#which isn't a lot but it probably says a lot about me that it happened twice in a row

[super-ion]

The Engineer

I catch a glimpse of the pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes have that telltale glaze of just having been wrenched out of herself.

I've never spoken a single word to her, but for a brief moment as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She raises an emaciated arm and her hand almost seems to beckon to me before something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips back into catatonia.

That brief moment of clarity, that piercing gaze, unsettles me. She recognized me.

It's neural bleed. I know it has to be. She doesn't know me, but Morrigan does.

Good god. In the pilot's present state of post combat haze, she probably doesn't even know where she ends and the machine begins.

Does neural bleed work both ways? Is it her head that I'm about to climb into?

My wrist strap buzzes. I have a job to do and I am late.

The pilot is a problem for the med team and the psychs.

The machine is my problem.

I hurry down the corridor, keeping my head down, avoiding the eyes of every passerby.

I don't like people.

I don't like how their eyes follow me. I don't like the whispered gossip that follows me.

One of the techs is waiting for me at the vestibule.

I don't know his name.

All clear, he says to me. Time to work your magic.

He says it without sarcasm. Others have been less kind.

Even so, he can't quite hide the leer as I strip down to the skinsuit. I don't have the physique of a pilot. My body hasn't been subjected to the stresses that ravage their bodies. Unlike them, I have fat and muscle and the skinsuit clings to every curve of my body.

I force a cursory smile and try to forget him as I walk barefoot to my destination.

The vestibule is small, windowless. It's impossible to assess the scale of the machine from here. The only part visible to me is roughly four square meters of pitted and scarred metal plating framing the access hatch and the pilot's cradle beyond.

B0-987T the stenciled lettering reads. And below, in flowing script, is “The Morrigan”.

She's a Javellin class, medium weapons fire support unit. She isn't meant to be on the front lines in a skirmish, but one-on-one, she can hold her own against a Wraith. Which is exactly what happened only a few hours ago.

I place a bare palm on the bulkhead. She thrums with some distant vibration. Her reactor is still online, still in the early stages of drawdown as she transitions to dock power.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to her.

I think of the pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I flinch my hand away.

The tech looks at me, asks if I'm alright. I'm fine, I tell him.

I climb through the hatch and into the cradle.

I feel like an interloper here. The cradle isn't calibrated for my body. Everything still smells like the pilot. Mingled with the smell of the machine is her sweat and her adrenaline and the particular scented soap that she prefers.

There is a faint whirring as her cameras track my movements from a dozen angles. The access ports open to receive me.

Against my better judgment, I imagine eagerness for this exchange.

This is immediately followed by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy. The engineers’ rig is not nearly as all encompassing as a pilots’. It's only the most basic neural interface. No haptics. No neurotransmitter feedback. No access to the suite of sensors studded throughout her hull.

I can't interface with her the way her pilot can.

My rig is a remnant from basic training. The pilot corps wanted me for my exceptional ratings in synchrony and neuro-elasticity, but after serval training exercises, they determined that I didn't have the temperament for the battlefield. I froze up too easily.

A neural rig is a massive investment and removing one will fuck a person up a hell of a lot more than installing one. The selection process is designed to weed out washouts before we even get to installation, but some of us still slip through the cracks. Most end up reassigned to logistics, operating loader mechs or piloting long haul supply frigates. But my aptitudes made me ideal for the engineering corps, so here I am.

Morrigan senses my mood and the cradle shifts slightly, aligning itself to my dimensions. Her eagerness to connect morphs into a sort of tender reassurance. It's a slippery slope, ascribing human emotions to these machines, but she does seem genuinely happy to see me.

I can never be part of what she and her pilot have, but I can be part of something in my own way.

The pilot knows about me, she would even without neural bleed. Does she envy the relationship I have with her mech? Does she envy that I can exist both together and apart with the machine?

Is she jealous of us?

Morrigan slips her jacks into my rig and my mind enters hers and I feel tension leave my body. Some dull ache that I wasn't even consciously aware of ebbs within me.

My senses dull and my visual cortex is fed a series of diagnostic logs and telemetry streams. The techs have access to the exact same data, but Morrigan highlights particular data points that she and the pilot flagged. I log them in the engineering report.

A wireframe schematic of the battlefield spreads out in my awareness. Green markers for our battlegroup. Red markers for the pack of Wraith interlopers.

I hear the ghost of music, strange and ambient, like whale song. The first time I heard it, I asked the techs about it. They had no idea what I was talking about. One even suggested I get an eval for some psych leave.

Later I realized Morrigan was singing to me. Or rather she was interpreting tightbeam comm links as something my brain could process. A human mind can't possibly interpret the full datastream, but with Morrigans's rendition, I can suss out the basic meanings. The battlegroup is a choir and Morrigan is playing me their song.

I caused quite a stir when I first made that connection and started flagging battle events the analysts had missed.

I survey the battlefield before me, reconstructed from feeds from TacCom and all the individual mechs.

Morrigan and I have done this enough times that she knows my preferred display layout, but she holds back, allowing me to pull off the virtual displays on my peripheral vision. There's an odd sort of intimacy to it, her letting me take charge like this.

