#you should research your family history!

[ephemeriee]

i provided so much delight to my grandad when i found out he had ancestors that had been living in villages near the one he moved to for retirement for centuries and that it wasn't just post potato famine extreme poverty for his family and my mum loved it when i told her that her ancestors has spent so much time in the village that she could see out of her childhood bedroom window and that a hundreds of years old font that got moved to the church where her school had services was where where her 5x great grandfather and his siblings were baptised

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[busket]

no one who is saying "girls can just try testosterone, you don't need to be a trans man if you want more masculine characteristics" is saying "HEY TAKE TESTOSTERONE NOW DONT DO RESEARCH JUST TAKE IT GIRLS JUST DO IT"

obviously you need to be informed. obviously you should do your research, talk to a doctor and know your family and medical history. know the full effects and the timeline of when you can expect the effects, how much is permanent and how much will reverse when you stop taking it, as well as other unintended side effects. you should be doing this before taking any new medication.

and I don't think anyone who is considering taking testosterone is oblivious to the main effects. I can't imagine any girl being like "yeah I'll take testosterone" and then being shocked and dismayed to find that body hair is permanent. testosterone also isn't just an instant MAN SWITCH. you can be on a very low dose and have very subtle androgynizing effects. and if you decide to stop, then a lot of those things will reverse. more than you would think, by the way. I've heard stories from trans men who were on t for 8 years fully passing as a cis man and took a few months break, then reverted to looking like a fresh faced boy just starting his 6th month in t. our bodies are so plastic and fluid and change so much!

it's common sense to tell someone to know all the effects of a medication but when you frame it like "WOAH hold on!!! you can't just tell girls to TRY testosterone! you're gonna trick them into PERMANENT CHANGES that could MAKE THEM MISERABLE" it really comes off as terfy propaganda, look out the transgenders are injecting our women with evil hormones that'll make them permanently hairy and masculine

so yeah, you can try testosterone. please do your research and know what you're getting into. some effects may be permanent, but if you're considering it in the first place, you may enjoy those permanent effects! the hormones that your body is producing now are creating permanent effects but no one is freaking out about those.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

The Tortured Fangirl's Department - My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

| Paul Lahote x human!reader

summary: Paul hates you, but imprinted on you. He's not happy about it. 🐺🌲⛰️🌧️

cw: violence, gore, toxic relationship, Paul being an asshole, drinking

an: forever #teampaul.

Part Two

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You arrived in Forks on a research grant, studying Old Wood Forests for your Masters Degree in Environmental Science. As you conduct your research, you feel more and more at home in Washington, and immerse yourself in the local community and history.

The more you learn about the history of the Quileute Tribe and it's connection to the surrounding ecosystem, the more you dig, until eventually you uncover a secret never meant for human eyes.

The Quileutes are a pack of werewolves, living in secret on the Reservation.

Of course, they quickly figure out that you're onto them, and you're dragged into a harrowing trial with Chief Billy Black and the pack’s alpha, Sam Uley. After hours of deliberation, and you begging for your life, they decide to allow you to live on one condition: you remain in Forks and never publish what you've found.

You agree instantly, grateful to be spared, and the pack brings you into the inner circle, including putting you up in a small house on the edge of La Push.

All seems to have worked out swimmingly, until Emily invites you to the alpha’s home for a bonfire so you can formally meet everyone.

Paul Lahote was livid when he learned that Sam had spared you. An outsider, a traitor. If it was up to him, you would have long ago been forest food, their secrets safe within the soil.

Paul had never met you, but he didn't trust you, didn't like the way you weaseled yourself into his beloved family. You were good as dead, as far as he was concerned.

That is, until he walks into Emily's kitchen, finding you peeling potatoes at the table, laughing at some joke Embry told, and his world imploded.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Six months later

Whoever said imprinting was the world's greatest blessing was full of fucking shit.

Paul glared at you across the fire, nibbling on a s’more and nursing a beer as if you fucking belonged here. Those were his beers. The packs s'mores.

What he would really like to know, is where you got the fucking audacity.

“Think louder, would’ya?” Jacob teased, knocking his shoulder. “She figured out what was making the fern grove sick, she deserves a beer.”

Paul rolled his eyes, throwing back the rest of his beer and stomping off to the booze table. Who cares about fucking plants, anyways?

You flicked your h/c hair over your shoulder, the glossy waves reflecting the orange firelight. Seth cracked some lame joke and you burst out laughing, the sound like the first spring rain.

Pain bloomed in chest, an ache he felt to the marrow, and he had to grip the table to stay upright, had to look away from your pretty smile. A war waged within him. Make you laugh again, or ensure it's your final one?

The table cracked under his grip.

“Lahote,” Sam warned in his mind. “Easy.”

Paul eased his grip, tried to control his breathing, his anger. He'd worked so hard on managing his rage, he wouldn't let you ruin that progress.

You'd already ruined everything else in his life.

Carefully, he stepped away, ensuring the table wasn't about to collapse before sitting back down beside Jacob with a fresh beer. He should just go inside, or out on a patrol. Anything but sit here and suffer your existence.

But something rooted him to the log, periodically scanning the perimeter behind you to ensure nothing pale and sparkly lurked in the shadows.

If anything would have the pleasure of ending your little existence, it would be him.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Paul seemed extra scowly tonight, his handsome face pinched in perpetual disdain.

You laughed a little louder at Seth's decidedly not funny impersonation of Sam, just to see Paul's frown deepen. And it did, his ire as predictable as a clock.

You knew he had imprinted on you, everyone within a ten miles radius knew he imprinted on you, but somehow, it only seemed to deepen his loathing.

If only they'd seen his face when he first saw you.

It was probably cruel of you to exploit his involuntary affliction, but you just couldn't help yourself. He just made it so easy. And it didn't help that he was hot as fuck when the claws came out.

You polished off your beer, enjoying the gentle buzz humming in your veins. A terrible, wicked idea popped into your head.

Moving towards the table, you snagged a bottle of whiskey, the one you happened to know was Paul's favorite, and poured yourself a micro shot. His dark eyes were already on you, glaring a hole into your back. Fighting a smirk, you slammed the shot back. You let out a small, deliberate moan as the alcohol burned its way through the chill lingering on your skin.

Every unpaired wolf perked up a bit at the sound, those whores, and you could practically feel the rage buffeting off Paul as he stared at you.

“You have a deathwish, girl.” Leah teased, offering you another shot. “I like it.”

You grinned up at her, accepting the liquor. Leah flinched then, her smile pulling into a grimace, and she took the shot back before you could drink it.

“You might have a deathwish, but I sure don't.” She swallowed the shot herself, patted you sympathetically on the shoulder, and returned to her spot by Seth.

The rest of the night, the pack continued to snatch drinks from you. You couldn't even sneak a sip, with their ridiculous hearing and sense of smell catching you as soon as the alcohol touched your lips.

Even Seth slapped a shot out of your hand.

“What the fuck!” You shouted at him, your buzz very nearly gone.

Seth winced. “His orders,” he said, tilting his head towards Paul, who was busy tearing into a turkey leg.

I think the fuck not.

You marched over to him, snatched his sweating, unopened can of beer off the table, and jammed your pocket knife into it. With a crack, you opened it and pressed your mouth to the hole, shot-gunning it in ten seconds flat.

A personal record.

As soon as you dropped the empty can onto the ground, you regretted all of your life choices.

Paul was on you before you had a chance to step backwards, one massive hand around your throat, the other gripping your pocket knife.

Terror lanced through you, and you watched his pupils dilate as he started down you, white teeth bared. It took you a moment to register that you could still breathe, that he wasn't actually hurting you. In fact, he'd been handling that poor turkey leg more roughly that he was currently holding you.

“Leah was right,” he growled, the sound raising the hair on your arms. “You do have a deathwish.”

“You don't get to control what I can and can't do,” you bit back, pushing your face closer to his to prove that you weren't afraid.

Even though you definitely were afraid, and a little aroused. But mostly afraid.

His nostrils flared when a pulse of desire made your pussy clench, but you couldn't find it in yourself to embarrassed. You knew you turned him on too. And it didn't help that your bodies fit together too right, a jagged pair of puzzle pieces.

“Paul, back off,” Sam ordered. The pack was frozen around you, afraid that one wrong move would result in you losing your throat.

Paul squeezed a little tighter, letting you feel the power he had in this moment. It would be nothing for him to crush your windpipe, to snap your neck.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath tickling the hair around your ear. “I think I can,” he whispered.

He took a step back, and as soon as his hand fell away, Jacob tackled him in his wolf form, creating several feet of space between you.

Paul shifted then, his grey wolf exploding from within, and knocked Jacob backwards. They began to fight in earnest, growling and gnashing as they tumbled through the grass.

Guilt killed the last dregs of your buzz, and your ego. Why did you have to push him? Nothing good could come of it, and it only made him hate you more.

You took off towards your house before the fighting could get any worse, kicking yourself for being so fucking stupid.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Y/n didn't come around for two weeks after that, except to go the store or the library. Paul would know, your house was his first and last stop on every perimeter check.

He'd been visiting even more the last week or so, your absence an unbearable itch under his skin. It was like missing a front tooth, a constant distraction, and he couldn't not prod at it, even though it hurt.

The feeling of your fluttering pulse beneath his fingers became the rhythm of his life. It was burned into his memory, the way you looked up at him, eyes round with fear, the smell of your arousal reaching like hands to squeeze his brain, lulling the beast in his mind to docility.

Every time he looked at you, he saw his forever. A forever of home cooked meals, laughter, warmth. A life that was stolen from him. A life he didn't deserve.

He refused to be domesticated. Especially not by a nosy, manipulative, stubborn little human like you.

It was better you stayed away. That was what he wanted this entire time. Wasn't it?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You couldn't not attend Jacobs birthday party, no matter how badly you wanted to avoid a certain dagger-eyed dime piece.

So you put on a bikini, wide-leg jeans, and an oversized quarter zip, and made your way to the beach. God knows why he wanted to have a bonfire on the beach in fucking October, but it's not like they got cold.

You and Emily would have to stick it out together. Hopefully Sam was considerate enough to pack a blanket.

Everyone was already on the beach, splashing in the frozen water or chatting around the fire. Seth spotted you first.

“Y/n!” He shouted, bounding over to you, shirtless and sandy.

“Are you insane?” You laughed. “It's like 40 degrees!”

“Aw, c’mere.” He wrapped you up in a bear hug, the heat of his skin chasing away the chill already biting through your clothes.

You buried your nose into his shoulder, the tip already numb. “Fuck you guys, seriously,” you mumbled.

Suddenly, Seth was wrenched away from you and you stumbled forward, into a tan brick wall of muscle.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Paul snapped, righting you on the uneven sand before quickly dropping his hands.

“My house?” You answered, quirking an eyebrow. Rarely did he ever address you this directly. Your pulse raced in your chest, terrified, thrilled to see him again. Did he miss me?

“Why?” He demanded.

You couldn't answer him. What were you supposed to say, that you were hiding from him? That you were embarrassed by your own desperation to be close to him? That you craved his attention, his touch, even if it was rough?

At every interaction, he broke you a little bit more. Left you rougher around the edges. But a part of you loved it, craved it. His passion made you feel alive.

“Got sick of your fucking attitude,” you said instead. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to say hello to the birthday boy.” You pushed past him, trudging through the sand to Jacob, who was watching from the edge of the water with a bewildered expression.

You shirked your clothes as you went, not caring about the cold any more. Your loathing, your hunger, would keep you warm.

Down to your cherry red bikini, you threw your arms around Jacobs neck, pressing a loud, smacking kiss into his cheek. “Happy birthday, Jake!”

He kept his arms wide, chuckling nervously. “Thanks, y/n. I think the water is a little cold for you—”

“Don't care!” You sing-songed, releasing him and wading deeper into the water. It was definitely too cold for you, the bones in your feet already aching and tingly.

“Just don't get your hair wet—”

You dove into the water, the temperature knocking the air from your lungs, making your whole body clench in aversion. You popped up on the other side, splashing an arc of water at him. “I'll live,” you replied.

He shrugged, splashing you back, and you played in the water with other wolves until your lips started to turn blue, your body shivering too hard to stand upright.

“Y/n, out of the water!” Sam shouted from the shore.

“B-b-but I'm h-hav-ving f-f-f-fun!”

“Now.”

“I'm f-f-fin-n-ne!”

Suddenly, you were airborne, strong arms scooping you up out of the water with a thick blanket. You yelped in surprise, looking up to see Paul, still dressed despite being waist-deep in the water, bundling you into his chest with the blanket wrapped around you.

“H-hey!” You protested, a violent shiver making your teeth clack together.

“Another word and I'll drown you,” he snapped, tucking your toes against his scalding hot ribs as he carried you out of the water.

“F-f-fuck y-y-ou!”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Paul held you close to his chest, your body shaking so hard it was difficult to keep the quilt tucked around you. Your lips were far too blue for his liking, and your teeth were chattering so hard he feared they might crack.

Jacob should have never let you get into that water—no, you weren't Jacob’s responsibility. You were his, as loath as he was to admit it.

You curled into him, the tip of your nose an icecube against his clavicle. “S-s-sorry,” you mumbled.

He looked down at you, shocked.

“For almost killing yourself? Why would I give a shit?”

You fell quiet again, and guilt stabbed him through the chest. He heard your heart rate begin to slow, the cold still taking it's toll. You were so frozen, steam was rising from his skin where you touched, leaving a trail as he carried you to the fire.

He set you down on a pile of blankets as close as he could get to the fire without burning your eyelashes off. He wrapped you up in a dry quilt, then another, and planted himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his legs on either side of yours.

“W-what are you—”

“Not a word,” he growled. You were still shivering, your familiar scent tinged with salt water and traces of Jacob and Seth.

He fought against the jealous rage that stirred in stomach, instead focusing on your heart rate, your unsteady breathing.

The pack circled nervously, unsure if they should intervene. When Seth came a little too close, mumbling something about your clothes, Paul growled, a low, menacing rumble from his chest, and Seth scampered off.

The scent of fear spiked when he growled, and he found himself shushing you, burying his head into the blankets against the back of your neck. It was involuntary, acting on the urge to comfort you before he'd even processed it. But it seemed to settle you, so he remained.

It settled him too, the now rhythmic thump of your heart, your even, almost drowsy breathing.

“Can Emily give her a drink?” Sam asked a little while later through the mind connection, almost at a whisper so Paul didn't startle.

