#so they're a lot more vulnerable to stuff

[fic-girlie]

Shadows in the Quiet

Pairing: DEA agent Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A late-night visit from a wounded DEA agent Joel Miller leads to quiet confessions, shared vulnerability, and the beginning of something deeper than either of them expected.

Warnings: blood, mentions of violence, angst

A/N: Hey! I wrote this fic because I saw a challange on @rav3n-pascal22's profile, where she said if someone could write or draw Joel Miller as a DEA agent, so I thought I'll write it, even though the post is basically one year old. I don't know if you meant something like this, or if you'll like it but... Here it is!

It’s late. Later than usual, even for you.

Your eyes flicker across the clock as the hands edge toward 2 AM. The silence in the house is almost too much, like it’s pressing in from all sides, filling the space until you can’t breathe. Your thoughts are always loud at this hour. The day’s weariness weighs on you, but there’s a nagging sensation deep inside, a sense of anticipation—like something is about to happen. You try to ignore it, but it stays there, persistent.

A sound interrupts the quiet—barely a whisper. But it’s enough.

The knock.

Three raps—short and measured. Familiar. It’s Joel. You don’t even have to think about it; your heart knows. The way it speeds up, the way your breath catches.

You slip out of bed, bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor as you cross the room. You don’t bother with the lights. You’ve gotten used to the dark when he comes around at this hour. It’s always like this with him. Never any words. Only the knock. Always just a little too late, but always right on time.

The door creaks open, and there he is.

Joel Miller.

His broad frame fills the doorway, his face shadowed by the dim porch light. His usual tough demeanor is softened, just a little. The tension in his posture is unmistakable, though, like he's holding something back—something heavy.

“Joel,” you breathe. “What’s—?”

He doesn’t let you finish. His eyes flicker across the room, like he’s searching for something. Then his gaze lands on you. And for a moment, it feels like everything else stops.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, his voice gruff, strained.

You don't need to ask anything. You don't need to know the details. You just nod, stepping aside to let him in. His boots click softly against the floor as he walks past you. The air feels colder once he's inside, like the weight of whatever he's carrying is pressing on you too.

You close the door behind him, your mind already racing. You can't ignore the blood soaking through the sleeve of his jacket. It's not a lot, but the dark red stains are unmistakable. He's hurt.

"Joel, you're—"

"I'm fine," he cuts you off again, his voice rougher now. His eyes, though, don't match the words. They're too soft, too tired. "It's not mine."

You raise aneyebrow, but you don't ask. You know better. Instead, you move towards the kitchen, your steps slow, deliberate. "You need anything?"

His eyes follow you for a second, lingering on the curve of your back as you pull open a drawer to grab the first aid kit. There's a moment of hesitation before he speaks again, his voice softer this time, almost reluctant.

"A drink. Whiskey."

You glance back over your shoulder. "The good stuff?"

Joel smirks, a small, tired curve of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You know it."

While you grab the bottle of whiskey from the top shelf and pour two fingers, he goes and sits down on the couch. You hand the alcohol to him without another word. He takes it, his large hand wrapping around the glass like he needs the comfort it provides more than the alcohol that was in it. You slowly sit down beside him, careful not to startle him.

The silence stretches out between you as he takes a long swallow. His eyes flicker to you again, studying you as if trying to figure something out. You don't speak, just continue sitting there quietly.

Joel's fingers find yours next to him, and he slowly squeezes your hand. You keep your hand there trying to ground him and help him with you presence. It's a simple gesture, but it feels like more. It feels like a confession of its own.

——

Joel shifts slightly, adjusting his position on the couch. His hand—still brushing against yours—tightens ever so slightly, a subtle plea for connection. His gaze is distant, and you can see the weariness in the way his body is slumped, the weight of too many late nights, too many difficult cases, and too many people lost.

You don't speak. There's nothing to say. Not right now. Not in this situation.

But even without words, you understand him in a way no one else ever could. The silence between you is easy—there's comfort in just being here, existing together in the same space, with the world outside fading into oblivion. The clock ticks softly in the background, but time doesn't feel as pressing anymore. You shift closer, just a little, your shoulder brushing against his. It's a small gesture, but it speaks volumes.

Joel's eyes flick to you for a moment, something flickering in their depths before he exhales a breath he's been holding onto for far too long. His shoulders relax, just a fraction, but it's enough to make you wonder if this is the first time all day that he's let himself be vulnerable.

"Does it ever get easier?" he asks, his voice rough but quiet. He's not looking at you, but you know he's waiting for an answer that you're not sure you have. His gaze is fixed somewhere on your living room wall, unfocused, as if the weight of his question is too heavy for him to hold alone.

You let the question hang in the air for a moment, while you tried to look for an answer. "No," you say softly. "But I think we find ways to live with it."

Joel's finger twitch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he keeps his hand next to yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles in a quiet, soothing rhythm.

"You're right," he murmurs. "I just.... I don't know how much more of it I can take."

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You don’t need him to explain. You can see it in his eyes—the burden of everything he’s seen, the lives he’s taken, the ones he’s failed to save. It’s a heavy load, and tonight, it’s threatening to break him.

“I’m here,” voice steady, unwavering. “For whatever it’s worth.”