God-knows how many tons of metal and ceramic and miles and miles of wire and optic fiber and see waits eagerly for me to start the playback sim. She wants to show off. She wants me to assess the actions of her and her pilot and tell them they did well.

Other engineers, few as we are, have mentioned similar experiences with their assigned machines.

“Alright,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “Show me the dance. Sing me the song.”

[zairas-realm-gateway]

Ooooh my god, I'm on season 9 of my SPN rewatch (about halfway through) and something finally makes sense to me this time around.

Sam is going through his teenage rebellion phase!

You're probably thinking "but Zaira, he already had that when he was an actual teenager"!

Yes but that was rebelling against his biological father. But now he's finally able to rebel against his actual parent.

And why is this? Because the trials catapulted them both back into their parent-child relationship. Because from the second that Dean picks up on the fact that the trials are making Sam sick, Dean slides into parent mode. He starts to make decisions pre-emptively to keep Sam safe and relaxed when a caretaker!sibling would ask if the injured sibling would ask if they're good to keep working. He prepares and brings food/drink to Sam repeatedly when a sibling would ask if the injured sibling wants something to eat or drink. At this point, sibling!Dean has gone dormant and parentified!Dean has reawakened.

Because Dean has reverted to this programming, he has reverted to the desperate need to do anything to keep his child alive, even if the child hates him. A mindset that parents are trapped in.

The first sibling thought that Dean has had is to leave to give them both distance to recover and give Sam space.

Where Dean is acting like a parent, Sam is acting like his child.

It is completely reasonable for Sam to be upset over how Dean saved him and to keep making decisions for him. But it's how he's going about being angry at Dean is rather childlike or teenager like. Not childish, but childlike.

He's moody and hurt when Dean leaves even though Dean explains it to give Sam space. A few episodes later, they're working on a case and Dean tries to do it by himself so Sam can be comfortable but Sam gets upset at Dean for abandoning him. Dean finally caves and admits he wants to be near Sam. Sam says he wants that but also states that they're not brothers anymore right now.

This setup is why I'm saying that Sam is acting a bit in a childlike manner. Because even though he's rebelling against Dean and pushing away him away (which is reasonable) but also needs Dean to be near him (abused children can have a confusing, clingy relationship with their parent even if fighting). Sam wants him close (physical proximity and possibly emotionally) but also keeps throwing up barriers that Dean doesn't know how to navigate.

He wants Dean to talk honestly with him (which Dean tries to be) nd see reason but then when Sam explains himself he's still being vague in his answers. Saying things that are honest but also worded in a way that will purposely cut at Dean's soul. When if Sam added more detail to responses, Dean would still be hurt but understand more clearly. Dean has a lot of insecurities and anxieties, he has an incredibly brittle core, he needs deeper details in order to get an actual picture of what Sam is feeling.

Like when they're in the kitchen, Dean tells Sam that he'd do anything to get Sam out of a coma. He says that Sam would do the same. Sam's like "no, I wouldn't." Dean is visibly injured by these words as Sam leaves. This answer feels petty and childish because he obviously wants to injure Dean, to lash out in retaliation.

A more mature way (which sam usually is) of saying this , is to explain why he would let Dean pass away. He could have said something like "because you deserve to rest", "Because it's cruel to force you to keep going", "Because you've already done so much for everyone", etc. Anything to explain why he would let it happen so that Dean isn't left feeling gutted.

What I'm trying to say is that this season, both Sam and Dean are emotionally injured. That injury has regressed them to the default setting John programmed them to be: Parent and Child.

This programming makes it nearly impossible for them to find their footing as equal brothers because they're instinctively finding themselves in the power-imbalance of a parent-child relationship.

So, again, John fucked their lives.

[jkl-fff]

Ford, solemnly: Now that we're free ... Please don't hold it against Dipper that he locked us in a room together to try to make us get along.

Norman: I wasn't going to. Like, I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm not mad, either. Just mildly annoyed. It's another one of his antics. But why does it matter so much to him?

Ford: *sigh* Dipper reminds me of my younger self in a lot of ways. Good ways and bad ways. We both have a tendency to be ... obsessive and get swept up in our own excitement, for example, even to the point of being irrational despite our minds being practically hard-wired for analytical thought. And neither of us deals well with perceived rejection or betrayal.

Norman: But I didn't reject or betray him. I only said that I didn't really like you.

Ford: Yes, but like I said earlier, we're both very important to him. He sees me as a mentor and maybe ever as a role model, he sees you as his best friend--

Norman, surprised and pleased: H-he said that? He called me his "best friend"?

Ford: He's hasn't used that exact phrase, but you don't need 12 Ph.D.s to figure it out. The point is, we're both very important parts of ... of his life, of his psyche, of who he identifies with and how he sees himself. I imagine he perceives someone not liking either of us as not liking a part of himself. Hence a perceived rejection.

Norman: ... Yeah, I guess I can see that. It makes no sense, not really, but also it does sorta make sense for Dipper. He once spent a whole afternoon trying to concince me that I should like Wes Anderson, even though I just don't.

