors leading to the pizzaria lobby.

They burst through the doors, nearly snapping one off its hinges in the process. They stop briefly to finally check behind them, to see how close the Stitchwraith was. They couldn't see it, they had managed to outrun it. But they knew better than to hang around in such an open space.

They looked around, the little fox swinging in their jaws as the red and blue animatronic searched frantically for a place to hide. One side pointed their shared view to a specific hole in the ceiling, meant for the elevator that sit broken by the escalators. It could work to hide them if they could get up there.

Wasting no time, they darted toward the giant glowing pillars that connected the elevator to the ceiling. They lunged and grabbed onto one, grunting and hissing as the bright light hurt their sensitive eyes. But they scrambled their way up it regardless and into the gaping space above.

They were able to only get up so far though as there was a metal barrier of some kind blocking the rest of the way. A safety measure should anything fall in from above they would assume. But they were up far enough that they should not be so easily spotted.

Bloodmoon adjusted theirself, finding purchase with their claws and supports for their feet to keep theirselves in place. FC remained scruffed in their teeth, and the little fox whimpered as he hung almost precariously, his eyes closed tight as to not look at the high distance between them and the ground below.

The red and blue jester hissed a low and dangerous 'quiet' just as the Stitchwraith appeared, slamming the daycare entryway doors aside and completely snapping the already broken one off the hinges.

Both Bloodmoon and FC went very still. They couldn't directly see Stitchwraith at this angle but they could hear as well as sense it. The eerie energy that radiated from it was all too hard to miss, as were the uneven footsteps and sounds of broken machinery as the mangled animatronic prowled below them.

'FC? Where are you buddy? If you hear me just call out! Did Bloodmoon hurt you? I'll come rescue you, don't worry'

FC didn't make a sound but Bloodmoon could feel him tremble, how the tiny fox curled in on himself even more tucking his legs and tail close. The smell of fear was strong and it took all of their effort to not give into the sudden urge to bite down fully.

More accursed mechanical noises, more soft calls carrying false words of encouragement and poisonous promise. At one point Bloodmoon spied the Stitchwraith as it moved below them. Their spiral eyes fixed on it immedietely following its every move with intense focus, their body completely still and tense and ready to lunge the moment the mangled robot turned its hooded head up toward the two.

But it did not. Instead the calls fell quiet and Bloodmoon could barely hear the angry hushed whispers to itself. With a sudden angry snarl accompanied by crackles of more red energy that had FC flinching harshly, Stitchwraith turned and stormed off in another direction once again leaving their line of sight.

However Bloodmoon dared not move, remaining completely still. Both sides were silent even in their mind, both being completely hyper focused with one side listening and looking out for the looming danger below them and the other holding back the bloodlust being triggered by FC's terror.

Even as the sounds grew softer and eventually disappeared entirely they did not dare to move. For all they knew, the Stitchwraith could still be nearby, waiting for them to come out of hiding so it could ambush them. They wern't taking the chance.

They knew not how long they stayed there. Could have been an hour, could have been ten minutes. Either way, FC started to whine softly the events taking its toll on the little fox. Bloodmoon growled a warning and that shut him up quick. But not a minute after, there were sounds of footsteps approaching which had both tensing up once again before a familiar voice followed.

'FC? FC Where are you? Bloodmoon? Either of you are you here?'

It was Foxy. FC perked up instantly, and with only slight hesitation called out to his dad.

'I'm here father!'

With that, Bloodmoon finally moved from his position, grabbing onto the accursed glowing pillar and sliding down it to where Foxy was waiting for them.

Bloodmoon released FC from their jaws, and the little fox instantly bolted away and over to Foxy. Bloodmoon twitched in a barely restrained effort to not automatically chase after him, but otherwise remained where they were, flexing their claws as they fought to calm their bloodlust as well as their own nerves.

Meanwhile Foxy checked over his son frantically. 'Are you alright? Did he hurt you?' Foxy immedietely shot Bloodmoon a glare as he noticed the faint bite mark on the back of his sons neck. While the faux fuzz skin was not torn, there were clear puncture marks.