His gaze settles on you again, and for a short moment, you see somethingbsofter behind the hardened exterior. It's fleeting, but it's enough. Enough to make your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t say anything else. Instead, you lean back against the couch, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. It’s a small thing, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Joel’s body stiffens for a second—surprised, maybe—but then he relaxes, allowing himself to lean into the moment.

For a while, neither of you speak. The only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the house, the occasional creak of the floorboards, and the soft, rhythmic sound of Joel’s breathing. It’s oddly peaceful, this moment of stillness, and you both savor it. You don’t need to fill the silence with words. There’s something more important happening here—the quiet understanding that passes between you, the shared space, the presence of someone who truly sees you.

——

Hours pass, and the weight of the night settles deeper into your bones. You’re still sitting together on the couch, the space between you close but not quite touching. It’s as if you’re both afraid to break the fragile peace that’s settled over you. Joel hasn’t moved much since you both settled in, his eyes closed now, though you know he’s not sleeping. His breathing is slower, more even, but there’s something restless in the way his fingers flex and tighten around your hand every second. You’re both too aware of the tension in the room, the magnetic pull between you, but neither of you is ready to acknowledge it. Not yet.

Only the quiet hum of the house fills the space, but it’s comforting. It’s a reminder that you’re not alone here. That Joel is still present, even if his mind is a thousand miles away, buried in the depths of things he doesn’t talk about.

When you finally speak up, your voice is barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself, you know.”

Joel doesn’t move, but you can feel his body stiffen beside you, his muscles tense as if preparing to retreat. He’s always been like this—self-reliant, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help. But you know him better than that. You know he’s not as invincible as he shows to the world. To the people.

“I don’t have anyone else,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. It’s almost like a confession, and it catches you off guard.

“That’s not true,” you say gently, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “You’ve got me.”

Joel’s eyes flick open, and for the first time tonight, he looks directly at you. The intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming, like he’s searching for something in your eyes, something he can’t quite name. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. But his eyes soften, just slightly, and his lips part as if he’s about to speak—then hesitates.

“You don’t deserve to be dragged into this,” he says quietly, his words almost a plea. “I’ve got too much blood on my hands, too much baggage. You shouldn’t be around someone like me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you say, your voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not a burden to me, Joel. You never have been. You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

He looks down at your hand, then back up at you, the battle between his pride and his longing playing out in his eyes. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. For the first time tonight, there’s something tender in the way he moves—something raw and real. The tension that has lingered between you both since the moment he walked through that door begins to shift, like the slow cracking of ice beneath a warm sun.

“I don’t know what I��d do without you,” Joel murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him, and the weight of his words makes your heart ache. “You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

And in that moment, you realize just how much you’ve come to mean to each other—how much he’s willing to admit, even in his silence. He may not always show it, but Joel Miller is capable of feeling things so deeply that it almost consumes him. But here, now, with you, he allows himself to feel. And that’s enough for you.

Without thinking, you lean in closer, your lips brushing his in a soft, gentle kiss. It’s not a grand gesture. It’s quiet, understated, but it speaks volumes. He freezes at first, but then, as if surrendering to the moment, he melts into the kiss. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he deepens the kiss, his body shifting towards you.

The world outside fades away as you both lose yourselves in the quiet, tender connection that has always existed between you. It’s not about the chaos of the world outside, or the dangers of his job. It’s about this—this moment, here and now, where everything makes sense.

When you pull away, just enough to breathe, you rest your forehead against his, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the moment.

Then you look down at your interwined hands, and you see the blood that is still covering his hands and forearms, his knuckles raw and bruised, a deep gash between his index and middle fingers. You slowly get up to retrieve the first-aid kit from the kitchen, and when you return you see him hunched forward, elbows rested on his knees, eyes fixed to the ground. You slowly kneel in front of him and reach for his hand.

"So... it's not yours?"

He shakes his head. "Mostly not."

"Mostly?"

“Bastrop. Warehouse intel came through last-minute—should’ve waited, but brass pushed it. Cartel stash house. Place was rigged to hell. We went in blind. New guy on the team—twenty-two, maybe. Fresh outta Quantico. He froze. Took a round to the vest, but he panicked. Dropped his weapon. Got hit again when he tried to run.”

Your hands pause.

“Is he...?”

“He’ll live,” Joel says after a second. “But barely.”

You finish wrapping his hand and sit back on your heels.

“You said the blood wasn’t yours.”

He looks down at the clean white bandage now wrapped around his hand.

“It’s his. And the guy who did it.”

Something in Joel’s voice shifts—goes hard, sharp. You can feel the tension rolling off of him like smoke.

“I mean, I didn’t black out or anythin’. I knew what I was doin’. I just—snapped. I saw red. We got the bastard who did it. He’s not gonna see sunlight again, that’s for damn sure.”

“You’ve seen worse,” you say finally. “Why this one?”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “Because the boy looked like Tommy.”

That knocks the air out of your chest. You hadn’t thought about Joel’s little brother in a while. Last you heard, Tommy left the force years ago after a cartel raid nearly took his leg. Joel didn’t talk about it much. Said he had enough ghosts as it was.

"I can breathe here freely."

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel,” you whisper softly. “Not now, not ever. You can come here anytime you need. Like you did before for so many times. ”

He doesn’t respond immediately. But when he does, his voice is thick, filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “You’re wrong. You do.”

And in that moment, you realize that the weight of his burdens, of everything that’s happened and everything that might still come, doesn’t matter as much as the quiet intimacy you’ve just shared. Joel Miller, in all his brokenness and strength, has found something worth fighting for. And so have you.