“Yes,” Paul answered, and a few moments later, Emily appeared, passing a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

The chocolatey smell mixed with your scent was almost too much, so sweet and decadent. He was beginning to melt like the giant marshmallow on top.

“Hey,” you whispered after a few sips, your voice back to normal

He didn't correct you for speaking, his eyes closed as he wallowed in your scent like a dog in the mud.

“Paul.”

“Hm?” He grunted, lifting his head.

“I'm starting to sweat.”

Reality rushed back to him, shattering the haze in him mind. What the fuck was he doing? You fooled him, just like you fooled the rest of them.

He wrenched away from you, springing to his feet. Your scent was all over him, embedded in his skin, his hair. Driving him insane. You drove him fucking insane.

“Paul, wait.” You scrambled to your feet, dropping one of the blankets, flashing him a glimpse of your little bikini as you reached for him. Fuck, how did he forget your were in a bikini?

“Fuck off, y/n,” he snarled, and you staggered back.

“But—”

“The only reason I pulled you out of that fucking water because of you die, I do to. I don't fucking care about you, imprint or not. You mean nothing to me. You're better off getting that through your thick fucking skull.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, brutal and scathing, and he watched your heart break.

Maybe if he left you in a pile of broken parts on the fucking floor, he'd finally be rid of you.

The wolf came then, shredding the last of his humanity, and he took off into the woods, diving through bushes and trees to scrape your scent off his fur.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Paul left you there, broken on the beach. Sam and Embry followed him into the woods, but the others descended on you, concern clear of their faces.

But you shrugged them off and let Emily, Emily only, walk you home.

You cried yourself to sleep, confused, hurt, angry, devastated. You'd felt something when he held you, like he was holding all of your pieces together, whole for the first time in your life, only to smash you apart again.

You didn't understand, couldn't understand, what he was feeling. Why he was so against this connection that was between you. It's not like he could escape it. The imprint wouldn't magically vanish.

You were tethered together, for better or worse.

For the next several weeks, he avoided you like the plague. If you entered the same room as him, he would leave it. If you walked through town, he'd disappear into the woods.

This place you'd fallen in love with was starting to feel like a prison. Both of you were trapped here, orbiting each other like hostile satellites.

Late one night, you were having a glass of wine at Emily's when frantic voices floated through the open window.

Emily was immediately on her feet, rummaging through cupboards, starting a boiling pot of water. A moment later Sam burst through the door.

“Lahote got shot,” he said to her, then ripped the tablecloth off the tables, sending your wine and the dishes flying.

Your heart dropped through the floor. “What—”

“Where?” Emily said, setting her first aid kit on the counter and starting to rip up some bandages.

“Wait—”

“His side, he can't shift back. Y/n, he—”

The others burst into the room next, four of them carrying an enormous gray wolf on their shoulders. Paul.

“Here, set him here.” Emily gestured to the table, and they slowly eased him onto it. “Oh, God,” Emily hissed, turning to grab more bandages.

Jacob grabbed you before you could get closer. “Don’t, y/n,” he said, his hands covered in blood.

Paul's breath was coming out in broken whines, his entire left side slick with dark blood.

“Why can't he shift?” You asked, panic rising in your throat, choking you.

Jacob didn't answer, his face twisted in pain.

Understanding dawned. If Paul shifted, he would die.

You shoved past Jacob, catching him by surprise, and rushed to Paul's giant head, his eyes pinched shut, muzzle stained with gore.

“Paul,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his head the best you could considering it was the size of your torso, digging your fingers into his thick fur. He was colder than he should be, his heartbeat sluggish.

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Y/n, you shouldn't. He might hurt you when Em—”

You shook the alpha off, clinging tighter to Paul's fur, breathing in his pine-tinged scent. “I don't care.”

Emily returned with an amber bottle, passing it to you. “Four drops on his tongue. No more.” And she set to laying out her supplies.

You looked at the label. Morphine.

“Paul, baby, I need you to open your mouth for me,” you asked, stroking his cheek. “Please, it'll make the pain go away.”

His eyes fluttered open, the richest mahogany, and locked onto your face.

“Please,” you asked again, a tear snaking down your cheek.

His mouth cracked open, revealing the torn, bloody muscle inside.

“That's good, love. Just like that.” You dropped four clear pearls of medicine onto his tongue. “Good boy, thank you.” You gently closed his mouth again, his eyes still firmly locked on you, even as his eyelids began to drop.

You went to pull away and set the medicine on the counter when he loosed a heart-wrenching whine, his whole body shifting on the table.

“Shit! Hold him,” Emily ordered, but he bucked them off again, staring at you.

Realizing, you dropped the medicine and rushed back over to him, throwing an arm over his neck and burying your face in the dense scruff at the base of his throat.

He immediately settled, tilting his chin down to rest against you, his nose pressed into your shoulder.

“I'm going to start removing the bullet,” Emily said to no one in particular. “If he starts to get aggressive, I want her out of here.”

The pack nodded, tightening their grips around him.

His body had just started to go lax form the morphine when Emily started digging for the bullet. You felt him tense, but he held perfectly still, almost trembling with effort.

The pack looked at one another, clearly surprised.

“He can't sit still for a splinter,” Sam muses, eyeing the two of you with a quirked brow.

“Got it!” Emily said, holding the pliers in the air, a crimson hollow point pinched in the end of them. “Less then two inches from his heart,” she said, dropping the bullet into the sink with a clatter.

Paul huffed against your neck, his body relaxing again.

You stroked his head, trying to soothe him. “You did so good, baby. You're going to be alright. Just a few stitches and you'll be able to heal on your own,” you whispered in his ear, even though you knew the rest of the could hear you.

Emily poured alcohol into the wound, and he bucked, a vicious growl ripping from his throat. Jacob yanked you backwards before Paul's fangs found you, Sam grabbing Emily as Paul roared.

“Outside!” Sam ordered, looking at Jacob. Jacob nodded and hauled you out into the cold, shutting the door behind you both.

“No, I need to be in there!” You shouted, fighting against him.

“Paul told us to take you out of there!” Jacob yelled back, and you stumbled away, stunned. “Right after he got shot, he said to make sure you weren't there. And he screamed ‘get her the fuck out of here' just now.”

“But—” You felt your knees sag. You thought for sure he was asking you to come closer…

“You saw what happened to Emily,” Jacob murmured, and you snapped your head back towards him. “Paul wouldn't survive doing that to you, y/n.”

You stared at him, tears in your eyes.

“He hates hurting you. But in his mind, it's the only way to keep you safe.”

“From what?” You cried, frustrated, heartbroken. Another agonized howl rips through the still November air.

“All of this! Us! Him!” Jacob threw his arms out. “When you discovered us, you trapped yourself. When he imprinted on you, he trapped you further.”

“But I want to be here!” You shouted back, voice echoing off the pines. “I want this.” Tears clogged your throat, the anger draining out of you. “I want him.”

Seth opened the front door, the warm light a halo around him. “He's out cold, but shifted back. He's going to be okay.”

You ran up the stairs and into the house. Paul, human Paul, was stretched across the table, a blanket tossed over his lower half. Emily was bandaging his ribs, a thick pad of gauze just to the left of his sternum.

“He's fine,” Emily said, sensing you hovering in the doorway. “A few days of rest and he'll be as growly as ever.”

“You should go home, y/n,” Sam said. “He doesn't need any stress right now.”

Stress. Was that all you were?

You nodded and grabbed your coat hanging by the door, feeling like you'd been shot yourself. Jacob offered to walk you home, but you declined.

You'd had enough for werewolves for a lifetime.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When Paul woke up, he was alone in his room, the curtains drawn. Memories of that night rushed back to him, the agony, the searing rip of the bullet, your hands in his fur, soft voice in his ear.

“You did so good, baby. You're going to be alright.”

“Paul?” Sam cracked the door open. “You alright?”

“Where is she?” He asked, tugging on a pair of sweatpants.

“Paul—”

He didn't need to ask again, he could feel you through the imprint, his little shadow.

“Lahote, wait—” Sam grabbed him when he went to leave the room.

“What?” He snapped, the need to see you like a beast in his chest.

“She’s leaving.”

Paul's heart stopped. “She..what?”

“She's packing now. Chief said she was free to go if she burned her notes.”

He missed the last part, already running out of the house and into the street. He ran barefoot across town, ignoring everyone shouting from him, both outside and in his head.

Finally, he saw your little house at the edge of the beach, your car in the driveway, trunk open and piled with boxes.

No, no, no, no.

He vaulted over your stairs, barreling through the door.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Your front door slammed open, the top hinge breaking with an audible crack. You dropped the books your were packing, looking up to find Paul racing towards you like a heat seeking missile.

“Paul, what—”

“Shut up, y/n,” he growled. His hands came up to your face, grabbing you and tugging you towards him. His mouth collided with yours, rough and desperate. Strong hands hauled you closer, crushing you against his bare chest in a bruising grip.

Your lips parted under his, your hands grasping for purchase along the planes of his chest as you kissed him back. His lips were surprisingly soft, supple and beautifully shaped, though nothing about the kiss gentle. Your lungs screamed for air, your whole body burning, burning, burning alive for him.

He wrenched himself away, holding onto the door frame like a lifeline. His chest heaved, eyes wild and dark. The frame cracked under his hands.

“Are you okay?” You asked, breathless. He still had bandages wrapped around his torso.

With one hand, he ripped them clean off, revealing nothing but a dimple of scar tissue. “If you want to go, I won't stop you. But I couldn't let you leave without…” his voice trailed off, gaze fixed firmly on your puffy, spit-slick lips.

You took a stuttering breath, tears brimming along your lash line. “I want you to want me to stay,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, tracking each tear as they rolled down your flushed cheeks. His expression softened, eyes round, lips slightly parted. “I want you to stay with me, but you're better off—”

You flung yourself towards him, trusting he would catch you, and he did, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I'm not,” you said, raining kisses across his cheeks, over his lips, his eyes, his jaw. “I'm not.”

Part Two

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[teal-sharky]

The literally only impressive thing about SpaceX Starship test is that it shows how incredibly dumb the audience is at this point.

People keep comparing Starship to SaturnV, because tentatively, if it ever became a space worthy vessel and orbital delivery vehicle (it's not); it'd be the largest and most powerful one in history, with SaturnV its only near peer (sorry, N-1, you really didn't qualify).

And the first "integration test vehicle" (read: the actually whole complete thing, that's literally the point of that kind of test; it's meant to be all the pieces, already tested and proven on their own, finally assembled into the final thing to make sure everything plays nice when together)

So lets see how did Saturn family development go in comparison? How many "integration test vehicles" did the Saturn project obliterate in the process?

ZERO. They blew up ZERO Saturn first stages, ZERO Saturn second stages, and ZERO Saturn payloads.

It's not fucking normal to blow up rockets this size and complexity, because they're expensive and dangerous! You build SMALLER, SIMPLER prototypes, you test those, you do all the "risky" tests on your separate parts of the system, and test the integration at less ambitious scales and stress levels. That's how you do rocket science. Iteratively, yes! But the iterations must make sense!

And let me stress

They got Saturn to moon and back in the SIXTIES, when simulation was in diapers (partially, literally invented within projects like the Saturn series).

SpaceX exists at a time where they can (and should) do 90% of the raw, grueling development with lot of painful failures in digital simulations, or tests where you build a small, simple thing and enhance the simulation based on what you learned there.

And the worst of it all is that another thing that Elongated Muskrat has at this disposal is all of the Saturn research. It's been DONE.

Saturn and other projects paved the worst of this goddamn slog. They did all the dirty, awful work already. They literally gave us the textbooks that you study from if you actually get a science degree (Elon does not have one).

And again, the most embarrassing thing isn't Musk and his poor, toxic, overworked circus that's SpaceX. The most embarrassing thing is the "space science enthusiast" crowd that's cheering on this launch as some sort of tentative success.

The king is fucking ass goddamn naked, and you all yes-men are an embarrassment to this doomed goddamn species. You're not supporting the effort to give Humanity a "chance at survival", you're hooting and hollering around a basementman dumpster fire that's literally immolating what's left of the scraps of natural and human resources we have left.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Operation Exemies to Lovers | Cregan Stark

A/N: Now yall know i have not written and finished a fic in a hot minute so sorry if this reads a bit wonky. Yk I'm an enemies to lovers and exes to lovers girl, so why not combine them both into a modern!cregan stark fic? Also, this is dialogue heavy as that's kind of my thing, if it's not yours, welpt keep scrolling boo I aint mad!. I also fixed the inc*st family tree so you'll see that in this as well (i'll prob keep it for future modern AUs). Anyways lmk what you think and enjoy! Also, I suck at summaries so I pull quotes from my fics, sorry not sorry pookies

Summary: “So y’know those sappy novels Hel’s always reading, anyways I asked her about them and she had one where the two main characters were like totally at ends with each other but their friends were like ‘nah they should be smashing’ so we think, based on our research and our scholarly source-Helaena, we should force them to be around each other until they finally talk it out! Or well, y’know-f*ck it out”

Warnings: cussing, spelling and grammar errors (sue me!), kissing, mentions of smut/allusions to smut but no smut, arguing, Alyssane Blackwood slander (sorry girl), somewhat mean!reader, this is an AU where Aegon's not a bad guy!!!! just a clown <3, mentions of an ill parent, Baela be hitting Aegon (he earned it!), Aemond is still missing an eye sorry to the Aemond girls

Word Count: 6.4k (period I stuck to keeping it short and sweet)

Modern!Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader

“He’s staring at you again” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, doing your best to focus on highlighting the passages about the few Westerosi Civil Wars that had happened centuries ago. It was already difficult enough to focus in the crowded library, midterms were killing everyone. 

It wasn’t a shock for the once quiet and almost empty library to be packed, especially with student athletes who were desperately catching up on their studies in attempts to pass all of their midterms, write endless essays, and practically beg their professors for extra credit via email. 

You should’ve been able to focus on the task at hand, studying with your best friends Baela and Rhaena for your upcoming history midterm, the exam itself would focus heavily on the several majors wars that shaped westerosi society as a whole, and would even include the transition from government leadership as a monarchy into a democracy. 

Hell you’d even have to describe what was once known as the ‘Iron Throne’ and its historical significance. Truthfully the large metal hunk of junk was now sitting in the King’s Landing Red Keep Memorial Museum.