Ford: *shrug* I did say we can be irrational despite being so analytical ... I'm glad you're not mad at him. Please reassure him of that. By all means, be firm with him about not locking you in rooms and such. I'm not saying to put up with shit--Oh, damn, can I say shit in front of a child?

Norman, wryly: I won't tell a fucking soul if you won't.

Ford: Ha! Well, as I was saying, don't put up with his shit. But please reassure him this whole ... episode hasn't changed anything between you. You're still friends, even when you don't agree. I think that would be ... would be very good for him. It'll help him grow up into someone who doesn't remind me of my younger self.

Norman: ... Do I have to give the gun back now?

Ford: No, you can borrow it for the day. Have fun, just don't shoot any people or any animals or any property that I personally care about.

Norman: Cool! But ... *sigh* Okay, why did you say that thing just now about it being good for him? Gonna bug me 'til I understand.

Ford, wistfully: ... Do you know how many friends I've had in my whole life? Truly close friends, who I felt I could be truly honest with about who and what I am?

Norman, taken aback: Uh ... This isn't about you being probably bisexual, is it?

Ford: What? No--Well, maybe, I guess--

Norman: Is it going to be about Dipper being probably bisexual?

Ford, exasperated: It's about isolation, you spikey-haired ... child. I 've had 3. One was my brother, who I turned my back on because of anger, resentment, and self-absorption. I got so swept up in obsession and feeling betrayed by him over an accident, that I let it cost me my only real friend at the time. One was McGucket, who I pushed away because of obsession and a need to be a genius and a pioneer of science. I got so swept up in feeling like he was rejecting me over ... Oh, it hardly matters now, given how unstable I was. The point is, it cost me the only real friend I had again.

Norman: And the third one?

Ford, haunted: ... That was Bill. Who did actually betray and reject me--who never actually was my friend, for all that I believed he was at the time. But that didn't exactly help my fear of betrayal and rejection, as you can imagine. And all of it happened ultimately because my own obsession and tendency to be swept up in my own excitement drove me towards isolation.

Norman: Which you don't want to happen to Dipper.

Ford: Yes. I understand he also has struggled to make friends over the years, only really having Mabel for so long. Isolation again. But you Mystery Kids, with you in particular as his best friend, Norman, have helped him so much by genuinely befriending him. That's helping him learn to be more ... more grounded and more stable and ... and good. More good--better, I mean--than I was. Which I want. I want him to be better than I was. So ... yes.

Norman: Yeah.

Ford: *nods* Good.

Norman: *nods* Great ... I'm, um, gonna go blast something now.

Who knew all it took to solve your personal grievances was giving a small child an unregistered high-tech firearm?

[b-blushes]

thursday quest - no physical therapy today - make and eat lunch sooooo early but i can do it!!!!! - get ready for wedding - attend wedding! yay! (: - decompress well when i get home <3

[corfisers]

i really need to finish this one day

[vulpinesaint]

throws a book at the wall i'm SO fucking tired of putting emotional effort into relationships only for it not to be reciprocated

[sailxrmxrs]

hello it is i, your resident fantasy au enjoyer anna reporting in with yet another fantasy fic. giving rory the fantasy au treatment bc the beloved boy deserves the beloved au hehe. filled with some of my favourite tropes too bc i've been reading a lot of books to fuel the brainrot. i am suffering (in a good way). for today's instalment of the fantasy aus, mc and rory are informants working undercover for the queen in search of a rebel faction. very important very exciting. oh and part of the whole undercover thing is they're pretending to be married. everything they do is fake and pretend. no real feelings whatsoever. simply a falsified display as part of their cover story. nothing else at all. lmao kidding they're madly in love but won't admit it. secretly pining but also definitely not pining. only the most delicious brainrot being served here. enjoy. also a note that there's some mild violence/injury towards the end but nothing too wild.

A hum of jovial energy filled the crowded tavern, its dark oak tables crowded with patrons and piled high with empty tankards. There was no shortage of celebration that night, the townsfolk spending their hard-earned coin on whatever ales and meads the tavern staff had to offer. The booming shouts and cheers of the rowdier patrons, along with the thrum of general chatter from the more reserved of tables provided the perfect cover to divulge one's secrets; cautious whispers were nothing in their wake. And who would ever suspect the quiet couple sitting in the corner, nursing their drinks as they intertwined hands across the tabletops. Who could ever assume that those glazed eyes and withdrawn smiles were anything other than the expected behaviour of newlyweds drowning in the other's presence, entirely numb to the world around them. Surely such an unsuspecting pair could never be working undercover for the queen with directives to root out a faction of rebels seeking to overthrow her reign. Yes, as much as you hated to admit it, pretending to be freshly married to your colleague had proved to be the perfect cover story. Where before someone might suspect the lone ranger shrouded in the shadows of their cloak, no one paid a second look to the couple with stars in their eyes nor did they doubt their intentions. If only you had been assigned the task with a more agreeable person.