[pangur-and-grim]

I had to go to a different veterinary clinic this weekend because my usual place is only open weekdays, and the vet was so rough with Grim, for no reason 🥲 like Grim was purring and trying to headbutt this lady and doing cute little meows (despite being so ill that she was gagging and mouth-breathing), and then this lady SCRUFFS HER to get her onto the scale. and continues to use excessive force in pinning her down for the examination. I've been to 12 years worth of vets with Grim, and I've never seen someone act this way. it was so stressful.

on the bright side thought, this vet was obviously component in other areas, because the meds are already working. she's on antibiotics and something to help her airways open (because the throat infection triggered pre-existing asthma), and it's obvious she feels so much more comfortable.

[aelswiths]

Aelswith x Alfred + Hand Holding (& killing me 😭😭🥺🥺)

[anthromimicry]

[sunsetsover]

to be so real i wasn't nearly as enthused abt this episode as i thought i would be and i think it's bc like. everyone except bison got on my nerves lowkey. like i know why he did it but kant spiking bison's drink pissed me off. style was doing too much following fadel to that loss support group and then joining in and making a spectacle of himself. and fadel is just wayyyyyyy too controlling over bison to the point that it's invasive and patronising. like poor bison just wants to have a hot boyfriend and live his life WITHOUT killing people but he's being manipulated from just about every angle. like man please just let that boy live 😭

[soulsxng]

Archetypes quiz | Niesal edition!

50% Intellectual: The Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest. Engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks.

25% Caregiver: Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.

25% Visionary: Leave it to others to live by the status quo. The Visionary is interested in new ways of seeing, solutions not yet imagined, products not yet built.

[luulapants]

25 ways to be a little more punk in 2025

Cut fast fashion - buy used, learn to mend and/or make your own clothes, buy fewer clothes less often so you can save up for ethically made quality

Cancel subscriptions - relearn how to pirate media, spend $10/month buying a digital album from a small artist instead of on Spotify, stream on free services since the paid ones make you watch ads anyway

Green your community - there's lots of ways to do this, like seedbombing or joining a community garden or organizing neighborhood trash pickups

Be kind - stop to give directions, check on stopped cars, smile at kids, let people cut you in line, offer to get stuff off the high shelf, hold the door, ask people if they're okay

Intervene - learn bystander intervention techniques and be prepared to use them, even if it feels awkward

Get closer to your food - grow it yourself, can and preserve it, buy from a farmstand, learn where it's from, go fishing, make it from scratch, learn a new ingredient

Use opensource software - try LibreOffice, try Reaper, learn Linux, use a free Photoshop clone. The next time an app tries to force you to pay, look to see if there's an opensource alternative

Make less trash - start a compost, be mindful of packaging, find another use for that plastic, make it a challenge for yourself!

Get involved in local politics - show up at meetings for city council, the zoning commission, the park district, school boards; fight the NIMBYs that always show up and force them to focus on the things impacting the most vulnerable folks in your community

DIY > fashion - shake off the obsession with pristine presentation that you've been taught! Cut your own hair, use homemade cosmetics, exchange mani/pedis with friends, make your own jewelry, duct tape those broken headphones!

Ditch Google - Chromium browsers (which is almost all of them) are now bloated spyware, and Google search sucks now, so why not finally make the jump to Firefox and another search like DuckDuckGo? Or put the Wikipedia app on your phone and look things up there?

Forage - learn about local edible plants and how to safely and sustainably harvest them or go find fruit trees and such accessible to the public.

Volunteer - every week tutoring at the library or once a month at the humane society or twice a year serving food at the soup kitchen, you can find something that matches your availability

Help your neighbors - which means you have to meet them first and find out how you can help (including your unhoused neighbors), like elderly or disabled folks that might need help with yardwork or who that escape artist dog belongs to or whether the police have been hassling people sleeping rough

Fix stuff - the next time something breaks (a small appliance, an electronic, a piece of furniture, etc.), see if you can figure out what's wrong with it, if there are tutorials on fixing it, or if you can order a replacement part from the manufacturer instead of trashing the whole thing

Mix up your transit - find out what's walkable, try biking instead of driving, try public transit and complain to the city if it sucks, take a train instead of a plane, start a carpool at work

Engage in the arts - go see a local play, check out an art gallery or a small museum, buy art from the farmer's market

Go to the library - to check out a book or a movie or a CD, to use the computers or the printer, to find out if they have other weird rentals like a seed library or luggage, to use meeting space, to file your taxes, to take a class, to ask question

Listen local - see what's happening at local music venues or other events where local musicians will be performing, stop for buskers, find a favorite artist, and support them

Buy local - it's less convenient than online shopping or going to a big box store that sells everything, but try buying what you can from small local shops in your area

Become unmarketable - there are a lot of ways you can disrupt your online marketing surveillance, including buying less, using decoy emails, deleting or removing permissions from apps that spy on you, checking your privacy settings, not clicking advertising links, and...