Bloodmoon notices his glare and they let out a scoff, turning their head away. But FC is shaking his head drawing the older fox animatronic's attention back.

'No no! I am not hurt they... Bloodmoon saved me from the Stitchwraith!'. 

'I.. see' Foxy couldn't help the slight skeptisim from entering his voice but. 'Well.. Good. Glad to see you're capable of following orders then' Foxy directed his voice over to Bloodmoon. The red and blue jester shot him a snarl but they did not answer, instead plopping theirselves onto the floor and clawing halfheartedly at the carpet.

Foxy sighed, and turned back to his son. Aside from the bite mark he looked to be ok just a little shaken. 'I saw the Stitchwraith on the cams. Came here fast as i could. I'm sorry you had to deal with that but you're safe now.'

FC fiddled with his hands. 'Can we go home now?'

'Yeah kid, we can go home. Won't be back here for a while. I already gave Monty a call on my way down here so. He should be here soon, so just hang tight for a bit alright?'

'What if the Stitchwraith comes back?'

'Then we'll deal with it should happen. But i think it's gone for now and we won't be here for much longer.'

'Ok father..'

Foxy ruffled his sons head. 'Atta' boy.' He then stood and turned his attention to Bloodmoon, considering his options. They had done exactly as they were commanded which was... surprising honestly. Foxy had assumed they would have been torn apart by the Stitchwraith. Afterall their main purpose was to hold them off long enough for him or Monty to get down there. They had surprised him today.

Foxy hummed. He wondered.

While Foxy and FC were talking, Bloodmoon had tuned them out. They were starting to feel weary. The effort it took of holding back their bloodlust combined with the sudden burst of energy that had them bolting across the plex was starting to take its toll. The twins were tired and hungry and their arms and legs beginning to feel a little sore. Conflicting emotions swam within them from both sides. The satisfaction in their code of fulfilling their order to protect FC conflicting with the command denied to bring FC to the Stitchwraith as they were told to.

They hated this. Hated being stuck like this. Hated that they were bound to the commands of two masters. They knashed their teeth, wanting nothing more than to feast on soft flesh and warm blood before curling up and going to sleep.

They flinched as their name was called, flinching back as they realised the old fox was suddenly standing next to them. One half of them automatically hissed and swiped but the other half held them back as they processed a question that had been asked to them.

'What?'

Foxy had his hands held up in a non threatening manner. A difficult feat to accomplish when one had was literally a hook. 'Negative O. That's your favourite right?'

Bloodmoon tilted their head in a confused manner, but they warily nod. 'Alright, ok good got it' Foxy replies, 'listen you did good today so tell you what. I'll get you one blood bag as a treat. Maybe two if you behave between now and when we get home. Sound good?'

The twins do not answer, squinting at the old fox in suspicion. Was this a trick? Some kind of ploy? For what reason would he do this? They did not believe for a moment this 'good behaviour' shit he was spewing. They had simply done what they were commanded to do, nothing more.

However, the prospect of having actual human blood, and their favourite type no less was too good to pass up. They inwardly agreed with one another they could play the little nice nice game for a little longer too if it meant getting an extra bag so they nodded their head again.

'Alright good' Foxy nods mostly to himself before turning to FC. He had noted Bloodmoon looked tired and FC was looking increasingly like he could use a nap, the stress finally starting to take it's toll on the little fox. Bloodmoon too, as they stopped clawing up the carpet and resorted to curling up on the floor. Nasty place to lie down Foxy mused but he wasn't gonna tell them otherwise.

Eventually Monty did arrive and set up the portal back home. Foxy sent Bloodmoon and FC through first, and quickly passed on his request to Monty to grab the two negative o blood bags for Bloodmoon to which the gator agreed. As he passed through the portal himself Foxy wondered if perhaps he could use this as a consistant reward for good behaviours in future to keep Bloodmoon in line.

[outlanderskin]

The Thing About Rationality and Logic

Someone who was stopping shipping once told me that she was doing it because she was a very realistic and rational person and her life was based on logic. So I asked her if by that she meant that people like me live in fantasy or are irrational. So, I patiently explained that what made me a shipper was exactly logic, more than imagination or fantasy. Because the logical explanation for many events in S&C's trajectory would be that they are together, but they don't want the outside world to know that they are.