Rory was not the worst of your potential partners for such a mission. Of the other informants of the castle, Rory was one of the best at his job but his hamartia was his disagreeable personality. He was all stern looks and entirely too serious. For most, there was a time and place to let your guard down or shed the hyper-awareness that being an informant entailed. Not for Rory. Even in the privacy of your company he remained as high strung as ever. Still, despite his hardened exterior you would happily accept Rory over some of the less pleasant options. Especially given the fact he'd proved himself to be exceptional in the role of doting husband. Even tucked away in the corner of the busy tavern, his hand was wrapped in his. He hadn't paused the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb against the back of your hand since arriving. It had taken some getting used to the way his movements synced with yours, mirroring every step with expert ease. Now the tender touches felt almost like second nature. Almost. You were treading a fine line here, precariously walking atop a wire looming over a deep abyssal pit. Getting too comfortable here would only end in the coldest of pains when the job was done and you returned to the castle and continued as normal. There was no doubt that once you'd finished receiving ample information and had reported to your superiors that Rory would go back to acting as he'd always done—as though you didn't exist. It wasn't anything personal. That was just how Rory was. He'd explained one night that he simply didn't care for upholding relationships when his job meant that he was putting his life on the line with every excursion beyond the castle grounds.

While his reasons were understandable, it didn't make Rory's apparent disdain for casual conversation any less vexing. When you'd tried to spend a few minutes savouring the plate of hot food before you, Rory had instead leapt straight into strategy discussions, admonishing you for your lack of concentration. He'd grumbled to himself when you quipped back that you were focusing perfectly fine on monitoring the comes and goings of tavern patrons. Rory quietened on the matter, opting to trust that you weren't letting yourself grow complacent even in the seemingly uneventful night that descended upon the tavern. Nothing seemed out of place nor concerning, though that was no excuse to let your guard down.

"Everything seems clear tonight. Tomorrow we should make our move for the next town over," Rory instructed as his eyes focused on you, a perfectly composed smile on his face—it looked as though it came as naturally to him as breathing.

"Works for me. Although I believe the morning market could be a veritable source of information. We might be able to find a lead or two if we're lucky."

"I suppose replenishing a few supplies couldn't hurt either," Rory replied. He let his gaze flicker to the tavern door every so often, each look only lasting a split second before he returned his attention to you.

Looking over the drained remnants of your tankard, you let out a yawn. "Should we perhaps retire to our room for the night? We'll need to be up and out around sunrise if we want to do one last scope of the area." Rory nodded in agreement, stepping out from the booth and reaching for your hand to help you up. He guided you through the crowd, a protective touch on your waist that tightened whenever someone edged closer. He truly pulled off his role excellently. Almost a little too well. If you didn't know better, you'd be beginning to suspect that this was all practiced behaviour with a loved one back at the castle. Still, wherever he learnt it didn't matter, just the fact that he was convincing enough to everyone around the both of you. By the time you returned to your shared room, sleep was lurking ever closer. So close, in fact, that you barely even registered each beat of movement that led you into the bed, Rory following close behind. Part of the pretence of being married meant being confined to the same room and same bed, though traveling together had left you both desensitised to it all. Still, it didn't make you any less flustered waking up to Rory's nose a hair's breadth away from yours. Luckily he always rose after you, giving you a precious few moments alone to compose yourself. Appearing anything less than composed would no doubt earn a scathing remark from Rory.

Morning arrived in what felt like no time at all, the sun peeking over the rolling hills of the horizon. Sunlight poured over your skin, gently warming it in the morning chill that struck in those early hours. The town streets were mostly quiet save for the early risers setting up their stalls before the bustling marketgoers arrived. Rory was surveying one half of the town while you searched the other for anything out of place or anyone that arose suspicion. So far all seemed to be in order, although there was no telling who might show their faces when the streets were bustling with people, believing that the crowds could hide their nefarious intentions. Upon reuniting with Rory, he shared his own lack of activity outside of the expected. It was then, as Rory detailed the plan for the day, that you recognised a face across the market square. It was undeniably the exact man who'd disappeared from the castle grounds just two weeks ago without a trace save for the correspondences to an unnamed individual sitting in the ashy remnants of his fireplace. Most of it was indecipherable, fire having burned away the words but there had been one singular letter that remained unscathed enough to arouse suspicion. And seeing him in this part of the kingdom only incriminated him further.

"No sudden movements. But I just found us our biggest lead yet," you informed Rory, as he slowly turned his head to follow your line of sight. Recognition settled over his features, alarming concern creasing his forehead.

"If we're recognised we're as good as dead. We find higher ground and keep eyes on him at all times. Wait until there's more people around before tailing him. Crowds make the perfect cover."

"Then we better move and move fast. He's turning this way." Urgency rang in your voice, eyes searching for the most conspicuous way out.

"You trust me?" Rory whispered, offering no other context.

Slightly bewildered by the sudden question, you faltered for a moment before answering. "Well, yes. But I don't see what—" And then Rory's hand was on your waist, the other cradling your chin as he leaned so incredibly close. His breath was warm on your cheek, though that could have easily been your face burning under the close proximity. Then his lips were ghosting over your jaw, the frame of his body concealing your from any onlookers. If anyone spared a glance all they would see was an amorous display between unidentifiable lovers. The seconds dragged like hours, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that you feared Rory might be able to feel it. Of all the pretences you'd put on together, this was by far the most daring. He hadn't gone further than a tight grip on your waist or the press of a kiss to your temple. His lips were barely touching your skin and yet you could feel electricity striking your skin for every moment he lingered. Not to mention the way his hands held you firmly in place. It was all so dizzying you were dangerously close to forgetting exactly what your mission here was.