Use cash - go to the bank and take out cash instead of using your credit card or e-payment for everything! It's better on small businesses and it's untraceable

Give what you can - as capitalism churns on, normal shmucks have less and less, so think about what you can give (time, money, skills, space, stuff) and how it will make the most impact

Talk about wages - with your coworkers, with your friends, while unionizing! Stop thinking about wages as a measure of your worth and talk about whether or not the bosses are paying fairly for the labor they receive

Think about wealthflow - there are a thousand little mechanisms that corporations and billionaires use to capture wealth from the lower class: fees for transactions, interest, vendor platforms, subscriptions, and more. Start thinking about where your money goes, how and where it's getting captured and removed from our class, and where you have the ability to cut off the flow and pass cash directly to your fellow working class people

[ame-to-ame]

the thing abt btr is i really wanna see more characterization/ ixn but i don't think anything i write will be able to capture the essence of the source material :(

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls!

Design Concepts (and my unnecessary thoughts):

Excuse the the colors, ig my apps are fighting.

I see Mabel finding success no matter what happens to her, but I really like the thought of her running an insane arts and crafts business in GF. Alternatively, if she fell in the portal, she'd come out acting confident as always, but she probably wouldn't realize how much the constant change and lack of family/stability wore her out until she settled back in. In either case, she's a bit cracked.

Dipper is investigative, but cracks easiest under stress and is not as inherently adventurous as Mabel or Ford- so the portal wouldn't treat him well. If he's not the one in the portal, he'd be into stargazing and real magic to share with people, while also warding tourists away from the dangerous stuff. In general, he'd be an unhappy adult if left to his own devices, lol.

Between Dipper and Mabel, I like Dipper being in the portal more. He's a great protagonist, but as a supporting cast member, he needs to be more insane to match the draw that is 'Mabel taking care of children,' ha. I also love the idea of there being no portal / some other looming threat for these two to struggle with (at least because Hirsche has made it clear that Dipper and Mabel are equally smart, and to me it seems like the portal would reopen way quicker with them), but I didn't plan on posting these and I don't know how my followers feel about me posting lore.

Stanford and Stanley:

Pretty much how they are in canon, but now they're in a setting where they can get over themselves, ha. They aren't quite as mature as Dipper and Mabel were at their age, but after coming to GF, they finally found other people to look out for them. Dipper could be a more emotionally available and level-headed role model (I think having people to take care of is calming for him in turn), and they'd both look up to Mabel as the peak of somebody who knows how to socialize.

Fiddleford:

He's a sweet, southern, farm-raised mechanical engineer just like in canon.

Idk why Fiddleford is in GF (visiting an unnamed grandparent?), but I really like his relationship with Ford in the journal. Following that thought, in this AU, he starts out more of Ford's friend than Stan's, and it's kind of a big deal. Unlike Dipper's arc on learning to be a kid, Stan and Ford clearly struggled a lot with interpersonal relationships / finding security outside of eachother, and that's what I think this AU could be about (it's great they realized they need each other in canon, but the part where they had no one else to turn to is also kinda crazy if you ask me).

Ford gets to meet another smart kid in a weird town, which helps him feel more normal. He has a better idea of what friendship is because of it, but also, since I can't imagine Dipper wanting an apprentice so young/vulnerable/impressionable or Mabel asking only one of the twins to stay- he'd have to come to terms with the fact that he can't live in his dream world forever. (Or maybe the apprenticeship comes from somewhere else, just because the conflict around going back to Glass Shard Beach at all, or sending Stan alone could be pretty good.)

On the flipside, I think Stan's initial jealousy of Ford and Fiddleford's friendship would force him to try finding his own friends / hobbies. I like the idea that he fails at first- and a lot- but Mabel notices his mounting frustration (which he is very keen on hiding), and her consistent and unorthodox support makes him realize he wasn't alone to begin with. He can be more open around her, which makes it easier to open up to others, and then he can make friends without having to pull any tricks. He probably starts with some animals, and then at least gets closer to Fiddleford anyways (I feel like they're both more practical than Ford and value human company more, so they'd bond easier once Stan gets over his personal hurdle).

Anyways- because that was way too much- Mabel's exes are a constant source of antagonists and Dipper is stressed about setting a good example.

(I was more of a Monster Falls fan back in the day, but I can't draw animals, lol)

[purinfelix]

constellation - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: a late night, sleepy half-formed thoughts and quiet touches ──────── Niki x reader (established relationship) || sfw, super duper fluffy and wholesome idk im in my feels || w/c: 1k

a/n: GUESS WHOS BACK (no one remembers me) ... anyways i was rewatching the colour analysis enoclock ep and heeseung mentioned Ni-ki's seven moles on his back and i just thought it was such an endearing feature i wanted to write smth about it !!!

"You've got a lot of moles on your back."

You're not even sure why you say it, and it's only once the words leave your mouth that you realise it's a bit of an odd thing to point out. To be fair, though, it's starting to become one of those nights when you're so sleepy that you can't bother filtering your thoughts. Niki turns to look at you, halfway through pulling on a shirt, and even though his brows are raised, you can tell he isn't entirely surprised by your words.

"Oh, yeah," he says calmly, "you've never noticed before?"

"Hm, I've seen them but," you hum, lazily letting your head fall back onto the bed where you're lying, watching him, "it just never occurred to me how many you have."

He laughs softly, pulling his shirt over his head, and soon you feel the mattress dip beside you as he sinks into it. You instinctively shuffle over to make room for him, but Niki, always wanting to be closer to you, finds his way right up against you - his arm brushing up against yours.