Usually the library was the easiest place for the three of you to study, it wasn’t as loud as your fourth floor flat in one of the student apartment buildings off campus, it was usually pretty clean and well kept, plus every resource you could possibly need was somewhere within the large building. 

However today, your usually comfortable red leather-lined chair felt stiff and was making you hot, not to mention the lack of air flow and increased temperature due to the amount of body heat on each floor, then the lights were either too bright or too dim, and all you wanted to do was slam the books shut, grab your laptop and leave.

“Let him stare.” you muttered as you tried to keep your gaze on the text in front of you, however it was getting increasingly difficult as a very specific pair of eyes were practically burning a hole into your side. 

Gods, he was so obnoxious.

“I don’t think it’s healthy for you to hold onto the grudge against him, of course he totally earned it! I’m not downplaying your emotions but anytime he’s around you stiffen up like a virgin afraid of dick” your jaw dropped at Baela’s words, now staring at her, brows furrowed in shock.

“Baela! You can’t say things like that” Rhaena almost immediately swatted at her sister’s arm, shaking her head before tucking one of her loose locks behind her ear. “You really take after father sometimes.” 

Baela simply shrugged, glancing back at the two tables that were usually empty, now they were filled with six of the school’s hockey players, all spread apart with a plethora of books, laptops, pens, and notepads covering the tables. That’s also not counting all of their bags laying on the floor besides their chairs. 

“I get that you two broke up on not so good terms, but you should be showing him that you don’t care about him! Not that he makes you so angry you’re about to explode like a bomb in Mario Party”.

With that Baela turned her gaze back to her laptop, however at the sound of several texts chiming in at once to both Baela and Rhaena’s phones, you knew that their cousins had texted them once again. It made sense that they’d all shared a group chat, especially considering how close in age they were, and how large the Targaryen/Hightower/Velaryon family was. 

Of course the first time Baela had broken down their family tree you were incredibly confused. Her mother Laena Velaryon was married to Daemon Targaryen, who happened to be the uncle to her cousins Jace, Luke, and Joffrey’s mother Rhaenyra. 

Now, Rhaenyra was married to Dr. Strong (or just Harwin as he’d asked you to call him once at a family gathering you’d been invited to, to which you quickly declined as he was your Literature professor), but based on the Targaryen’s political status within Westeros, their sons took their mother’s last name, not their father. 

Then comes Aegon and Aemond, now truthfully you’d met Aegon your second week of classes a few years ago when he’d caught you off guard, asked for your number, then got mad when you’d ghosted him after finding out he had a girlfriend! (Shame on him, truly). But you actually ended up being pretty good friends with the goof. 

Anyways, Aegon and Aemond were the children of Rhaenyra’s best friend, and now sister-in-law Alicent Hightower who married Rhaenyra’s only brother Baelon Targaryen. 

It’s also important to remember that throughout this entire family tree, which was in fact drawn out on construction paper for you, Alicent and Baelon also had two other children, Daeron and Halaena, both of them attending Sunspear University together. Then of course Rhaenyra and Dr.Strong (Harwin), have two much smaller sons, Aegon and Viserys, which was even more confusing considering you’d already met an Aegon.

Rhaena and Baela shared a look, and it was a look that worried you, so of course instead of being rational and brushing it off, you clenched your jaw as you slowly turned around, making eye contact with none other than your ex-boyfriend who’d been leaning his head against his hand and staring at you with what could only be described as a mournful lovesick expression.

You rolled your eyes, quickly turning back around before anyone else would look at you and do something that would probably piss you off. 

It also didn’t help that the cousins texting Baela and Rhaena were also seated at the table with your ex boyfriend. 

“Jace said that Cregan wants to talk to you but you blocked him, I don’t think you want to know what Aegon said, but it involved an eggplant emoji and a bed” you rolled your eyes, letting out a deep sigh while sitting up straight and shaking your head.

“He’s apologized a million times and has yet to tell me why he decided to go out of his way to not only break things off with me and tell me he still loved me in the same damn sentence, then go out the same night and end up on Aegon-Aegon of all people’s instagram story sucking face with that Blackwood bitch while she was on his lap.” 

You let out a cynical laugh of sorts, rolling your eyes once again. 

“Tell Cregan Stark that I’d rather fuck Aegon after one of his alley-way vomit sprees than ever talk to him again” however, before you could focus back on your studies, an amused laugh came from behind you before the chair next to you was pulled out, only for you to meet the gaze of Aegon Targaryen himself, a lopsided smile on his face with his brows wiggling in a playful suggestive manner.

“Well if I knew the easiest way to get you into my bed was to go drinking until I’m sick then I would’ve invited you out sooner baby” with that he leaned closer while making kissing noises, only to be met with your hand shoving his face away.

“Aeg, for the last time, she doesn’t want you like that” he feigned hurt at Rhaena, sliding back into the chair with his hand over his heart. 

“You wound me dear cousin! You wound me!” then he sat up straight, now looking back at you “so I was sent over here as a trusted messenger. My boy back there, you know him quite well, if y’know what I mean-” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down again, then you shoved him “-anyways, Cregan has been like all sulky and heartbroken and he really misses you. And he doesn’t want anything to do with Alysanne! She came onto him!, so can you give him another shot?”

With that you simply shook your head, quickly packing your things up while scoffing. 

“Tell your “boy back there”-” you spoke with air quotations “-that if he really gave a fuck about me, he shouldn’t have dumped me after two years for no god damn reason, then fucked that Blackwood bitch-who by the way is a fucking whore!” 

Your outburst was met with the looks of many, Rhaena quickly clearing her throat watching as you packed your things away. “What she means to say is, she doesn’t want to talk to him. I think it’s too fresh still”

Aegon scoffed “it’s been four months people! Four months! The summer ended, it’s a new semester, I think she can talk to him now” he glanced around the table, eyes widening as he watched Baela grasp quite the hefty textbook while glaring at him.

“Baela don’t hit me! I’m just saying! Listen-” but before he could finish you’d already gotten up and mumbled that you’d see them at home while you walked away.

Aegon paused, watching as you walked away, blatantly checking you out for a few moments, then you’d disappeared. He then turned around and motioned for someone to come to the table, this is what led both Jace and Luke to walk across the room and now sit where you were sitting and in the last empty seat of the table.

“Listen, we’re all tired of being caught in the middle of this awkward divorce alright. So we came up with a plan!” Baela shook her head while Rhaena sighed slightly.

“No offense Aeg, but your plans are always horrible, need I remind you of Aemond’s missing eyeball?” Luke winced slightly, remembering the day he’d accidentally hit Aemond in the eye with a firewood poker when swinging it behind him.

Truthfully, Luke had no idea Aemond had entered the room when he and Aegon were ‘dueling’ one another, however he’d felt his poker hit something, and he heard Aemond’s loud scream of pain. 

They’d all been kids when that happened, and to make it worse it occurred on their grandfather’s birthday when everyone had traveled to King’s Landing for a large birthday dinner/family holiday.

“She’s got a point there Aegon, but-guys-we all came up with the idea together!” Luke placed his hands on the shoulder of his cousin and his brother, smiling widely while Baela and Rhaena both shook their heads in disappointment.

“Okay, you win, but if the idea is bad, Baela’s going to smack Aegon with that textbook, so pray it’s not bad” they all nodded, Aegon scooting back slightly.

“So y’know those sappy novels Hel’s always reading, anyways I asked her about them and she had one where the two main characters were like totally at ends with each other but their friends were like ‘nah they should be smashing’ so we think, based on our research and our scholarly source-Helaena, we should force them to be around each other until they finally talk it out! Or well, y’know-fuck it out”

He paused to take a quick breath “But we can’t let them in on the plan, otherwise Cregan’s gonna be all like ‘oh my god no she hates me, the love of my life hates me I can’t torture her, blah blah blah, I’m so nice and honorable, blah blah’ and she’s gonna be like ‘fuck that, I’ll kill him for fucking that Blackwood bitch and dumping me for no god damn reason’. Also I don’t think he ever fucked Alysanne-but I did-niether here nor there though!” 

Jace and Luke looked at Baela and Rhaena as if they were waiting to be yelled at by their mother, meanwhile Aegon smiled and nodded after his long winded explanation.

Rhaena spoke first “y’know honestly, your impression of her is pretty spot on.” Baela nodded her head in agreement before adding in “but if this doesn’t work, and she finds out, she’ll want to kill all of you and Cregan. I’m sure you all have realized being on her shit list isn’t exactly the best”

Jace nodded, glancing back at Cregan who was finally focusing on his statistics work with a stoic expression on his face. “Listen, if it doesn’t work and she kicks our asses that’s fine, but we at least have to try! I mean come on Rhae you told me that she cries over him still! And he’s no better. There might not be tears but he’s so long winded and mopey”

He then sighed, patting Luke on the back “I think this is our best shot. I mean c’mon they’re some of your guys' closest friends, and Winterfell over there’s my best friend that I’m not related to-oddly enough they’re pretty rare these days. They used to be so happy together! Now look at them both”

Baela sighed, nodding her head as she finally set the books in her hands down “she’s definitely not really herself anymore. Maybe if it doesn’t work, then at least they’ll both get closure from their relationship”.

Aegon smiled, nodding rapidly again “see! You guys get it!. Also don’t tell Aemond either, y’know he’s too ‘I’ve got a stick up my ass’ sometimes. We can call it operation-uh what’s the book trope that Helaena called it again-one second everyone!” he paused, grabbing his phone from his pocket before quickly calling his sister.

“Hey Hel, yeah yeah I’m good, what did you call that book again! The one where they were like forced to be around eachother then fuck it out and get married and shit?” 

Several hundred miles away, Helaena was grasping her nose bridge as she let out a deep sigh, her brother truly was a character.

“Oh-okay! Got it-thanks so much Hel, love you too! Give Daeron my love and remind him to wrap it up with those Dornish baddies!” with that he hung up the phone before meeting Baela’s disgusted glare.

“You’re so gross, Aeg. And stop saying the word baddies-you sound so cringey!” he simply shrugged at her.

“Anyways, now that we’re done being rude and judgemental to our baddie eldest cousin who’s super smart, funny, and beautiful, we’ll call it operation enemies to lovers!” 

Rhaena raised a brow “wouldn’t it actually be exes to lovers? Since they’re exes? I guess they might also be enemies based on the way she wants to wring his neck-and not how she used to-” with that her eyes widened as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Jace sighed “don’t worry Rhae, we already know about the shit he let her do to him. Young love, what can I say” 

Aegon nodded his head, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively once again, then he slightly elbowed Luke, who met his gaze with a laugh before they both spoke in unison “kinky innit”.

“Anyways-are we doing this or not? I’ve got a history midterm to study for and you three are interrupting it, and it’s bad enough that Aegon already made the smartest person we know leave” It was clear that Baela was losing her patience.

“Oh come on Bales! Y’know if you’re still interested I can set you up with ol Benji over there, heard he’s a freak in the she-” there it was, the book smacking him in the face “-ow Baela! Jesus! You’re just like your dad! Mean and ever so beautiful to look at” he winked.

“Gross man, she’s our cousin!” he shrugged “didn’t stop our ancestors, okay fine-fine! I didn’t mean it okay! Shit. you all are so violent. The blood of the dragon I guess”.

-

Three days have passed and the TarVelTower group chat had been in constant communication about ‘operation exemies to lovers’ with the additional confused replies from those that were not present in the library that day.

They were planning a game night, it was something they’d all done in the past, inviting their other friends to come along as well for drinks and a night of utter tomfoolery. Baela and Rhaena had done everything but swear on the Old Gods themselves that Cregan wouldn’t be there, meanwhile Jace, Luke, and Aegon had to practically beg Cregan to come to Jace’s for the game night.

It was also a plus that most of them lived in the same building. Dragonstone University wasn’t that large, not compared to other schools such as Sunspear, Driftmark, or even Harrenhall-although it was rumored that Harrenhal U was in fact haunted, that’s probably what brought so many to the school in the first place.

Baela and Rhaena had to drag you out of your bed after your post-class nap and usher you into the shower, stating that you ‘stunk of outside’, which was rather rude considering your only classes today were virtual. 

They’d mentioned the game night several times, and each time you asked if Cregan would be there, they’d said no, which you found a bit odd considering Jace was literally his best friend and probably closest confidant. Maybe his father had come down from Winterfell again, but you were thankful that he wouldn’t be present to ruin your mood.

All you had to do was take the elevator up two floors, so all you did was shower and throw on a pair of sweats and one of Aegon’s many discarded team sweatshirts. It had his number on it and even after washing it what felt like a million times, it still smelled like his overly strong cologne that he claimed ‘the ladies love’.

He’d also told you that maybe you were an ogre for not loving it, which of course even further solidified your friendship with the moron (lovingly).

You took time to braid your hair, knowing that you’d probably wake up hungover without a want or a need to brush it, so this was just easier. Then you’d foregone makeup, knowing you truly didn’t care how people saw you, especially not your friends. 

Of course the one thing you’d always contemplated wearing sat on your desk, the thin gold chain adorned with a small charm in the shape of a howling wolf. It was as if it sat mocking you because almost everyday you’d stare at it while getting ready.

You’d worn it everyday for a year after Cregan gifted it to you. He randomly showed up at your door one day, slightly out of breath, a wide smile on his face with his disheveled hair pulled back. One hand rubbed against his short beard, while the other held a small black gift bag. He looked as if he’d run here, then was contemplating the decision to run in the first place.

Then he’d kissed you gently, a smile you rarely wore now, adorned your face then.

When you invited him in, he was quick to follow, shutting and locking your door behind him while you made your way to the small kitchen, grabbing him something to drink as he caught his breath.

Then as you spun around to hand him the drink, he held the bag out for you, practically forcing you to open it (it wasn’t forceful at all, rather when you declined opening it immediately, he didn’t hesitate to place the strings of the bag between his teeth before picking you up, then plopping you down onto the couch, soft giggles leaving your lips when he climbed right on top of you.).

You remembered him watching as you opened it, he held himself up overtop you, while you easily pulled the small jewelry box out of the packaging, then when you opened it he looked almost nervous, as if you wouldn’t like it.

But you’d kissed him, pulling him down into your lips, thanking him between rushed kisses. 

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it before grasping the necklace and shoving it into one of your desk drawers. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d tell yourself-until you’d go looking for a pen and see it again.

Rhaena’s voice knocked you out of your thoughts completely, she stood in your doorframe, her posture a little too straight, which would’ve normally thrown you off, but you couldn’t focus on that, not when you were trying to shake off the feeling of heartbreak.