"Coast clear?" He asked, every whispered word brushing your ear with a delicate softness that almost made you forget who you were.

With a nervous clear of your throat, you managed to look past Rory's shoulder to find your target with his back to you once more. "We're safe."

There was roughly another hour before the marketplace would open to its customers, meaning there was an hour of waiting before you and Rory could set your plan into motion. After the close encounter, the two of you had separated from the other's embrace just enough to move out of the square and into a quiet alley. From there, you'd made your way to the rooftops, using a thick stone chimney to keep hidden from sight. It wasn't difficult to keep an eye on your target, his own movements clearly purposeful so as to blend in with the other market stall owners. Anything that made your job easier was a welcomed turn of events. That was, until Rory decided to strike up conversation, clearly deciding the threat level was low enough to break the deafening silence.

"You've been oddly quiet all morning. What's going on in that head of yours?" The question felt more like an accusation—a weighted statement so as to draw out every thought that swam in your mind.

"Normally you're complaining I talk too much and now I'm too quiet. What do you want from me, Rory?" Your reply sounded less relaxed than you'd intended, residual nerves shaking your voice a fraction.

"You're avoiding the question." He folded his arms, stubborn to a fault as he stared you down. "Ever since we saw... Wait, this isn't because of what I did earlier is it?"

You felt your cheeks begin to heat and could only pray they didn't betray you. "What? No! I'm just focusing. Much like you should be too."

"Don't think I don't know you well enough now to not know when you're lying. I would've told you what I was doing if time was on our side but it was either I act fast or we get ourselves caught. Still, sorry about that."

You blinked, noting the rise of colour that seemed to appear on Rory's cheeks. It was faint, but you could've sworn it was there. "It's fine. You did what anyone should have done in the moment so don't apologise. Just took me a little off guard is all."

Rory relaxed a little, grateful he hadn't crossed a line or backed you into a corner you weren't willing to tread. Then, a rare smile grew as he tested just how far he could push you. "Don't tell me you got nervous. One of our finest informants and fighters in the branch and you got a little nervous over your partner getting too close? Thought you were stronger than that."

"Brave words from a man who was just blushing as he apologised. Really changed your tune there, didn't you? Still, it's of no matter to me. Think whatever you'd like to get yourself through the day."

"What I'm hearing here is that you wouldn't have reacted at all if I'd kissed you?"

You glared back at Rory's testing smile, hating the way your stomach twisted. You knew you had to choose your next words carefully, the thought of being caught lying already bruising your ego. "Who knows. Not like you had the gall to do it anyway."

"Oh? Is that a challenge? Or perhaps an invitation?" Rory edged closer, running a finger along your jawline before taking your chin in his hold and angling your face so that you couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. No words were spoken, just heated stares as though you were waiting for the other to crack first.

"Neither. It's a 'we better move or else we lose our lead'," you uttered, hand moving Rory's face so that he could see your target weaving through the crowd. Rory cursed, leaping up and into action. This was the first time you'd seen him taken by surprise and if you weren't in pursuit of a traitor to the crown, you'd be taking great joy in that fact. Weaving through the side streets, uneven bricks beneath your feet slowing your pursuit, Rory called an instruction from just ahead.

"We split up here. You continue on and I'll take a left down here. We surround him and wait for his contact to show up. Out of sight unless absolutely necessary."

"Sounds like a plan. Don't get yourself caught, beloved husband." Rory did little more than roll his eyes before running off down a side street, leaving you to continue down the cobblestones in the direction of your target. The road led to a series of seemingly abandoned buildings. Infrastructure was beginning to crumble in places, its inhabitants long gone for an undeterminable amount of time. There were no visitors to this side of town—the ideal place to rendezvous with one's conspirators. From the shadows, you had a clear sight of the man you'd been pursuing. He was speaking with someone you did not recognise, their face shrouded in shadow from the hood atop their head. Whoever this person was, they were doing little to conceal their desire to remain anonymous to any onlookers. Curious suspicion grew in the pit of your stomach, aching to edge closer so as to be in earshot but even one step forward could lead to being discovered. Across the way, you caught sight of Rory hiding from his own shadowed vantage point. He was closer to the suspicious characters and, hopefully, able to garner some useful information in the process.

As you crouched in the shadows, attention honed in on your target, you missed the person quietly approaching you from behind until it was far too late. When you heard their footsteps and twisted, dagger in hand, they were already upon you. The hilt of their own dagger collided with your chin, throwing you off your balance and striking the alarm of your targets. Shouts sounded along with heavy footsteps, no doubt your biggest lead making his escape. But that was not your greatest concern right now. What mattered more was finding your footing and fighting off your assailant.

"Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to eavesdrop? Suppose I'll have to be the one to do it then," he threatened, a sinister smile growing as he crept closer. He had the advantage of preparation on his side, but you weren't going to go down that easily. Your opponent was strong but you were quick, able to dodge his heavy handed attacks and strike any opening in his stance. Whoever he was, his grasp of strategy was weak, leaving far too many openings for you to kick and slash. That was, until you went for another opening only for his thick boots to strike your stomach and sending you crashing to the ground, winded from the attack. He loomed over your body, preparing to go for the kill with an arm raised until a throwing knife struck his wrist perfectly. Before you could dwell longer on the matter, you rolled to your feet. Rory was at your side in seconds and matching your stance.

"Took you long enough. Did our culprit run off?"

Rory chuckled, the sound devoid of any genuine humour. "He tried. Didn't get very far. Looks like you didn't do much beside almost get yourself killed."

"I had the situation under control, thank you very much."

"Sure you did. Were you just taking a nap on the ground then?"

You glared at him before lunging to deal with your attacker. You made quick work of him, his movements having slowed greatly thanks to Rory's expert aim. "You know I could just as easily throw this at your face to shut you up."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, beloved."

Once you'd taken care of your attacker and quiet settled over the scene once more, your pulse finally returned to normal. A series of aches ailed you, though none were cause for concern. It was nothing some rest wouldn't fix up. Whenever you had the freedom to rest, that was.

"You okay?" Rory's voice dropped lower as he came to stand in front of you, carefully inspecting you for any serious injuries.

"All good."

He raised an eyebrow, not fully trusting you were being completely honest with him. "This isn't one of those 'I'm going to be stoic and pretend I'm fine and then later I try and tend to my very much not fine injury' moments is it?"

"First of all, mildly offended. You're not entirely wrong, but I'm still mad about it. And second, no this is not one of those moments. Just a little tender in places. I can walk it off." Rory contemplated his next move as his eyes dragged up and down your frame.

"I swear if you even think about carrying me anyway I won't hesitate to cut the first appendage I can reach."

He raised his hands in innocent defeat. "Consider my thoughts blank, no carrying considered. Anymore."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to walk away until Rory's hand grasped your wrist. There was an earnest look in his eyes that you'd never seen from him before. He didn't speak for a moment, glancing at his feet before meeting your gaze once more.

"I'm glad you're okay. You worried me there for a moment." Sincerity laced every word he uttered, so quiet and heartfelt and only for your ears.

"Don't worry, you won't be left partnerless just yet." You tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere that had descended but Rory's expression didn't change. You'd seen him look serious, of course, but this was something else entirely. It was like a layer had been stripped back, shedding the wall he presented to the world and revealing another version of himself. One that allowed his weaknesses to be presented on full display. One that deeply trusted his company so much as to bear his every worry and burden without fear. It struck you to your very core, keeping you rooted in place and barely able to breathe let alone move.

"Good. How could I play the role of doting husband if you got yourself killed?" A gentle smile breached the final crack in his walls and let what remained of that outer shell come crashing down. A hand reached to cup your cheek, every callous and scar that marred his palm decorating the sensation of his gentle touch.

"I'm sure you'd figure out a way. Not that you'll need to just yet."

"Yet? I hope you're not planning for some martyr-like sacrifice. It would be unbecoming of you." Rory brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, smiling to himself as he no doubt felt the way your skin heated with the featherlike touch of his fingertips.

"We'll see." The words were so quiet, barely audible to either of you if not for the pindrop silence that had settled. There was no tearing your eyes away from Rory's, feeling yourself stumbling into the vast green that gazed back. This certainly wasn't the behaviour of two individuals pretending to be married. Not when the nearest person was far beyond the winding streets of the bustling market town. There wasn't a single soul to witness the display, and yet that didn't stop either of you from remaining there, both unable to tear yourselves away. Perhaps that would be the smartest thing to do. Feelings were messy; they got in the way and complicated matters to an incomprehensible degree. But maybe, just once, you could give in to the magnetic pull that reached into your heart and tugged. Just once wouldn't hurt, would it?

Clearing your throat, you tried to pour even an ounce of conviction into your voice. "What's the plan now? Find our man and get some information?"

"You're the boss. But first, there's another, more pressing matter to attend to." Rory didn't bother to offer any verbal clarification when your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Instead, he twined his fingers with yours, pulling you closer until his face was mere centimetres from yours. Every breath and blink felt like an eternity until that painfully small gap finally closed. Rory's lips was soft, tentative as they explored new territory. There was no going back from this but you didn't care. Maybe you should walk away and preserve what little remained of your self-restraint. Maybe you should continue letting yourself believe this was all for the sake of your cover. Or maybe you could enjoy it just a little while longer, believing the lie that every action leading up to this moment had been faked when every part of your soul said otherwise. Though nothing felt more real than this very point in time, Rory's gentle touch the only thing keeping you on the ground.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered as his thumbs brushed the backs of your hands.

You shook your head, knowing there was no way you could even begin to string the tangled mess of emotions into coherent sentences for him. Another fleeting touch of a kiss was all you could offer before breathing in a deep sigh. "Words aren't quite enough to explain it. That, or I'm just a little too distracted to think of them right now."