"Hey," you mumble, turning to watch as he lifts his face from the pillow, "let me see them again." The way you ask is almost childish, but even through your half-lidded eyes, you can see how he's a little taken aback by your request.

"The moles?"

"What else, dummy?" you scoff, stifling a yawn. Despite your jab he does as you say, tugging the hem of his shirt up so that you can see his back again.

Even though the room is dim, you can make them out just clear enough - small and dark against the pale skin of his back. There's something so quietly beautiful about them and the fact that not many other people would get to see them up close the way you are right now.

Maybe it's that realisation of how vulnerable he's letting himself be around you that pushes your hand out to press a gentle finger to the one highest on his back, just above his shoulder blade. He tenses slightly, clearly not expecting your touch, but soon calms.

"They're like stars," you say, barely above a whisper.

Normally, and if it were with anyone else, Niki probably would've protested, laughed and told them that they were overthinking things. But in this low light, in this bed with you and with the feeling of sleep pulling at his eyelids, he can't find the heart, or energy, to say anything to spoil this moment.

"I guess so," he hums back, but once he feels your finger begin to move, tracing a shape on his back, he can't help but let out a quiet laugh. "What are you doing now?"

"Making a constellation," you say, in such a matter-of-fact tone that Niki finds himself unable to say anything more - he just resigns himself to feeling the sensation of your finger against his back, slow and steady, almost soothing.

"They're pretty," you say once you've finished your path, satisfying your curiosity and gently pulling his shirt back down. You flop back onto the bed next to him, watching as he turns to face you, cheeks flushed the slightest shade of pink.

"You know they say that your moles are where your past lover kissed you the most," you hum, and he just laughs softly.

"You really believe that kind of stuff?"

You make an effort to shrug, as if to say why not? Silently, you pull your hands out from under the covers and cradle his face gently, tracing your thumb over his features like you have so many times. You stop a couple of times - at the mole on his chin, under his eyes, on his cheek.

"You must've been really loved in your past life," you whisper, and like everything you've said that night you're not sure why you say it. Still, you can feel his gaze on you, soft and with an endearment you know he reserves only for you.

"You think so?" he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod ever so slightly, fingers still resting on his cheekbone. "You must've been lucky."

He brings his hand up to grab yours, intertwining his fingers with yours in a motion that feels so familiar now that it almost feels instinctive. With his other hand, he pulls you closer, pressing his forehead to you - the entire time his eyes never failing to meet yours despite the vulnerability in his expression.

"I think," he whispers, "I still am."

It's your turn to scoff at his somewhat cheesy response, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by his lips meeting yours - soft and sure, like he's been waiting the entire night for this moment and now that it's here, he clearly has no intentions of rushing it. Your fingers tighten in his as you sigh into the kiss, even after months of being together you're not sure if you'll ever get used to the feeling of him taking your breath away.

When you finally pull apart, you only do so enough to catch your breath, which you're sure Niki can feel on his face.

"You're so weird sometimes," he finally says, a lazy smile hanging off of his lips.

"You love it," you whisper back, pressing your nose to his as you let out a soft giggle.

He only chuckles in response, though it's enough for you. Silently, and still with his hand tightly gripping yours, he pulls you in closer so that your head is tucked under his chin, the blankets wrapped around the two of you. Gently, his thumb brushes over the stretch of your hand with a steady rhythm that lulls you to sleep and before you realise it, your eyes are half closed.

You shuffle, pressing your face further into his neck. The last thing you hear before drifting of is his voice again, though with how quiet he says it you're not sure if he's talking to you, himself, or the universe.

"I’m glad it’s you."

And even if he feels you smile against his chest in response, he doesn't say anything — just holds you tighter, like he never plans to let go.

taglist (for niki fics! <3) @miniw0nz @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Period relief

Zayne x reader

Summary: When your period hits unexpectedly, leaving you stranded with only one pad and no energy to even go to the store, the last thing you expect is for your plans with Zayne to suddenly fall into place.

Words: 2k

Notes: I wrote it while I was dying on my period (shocking, isn't it, given the theme?), and edited it when I was able to think. I'm still dealing with the consequences of being a woman, so it might not be perfect, but I tried.

Let’s hope a cute doctor can help you too during those tough times.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You groaned. Great. Your last pad.  Perfect timing.

You had planned to go out tonight to restock—not just pads, but all the other necessities you'd need for your period, which, according to your calculations, should start tomorrow. Not fucking today.

Just as you were cursing internally and debating whether you could manage a trip to the store now, your phone buzzed with a new text:

My surgery took shorter than expected, so I can see you tonight if you're still free.

Right. You’d originally asked Zayne to hang out today, but he had to decline. Now, suddenly, he was available. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve been thrilled. But at the moment? You felt like dying.

It wasn’t just the cramps, fatigue, and general misery of your period arriving earlier than expected. It was also the fact that your relationship with Zayne was still fairly new. And while you liked him—a lot—you weren’t quite sure how you felt about him seeing you like this.

You sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally typed:

I’d love to see you, but I just got my period and currently feel like rotting on my couch… after I force myself to go out and buy some necessities.

Immediately, your phone started ringing.

You grumbled but answered, moving weakly to curl up on the couch in a fetal position as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you managed to say.

“What do you need?”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving the hospital soon. I'll get you what you need,” Zayne said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The familiarity of his voice made you feel safe, but also… vulnerable. He always found ways to take care of you, even when you didn’t ask, and sometimes it made you feel guilty. 