“You ready? I’ve got the snacks already packed to bring up, you’ve just got to grab our blankets. Baela’s already there helping set up. Aeg said he’d give her twenty bucks if she’d actually arrive earlier than him for once” you laughed at that, shaking your head slightly.

It was no secret that Aegon and Baela were incredibly competitive, and as cousins, they had what could only be described as a sibling rivalry, always trying to one up one another when they could, and making stupid bets over random things.

You actually liked that they were all so close, when you’d befriended Rhaena, you never thought that she and her sister would come with a large family that would welcome you in with open arms.

“Yeah, just, let me-um-get my shoes, yeah my shoes. Sorry” you were mumbling and stuttering as you walked to the shoe rack beside your door, slipping your feet into your fuzzy slippers before following Rhaena to the living room, grasping the small pile of throw blankets before the both of you left your apartment. She was quick to lock the door, then you both headed upstairs.

You were still technically early when you arrived, and as you entered the apartment Aegon was handing Baela a $20 bill, while she smirked. Luke was laying on one of the couches on his phone, Jace was putting drinks in the fridge with the help of Benji who honestly looked happy to be there. Meanwhile Aemond sat reading whatever random philosophical book he’d chosen for the week, and to your surprise, Helaena was pulling what smelled like cookies out of the oven.

“Hel! You’re here!” she smiled when she saw you, placing the tray down before meeting your embrace. “Yea, I actually was visiting my parents and Aegon picked me up earlier.” you smiled at that, you enjoyed her company, even if it was a rare occurrence. 

By the time everyone was settled in, around forty-five minutes had passed, and everything was nice. For the first time in a while you weren’t on edge, which was definitely noticeable, and you’d actually managed to relax into the large bean bag below you. Even if it did remind you of a certain someone.

Then, it was as if you’d summoned the asshole himself.

Jace was quick to shoot up and walk to the door, glancing at his phone nervously. Then he opened the door, nervously laughing for a few moments.

Then you spotted him. Not before Aegon, who was already tipsy, had managed to shoot up from his spot on the ground “Cregan! Glad you could make it man!”.

Baela and Rhaena watched as you let out a deep sigh, it was clear you didn’t want to ruin the night, so you simply turned to face away from the door, burying yourself further into the bean bag, covering yourself in the throw blanket as much as you could.

It’s important to mention that the bean bag happened to be big enough for two people, and for a long time, it’s where you would sit with Cregan, well technically, given his size, you’d be cuddled up together, and now, as his gaze found you ignoring him on that bean bag, the gloomy cloud that followed him around had resurfaced.’

After a few tense moments of silence, everyone commenced what they were doing.

Aegon, still standing, held up a deck of cards.

“For today’s game night we’re gonna need to partner up! Rhaena, you’re with me tonight! I need your smarticle particles!” you blinked slowly, Rhaena was usually your partner. Then you sat in silence as you watched everyone partner up.

Baela was shoved into Benji-literally shoved by Aegon. 

Aemond chose Luke as he stated their team needed “balance”, which actually made a lot of sense considering Aemond was always somewhat brooding, and Luke was a ray of sunshine.

Jace glanced between Helaena and Cregan, but when Baela shot him a pointed look-missed completely by you-he chose Helaena.

Which of course left you with the one person you wanted nothing to do with.

Rhaena tried breaking the ice, watching as Cregan awkwardly sat in the armchair beside the beanbag. “It looks like our old winning team is back together!” you were the first to scoff.

“Hey! They used to cheat!” you couldn’t stop yourself from responding to Aegon “actually he waited until we broke up for that”. As you spoke, everyone’s eyes widened, meanwhile you remained in your spot, staring at your phone, mindlessly scrolling through instagram.

However, as good of a guy that Cregan Stark is, you were the only person that was ever able to bring a different side out of him. You two rarely fought, but when you did, it was almost catastrophic and usually ended in very rough sex, or a heartwarming apology after ignoring one another for a few days. 

But you’d never broken up, you both took time to cool off in whatever way you needed.

Things are different now.

“For the last time, she came onto me! I’ve told you this thousands of times!” As he raised his voice, the frustration in his tone was evident, and his accent sounded thicker than usual-a key indicator that he was upset. So instead of backing down, you scoffed, now looking at him, fury evident on your features. 

“Yeah because a man your fucking size was so easily overpowered by her right! She just waltzed right up to you and beat you into submission or something?! Oh fuck you Cregan!” 

The two of you held eye contact, anger and frustration evident.

Aegon slowly sat down, leaning towards Jace and whispering “I think it’s working”, meanwhile Jace shook his head, having been witness to the few fights that you’d actually had with Cregan in the past.

“What would you have wanted me to do, I was shitfaced! Was I supposed to shove her to the ground and tell her to go fuck herself?!” you nodded your head at that, now sitting up, even closer to him than before. He stared down at you as you stared up at him.

“Yeah actually, that’s the best fucking idea I’d say you’ve ever had!” he scoffed.

“We weren’t even together and you hold that against me! Still!” That's what sent you over the edge.

“You fucking dumped me for no god damn reason, told me you loved me, and then went and fucked that Blackwood Bitch! The same fucking day! As if I meant nothing to you, we were together for two years Cregan! Two fucking years!” 

He heard the crack in your voice, everyone did. As you stared at him, he could see the way your eyes glossed over, he knew you too well. He knew the tears were coming.

“I tried to talk to you-you didn’t wanna hear anything!” you shrugged, gathering your things as fast as you possibly could, now looking anywhere but him.

“You don’t fucking deserve to talk to me you asshole”. Then you stood up and did what you always do in these situations, you ran away and left.

He was left there in shock, staring at the door, jaw clenched while he watched you leave. 

“Well that’s one way to start a game night” 

“Aegon shut up!” cue the smack “Ow! Baela! Stop hitting me! Go hit Benji, he likes that shit!-ow! Seriously?! Jace and Luke, get your cousin!”

Then in unison “she’s your cousin too!”

And finally, Benji piped up “is she talking about my cousin?” 

Instead of watching you waltz away, Cregan stood up, grabbing his things and mumbling his own apologies. Then he left, he knew exactly where you lived, so instead of taking the elevator, he rushed down the stairs, trying to cool off. 

When he stood in front of your door, it felt like a routine, something his body was so used to. As if this was muscle memory for him.

Then he knocked, once. No response. 

Twice. Nothing. 

Three times-maybe third times a charm. Nothing.

He stood there, his forehead leaned against the door. Cregan Stark was not a man of regrets, hell he prided himself on actually being a good guy, he was raised to be respectful, to be kind, to be strong, Stark men were not assholes. They weren’t childish, they weren’t selfish, they were supposed to be honorable in every way.

But here he is, leaning against his ex-girlfriend’s door, still in love with her, full of regret for ever breaking things off. He hadn’t even explained himself. He wanted to-he’d tried that day, but you stormed out, tears that he’d caused flowing down your cheeks. 

Then he felt the door shift, and you stood there, wrapped in the same blanket, eyes red as you stared up at him.

Gods, all he wanted to do was tell you he loved you, that he needed you, that you made him feel whole.

“I don’t have any fight left in me Cregan. It’s been months, why can’t you just leave me alone.” 

“Because I love you.” you sighed, shaking your head “no you don’t. If you loved me you wouldn’t have left me.” 

Sure you might’ve been being dramatic, but truthfully, you’d been heartbroken for months, following your breakup you’d lost ten pounds in two weeks. You’d never felt worse, and now, you were starting to feel alright, but it was no secret that there had been many nights full of tears, hugging a sweatshirt that you’d never washed, hoping to preserve the smell of his cologne.

“Can you just fucking listen to me for five minutes, please, I’ve been trying to talk to you for so long, just please-let me talk to you” you shrugged.

“Why?” he blinked a few times, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair-hair that you used to always touch, forcing him to sit between your thighs while you braid his hair, laughing when he’d complain, or when he’d do poses for you after you’d finished.

“I love you, I’ve never stopped loving you, I go to sleep at night and my dreams are filled with you, your smile, your laugh, even your fucking frowns. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. My heart fucking yearns for you. I can still feel the way you used to hold me, the way your breath felt against my neck, Gods, I think about you 24/7! I think about everything that I did, the way that I screwed up-I screwed us up. I love you! I’ll scream it from the fucking rooftops if that’s what you want!” 

You didn’t bother wiping away your tears, instead you stepped aside, leaving room for him to come in.

“You want to talk then talk.”

Then he walked inside, and shut the door the same way he used to. 

It truly was muscle memory, the way he walked to the couch and sat down in the same spot he was always in, then he waited for you.

He watched as you slowly sat next to him, still wrapped in a blanket like a sad burrito-Gods he spent too much time around Aegon. He didn’t hesitate to wipe the tears from under one of your eyes with his thumb, repeating the action on the other cheek.

“I didn’t want to break up with you. I never wanted to break up with you. My father’s-well he’s sick at home, I was going to leave, go back to Winterfell to take care of him, to take care of everyone. I just-I didn’t want you to be alone here, and I didn’t want to be your long distance boyfriend that you only ever see on fucking facetime. I just-I couldn’t do it.” 

You were silent, watching as he broke slightly, his voice cracking at the mention of his father, then at the mention of you being alone. 

It was no secret that Cregan and his father were close, you’d met Rickon Stark twice, and each time he’d embraced you with open arms and a warm heart. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he shrugged.

“Because, I’m supposed to be strong, I’m supposed to know my duty to my family, I’m supposed to be there for them, and it was hard-hard to say that I had to leave you for an unknown amount of time. I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to go a day without seeing you, you make me crazy in the best way, even now, whenever I see you on campus my heart practically flies out of my chest. Seeing you at my games, you’re like a ghost haunting me.” 

You slowly nodded, listening to him, watching the way he’d blink away his tears, the way his brows would furrow and jaw would clench slightly. 

“My dad’s the one who told me to stay. Told me not to throw my future away, that he’d be alright, y’know he’s a fighter-always has been. Told me to get my girl back-” he let out a small chuckle, the laugh laced in sadness “-but I think she doesn’t want me back. I went back up after we split up, just for a week, and he told me I was an idiot to leave it all behind. A full ride to Uni if I kept playing hockey? The girl of my dreams? Called me a bloke before he told me that he’s okay, he’s not letting go anytime soon” 

Cregan hadn’t been looking at you, he was focused on his hands, fists clenching slightly as he tried to swallow his own emotions. He hadn’t noticed the way that you’d been inching closer, not until your arms were wrapped around him, head leaning against his shoulder.

“You could’ve just told me from the beginning. I would’ve been your facetime girlfriend y’know? Would’ve figured out a way up there”

The familiarity of it all was what made him break, a small sob leaving his lips while you held him. It didn’t take long for you to shove him further into the couch and climb into his lap, the same way you used to when all you wanted to do was be as close to him as possible.

You held him, sat atop one of his thighs, arms wrapped around his shoulders while he cried into your shoulder. His arms gripping your waist, holding you against him. 

This is what should’ve happened all those months ago.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch” he laughed at that, and you felt his small smile. Meanwhile you ran a hand through his hair, fingers dancing through the dark locks before slowly running against his scalp. Your other hand traced small circles against his shoulder blade, you missed this.

You missed him.

“You weren’t a bitch-I probably deserved that.” you scoffed, moving back slightly, now holding eye contact with him as you brushed his tears away. “I was a bitch, I was the biggest bitch ever.”

He smiled, shaking his head “She really did come onto me. I did push her off-” you shushed him “I know. I believe you, I just-I dunno. I was hurt, then I saw that and it just stayed with me. I figured you dumped me for someone else, someone better-” he cut you off with a kiss.

It was so gentle, so soft, so sweet. Then he pulled away “there’s no one better than you for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I just-I didn’t want to look weak and I didn’t want to leave you and-” you shushed him again, this time holding a hand against his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up Cregan Stark.” Your tone was light hearted as you shook your head “You’re not weak for having emotions, and you aren’t weak for wanting to care for those that you love. Don’t be stupid, we’ve both been stupid enough.” he nodded his head, then you slid her hand down, now caressing his face, your thumb lightly pulling on his bottom lip.

“I missed you” you smiled, a small giggle leaving your lips.

“Based on the way you stare, I could tell” he rolled his eyes “gotta commit your beauty to memory somehow” you slightly shoved his shoulder “you cornball!” 

“I missed you too loverboy”

Then you kissed him again, a slow, passionate kiss full of emotions, smiles, and even a few giggles. He then slid his hands under your sweatshirt, and you quickly pulled apart, letting him take it off, leaving you in just your bralette, then his lips were on yours again.

Before anything else could happen the front door swung open, startling you both, leading to Cregan’s grip against you tightening, meanwhile Aegon and Jace both hit the floor, while Luke stood there awkwardly, Rhaena shook her head, and Baela looked as if she was being held back by Benji. Meanwhile Helaena and Aemond were nowhere to be seen.

At least until they moved closer to the doorway, both of them shaking their heads and muttering “fucking Aegon” in unison.

“I told you guys it would work! Look at them! Kissing and close!” Aegon still spoke, even from the floor while Jace was on top of him. Then Jace slowly rolled off, letting out an ‘oof’. 

“Were you all eavesdropping?” Aegon blinked a few times at your question, glancing back at everyone else. Then you noticed the flush on Luke’s face and Rhaena’s awkward expression. Plus Jace was nodding his head. 

“Why did the Gods make him our brother?” Aemond shook his head “I truly do not know.” 

“So are you two back together now?” 

You sighed, standing up and grasping Cregan’s hand, pulling him towards your bedroom.

Cregan glanced back, still laughing at the scene “yes. Now please, fuck off mate”

With that you pulled him into your room and locked the door.

“They’re all the worst” he nodded his head at you, he’d expected you to pull him into your bed, however you walked towards your desk, rummaging through the different drawers until you found something. 

You glanced at him “can you help me with this”, while holding up the necklace.

“I’d be honored” you rolled your eyes, a bright smile on your face while he walked over, taking the necklace then as gently as possible, clasping it around your neck. Then he left a line of open mouthed kisses from below your right ear, to the edge of your shoulder. 

“I love you” his voice was soft, a whisper, almost as if it was a secret shared between the both of you.

You smiled, spinning around, one hand now on his face, the other on the back of his neck, fingers tracing circles through his hair. “I love you too”

-

Taglist:

Girl it dont exist LMAO

[writers-potion]

Writing Mad Characters

Okay this is a bit awkward because I had this question copypasted into Google Docs I use to draft my answers, and I realized I've lost the question in my inbox (which is being flooded).