I'll cite some examples: when you have a best friend and someone in that person's family dies, what logically do you do? You see, we're talking about best friends, very close people who publicly say how much they value each other and are close. The logical thing would be for you to show solidarity, post condolences and behave publicly in a discreet manner, in solidarity with the loss of that person you love so much, especially because you (by logic) probably have known the deceased relative. The logic would be stay by your best friend's side, support the family. But what we saw in that sad august days, (showed ostensibly for us to believe) was something that no logical answer about "best friends/siblings" could explain. The only way to explain the narrative created in those days would be that they are two people with a cordial, but superficial, relationship and I believe that from what has been stated by the two all these years, not even the Antis deep down believe that they are not close. . Again I ask: what is the need to hide that you were supporting your best friend in an extremely painful moment in anyone's life? Many people (famous or not) do this publicly, because after all it is not a crime, it is the expected logical behavior. So... Why hide it? We know what really happened because this a logical thing, but the others believe firmly he was not there for her.

Let's move on to another point: the man of the year award (or something like that); How can you logically explain that you chose your mother, your best friend and your co-worker to thank, as the most important women in your life? You who apparently had many "girlfriends", who still gets along well with your discreet ex-girlfriend who lives on another continent, who has others close female friends, but didn't mention any of them along with your co-worker. I've seen several men receiving tributes and the Acknowledgments always include the mother, another older woman of reference and the wives, girlfriends, fiancées. The only time I saw a co-worker mentioned (and that was after his mother, grandmother and wife), was when the achievement was due to his work at the company, so it was logical to mention the department secretary. What would then be the logical explanation for that speech?

Something that also defies logic: if I have a best friend and that person is in a relationship, I will obviously include that person's boyfriend/girlfriend on my list of people with whom I am always cordial. I'm not going to publicly act like the person doesn't exist in my best friend's life. We have a wonderful example of how CD & LL treat each other's boyfriends/girlfriends and they don't hide it. This is how it is when we think logically.

Another little point where logic calls us: your male best friend might talk about a female artist with admiration...you don't need to tell him "behave", after all he's not your husband. The most you can do in the case of friendship is admire her or say you don't like her, never act like you're jealous.

Maybe it's just me, but I never went on my best friend's social media to complain because everyone in the photo was wearing a suit and he wasn't. I also never apologized or justified why he didn't wear a tie. I do this normally with my husband. Because it's logical for wives to do this.

These are just small points, where thinking logically justifies what we believe. So anyone who thinks that we are not rational, live outside of reality or do not have logical reasoning is mistaken, or has not yet stopped to think logically.🙃🙃

[gumnut-logic]

Thoughts on Tracys

Well, I did dig into my fic folder and did find the ‘Thoughts on Tracy brothers’ fic and yeah, I left it at just Scott. Sorry. Must see if I can continue that one at some point now that I even know it exists.

But I did find something else. This is me in early 2020, before Covid hit, fortunately, as I had an infected foot at the time and could barely walk.

-o-o-o-

I was re-reading part of my Kermadec fic and encountered the bit where Scott comes across the hot spring and it occurred to me the difference between Scott and Virgil as to how they interpret their environment. This led me to thinking about characterisation and point of view and how you write a character to sound like themselves. Then, because I’m lying idle around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I pondered how each of the five brothers might interpret the same scene. I sat their idly constructing scenes in my head and how this might illustrate how a character thinks.

So, now because I’m still sitting around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I thought I’d give this exercise a go...cos actually writing one of my many wips would be far too logical ::headdesk::

Anyways, five brothers, same beach, same time of day. Let’s see if I can make them sound like themselves....and not end up writing another wip :D Note: these scenes are separate and unrelated to each other...just flotsam my brain threw up. Guess which brother is which?

-o-o-o-

His running shoes hit the sand hard, gouging holes in the pristine surface. The air was still and clear, the ocean quiet, his breathing drowning out the sound of the waves. This was his third lap, but his first step onto this beach. He usually avoided this patch of sand because it was Virgil’s favourite and often the place his brother came to be alone. But today was a day that wouldn’t see Virgil outside the villa. Not today, not tomorrow, not for some time at all.