Rory laughed, a beautiful sound that caressed your ears with each lilting cadence. "I think that's a first for you. Being rendered speechless, I mean. Cute."

You pulled your hands from Rory's and glared, only making him laugh harder. "Make fun all you want. I'm not the one making moves while on the job."

"Isn't that what this whole job has been? Me making moves and pretending I don't enjoy it as much as I do?" To say that was a loaded comment was an understatement. And it was one you could dwell on later under the cover of night where Rory would be none the wiser to your seemingly permanent flustered state of being.

"Ignoring that for now. We have actual work to do. Lead the way before I make you."

"Is that supposed to be a threat? Or a promise?"

[slippery-minghus]

getting really tired of my new coworker's attitude. starting tomorrow, i'm taking a policy that if she wants me to teach her how to do something, she's gonna have to ask. no more politely checking if she knows how to do a task. no more watching as she does an uncommon thing. if she's gonna give me snark every time our communication styles mismatch, then i'm just going to remove one of the sources of that friction.

[thethingything]

the sun's started rising around the same time it does in late spring so now I've got that weird nostalgia for when I first showed up in the system and I'm also stuck thinking about when Lucy was like "September is the March of the year" because while that's kind of a ridiculous quote, I do get what they meant with it

[xhda1449x]

ok apparently 30 tags is the limit on tumblr and I'm putting it here because I couldn't put it in the tags

for my own curiosity, because my tragedy enjoying boggles the minds of a bunch of my irl social circle.

[medicinemane]

Make Puerto Rico a state already, don't like having second class Americans, and that's how I'd describe it when they're out there paying taxes, contributing to the good of the country, but they don't even get representation via things like a senator

Like I'm sat here thinking about it and... do Puerto Ricans living in Puerto Rico even get to vote for president? Cause... that's never listed in the electoral college vote count, so I'm gonna guess no

Seem to remember hearing somewhere something about "no taxation without representation", sounded pretty good I thought

Make Puerto Rico a state, make them a state. Every year I get more and more pissed off as I think about how fellow Americans are treated like this. I'm extremely pro Puerto Rico, they're clearly a part of the union... you either make them a state or make them their own country, you don't keep people trapped in this limbo state where they've got less rights than I do

[steampoweredskeleton]

New worst feeling: expressing an emotion/feeling/experience to someone you have been very supportive to, and feeling them mark you as Weird and Strange

[celiaelise]

Genuinely I wish I liked movies more!!! It makes me feel alienated from other actors and creatives when they start talking about film, and I'm like, "uhhh I only watch what my family puts on when I happen to be hanging out with them." I'm so uncultured!!

I'm not even sure how much I dislike movies anymore, tbh. Like, when I was a kid I found them stressful and I overstimulating, and that's really why I rarely watched them for a long time. Like, genuinely, I got so stressed out I cried and had to be carried, wailing, from the theater during Finding Nemo. At 8 years old. I also think I may have gotten extremely upset watching The Parent Trap. Even through high school, I hated when a movie got put on in class, because it meant I was going on an emotional journey against my will, even if the movie sucked.

Eventually I developed the coping mechanisms of joking and talking during movies, which, as you can imagine, only some people can appreciate. 😅 (I can mostly behave myself in a movie theater, but I also don't particularly enjoy going to them.) And I feel like I've definitely started to learn to appreciate the artistry in film. Like, there ARE plenty of movies I've watched and been like, "wow that was really great and i liked it a lot!" (Though also plenty where I was like, "that was objectively well made but I had a Bad Time watching it.")

But I really ONLY watch movies when I'm with others, and I live by myself, so. 🤷🏻‍♀️ A lot of it is still that sense of, "I don't have the energy for the emotions this will invoke", but I don't know if that's real or just, like, a depression/avoidance thing. And I don't know if the difference of having others to bounce quips off of is actually that big, y'know?

Plus there's the adhd/"phone addiction"/"it's always easier to just keep scrolling than initiate a new task" thing 🙄 idk. It just kind of makes me feel like a child! Part of me wonders if it's a Mental Illness Symptom that could recede if my mental health improves.

I actually have an actor friend who is (also) autistic + adhd who feels similarly about viewing live theater! Which is funny, because they actually LOVE going to the movies, but a stage play makes them too anxious. It's also funny because they DO live theater, but they don't want to see other people's shows. I know I've definitely had the thought that I would much rather be in many movies than watch them! 😅 I kinda get their anxiety about watching shows, but to me it's much smaller than for movies, and a live performance feels special enough that I can put it aside.

[salemlunaa]

"OH WELL, IM NOT GONNA BE HERE FOR LONG, IM GONNA SHIFT ANYWAY" girl...

let's break down why this mindset, although very common, isn't super healthy...

I saw a post earlier where op talks about how they are un phased about all the bad things happening to them because they "won't be here for much longer”, which is so real and it honestly made me laugh so hard but, i must admit, this way of thinking can also have an unhealthy side.