So...I'm so sorry for whoever asked this question. Sorry for the delay because I was struggling with life in general for the past month and definitely SORRY for losing your question (－‸ლ)

Q: I'm writing a story where a major character is slowly spiraling into madness where small details kinda hint into the downfall right before the bigger details appear and then it the floodgates open. Is there anything I should avoid? Anything that I should keep in mind? Anything that I should research?

Things to Avoid

“Mad” or “Insane” is too general. Writing a cliched ‘crazy’ character who randomly talks to imaginary people and lashes out at strangers, you’ll offend a whole bunch of people who've gone through/have mental illnesses. Read up on existing mental conditions (schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic disorder and borderline personality disorder, etc.) to see what your character might have. 

Words like “mad” “crazy” or “insane” aren’t enough when you’re describing their status. As mentioned, these words hardly mean much when it comes to providing a clear description.

Contradicting yourself. Throwing random unhinged symptoms here and there wouldn’t work. In fact, you must have a clear arc on which they’re traveling and ensure that your “hints” are all getting at something.

Making the character overly destructive or harmful to others (when nothing really justifies it)

Justifying damaging behavior with this “madness”. Mad or not, your character will still have motives and goals that drive them forward. 

Making them look incompetent just the fact that they have a mental condition that makes them appear “mad” to others shouldn’t prevent them from achieving success. In fact, they may be even more cool-hearted and logical when it comes to their obsessions/goals. 

Research Tips

Narrow down the mental conditions your character experiences. Even if it’s a fictional condition, try basing it on existing ones and building on top of them. 

Take some time to study characters and/or real clinical cases that resemble the kind of madness you’re going for. 

- Anxiety Disorders: excessive fear and dread (ex. phobias) - Mood Disorders: persistent swings in mood or persistent feelings that interfere with daily life (ex. Depression, bipolar) - Psychotic Disorders: disordered thinking (ex. schizophrenia) - Eating Disorders: extreme emotional attitudes toward food (ex. Bulimia, anorexia) - Impulse Disorders: unable to resist urges (ex. Kleptomania, pyromania, gambling) - Personality Disorders: extreme inflexible personality traits (ex. Anti-social disorder, OCPD) - Past Traumatic Stress: persistent, frightening memories leading to emotional numbness 

Does your character have empathy?�� 

A sociopathic kind of madness is different. 

General Writing Tips for Spiraling into Madness

Establish a Baseline 

A lot of factors (stress, family history, innate personality, trauma, etc.) can contribute to madness, but it is not going to happen in a week. Define the existing mental and physical conditions your character has, and start from there. 

If you’re aiming for suicidal tendencies at the end, you want to start with symptoms of depression (a condition that may lead to suicide) - growing apathetic, erratic sleeping patterns, irritability, etc. 

This is also the stage where you want to plant some triggers that’ll go off later.

Trigger Events

A perfectly sound character suddenly spiraling down the madness route due to a single accident or traumatizing event isn’t convincing. 

A madness “snap” denies the reader the experience of watching the character’s journey into madness and how they feel about it. 

Internal Conflict (antagonist in himself) 

You must remember that madness is incurable. If someone could “cure” themselves by eating healthy, exercising and taking a few pills, it wouldn’t be much of a madness, would it? This means that the worst antagonist is going to be the character themselves, or the part of them that’s been taken away. 

Show how they are frustrated with themselves, scared of themselves, angry at their “alternative self”. The experience of not knowing yourself is a whole journey of its own.

Physical Manifestations/Quirks

If your character has a routine, show how they break down. 

They might develop habits that they otherwise would never allow themselves to have, perhaps as an effort to “keep this madness out”

Deteriorating Relationships

Depict how the character’s madness impacts his closed/loved ones. In the earlier stages, those close to him might be faster to notice and accept the signs of madness, even if the character denies it him/herself.

The first signs of madness might show when the character is trying to deal with difficult relationships - like losing patience and being unable to pick up subtle social clues.

Choosing Obsessions Over Primal Urges 

For these characters, obsession can take over a person’s normal urge to eat, sleep or even live. This can lead to, more or less, suicide. 

Example: In Black Swan, Nina’s obsession with becoming the perfect ballerina drive her to insanity, to the point where she doesn't mind dying on stage for the show.

[danyasblogsblog]

CULTURAL/FOREIGN READER COD MEN

warnings : too cute

- cod guys with a reader from another country!!!!!

- this idea when i thought of it made me screamm i just think its so cute, idk if anyone’s done this before but i just think this idea is so adorable

- includes task force 141 (kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish, simon ‘ghost’ riley, john price), könig and keegan p. russ

gaz would ALWAYS be asking about your culture. the way your eyes light up telling him a fun fact about the history means everything to him. listening to your voice squeal and go high pitched when he mentions something you told him from another conversation you guys had makes him kick his feet and giggle. ‘oh my god, you remembered!!’ as if he could ever forget 😭😭ily gaz u little cutie pie

soap would be all about the food. asking you to make the recipes your grandma made you when you were a kid? check. begging you to cook him food from your childhood when he gets home from deployment? check. trying to learn how to make your cultural food so he can surprise you on your birthday with it? check. making a mess while trying to do that? check. you cant even be mad though. what a cutie

price would be researching about your culture so he could impress you/your family abroad. he would learn common phrases in your language, would learn about the traditions and the history of your country, etc. if he’s ever confused about something, he’ll ask you about it and listen to you talk about it for hours, a bit like how gaz would. he would also love to impress you with his knowledge.

ghost would be a lot like soap and gaz i think. he would always be asking about the history of how certain foods came to be, the enemies and allies of your country, how it was like growing up, etc just to hear you talk. he is definitely the listener in your guys’ relationship, contrasting to you, the yapper. he could basically hear you talk his ear off and he wouldnt care. would always be eternally grateful when you make him your nice, hot cultural food when he gets home from deployment.

könig would definitely want to visit your country. i lowk headcanon him as being a massive traveller. being from austria, he also understands feeling like an outsider in a new country, so if you ever wanna talk about the differences between your homeland and the country you live in now, he’d listen. i feel like you guys would have a date where he cooks you austrian food and you cook him your cultural food. omg thats so cute i should write something about that

keegan would absolutely encourage you to embrace your culture. i feel like when its your countries’ independence day, he’d go around telling the ghosts, ‘you know, it’s (countries names’) independence day’. would definitely, after a long day, appreciate your cultural cooking. i can imagine during your guys’ long term relationship, him asking ‘what about marriage in (countries’ name)’

[astrolovecosmos]

If you're a writer take a look at your Mercury placement for inspiration 🖋️

1st House: Baby you're the inspiration! Dig deep into your identity and practice introspection for your work.

2nd House: What do you value? What will you work hard for, protect, collect? Use that for your inspiration! Maybe take inspiration from the material world or nature as well.

3rd House: Pay attention to your community and family (especially siblings, extended family, and family arguments or rivalry) for inspiration. Knowledge and research may be your best friend as a writer. Speak your mind and explore your emotions through writing, journaling, or blogging.

4th House: Family, home, your private life, or maybe your own inner world of coping, emotional sensitivity, and depth are your muse!

5th House: Having fun with your words and stories may be a good starting point! This is the house of creativity, joy, and celebration. Here creativity should stem from passion, discovery, and maybe romance. Be brave and even dramatic or ridiculous in how you write and how you get inspiration.

6th House: The house of routine, health, and work may not sound very inspiring but things like daily writing exercises or challenges may be very helpful for you. Time management and aiming to reach goals with your writing is going to be highly productive. Inspiration for you may come from ideas around altruism and what makes you feel like you're making a difference.

7th House: Take your inspiration from your relationships, fights, competition, rivalry, deals, and romance. Seek inspiration in others. Find a true muse.

8th House: The skeletons in your closet may be the best inspiration. Your fears, secrets, pain, depth, and vulnerability.

9th House: Your beliefs can be a major source for inspiration/creativity. Taking inspiration from other works, research, and knowledge may be your style too. Diving into a subject like history, sociology, psychology, religion, laws, journalism, politics, etc. can be very motivating.

10th House: Rely on your sense of purpose to give you inspiration. Reflecting on society or authority can give insight too.

11th House: Look to your friends for inspiration and friendship dynamics! Zooming out to collective trends and feelings can be a powerful tool as well for your writings. Tap into your aspirations and highest dreams too.

12th House: Using writing as a tool to explore your subconscious may be useful. Taking inspiration from your dreams, imagination, and even the darkest parts of you may be key for you as a writer.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Loyalties

Did you know? That one of the unexpected benefits to being reborn, with your memories intact, is that you carry your first life's cultural taboos with you? All your knowledge, all your superstitions, every horror movie you've ever so much as glanced at. Like a dowry, brought with you, into this, your new life.

You end up not giving as much weight, to local superstitions. Especially the ones you know are not true. How? Well, sometimes? In the mad, random, overwhelming blur of the Cosmos? You end up in a Reality that to YOU? Was once fiction. Living in a snapshot of that world's history, as it plays out. Just as it was prophesied.

It's kinda disorienting. But? You get used to it.

Though you DO have to make a choice. Quickly. And decide where in that prophecy you want to stand. After all... there are many ways it could go. It WAS a "game". A story of romance. That other's lives would be impacted? That nations might rise or fall? That people could and will DIE? Oh, that is irrelevant! Isn't it?

They are young.

In LOVE.

Obviously, I could not risk my life on such irresponsible grounds. Plant my flag and swear loyalty, to such fickle hearts. I would die. They would get me killed, for their love story. No... No, what I needed? Was something stable. Selfish. Someone who would claim, but would KEEP.

I needed someone who rewarded loyalty. Someone who praised cleverness. Protected his own. Had (and would again) kill any who set untoward eyes upon those who served him. Someone guaranteed to survive until the end. Machiavellian, scheming. A soft and twisting word. Whispered kindly, in so many, many ears.

The power behind whichever throne he chooses.

Most Senior Royal Advisor, Iwamoto Nobutoshi. My boss. Or, really, Master I guess. Boss was for gangsters. Which was still weird for me. Part of me still twitched violently, every time I said the word "master". My brain insisting, it was either a sex thing or a slavery thing, and that I should respond with Immediate Violence at being told to call anyone that.

Yeah... there ARE downsides to keeping your memories. It really is a mixed bag, all told.

But, hey! All those horror movies I've seen in passing? Scary Horror-Terror Stuff I've absorbed through cultural osmosis? Has been really coming in handy, not gonna lie. So has my understanding of what constitutes "psychological warfare" and "mindfuck-y, liminal, torment".

It should NOT be as cathartic as it is? But... not gonna lie. I've gotten weirdly GOOD at this. Learned to become one with the shadows. Sneak into and out of places, I rightfully should not BE. Usually with a bucket of animal blood from a butcher's. Occasionally, if I KNOW they have someone who can test it? I get the bucket from the morgue.

Which? Is gross as FUCK. And disrespectful. But I have to believe they'd be totally down for fucking with some Evil Rich Assholes. Plus I donate funds to their family's anonymously. So I like to think it balances out? Still don't like to do it, though. I feel like the longer I've been here, the more my morals have chipped away...

Where was I? Right! Tonight's "art"!

I forget where that quote was from, exactly? But? It was true. People do not look up nearly enough. Worse yet, most manors around here? Had attics and weird pockets in their ceilings, with easy access to the floors below. I had? Gotten past? SO many patrols this way. So, SO many.

Frankly, an ALARMING number of patrols.

I'd taken to putting traps in the ceiling, back home.

What I was aiming for, here, was the private rooms. Not the hallway outside the private rooms, oh no, those would be patrolled to hell and back. But inside. Plus? It would have that added, spicy, "we can get you where you sleep" fear factor. And? Having their oh so TRUSTED, highly trained gaurds? See NOTHING? Perfect~

Cause? We? Were doing a good ol fashioned "Sins of The Past" Haunting!

The trick, if you don't actually have any good oppo-research available? Is to be vague, yet aim for things you do know about them. Let them fill in the blanks. Such as? The VERY convenient deaths of Lord Jackass's other brothers, which cleared HIS way towards power. There's no PROOF of any wrong doing... but~? Guilty hearts DO tend to tell on themselves~!

Slinking down the rope ladder silently, into the frankly hideously overdecorated room. I got to work. On silent feet, I began to set the stage. Furniture, lifted and silently stacked, around the snoring Lord and his equally unconscious wife. Expensive pottery, covered in a thick and padded bag, before it is struck.

As though some silent blast of power had gone off. Each piece, placed right back where it had been, now broken, on the floor. Next? The most time consuming, but subtle, one. Also the one that would spread farthest as gossip. Using a custom made seam ripper, tear out the eyes of every example of his family's crest on his clothes. On his bedding.

Yes, ALSO on the robe he wore to bed. That one takes very gentle movement. Very nerve-wracking, not gonna lie. You gotta go slow. Once you DO? Good ol "tears of blood." Just paint it right on the cloth, let it stain. As though the crests were weeping.

THEN, you paint the room in nicely vague horror movie script.

"Brother. Why?" "We know. We know EVERYTHING. How could you?" "We are tired of waiting, join us. Join us Brother." "We are witness, a shame upon our blood."

And other such gems! Plus the good ol hands scrambling, covered in blood, to a point in the center of the room. Put a round painters cloth down, and~? Gently sift ash and bone dust (I dried up bones from the kitchens, then ground um! Also great for gardening.) over the floor. Step UP, to my ladder, kit away, grab the cloth, and? Off we go!

Room successfully haunted.

Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole, really. Is it a BIT much? Yeah, probably. People lose their SHIT. I apparently have "a talent", according to my teammates. Which is nonsense. It's all B-grade horror move nonsense and house of horrors gross outs. Visceral ick. But it's NEW here, so I guess that counts? Even if I am plagiarizing the FUCK out of somebody.

Thankfully, though, dispite my "talent"? Master Iwa- ...No, wait, didn't he tell me recently to call him by his name? Uncomfy. A good sign, obviously, but... uncomfy. Don't Like that he knows who I am. I was aiming for, you know, mid rank? Not disposable but pretty forgetable? But now I have a Useful Skill. Have proven to be INTELLIGENT.

Fuck, I even made the mistake of cleaning up and organizing PAPERWORK. You know, paperwork? A thing you would have to READ and MAKE SENSE OFF, to be able to organize? Have to create some kind of workable and efficient system, by WHICH to sort? I thought it was an assistants! Not HIS!