His breathing lost its regular pace and he had to force himself to concentrate harder on his rhythm.

His feet hit the sand and he kept on running.

-o-o-o-

There were times being a brother of the commander of this outfit really sucked.

One foot after the other. Scott may feel exuberant at this time of the morning, but honestly, this time should not exist.

He was only awake because the smart ass had called a drill. God. He ran a hand through his hair and guzzled the coffee that was automatically poured into his face.

He swore Scott did it because of his comment about Thunderbird One’s erotic symbolism yesterday. But hey, he was the one who had compared Two to a pregnant turtle.

Turtles lay eggs, you idiot.

But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d resorted to a dick joke.

And had been dragged out of bed at 5am.

Ergh.

His staggering finally led him to the beach and the moment he stepped onto the sand, the breeze caught him and brushed away his frown.

A sigh fell from his lips and he closed his eyes.

The sounds of the ocean caressed his ears and washed away the aggravation. The calm seeped into his bones and his shoulders dropped.

But he kept his grip on his mug of coffee.

Another sip.

Another grateful sigh.

And a plan began to form.

-o-o-o-

Before he knew it the sun was peeking over the edge of the planet and the stars were fading.

His butt and back were damp from lying on the sand.

There was dry seaweed in his hair.

He reached up and untangled the mess, frowning as it caught and pulled. Ow.

It wasn’t often he used a beach for stargazing, but he hadn’t had the energy to climb the stairs to the observatory and to be honest, he wasn’t looking for a specific event, more just comfort in the familiar.

He had come out here in the early hours, his circadian rhythm still slightly off and done his best to connect with what he loved.

He had forgotten the inconveniences of sand, mosquitoes and was that a crab?

He shifted his leg out of reach and clambered to his feet.

The sun flashed everything gold, including him.

A sigh and he turned to walk back to the house.

-o-o-o-

One of the advantages of living on your own secret tropical island is that he could run around in whatever clothes he wanted and not have to worry about what the public might think.

A pair of flip flops and his swimwear, mostly because it was just after his morning laps. Specimen bags in hand, he headed down to the beach to check on the morning’s finds.

The ocean was still puking up stuff from the storm that passed to the south of the Island two weeks ago and he was making sure to check the beaches every morning to see what treasures might surface. One of the things about cyclones is that they churned the ocean as much as the land and often interesting things appeared with the tide as a result.

Fortunately the storm hadn’t actually hit the Island itself and the beach was on the protected side, otherwise there may have been no beach left to comb. This time the conditions were perfect and he wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity.

Clambering around the Island in flip flops would probably earn him several frowns from several quarters, but to be honest he didn’t care.

From the moment his feet hit the sand, he was discovering and cataloguing. Three different types of sponge all seen before. A nasty chunk of the rare kelp from that isolated patch to the south, damn. An array of shells of which one he was unable to identify. He grabbed that one for identification purposes and one other simply because it was pretty and he knew a brother who might like it.

He found the waves tossing about a large chunk of broken coral and he swore. Damn. Cyclones were nasty to reefs and they took eons to repair.

The worst find was a relatively small mola mola. The young sunfish looked like it had been caught up in an argument between the surf and the volcanic rocks of the island.

He carefully picked it up and placed it in a bag, commemorative words for a life lost passing through his mind as he sealed it tight. Size and details would be sent to the NZ DoC south of their island for research purposes.

Reaching the end of the beach he turned back and trailed his feet in the water. A glance at the rising sun and he headed back.

-o-o-o-

He bounded onto the beach and kicked the sand with his foot. This was so unfair! Why couldn’t he do what everyone else was doing?

He stomped his feet into the sand and took some satisfaction in the deep divots his feet left behind.

The water was whispering as if to herald the rise of the sun.

He didn’t like it.

It mocked him.

Why? Why? Why?

The question bounced around his head and just fuelled his anger.