“No, no need. I just took a painkiller. I should be able to go and get something myself soon. I don’t want to trouble you.” You hated how weak you sounded, even if you were doing your best to brush it off. You hated feeling like a burden.

“If it were trouble for me, I wouldn’t be offering.”

His words, simple as they were, immediately softened the knot in your chest. It was the truth, and you knew it.

And just like that, you were reminded why you adored that man so much.

“So, what do you need?”

“Pads,” you admitted.

“Alright. The ones you usually use?”

“Wait… how do you know what I use?” you asked, surprised. You’d never told him, had you?

A teasing lilt came through his voice. “They're in your cabinets. The one you told me to put my stuff in too, remember?”

“Right, right. Of course. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I try to remember things about you. So those?” He sounded so amused, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. Of course, he remembered. He always did. It was one of the things you appreciated in him.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

You hesitated, not wanting to bother him more.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to get it,” he pointed out.

“Right. Um… mint tea?” you offered, unsure if it was too much.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

You expected him to hang up as you heard more shuffling over his end of the phone call. Yet, he wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Have you eaten?”

You winced. You really didn’t want to admit how bad you’d been about that.

“Umm… you’re not gonna like the answer.” You avoided the question with a pathetic attempt at humor, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“Don’t tell me you took painkillers on an empty stomach,” he said, his voice adopting that doctor-like tone—the one you recognized all too well. 

“I know, I know,” you interrupted quickly. “I forced myself to eat some yogurt and crackers before taking it.”

A disappointed sigh came through the receiver. “Better than nothing, I guess. I’m going to grab us some dinner too, then. Anything you're craving?”

You weren’t really hungry, but you should eat something. Then again, Zayne probably wasn’t going to approve of what you wanted.

“Fries.”

“Fries?”

“Yes. And chicken wings. Preferably spicy.” You knew it wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about nutrition right now.

A pause. You could feel the judgment through the phone.

“That’s not the most nutritious food, especially now when you should be eating things rich in—”

“I know,” you cut him off, hoping to end the lecture before it started. As much as you liked him talking about just anything, you were not in the mood to listen to what you should be eating or doing. “Just get whatever then.” You were glad he was not seeing you right now because you were for sure pouting like a small child, and he would for sure tease you about it.

“Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

And then it hit you. He was going to be here soon.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. You missed him, and the thought of not having to drag yourself to the store was nice, but… you also didn’t want him to see you like this.

“What is it?” Zayne asked, clearly sensing your hesitation.

“I… um.” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

“You don’t want to see me?” His voice softened. “I wanted to take care of you, but if you’d rather not, I can just drop off the stuff and go.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…” you mumbled, “I look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just… I don’t look good.”  It felt silly to admit, but there it was. You didn’t want him to see you like this, and you certainly didn’t feel like pulling yourself together.

There was a beat of silence, and then—

Laughter.

“Zayne, don’t laugh at me!”

“I apologize,” he said, still clearly amused. “You’re in pain. You’re allowed to not look your best. Besides, I can assure you—no matter how you feel, you’re still gonna be beautiful to me.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice. As always. You knew he meant it, but still, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

You swallowed thickly, heart lodging itself in your throat. “If you keep talking like that, I might actually cry.”

“I’ll grab some tissues too, then,” he responded playfully. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Not long after, the doorbell rang.

You groaned, barely able to muster the energy to move. Every part of you ached, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your body as you forced yourself off the couch. You shuffled toward the door, each step feeling like a small victory, but the effort it took left you feeling hollow. With a sigh, you finally managed to pull the door open.

“Hi.” you said, your voice sounding far weaker than you intended.

“Hey.” His hand brushed against your cheek, and then he pressed a tender kiss there. A gentle touch, a simple gesture, yet it felt like everything you needed in that moment.

“I was right,” he murmured, eyes scanning your face with quiet admiration. “You're definitely still beautiful.”

You felt warmth rushing to your face, your heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you beautiful, yet each time it still made you feel bashful. It wasn’t just the compliment that made you flustered. It was the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something worth seeing. Even in your state right now.

Then you noticed it—his own cheeks tinged with a soft flush. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

Zayne gently nudged you toward the couch. “Go lay down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he simply raised a finger. “Ah. No arguing. I'm making you tea, and then we’ll eat.”

You huffed but obeyed, shuffling back to your spot and curling up again. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you called out, “Can you heat more water? For my hot-water bottle?”

“Of course.”

You heard Zayne moving around your kitchen effortlessly, the soft clinking of mugs and utensils blending with the steady rhythm of his steps. The way he navigated your space made something stir deep inside you. The way he cared for you so willingly, with no sign of wanting anything in return, made you feel safe, secure in a way that you hadn't known in a long time.

Before long, he returned, balancing a tray with tea, food, your heated pad and tissues. So he was not joking about that then.

“Sit up,” he instructed gently. “You need to eat something. But don’t force yourself if you don’t feel like it.”

You pushed yourself up and accepted the tea first, inhaling the soothing scent before murmuring, “Thank you.”

You were about to take a sip when your gaze landed on the takeout bag in his hand.  “Oh, you actually got me fries and chicken wings!” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked at the comfort food you’d craved. It was exactly what you wanted.

Zayne smirked. “And they’re spicy. Just like you wanted.”