One fuck up is all it takes.

He will find you, he WILL rip the secrets out of you, and yes! He WILL smile pleasantly the entire fucking time! It's horrifying! Kinda cool! I'm pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes! Ha ha... Holy SHIT.

Right, where...? Right! My "talent"! Master Nobutoshi? Big on "right piece for the right purpose". Yeah, you could FORCE people to go against their ideals, their beliefs, their very nature... but you can only do so, for so long. Fear fades. Pain can be overcome. Not everyone fears death.

He regards it as foolish, inefficient, to drag and force and scream.

No, no! He? Oh, he merely... suggests. A softly spoken recommendation. A guiding hand, to show you, the best use of your skills. And if that guidance just so happens to serve his interests? Well... what a wonderful coincidence~ How fortuitous.

Heavy hands get broken. Snapped at and slapped away. But a gentle touch? A little nudge? Sweet whispers in your ear? That tell you what you want to hear? Guide you where HE wants you to be? Well, THAT is so much harder to notice, isn't it. So, SO much harder to fight.

I chose pretty well, I like to think. Because no matter the game? He'll come out on top. Probably laugh, as all the other players, dance to his tune. Who WOULDN'T want to be on his team? His team wins.

And winning? Means I survive.

Dropping off my kit in the shed at the back of the Iwamoto guest residence gardens (where, should it be found, the presence of such things could be blamed on unscrupulous guests), I trudge back towards the servants quarters. I'm tired and filthy. It's the kind of late? Where it's flipped right around to become early.

Luckily, me and my teammates plan ahead, so there is a still moderately warm bath waiting for me. God bless Aiko and all she stands for. For this? I'll even carry her back to our room. Since, once again, she's decided "fuck it" and just curled up on the stack of towels. Doesn't even fit. She just shoved her upper body in the cubby and called it good.

I snort and step over her. Get my fuckin bath. Late night shifts are the worst. But we all take um. I focus on getting clean, grabbing my passed out lump of a roommate, and heading to bed. Fucker drools on me. Snorkels right in my ear. Takashi laughs silently as we pass him, hold the door for me. Seems to be heading out as we head in.

Master Iwamoto's shadow network never truely sleeps, after all.

Always someone doing something.

Dumping us both in our beds, I greatfully pass out. Do not dream. Greet near mid-day as my dawn, ready to start it all over again. Up, a quick bath, dressed and ready to go. Nothing to seem here but us identical servants. We go in shifts. All the better to be as disorienting as possible, to outsiders.

Everyone who looks like each other? Grouped on a shift. Taught to use make up to make themselves even MORE indistinguishable. We pick someone about in the middle, appearance wise, of each group, as the Standard. Everyone is to copy them. For my group, it's me.

I pick up the whispers and news, that have been collected since this mornings report. Second one of the day. At least, second one when we're not on "war" footing. As I walk, I glance down. Technically not supposed to read these, but I'm fairly sure he knows I do at least read the top page. Is amused by it. I'd have seen punishment otherwise. Or removed from delivery.

Oooh~ lookie THERE! How SCARY~☆! It appears someone was HAUNTED last night! By the ghosts of their dead brothers, you say? Angry ancestors, you say? Wife hysterical? Fled to her parents house? Sister, in tears, before the king? Oh my, oh my~!

I struggle not to grin. That would give the game away. Me? Reading something I'm not supposed too? I would NEVER. He he he~

Casually weaving through other servants, I keep reading. Climbing stairs and ducking down halls. Huh. Wait a second... slowing, I step to the side of the covered walkway. Re-read that last paragraph. Near the end of the page? Is something... strange. Not right.

I REMEMBER the Plot.

Made SURE I would remember. Wrote it down, then again and again. Memorized it, like my life literally depended on it, while it was still somewhat fresh in my mind. Because, frankly, it DID depend on it. Even now? Decades later? I can recite it by rote.

So why? Pray tell? Did our blushing Protagonist? Have a BROTHER.

Furthermore, why the FUCK have I not NOTICED this before?

Glancing around, I see far too many watchful eyes, to properly investigate. So I straighten. Pleasant, vague, expression in place. I walk forward. In no hurry at all. Definitely going to deliver these papers. Certainly not delaying in the slightest. Nothing to see here, everyone! Go about, what you were. We are all friends here, RIGHT?

I step into the building at the far end of the covered pathway. Resist diving into the first room available. That? Would be too predictable. I go for the THIRD. One quick grab, slide, and side-step? And~? Poof! Like I was never there. Servant? WHAT servant? These halls are EMPTY. You're clearly seeing things... are you okay?

Immediately, I lift the reports. Well, immediate after a look around the room, of course. Don't want to get CAUGHT. Flipping to the second page, I start reading. What's this about a Brother? What BROTHER?! There IS no BROTHER!

....except there IS.

Somehow.

And HE? Is a very, VERY clever man. One who lived quietly. Like a ghost. After the failed assassination attempt that nearly killed him and his mother. Wait a- ...failed? That sounds...? Familiar.

I have to close my eyes and think, to remember. Lean my head back and let my brain churn. It's... obscure. A tiny detail, mentioned offhand. Single line of dialog, in only one of the routes. Not even the MAIN routes. But one of the Secret ones, that you have to unlock... in the... collectors? Edition? I think? There was that play through video, right? We were eating... a noodle dish of some kind...

Fuck, I can't remember it. Not fully.

But I remember ENOUGH.

I REMEMBER? That it WASN'T a FAILED attempt. That Protagonist-chan's family didn't talk about them. For vaguely plot relevant reason. There was healing and good vibes. Follow your dreams, kids. Buy now. Etc etc...

He... survived? How? Damn it. Doesn't say. But... shit. He's cause a LOT of trouble, isn't he? And it looks like he's kind... railroading his sister into a specific route. That, or keeping her from emotionally cheating on her fiancée. Can't tell. Haven't met her. Looks like he's also patented a few... is that a fucking WHISK? Holy shit. These are all early industrial revolution!

Looking up from the reports, I stare blankly into space. Is... is the Protagonist's brother... ALSO a Reincarnator? What do I do with that? Do I contact him? Say "hello"? "I'm here too"? I thought I was... was completely alone in this world. But of all the places he could BE. Smack dap RIGHT in the middle of all the action?! Holy SHIT.

I'm going to have to think about this. A LOT.

Correcting the reports, I step back into the hallways. Casual as you please. Continue on my way, even as my mind churns and churns. Why is he gathering allies? Why hide for so long? Is he counting on his sister's plot armor to carry over? Or does he have actual military training? He's amassing loyalists. For WHAT?

And the reports said he's searching for something. Seem to suggest that WE are keeping it AWAY from him. What are we hiding? Protecting?

People? Resources? A mine?

I reached Master Nobutoshi's study, in his private wing. The halls quite, as only the most elite and trusted servants were allowed to travel here. Kneeling, I knocked on the door frame, waited to be acknowledged.

Receiving an almost absent-minded acknowledgement, I slide open the door.

Framed by delicately painted screen and thickly stuffed book shelves, Iwamoto Nobutoshi was, as always, the very picture of an elite scholar. Beautiful and refined. Slow and deliberate in movements, as though each had been pondered and found acceptable. I had never met a man more graceful. Not in this life, not in the last.

To my right, the sliding door to the gardens were open. Giving a picturesque view of summer, as it faded into fall. To the left, painted screens. Done by some Master's hand. With a splendid level of detail that still caught me off gaurd, even now. There were birds, in those painted trees! Had there always been? I wished I could look closer.

Nonetheless, I respectfully offered the reports for perusal.

"Right on time. This One had begun to worry." He said as he set aside his brush, smile mild as ever, even as his eyes swiftly cataloged each new discrepancy. There were several. "Bruises. Did the new padding in your suit, not sufficiently protect? This One will be most displeased if we have been lied too. We were promised it would."

No, and that was the thing, wasn't it? My kit? Had never been better. But... I had been damn near ambushed on my way TOO my job. Had to take evasive maneuvers. Do a LOT more parkour then I was comfortable with. Those fuckers had been... persistent. Weirdly so. Which made no sense, since they didn't seem affiliated with anyone I recognized.

"Oh?" The question was less a question and more a flat note of outrage. He held a hand out for the reports, began to read. "How... interesting. They certainly seem to be getting bold. This One begins to wonder. If he has perhaps been too kind, that they would see fit to harrass his-"

An ominous silence fills the room as he cuts off mid-sentence, as his eyes find something on the page he's reading. He has gone utterly still. The gentle curl of smoke from his pipe, wafting around him like the warning trails of a dragon. The deadly hidden embers of a forest fire, flaring up. His pleasant smile had frozen upon his face. Like a mask.

"He certainly does love to push his luck, does he? Make demands, for things he has no right too. Things which are ours." The words weren't even so much addressed to me? As the were a hissed accusation, towards the report in his hand. Someone, somewhere, seemed REALLY dead set on pissing Master Nobutoshi off.

Honestly? That seemed really unwise, but it's their funeral... I guess...?

Master Nobutoshi turns so suddenly I only barely avoid flinching. Jumping like a newbie. He's doing that "pick you apart at the seems" stare again. Looking into my soul. I remain politely deferential, patient, as I wait for him to work through his thoughts. He rises from his desk. Elegant and prowling, as he stalks towards me. Gaze intense, fixated. I... I am missing something.

"Tell me, my loyal little shadow. What would you do? If some... upstart, dared begin to covet, that which was yours? Started panting after your dearly beloved trusted, like a filthy dog? Trying to steal them away? Would you take that? Tolerate such disrespect? I... This One... can not imagine you would."

"You are so very loyal. So diligent. You serve me not for fame or glory, power nor wealth. You ask for so little, offer so much. I would give the world to you. My precious, loyal, little shadow. Forever by my side. No doubt, we shall grow old together. That they would covet you? The audacity is unthinkable."

Soft yet warrior calloused hands, come up to cup my cheeks. And... ah. Yeah. T-That's pretty fucking CLEAR on what I'm missing. My boss? Has a thing for me? Crush? Or... or is it "is in love with"? W-what was that about people coveting?! Hold on! Roll things back a second! What's happening?! I never thought I was blind... about apparently I need a stick and some GLASSES.

Because there is "missed some subtext" and then there's "dude, how do you miss the silent war with guerrilla tactics, right fucking IN FRONT OF YOU?!", so like? Either I was being DELIBERATELY kept seperate? Or... actually? No. That actually sound exactly like what probably happened. An information diet.

FUCK.

Before I could decide how, exactly, I felt about that? The same door I had entered through, opened again. This time sharply and with an audible snap. Dragging urgently along it's tracks and hitting its end, in a way the delicate crafting had never been meant for. I swear it nearly cracked. Alarmed, I spun, breaking free of Master Nobutoshi's hold on my face, to face whoever was at the door.

Aiko.

Shouldn't she be near the front gates? "Sweeping" and listening to gossip for the Shadows? How. Why!? My eyes catch on slowly spreading red. Stark against her... our uniform, she's hurt. Badly. Gripping her side and the door frame like it's the only thing still holding her up. Her face ashy pale and sweating with terrible pain. Eyes determined. Her jaw set in that stubborn, stubborn grit.

"Master. You need to leave. Now! They...!" She wavers, starting to blackout from the pain, before forcing it back. "They've attacked! We're holding them back. A-As best as we c..can! Please! Lord Iwamoto, I BEG you! You must go! If you don't survive this, then everything is lost!"

As if to underline the terrible wait of her words, an explosion goes off, shaking the austere foundations of the ancient house in which I serve. My mind immediately flits and races along the emergency protocols. W-was that one of ours? Did we..? No. No, we would have... DID set up barricades. This is our house. We've already trapped it.

They are the ones who brought explosives.

You don't bring things like those, if you plan to leave survivors. You bring those? When you plan to make EXAMPLES. Aiko is right. We have to go. Now. Heart hurting, I nod to my roommate, one of my best friends, and know that this is it. I will likely never see her again, alive. There are... so many goodbyes, words, I wish I had time to say.

In the look she shoots me? I see the same.

We knew this might come.

Just... just hoped it never would.

My boss's crush can wait. His LIFE is more important. I turn and reach for him, to guide him towards the screens, leading deeper into his wing. Get to him easily. But do not get more then two steps before an arm, like steel, is suddenly around my waist and jerking me back.

Jerking US back. Towards the wall of scrolls and decorative pieces, that sat behind Master Nobutoshi's desk. Startled, my gaze shoots down to see Master Nobutoshi's arm, unhesitating and possessive, wrapped around my waist. There is... a lot more muscle under those flowing robes, then I ever suspected. But-?

I do not even have time to think, to ponder, the question before it is violently answered. The masterfully painted screens, that I had long admired, smashing and tearing as bodies crash through them.

Takashi, dead on the floor, sword still in hand. Around him, his teammates dying, as they still tried to by their Lord even a few moments more, to escape. The large, ever polite Shadow, a man who had been like a brother to me... dumped upon the ground like little more then trash. To be tossed aside and discarded. Stepped over, on some other man's campaign.

His blood mixed with the ruins of the Hunting Tiger screen. Two proud, quietly noble wonders, destroyed. It had been his favorite.

Aiko howled with rage and grief. Threw herself into the fight.

We had been family.

I turned, away, hating myself for it. Knowing it's what they would want. Tears threatened but I could not let them come. Not... not yet. Not yet. There was an emergency exit. Where? Where!? I remembered it. I knew, I knew it! But the grief was muddling my mind, making it slow. Damn it. DAMN IT! WHERE WAS IT!!!??

Master Nobutoshi reached past me. Gripping the hilt of decorative sword, he lifted and drew. It.. it was not decorative. Merely disguised. A masterwork blade. It sang ominously as it cut through the air, entering the scene. Then... a face, breathe, pressed to the side of my head. Like.. like a lover? A terrible discordance, in this already awful event.

"Behind the Three Mountains and a Shrine, My Love. I will be with you shortly."

I froze. The world froze, for all it continued, around me. Distantly... I felt Master Nobutoshi loosen his grip, after... after one last possessive squeeze. Let go. Felt him turn away, as he faced the room. But... but that was... he.... he had....

W-was that? I-Informal? A..And WHAT did he call m-!?

My hand, shaking, found the right scroll. Somehow. Without my numb, panicking mind, they moved dispite me. Somehow determined to keep me alive, dispite my shock. I flicked the right switch. Disarmed the traps in the order they needed to be. And... click. There was the trap door. Our... our way out...