There was a roar and the island shook as behind him Thunderbird One leapt into the air. Further in the distance he heard the deeper rumble as Two ignited her rear thrusters and a moment later the great green ‘bird appeared over the palm trees and shot off into the distance, Thunderbird One darting down to escort her.

Both were lit up by the sun.

His heart was caught between pride at the sight, and the anger that he wasn’t with them.

As they disappeared in the sunrise, he glared after them.

-o-o-o-

Okay, that exercise did not go exactly the way I had planned, but I hope you enjoyed these little snippets. I hope you can tell which bro is which. I haven’t really gone to any effort to hide them and I’m kinda hoping it is obvious. Maybe take note of the bits of information that give it away?

Or which bros I’m better at writing, maybe :D

Fun to write. I hope they are fun to read.

::hugs you all::

Nutty

(Yeah, well, my brain is weird, I can’t help myself)

[dustykneed]

can you share some of your mirror verse hcs?

(gladly! ... as you can see this really got away from me in terms of length and i am SO sorry in advance for springing a whole short essay on you skdjsdh)

to open with a bit of a shocker, perhaps, well, the way i interpret the mirrorverse, i just... cannot see mirror mcspirk happening. now don't get me wrong! i think mirror spirk is absolutely possible, and in fact highly probable, and not even as just a sleeping together thing. i think their dynamic could absolutely yield a form of co-dependent emotional attachment on a highly personal level. everyone defines love differently, but i think that in the mirrorverse, if not love, it is certainly as close as you could get. but mirror mcspirk i actually can't see, believe it or not, and this is for a couple of reasons:

the thing about the mirrorverse is that it is all about the death of humanity (not humans, but for what we know as the human capacity for empathy, kindness and hope. i've seen the mirrorverse described as "the universe where no hope can survive". i think that is a very apt summary of what i explore here.) one key assumption of my interpretation of the mirrorverse is that the characters themselves, initially, are no different from how they are in any other universe at the core, and it is the varied external factors of the universe in which they exist that produces the people they become.

to examine the effects of the mirrorverse on the triumvirate, we might begin by looking at the original triumvirate's relationships with the concept of "goodness", with reference to the principles of ethos, logos and pathos.

one of the fundaments of kirk, as a character, is his relationship with goodness as a choice. he represents ethos, morality, in that his goodness is the result of a conscious decision to be good, to do good, as far as possible, to pick the least of any evils if he absolutely must and even if it is difficult, to keep going for the greater good. in the end, it all boils down to his core motivation to be a net force of goodness on the world, or in other words, to train his eyes on the bigger picture when interacting with the situation at hand and to believe that goodness can always prevail in the sense that he will have a net positive impact on the world around him.

spock, on the other hand, is arguably characterized by his relationship with defining goodness. his struggle to reconcile logic and emotion goes hand in hand with his desire to know if, and why, what he is doing is right-- logos. other vulcans rationalize displays of emotion by interpreting them through the lens of logic. spock, i think, is unable to do this because while he has been taught that emotions are illogical and undesirable, and internalizes this to perhaps a far stricter extent than most vulcans due to being held to unfairly high standards to prove himself "vulcan enough", he recognizes on a subconscious level that there is no inherent contradiction between logic and emotions, and that goodness is a mixture of value judgements and rational, ethical methodology.

but mccoy, i think, is a little different, in that goodness in itself is what defines him as a character. instead of ethos (making the right decision) or logos (understanding what makes something right), mccoy's pathos (an unrefined, innate compulsion for goodness; something similar to mencius' theory of good human nature) is not a conscious decision or a principle of action, but a visceral, impulsive, desperate, sometimes irrational and neurotic need to do good no matter the cost, simply because he instinctively knows that it is the kind thing and therefore the right thing to do-- which, sometimes, makes him disregard the bigger picture, and, ironically, do the wrong thing out of irrationality.