I, personally, have also been victim to this mindset, and honestly i can tell you nothing good comes from thinking like this. You experience something bad, hurtful, embarrassing, slightly traumatic (which, bear in mind, you wouldn't have experienced if you hadn't procrastinated and tapped in to the void) and you tell yourself "it's okay, i'm not here for long anyway", you abandon responsibilities (that, again, wouldn't be your responsibility if you would ve stayed disciplined and tapped in) and you tell yourself "it's fine, i'm gonna shift anyway" "i'm probably gonna get into the void tonight so it doesn't matter"

NO NO and NO

of course it's good to have the mindset of knowing, knowing that it's your last day here and knowing that the void is the only outcome for you, because that type of thinking is what allows you to shift consciousness and tap in to the void, but a lot of you say that shit without even properly applying your knowledge, a lot of you are gonna remain sounding like broken records, repeating this shit for years, i swear it will be 2028 and yall will still be saying "it's okay i won't be here for long", "im gonna shift anyway"

don't wait for shit to hit the fan for you to get serious about your desires, don't wait for your circumstances to get horrible for you to finally fix up and actually do something. If you really knew you were a god, you wouldn't be here reading this, you would be as pretty as you wanna be, and as rich and happy as you wanna be enjoying your dream life. Don't fall into a comfortable routine with your current reality, (which is really just your old story) because it's not worth it. I even see you guys making and scripting for a "better current reality" (another excuse to remain comfortable with procrastination), when you could have your DREAM life, you guys get swept up in your old story, just because it can be "alright" sometimes. And then when something bad happens, you repeat the same phrase "oh well, i'm gonna shift anyway", and then when things go back to being "alright", you get comfortable again, further procrastinating, when you could have ANYTHING. Who cares about your "alright", "mediocre" reality when you could have the best and more!!

like girl, don't stay comfortable until you're forced to get uncomfortable with a negative change in circumstances. You should be determined to shift consciousness ALL THE TIME, not just when things get tough or responsibilities pile up. Because again, if you had that consistent mindset you wouldn't be here.

get uncomfortable with what you have to achieve what you want, so that all you want becomes all you have

GET UNCOMFORTABLE NOW SO YOU CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR ETERNITY, DONT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN ᥫ᭡💋

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[ek-ranjhaan]

She has not just been raped and murdered, she was very much tortured and brutalized like Nirbhaya. It is all over the Bengali news. I don't understand why no one is talking about this.

A 2nd year Respiratory Medicine in a well known government medical college in Kolkata, West Bengal, India is found in a semi-naked state and the college/ hospital called it a suicide.

I'm a MBBS student in second year. After reading about her, what crossed my mind is the amount of times she would have felt this fear, before this worst fear of hers eventually materialized.

"A young resident doctor was found dead in the seminar room of her medical college in Kolkata. Initial autopsy report suggests possible rape and murder."

As all are saying,

She wasn't walking the street at odd hours. She wasn't wearing clothes that were provocative. She wasn't loitering in dangerous neighbourhoods.

She was a resident doctor, looking for a place to rest in her own hospital.

She had been on duty and had gone to rest in the early hours of Friday.

The one place which was supposed to guarantee her safety failed her, miserably.

Someone comes, rapes a female pg who is merely resting in a seminar hall because there is no proper place for her to rest, brutalized her and kills her. How did NO one know? The college and police initially call it a suicide. Excuse me? It is also being said that under pressure from local politicians, the Principal and Dean attempted to alter the post-mortem report. Autopsy confirms sexual assault.

What are the actions taken? One man arrested because his behavior seemed "shady". This is clearly not an act of one man. And this was a very well aware of and a well executed criminal act.

Also, all this happening in WB right when the situation of bangladesh is in turmoil and news of Bangladeshi Hindus being killed and tortured, seems wrong, VERY WRONG. Happening right before NEET-PG, as 24 lakh doctors prepare to write an exam on Sunday to be resident doctors, this news has wrapped us all in agony and rage,

What are they working so hard for? Why should they aspire to be in a system that ignores their basic needs? The minimum requirement of a workplace is safety. That should be non-negotiable.

This profession demands extereme hardwork, a lot of mental strength and Physical Assaults, harassment, low paying jobs with odd working hours with intense humiliation. Now its the worst of all seeing a bright mind losing her life in the most disrespectful state of all. This should never happen to any woman.

I'd also like to question why isn't any big media house covering this news, where are all the international news channels all this time.

What are the students in other medical colleges doing? This talks about their own safety and lives. What are the medical students across the world doing? It's time for us to stand for the most basic Human right, safety.

Yesterday when my roommate, an MBBS final year intern was heading for her night posting, I feared and prayed for her to come back safely. Thinking about it, in a few years I will also have night posting, I'll also return from my hospital duties late at night. I'll also have to go through the same fear, and I'll also have to keep praying that my worst fears don't turn into reality. So many female doctors, nursing staffs, other Healthcare workers, other working women, non-working women go through the same fear, probably multiple times a day.

It is a shame to be born in such a disgusting world and society, it is shame to witness such a brutal crime, and it is a shame to live in this fear daily.

Those RAPISTS need to be hunged infront of the whole natio...if needed burned alive. People should fear the idea of raping, more than getting raped.