I stared. Blankly. W.. what was I supposed to..? Do?

Was I finally... in shock? That's... probably not good. Bad, actually. I should... should move. There are swords here. It's...? Dangerous? Yes. Dangerous. Bad. I need too... too think. Cry, maybe. Somewhere... not loud. With... with no... no swords.

Stumbling. Stiffly. Like my body was not my own anymore, I knelt. Hands clumsy and far away, I struggled with the trap door. Finally got it. People were... were fighting. Hurting. I... I didn't want to be here anymore. Didn't want to be ANYWHERE anymore. I... I wanted it to stop.

Why? Why wouldn't they all just... just STOP.

Aiko. Takashi. My teammates. Who else? Who else was hurt? G-gone? I was... was supposed to be SAFE. This was supposed to be SAFE. I worked so hard. Compromised and compromised, pushed myself down, and made myself fit. I worked and worked and WORKED, until I had nothing LEFT, b... because this was supposed to be SAFE!!!

I... I was supposed to b-be...!

"Iwamoto!" A voice roared above the chaos and fighting. "Where is She?! I know you're keeping her somewhere!"

Like a lions roar, some primal part of my brain demanded I pay attention. Now. Dragging, with brutal claws, my fragile mind, from its drifting cloud of numbness. One leg already on the steps to the escape tunnel, I turned, and... with horror? Realized I was to blame. For... for ALL of this.

Because? There, in armor, stood the Protagonist's brother. Surrounded by his men, with his sister safely at home, what other SHE could he POSSIBLY mean? If not the one? That ALSO remembers? H...He killed Aiko. Takashi. For THIS?

Monster.

Oh god, he.. he was a MONSTER.

Master Nobutoshi and the Reincarnator squared off. Swords drawn, men at their back. Already, so many were dead. So many I had known. Had worked with. My friends. Just... just pawns, between two powerful men. Dizzy, I realized, they... they hadn't even glanced at them. Didn't even seem to SEE them. Just... just more fodder. For their grand campaigns.

"You know?" Nobutoshi all but purred, as he clashed blades with his opponent. "I really must thank you. You helped me realize, the true worth of the gem I possessed. And, once you're dealt with? I will no longer need to hide her in obscurity. With you dead, little rat, I can finally have her, in every way that matters."

"She'll be a beautiful bride." His grin was a savage thing, full of baring teeth.

The Protagonist's brother raged. A lion, a mountain, and a warlord. Fury twisting what were, no doubt, handsome features into something horrifying. Blade work swift and brutal. How many of my friend's blood? Still painted that blade? Still stained his armor? He dressed himself like he thought he was the hero. He was destroying the only home I had known, for these past decades.

"Pervert! You disgusting CREEP! You think you can just imprison women until they love you?! I always knew there was something wrong with you, but this? This take the cake, you FREAK! I'm getting her out of here! Stopping your schemes! Once and for all!" The Brother roared, something unhinged in his eyes. A lifetime of isolation at last, too much, now that relief might finally be at hand. "You'll never understand her! You CAN'T understand her! Not like me! She was MADE FOR ME! We're supposed to be in this TOGETHER! And I WON'T let you keep me from her ANY LONGER, YOU FREAK!"

They couldn't see anyone but each other, as they fought. Brutal. Savage. Singing blades and madness. Around the room, the two sides clashed. Died. Pointlessly, at the command of their Lords. Sitting at the entrance to the escape route, I could see Aiko from here. Takashi. Both dead, gone, where just this morning we had been joking over our plans for an upcoming festival. We... we were going to hit up the candy booths first. Double back to store our loot. Then enjoy the festivities.

It was a good plan. I was going to pretend... that... that I didn't notice Aiko, stealing all the sour plum candies. I hated them. She loved them. But would never take them if I offered. O.. only fun if she could sneak um. Takashi would save me my favorites. Wasn't much of a sweets guy.

Gone...

All gone.

And for what? Because I "belonged" to the Brother? Because Master Nobu-...no. Because Iwamoto Nobutoshi, picked a FIGHT? All I wanted was to be safe. Live quietly. No plot. No drama. No chaos. Just... just market days and laundry, sweeping and helping make dumplings. Weeding the gardens. Napping with kids and cats. Slowness and the shifting of seasons.

A life, unremarkable.

I looked down into the escape tunnel. Dark, long, and to somewhere unknown.

They did not notice me leave.

[csuitebitches]

book review: Stolen focus by Johann Hari

Major learnings from this book. It basically talks about focus, why and how we’re losing it. Why can’t we pay attention anymore? Are we individuals to blame or our systems? 

There will be a time when the upper class will be extremely aware of the risks to their attention (caused by tech, social media, our current generation) and the masses, with fewer resources to resist the temptation of technology, will be manipulated more and more by their computers. 

Multitasking is a myth. What actually happens when we multitask is that we “juggle” between tasks. This results in incomplete tasks, higher error rates, less focus, less creativity and memory decreases. 

Sleep is extremely important, especially sleeping according to nature - when the sun sets and sun rises. If the whole world slept the way we are naturally programmed, we would have an economic earthquake. Our economic systems run on sleep deprived people. 

Reading online and reading print has a huge difference. Reading online creates tendencies of skimming and scanning text. This prevents our brain from focusing intently on one story at a time, which print allows you to do. You also remember and understand things from printed texts better. 

Empathy. Certain research suggests that reading fiction and novels improves empathy, because you are immersing yourself in another character’s life for a while. Empathy has played a huge role in human advancements. If a group of white people did not realise that colonisation was wrong, if men did not realise that women deserve equal rights, we would not have independent nations nor be close to gender equality today. 

There are multiple types of paying attention. Focused attention is one thing. But day dreaming and letting your mind wander with no distraction (that is, being alone with your thoughts) is equally important. Some of the most important breakthroughs in human history were because the inventors were not actively focusing on solving the problem. 

Being on social media = giving a free pass to be manipulated. No thoughts, opinions, desires that you have are original. They have all been fed into you by social media and the online world. It is by their design that we cannot focus. 

Leaked internal records of Facebook show that they are aware that their algorithms exploit the human brain’s attraction to divisiveness. 64% of people, for instance, who join extremist groups join because FB’s algorithm directly recommends too. “Our recommendation systems grow the problem.” Zuckerberg eventually terminated the unit that was studying this. 

Diet and attention. The diet we consumed today is a diet that causes regular energy spikes and energy crashes. Our food does not have the nutrients we need for our brains to function well. Our current diets actively contain chemicals that seem to act on our brains almost like drugs.  

Be careful about reading research, especially when it’s funded by the industry itself. For 40 years, the lead industry funded all the scientific research into whether it was safe, and assured the world that it was. Lead later turned out to severely stunt your ability to focus and pay attention and that you are more likely to get ADHD. 

We define success broadly as economic growth. Economies should get bigger, companies should get bigger. Growth can happen in two ways - either the companies find new markets or they persuade the existing consumers to consume more. If you can get people to eat more or to sleep less, you’ve found the source of economic growth. It results in people working overtime, not having enough time with family, friends and themselves, stress and anxiety prone, lack of sleep and bad health, etc. 

Conclusion: use precommitment to stop switching tasks, try to focus more on intrinsic motivation than extrinsic, go off social media periodically (say 1 month at a time) and then extend those breaks; everyday spend 1 hour in walking in silence (no music, conversations or people- and if this is in nature, even better) to connect with yourself, 8 hours of sleep every night, build on slow practices like yoga, cut out processed food, take your PTO!!

[nedlittle]

so i work for a small regional museum. remotely, i should add. the museum itself is about 2000km west, so i've never actually been there but i research and write articles about local history for them. and because the town was only formally settled in the 1920s and a lot of the museum's supporters are older, the majority of the history i write about is within, or just outside of living memory. this means that people will comment on our posts with memories or connections of their own. they'll tag their friends and family and say 'remember this?'

a few week ago, i wrote a week's worth of posts about immigration, largely displaced persons in the aftermath of the second world war. there was an outpouring of memories and people tagging their family members and sharing them. our notifications were blowing up with people saying "thanks for writing about my uncle" and "i knew them when i was young, but i never knew their story" and "she looks so beautiful here" and "our families used to get together for dinners, i'm still friends with his daughter."

regular people, non-historians, are inclined to think of history as a monolithic past leading up to the present; an easy timeline of textbook names and events. and we think of museums largely the same way. you have the louvre and you have the smithsonian and maybe a modern art museum or a niche museum for skeletons or canoes or one specific guy. museums are reserved for the big things, but they're also for the little things and people that will never be in textbooks.

and i'm thinking about the way people responded to those posts, seeing their own history remembered with the same reverence as the big stuff. maybe you never knew the people being written about, or maybe you did, and for a few days, they are alive again, and your neighbours and your classmates and your councilmen are remembering your family, and they are alive.

[atheneum-of-you]

Priest & Priestesshood

The terms priest, priestess, high priest, and high priestess get tossed around a lot, especially in the hellenism community. But oftentimes, there is very little context or explanation on what it means to be the priest/priestess of a god. I think understanding these terms, their duties, and some very frequent misconceptions are once again an important part of this cared for religion. Because despite what many may tend to treat it as hellenic polytheism is a religion. Not one I would consider organized religion today, but a very real and alive religion and should be treated as such.

Naturally this isn't to say you have to strictly adhere to hellenism, your practice and worships will always be your own. But it is an important thing to remember when dealing with the concept of priest/priestesshood.

As usual, this is my own understanding and research of the topic, always be sure to do your own when needed and double check sources! Additionally, from here out I will exclusively be saying "priestess" and "priestesshood" as I am studying and training to be one, but for the most part (excluding the history) it will also apply to priest/priesthood within the modern day religion.

Ancient Priestesshood

When we talk about modern-day hellenic priestesshood, we can't entirely look at it in its original form in ancient Greece. Back then, priestesshood was a temple station that could be bought by well-off families or something young girls were born into. Girls as young as 7 could be taken into temples on the path of priestesshood, and as they grew older, their ranks/titles within the temple would grow with them. With that said, for the most part priestesses bought their way into the station, having come from financially well-off families. Priestesshood could be seen as an "escape" from the patriarchal household society held at the time, often giving these women significant importance above men. Although how accurate this is, we don't fully know, as young girls would also have been born into a family and encouraged to perform priestly activities at a young age.

These were in the days when our temples stood high and mighty, and the unfortunate truth is that's simply not the case today. That said, hellenism has survived the ages, and we've adopted modern ways of worship, and therefore, priestesshood should be looked at in a similar fashion.

Priestesshood Today

As we today have learned to adapt our worships to modern times while keeping the essence of the gods' importance, priestesshood today has also adapted. While the grand temples from those days are mostly in ruins, we have found ways to construct them in online spaces, and when able, in real life, planned services and congregation. So what does a priestess of a hellenic god do today?

To become the priestess of a god is something I would consider a "full-time devotee." Someone whose life is tasked with acts of devotion in that god's name and honor. A priestess of Aphrodite might become one of her sacred whores or a matchmaker, a priestess of Demeter may live rurally and grow crops to provide and offer, a priestess of Hades may become a death worker (PLEASE heavily research that topic itself if it is a path you choose as not everyone can become one and it is considered a closed practice by degrees) or a baneful worker, etc. Regardless of the gods, a priestess would typically perform duties that align with that god's attributes and associations. It is a dedication to serving that god and performing acts in their name and honor. Priestesshood is a commitment to that god.

How Do You Become a Priestess?

This can be a difficult question to answer. As stated before, priestesshood could be bought or be something you were raised into. However, in our modern day, that's no longer the case. From what I've researched, priestesshood can be obtained through two methods.

Mentorship under an established priestess

An invitation from the god

Mentorship would entail finding a god's priestess and them taking you under their wing and training you personally. Many times, the mentorship will be something paid for, but will give you someone experienced and a solid learning foundation in your future training. Naturally, you should vet the priestess beforehand and ensure they are someone trustworthy and knowledgeable. There are many people who will falsely claim priestesshood, so ensure this is someone truthful in their dedication.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, someone can personally be invited by their god into priestesshood. This in itself can hold a myriad of difficulties, such as initial uncertainty. A lot of divination or fact-checking would be required as well as checking in with that god themself. Another difficulty would be the need to do training on your own. There is no step by step guide for priestesshood for each and every god, and the chances of finding a genuine one for your deity is slim. Training solo would mean researching and practicing on your own, with a great deal of trial and error and constant check-ins with your god.

My path to priestesshood started from an invitation from Hermes, and it took a lot of communication and readings with him to gain true confidence in the decision. It can be confusing, and navigating the path alone can be incredibly scary and difficult.

Can You Become a High Priestess?

A high priestess is a vastly higher title than a normal priestess, and one that, in my opinion, very few can hold. A high priestess's entire life would be spent dedicating themself to that god, continuously in prayer and doing their duties. This is a 24/7 commitment and a lot of the time entails leaving your worldy self behind (including families, friends, ect) to live in dedication for their god. They channel the very essence of their god.

A high priestess is far more than a title, it is the pinnacle of dedication to a god and is not an easy title to obtain. A high priestess's life would entirely belong to that god, and they would spend every possible moment of it channeling the essence of that god through prayers and worship and dedicating acts for the community they have.

It is not a role just anyone can take on, and I highly advise much deeper research into the understanding of that role and what it means/entails.

Common Questions and Misconceptions

So a priestess is just a normal follower?

Not particularly. A priestess would be required to do their devotional duties that align with their station. Priestesses would be leaders, conducting rituals and serving as a conduit for their god. There is a difference between devotional acts and devotional duties, the fine line being whether these devotions were optional or not.

I've only been working with [insert god] for a short amount of time, can I become a priestess?

The gods don't care about how long you've been in service to them. What they look at is devotion and knowledge. So long as you're willing to put in the work and truly dedicated yourself to the role, it doesn't matter if you've been a devotee for 5 years or 5 days. That said, please make sure this is a path you truly wish to walk. It is a very serious role, and the gods won't take kindly to it being treated like a game or an experiment.

I'm still a minor, can I become a priestess?

While in ancient times priestesses would be trained as young as 7, they wouldn't be considered priestesses until they reached the marriage age of 14. So by account, yes, absolutely. But I think it's important to spend your younger years truly studying and gaining knowledge and experience with your god and being certain that this is a path you wish to take. Don't be swayed by social media and other's recounting. Take your time.