(to digress-- i actually think that kirk is actually far more logical than we sometimes give him credit for, especially in the context of spirk. the dynamic of a logical, stoic character and an emotional, affectionate character whose very souls find solace in one another is a hugely compelling and moving one, and i cannot fault people for applying that dynamic to their relationship-- but, well, by virtue of being relatively less direct associations of their character dynamics in the context of slash, i think what happens sometimes with spones, mckirk and mcspirk is that in the process of fumbling around for ways to fit them together believably, people often end up doing a greater degree of exploration of their character dynamics and nuances that is like catnip to me xD)

for kirk and spock, as men whose worldviews are rooted in tangible logic, where the goodness they have seen is the driving force for their pursuit of morality, i do not doubt that without external proof of goodness as a feasible, worthy path, the same traits that grant them their steadfast belief in humanity and hence their great devotion to goodness will be the traits that drive them to turn away from that goodness in the mirror universe. in a world where hope cannot survive, where cruelty and ambition are the only constants, kirk's resourcefulness prompts him to adapt to his environment and seek what he sees as the bigger picture-- ambition and power. spock, a being of logic, observes that cruelty is simply how the world functions, and as a result applies this science to his interactions with it, seeking power not because of a specific ambition, but, again, because it is a logical course of action according to his observations.

i see spirk as highly probable in the mirrorverse precisely because of how alike they are in this regard. they are capable of great compartmentalization of personal sentiments in order to do what they consider "the right thing", or take the "logical course of action", and this is what makes them effective in command roles, where dwelling on the implications of a wrong decision could either kill you from the sheer crushing guilt, or kill more of your men because of your indecision. they are comfortable in their pursuit of power by use of force because they have internalized the rules of the mirrorverse, and are able find solace in each other because they are evenly matched as opponents and a force to be reckoned with when in alliance, which gives them the space to develop that personal attachment and tension in the first place.

but mccoy? mccoy's goodness isn't rooted in logic, and as a result, this facet of his character largely remains untouched even in the face of the greatest cruelties and atrocities his world can offer. his great stubbornness (or illogic, or perhaps even self-delusion) lends him the ability to, against all odds, still believe that people are inherently worthy of kindness and compassion. he believes in good without ever having experienced it, because his belief in good is illogical by nature.

i have no doubt that mccoy would possibly love kirk, and spock, in part simply because he resonates subconsciously with the capacity of kirk and spock to show great kindness. it is possible that he sees the apparitions of what they could have become, had the world not been so unkind to them, and his love for them is tinged with an undercurrent of mixed grief and disgust, and pity. but fundamentally he doesn't trust spirk-- and because of that i think he could never bring himself to truly fall in love even though he has the capacity for it, because that would require betraying his love for humanity.

i think, based on the way mirror kirk and spock likely treat mccoy, as technically their subordinate (and especially in mirror mirror, when mirror spock mind melds with mccoy to figure out why he saved his life without so much as a moment's hesitation, because he doesn't see mirror mccoy as a threat, so why would a mccoy from a softer, kinder universe ever be anything more?) i wouldn't be surprised if they saw mccoy as... lesser. you know? they know that mccoy isn't capable of seeking power the way they do. that makes him weak. i think they trust him far more than anyone else other than each other, perhaps less out of respect for his profession or character, but more because they are able to clear him as a possible threat, as something too pathetic to seize power even when given the chance. they definitely have some interest in his motivations-- like you would a pet, or a plaything, because kindness makes you a target, a weakness, and a liability. a fascinating study, but ultimately, inadvertently disposable.

and it makes sense, in a way, that they are unable to bring themselves to ally themselves with mccoy the way they have each other, because in the mirrorverse, to believe in kindness is a death sentence. they might pity mccoy or regard him with contempt borne out of inexplicable regret, the same way mccoy pities them, for his wasted potential as an asset (and maybe even as a partner). by insulating themselves against their inevitable loss of mccoy, conciously or otherwise, they save themselves another hurt in their world where hope is a lost cause.

(i definitely have more bouncing around in my head about mirror bones especially, but i think 1.5k words is enough for one sitting LMAO so sorry i think i'm halfway in finals mode still. but this is why i could never take literature lol i can never help myself and it takes a lot out of me xDD)

(oh and @callofdooty i think the mirrorverse as a place where no hope can survive quote was from you during our conversations about mirror bones! but either way i think you might enjoy this hahah)