You raised a brow. “What happened to having a proper diet?” You’d been so focused on the comfort of the meal that you’d almost forgotten about the usual back-and-forth he always brought up when it came to nutrition.

He shrugged. “It’s better to eat something than nothing. And it’s perfectly fine to satisfy a craving now and then. That said, I did get you something more nutritious as well. I hope you’ll eat it later.”

A fond smile tugged at your lips at his thoughtfulness as you took a bite of a fry. “Thank you, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne just smiled back, his gaze soft as he settled in beside you. You pulled the hot-water bottle closer, the soothing warmth a welcome relief against your pain, and continued eating. Zayne began eating his portion as well, the two of you slipping into a comfortable silence.

The moment you finished, you let out a deep sigh.

Zayne glanced at you, his brow furrowing just slightly in concern. “Did it not satisfy your craving?”

“It did,” you acknowledged. “But now I feel like eating something sweet.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head fondly as he stood up, gathering the dishes. Before you could even think about getting up to help, he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned—with your favorite chocolate.

Your eyes lit up as you immediately reached for it. “You’re the best!”

He chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sank back into the seat beside you. “I just want to make your day feel better.”

You unwrapped the chocolate, grinning like crazy. “It already is… since you got here.”

“I’m glad.” 

His lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile, The kind that always made you feel seen, like you mattered. You almost forgot about the chocolate in your hand as you lost yourself in that moment, wondering if he knew just how much his presence had truly transformed your day. The simple truth was, with him near, everything always felt better. Apparently, even your period.

You brushed the thought away and held out a piece to him. “Now eat it with me, sweet tooth.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to that. Sure enough, he took a piece, and you munched on the chocolate together.

After a few moments, he tilted his head. “Anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t often you let yourself be vulnerable like this, but with him, it felt natural. You murmured softly, almost shyly, “Maybe just… cuddle with me?”

Without a second thought, he moved closer. “I can do that.”

And he did.

You nestled into him, his arms warm and secure around you. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a lullaby in itself, soothing and calming. You hadn’t even realized when sleep crept up on you.

The last thought you had before drifting off was just how lucky you were—to have the cutest, most caring doctor by your side.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

You should be using an RSS reader

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.

I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"

It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."

There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.

I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:

https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest

I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c

Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:

But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…

Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.

And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.

This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.

It's RSS.

RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.

I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.

Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.

Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.

Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).

Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).

Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.

Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.

Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).

But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.

You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).

RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.

And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.

Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.

Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.

My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:

https://pluralistic.net/feed/

Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):

https://newsblur.com/

Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.

It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.

But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

[blossom-hwa]

.

[antagonistic-sunsetgirl]

Cardassians are a very protective people

My favourite idea is that Garak is so scared of bringing Julian to Cardassia. Terrified. Surely she will eat him alive. The sun will fry his doctor and are ration bars even designed with humans in mind?? And oh, his people! Julian's part of one of the most dominant species in the Federation. He's probably never experienced Xenophobia in his life. If Cardassia hates him, how can Garak expect him to love it enough to stay, stay with him enough to start a life, a family-?

And then. I haven't decided how yet. Maybe someone at the hospital realizes Julian takes patient-doctor confidentiality UBER seriously. Cardassian doctors won't gossip about their patients, certainly not, but if someone with enough authority asks? Of course they'll share information. It's the state. Not Julian. He will go to war over your privacy. Some political adversery of Garak's is emergency-treated for PTSD by Julian and goes into the next debate fully expecting Garak to know every detail of that weakness, to exploit it. And he just. Had no idea. This man, a heavily rumoured, ah, intelligence expert, lives with this doctor. And he obviously has no clue about this thing.

News spreads. Julian starts getting the hardest-hit cases, the most vulnerable people. Cardassians that would never have sought treatment because they feel exposed, and an exposed Cardassian backs up into a corner and bites your fingers off. No matter what internal injuries are festering at their minds. But Julian has experience with luring Garak out of corners.

Gently, reliably, this man coaxes and heals until he becomes someone Cardassians trust with their deepest, darkest wounds. An old Gul shows up. As soon as he's shown into Bashir's office he bursts into sobs, full-blown panic attack. Cardassians never have panic attacks, certainly not in front of others, and certainly not Guls. But this man travelled four hours on foot because he heard this stranger listens and doesn't tell and understands, he accepts. Doesn't he know he did terrible things? But he soothes with Cardassian words on a foreign tongue and doesn't try to touch him until he asks to be held.

Soldiers whose minds can't tell if they're in space battle or on a reconstruction site. An old woman comes in and silently bares her flank. There's an old knife wound that was never treated and is gnarly on her skin, pulling it apart. This is not the first torture wound someone has silently asked to be healed, for the very first time, by Julian. A surgeon he doesn't know opens his door. He can't operate. His hands shake and all he smells is burnt flesh. Cardassia needs him so much and he just can't. Julian lets him watch his operations. See wins, watch people wake up again. Then there's the children. They say he doesn't even ask where your parents are. He just lets you sit with him. If you sob and tell him you're scared, so scared, does he even know what an orphan is worth on Cardassia, he'll hold you tightly like he wants to physically prove to you how valuable you are. He will say, clear and sure, that Cardassia would be lost without you. So foreign. If you tell him the memories are too much, he'll give you a sleeping pill that's not like the stuff you get on the street. It won't get you addicted.

He's odd, and a stranger. He has no scales but moves like that doesn't matter. He faints a lot in the sun. Garak knows Julian overworks himself and forgets how much more water he needs. He lives in constant terror that he won't be there the next time it happens, can't drag his doctor to the nearest house and pour water over his neck. And then it does happen. Garak measuredly leaves a very important meeting before breaking out into a sprint because his secretary informed him someone found Julian unconscious at midday. Garak finds him sitting in the shade. An old woman is frowning over him and insistently pouring small sips of saltwater down his throat. How does she know the right ratio? A young man is eagerly checking his pulse, pressing a little too hard from what Garak can tell, and has to listen to Julian's smiling intructions on what a normal human pulse rate is. A teen is standing at the side, not looking at Julian. Her gaze instantly snaps to Garak approaching. Like a vigil, she doesn't move from Julian's side and tracks Garak's movements until she determines who he is. Then he's levelled with a badly hidden reproachful glare, reprimanding him for leaving their doctor in peril for even a minute.

Garak takes Julian home with less words of anger than usual after these episodes. Most of it comes from fear, they both know. But he has realized that Cardassia apparently won't kill his doctor. And if she tries, her inhabitants will forcefully remind her that this Federation doctor with kind eyes and callused hands stands under the protection of a very, very loyal people.

Oh I am so writing this fic

[specshroom]

Ok so what do you think would make a monster INSTANTLY attracted to someone. And then how do you think they would vocalize/show it?With said monsters being orcs, merfolk, centaurs, driders, werewolves, and vampires

Okokok so these are all obviously just my opinion :) but here we go:

🧌 I think in orc culture the women initiate romantically and sexually just as much as the men, as opposed to human culture where the men generally are expected to initiate more. So I think any orc would find it hot if you were the one to flirt and initiate contact first.

- They like humans who know what they want and go for it.

- They like humans who can hold their liquor. They just think it's hot.

- They like humans who are a little vulgar. Who swear and shout and are a little rowdy maybe?

- So if you want to attract an orc your best bet would be to just go up to one and flirt heavily with them. If they like you they'll think it's hot that you show your attraction so boldly and they'll flirt back just as hard.

🧜Merfolk generally keep to themselves and their underwater cities. For a merfolk to be swimming in shallow waters means they're probably curious about the surface already.

- These merfolk will be instantly intrigued by a human who is as interested in them as the merfolk is with the surface. They just really like humans who try and talk to them, frantically ask them questions about their species and just seem enamored with their existence.

- A merfolk will fall for a human who brings them cool human stuff they've never seen before and enthusiastically tells them stories about the surface world.

- They'd appreciate humans who aren't scared to swim with them. They know the water is not a humans natural place and that it takes a lot of trust for them to be so vulnerable. They'd straight up take that as a confession of love from the human.

🐎 In my head centaurs are often depicted as strong stern types. Like noble warriors and such so I think they'd admire humans who are resourceful and independent.

- They won't like any human who disrespects nature. Killing unnecessarily or destroying/ littering wildlife is an absolute no go.

- They like outdoorsy humans who like nature walks or mountain climbing, that kind of shit. Anything from fishing to bird watching really.

- They find archery very attractive for some reason.

- Centaurs are known for being steely and almost cold so if one likes you they probably won't show it immediately but slowly over time by engaging in your shared interests.

🕷️ I think driders are often starved for affection. In my headcanon, driders don't get much affection from their parents because they're very independent and able from a young age so they're never really coddled as children.

- So I think driders would like a human who treats them very gently and sweetly despite not needing too at all because they're fierce hunters.

- They're not the most approachable monsters with their eight beady eyes and venom filled chelicerae. They don't initiate with humans much because they know they can be frightening. It can be isolating for them so they'd love if a human showed no fear towards them and instead treated them as if they were cute rather than scary.

- They'd be absolutely smitten if a human coddled and babied them, calling them grossly sweet petnames like "cutey", "darling" or "baby" while caressing their face gently. Just treating them with such care even though they could kill the human very easily. They might even cry from the affection.

🦇 I think vampires appreciate humans who aren't childish but still have a love for life. People who are lively and curious about the world but still mature and driven.

- I think humans who are exciting and have a thirst for life is what attracts vampires cus it helps them reignite their own love for life which may have dwindled after so many years of being immortal.

- Humans who are reckless with their own lives are a turn off. Vampires already have to experience losing many close ones due to immortality so I don't think they'd appreciate someone who disregards their life or the lives of others carelessly.

- Vampires are harder to categorise because they all come from different backgrounds and stuff but I think if a vampire liked a human most of them would have to know one for a while before bringing up anything serious. They understand the stakes (hah) of falling in love with humans and act accordingly.

🐺 Dog people. Werewolves like dog people. Sorry I know it's basic but I think werewolves are often simple creatures so what attracts them is relatively simple. Nothing wrong with that.

- They see a human walking their dog and they just go "I have a chance!!"

- They like humans who smell like their dog or have dog fur on their clothes, they think it's cute.

- They think it's so cute when humans baby talk dogs while giving them pets. It makes their own tails wag sometimes.

- Now that doesn't mean they like being treated like dogs cus they don't. They just think a dog person is a huge green flag in humans.

- Don't worry, this doesn't mean they hate cat people but they are more likely to flirt and initiate conversation with someone who has a dog or who smells like they own a dog.

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.