But [insert creator] said they're a high priestess!

Are they always on social media? Are they constantly posting? Do they have a large online presence that they manage on their own? Then chances are, they're not a high priestess. A high priestess has no time for these things unless someone else is managing it for them to show what the life of a high priestess is like.

Would a high priestess be an oracle?

While a high priestess can be an oracle and vice versa, the two are not inherently synonymous. I'll make a long post on oracles once I've researched them more but from my current understanding, yes and no.

[cramathonn]

Hello! I see your rules and saw Seth on your list. I just got him recently and I wanted to ask if I can request something (a drabble or a oneshot, it's up to you) of our boyo. But let me give some idea worms first.

So, i heard somewhere that Seth is a Lynx thiren (unless I'm wrong, but looking at his thiren features, seems like his counterpart is from the Felidae family), and I researched that Lynxes can purr. So... imagine when reader (gender neutral) was petting Seth (or just give him some fluffy loving) he ended up purring because he's getting very comfortable

Sorry if it's kinda long! You can skip this if you want. It's my first time making a request 😅

This is adorable, anon

And don't worry, it wasn't that long! Throughout my writing history, I've gotten requests that are SO MUCH longer (and the context and worms are much appreciated). Also, I went to check his thiren subspecies and he's just a cat, not a lynx. Lynxes, while being felines, have considerably shorter tails when compared to other members of the Felidae family! Aka, bob cat short. So yeah, I referred to him as cat thiren in this little drabble, I hope you don't mind!

Hopefully you enjoy the sillies!

Warnings: none! Only fluff

Reader: gender neutral (no pronouns used)

Seth Lowell x GN!Reader

Purring

You and Seth were finally alone, relaxing inside the comfort of your shared apartment at Lumina Square. It was an exhausting day for the both of you, with either jobs sucking more energy out of you than usual.

While Seth insisted that you two asked for some food before ultimately sitting down to relax, you convinced him to do so later by bringing his head to your lap and starting to comb through his hair with your fingers. That immediately disarmed your beloved boyfriend and made his face flush red like a tomato. It didn't take long for his body to relax, the tip of his tail starting to slowly wag in contentment.

These small moments were the ones you adored most with him. Yes, you loved your walks alongside the riverbank, going out to run at the park or eat relax at the coffee shop, but this was perfect. Just the two of you, with you sitting on the couch while he had his head upon your lap, basking in each other's presence.

However, something was different this time. A noise, low and rumbly, echoing through your living room. You swore you didn't have any laundy today and you always checked all of your electrical equipment before having a chill couch session, so where was this coming from? You pay more attention to the sound, trying to pinpoint its origing. It was... Coming from beneath you? You looked down, now staring at the top of your boyfriend's head. His ears twitched every so often, leaning a bit backwards as a way to indicate how relaxed he was.

Wait, wasn't Seth a thiren? Specifically a cat one? The name of the noise coming from him was at the tip of your tongue and when you remembered it, the soft smile previously on your face widened slightly. He was purring. Seth, your uptight and slightly reserved boyfriend, was purring. The realization that he felt so at ease, so safe and comfortable in your presence to let his guard down enough to purr made your heart swell with contentment. You changed the way tou caressed the top of his head, which made him turn his head to the side so that he could look at you better, a curious look on his face.

"Everything alright? You changed how you were caressing my head... Not that I mind!"

He asked, voice much more relaxed than usual. It obviously still had that slightly loud factor that made his voice, well, his, but it was obvious to anyone who heard it that this man was calm and comfortable. You laughed at his inquiry, tangling your fingers in his silky white strands, combing through them.

"Oh, it's nothing, Seth. It's just that..."

You pondered for a second. Should you tell him? You worried that if you did he would go back to gaurding himself and stop allowing himself to purr around you, and you didn't want that! You wanted for him to feel free to relax and let his guard down, to allow himself to unwind and confide in you. However, knowing your lovely boyfriend, he'd think you were troubled with something, instead of just being deeply infatuated with his adorable noises. So you decided to simply say it.

"Well, you were purring"

You said, voice soft and filled with undeniable affection for Seth. His ears stood and tail flinched, immediately stopping its suave content swaying.

"O-oh, uhm, I'm sorry about that! It wasn't really meant to come out, it just kind of happens when I'm really relaxed... I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, I pro-"

There it was. Your sweet overthinker of a boyfriend thinking there would be a problem and that you would, most likely, think less of him for just relaxing and emitting natural noises. You made sure to cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Seth, hey, it's ok. I don't mind the purring. I think it's cute! It shows me that you're comfortable enough around me to let your guard down and just... Relax, y'know?"

You said in an attempt to make Seth see your point of view. That apparently worked, seeing how his cheeks were now slightly pink and how his tail started to wag its tip once more. The thiren buried his face in your thighs, trying to hide how embarrassed your comment made him. But it also made him feel extremely giddy. You found his purring was cute? And, instead of ridiculing him for something that was natural, you were glad and happy that it meat he was comfortable around you? Heavens, what did he do to score someone as fantastic as you?

"I love you, Seth"

You said, continuing to caress his head and comb through his hair. At that, Seth turned his whole body to the side, hugging you as he shoved his face in your stomach, nuzzling your shirt.

"I love you too, (y/n)"

He answered, muffled by the fabric of your shirt. Seth's voice was soft as he allowed himself to relax once more, his purring returning and you could now feel its rumbling against you. The two of you remained there, you caressing his hair and him cuddling against your stomach. Yeah, you wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.

Written by Cramathonn, 29/09/2024

Concluded at 2:50pm

[whumpinggrounds]

Writing Deaf Characters

I am making this a series now so pls drop requests if there is something you’re curious about!

Disclaimer: This is all based on personal experience and research, all of which relate to the American Deaf experience. It’s not perfect, nor is it representative of a global experience of d/Deafness. If you plan to write a d/Deaf or hard of hearing character, please do your own research! This is intended to give people a few ideas about where to start.

Vocab

Deaf = Refers to the cultural experience of being deaf and immersed in Deaf communities.

deaf = Inability to hear some or all sound.

Profoundly deaf = Inability to hear almost all or all sound.

d/Deafblind = Inability to hear some or all sound and as well as having some level (usually high) of visual impairment. 

Hard of hearing or HOH = A person whose inability to hear may not rise to the level of deafness or profound deafness, or simply may not identify with the term.

Deaf of deaf = A Deaf child born to Deaf parents.

CODA = Child Of Deaf Adults. This refers to hearing children, not d/Deaf children.

Manualism = Refers to the belief that d/Deaf children should be taught only sign language and should not be taught or expected to learn to speak.

Oralism = Refers to the belief that d/Deaf children should be taught only to speak and should be discouraged from learning or using sign language.

Bilingual-bicultural or bi-bi education = A school of thought that combines oral and manual education for d/Deaf children.

Mainstreaming = The belief that d/Deaf children should be educated in the same schools and classrooms as hearing students. (More widely refers to the belief that disabled students in general should be educated in the same schools and classrooms as nondisabled students.)

Deaf gain = The Deaf community’s answer to the term “hearing loss.” Rather than losing hearing, a person is said to be gaining Deafness.

Cochlear implant/CI = A medical device implanted into the inner ear which (debatably) produces sensation that is (somewhat) analogous to hearing.

American Sign Language or ASL = An American system of communication consisting of hand shapes, hand movements, body language, facial expressions, and occasionally, vocalizations.

Signed Exact English or SEE = A manner of communicating that directly translates English words into signed equivalents.

Home sign(s) = Signed communication that is specific to the signer’s home or community, which may not exist or be recognized in the wider world.

Identity First Language or IFL = A system in which someone is described first by an identifier that they choose and feel strongly connected to. Examples include describing someone as an Autistic woman, a disabled individual, or a Deaf man.

Key Elements of Deaf History

Can’t emphasize this enough - this is a VERY abbreviated list! It is also not in order. Sorry. That being said:

For a long time in America, Deaf children were not educated, nor was it considered possible to educate them. When this did change, American deaf children were educated in institutions, where they lived full-time. These children were often taken from their families young, and some never regained contact with their families. Some died and were buried at these institutions, all without their families’ knowledge.

In the early 20th century, oralism became popular among American deaf schools. This mode of teaching required lip reading and speech, no matter how difficult this was for students, and punished those who used or attempted to use sign language. Pure oralism is now widely considered inappropriate, outdated, and offensive.

Hopefully you’ve gleaned this from the above points, but d/Deaf schooling, education, and the hearing world’s involvement are a very sensitive subject. Proceed with caution. It’s unlikely your d/Deaf character would have a neutral relationship with schooling.

Helen Keller is probably the most famous deafblind person in America. In her time, she was also known for being a socio-political activist, a socialist, and a vaudeville actress. There are dozens of other famous d/Deaf people who are a quick Google search away. Give your Deaf character Deaf heroes, please.

The Americans with Disabilities Act, or ADA, was passed in 1991, and represented a landmark victory for disabled activists in America. Among its provisions were closed captioning for Deaf individuals, ASL interpreters for public services, and the right for d/Deaf children to attend accessible, accommodating public schools. The ADA is a HUGE deal. It’s also not perfect.

In 1961, cochlear implants were invented. I was going to write more about cochlear implants here, but it’s too long. New section.

Cochlear Implants

Massively massively massively controversial in the Deaf community. Always have been, potentially always will be. For people who strongly identify with Deafness and the Deaf community, CIs are an attack on their identity, their personhood, and their community’s right to exist. 

Do not allow people to “hear.” The input that a person receives from CI can, with physical therapy, training, and time, be understood and processed in a similar way to sound. This does not mean it would be recognizable to a hearing person as sound. It is often described by people who have them as being metallic, buzzy, or robotic. YouTube is a great resource for sound references.

In order for a cochlear implant to be effective, a personal will have to participate in years of training and therapy to correct process, understand, and interpret the feedback given by the CI. This is not negotiable. Even if your character just lost their hearing in an accident last week, a CI will not allow them to instantaneously regain that hearing. Nothing that currently exists in the real world will do that.

CIs, to be most effective, are almost always implanted when the recipient is very young. This decision is often made by hearing parents. This, again, is massively controversial, as Deaf activists argue that it violates the child’s bodily autonomy and is inherently anti-Deaf.

A cochlear implant, once placed, irreparably destroys any residual hearing that the recipient may have had. This is because it penetrates the inner ear in order to function. This residual hearing cannot be regained, even if the cochlear implant is not used.

Deaf people do choose to get cochlear implants of their own accord. Many d/Deaf people are very happy with their cochlear implants! It is still a highly charged choice in light of the political history surrounding d/Deafness and hearing.

Notes About American Sign Language

ASL is not a signed version of English. It is a distinct language, with its own vocabulary, slang, and grammar. Just a sentence would not be constructed the same way in Russian, Spanish, or Tagalog, a sentence in ASL would not be a direct translation of its English equivalent.

Deaf people have historically lower rates of literacy. This is not due to a lack of intelligence; it is because ASL and English are two different languages. ASL has no written equivalent. In order to be able to read or write, d/Deaf children must learn an entirely different language. This means that it is not realistic to always be able to communicate with d/Deaf people through writing.

As ASL is a visual language, many signs started out as very literal gestures. This means that many older signs are continuously being phased out as they or their roots are recognized as stereotypical or offensive. Please be careful in researching signs. I recommend Handspeak or Signing Savvy for accurate, relatively up-to-date information.

Many online “teachers” do not have credentials to teach ASL, and especially due to the prevalence of “baby sign,” home signs, invented signs, or false information spreads unchecked. If you see multiple different signs advertised for the same English word, please be diligent in checking your sources.

Not every English word has a distinct signed equivalent, and not every sign has an English equivalent.

SEE is almost never used by Deaf people. It’s rarely used and is generally thought of as a “lesser” version of both English and ASL.

ASL is a complete, complex, nuanced language. A character would not switch into SEE for a technical conversation or really any reason. Complex ideas, technical terms, and even poetry can all be expressed in American Sign Language.

Just like in English, there are some signs that are only considered appropriate for certain people to use. For example, the sign for “Black” when referring to a Black person has a modified version that is only used by Black signers. This does not mean it is a slur or the equivalent of a slur. It is a sign reserved for Black signers referring to other Black people.

Things to Consider/Avoid/Be Aware Of

I hesitate to tell anyone to avoid anything, because I don’t think I have that authority. That being said:

The Deaf community has a complicated history and relationship with cochlear implants and the concept of being “cured.” What message are you sending when you write a story in which a d/Deaf character is “cured” of their d/Deafness?

Generally speaking, d/Deaf people do not identify with the “disabled” label. Each person has their own preferences, and those preferences should always be respected. Your character(s) may choose differently than their real life community, but you should put thought into why that is.

Generally speaking, d/Deaf people use IFL. This means that a majority of d/Deaf people in America would describe themselves as d/Deaf people, rather than people with deafness, people with hearing loss, people that are hard of hearing, etc.

Okay I lied I’m going to tell you what to do here: Do not use words like mute, deaf-mute, or dumb when describing d/Deaf people. Hearing impaired is also not ideal but is considered outdated, rather than outright offensive.

The best lip readers are judged to be able to catch 30% of the words people say. How realistic is it to have a character that relies 100% on lipreading? What do you gain when you write a character that lipreads, and what do you lose?

Yes, Deaf people can drive. I don’t know why so many people wonder about this. It’s okay if you didn’t know, but please don’t come into my ask box about it.

Assistive Devices/Aids

Cochlear implants ^ see above

Interpreters. Will have gone to school for years, might have specific training for certain environments or technical terms, etc. For instance, an interpreter that works with Deaf people that have mental illnesses would be fully fluent in ASL as well as having requisite mental health training in order to interpret for them. Interpreters could be a whole other post actually, but I won’t tackle that now.

Closed captions. Self-explanatory.

Alarm clocks, fire alarms, and doorbells that use light instead of sound. This is sometimes a typical flashing light, but particularly fire alarms in predominantly d/Deaf spaces can be overwhelmingly bright. Bright like you’ve never seen before. Bright enough to wake someone from a dead sleep.

Some assistive devices also use sensation - alarms that actually shake bedframes exist and are the best choice for some people!

Service dogs - can alert people to sounds like the above - fire alarms, doorbells, knocking, etc.

Hearing aids. Generally not controversial in the way that CIs are. Only effective if people have residual hearing. Do not really expand the range of sounds people can hear, just amplify sounds in that range. Very, very expensive.

Microphones. If a d/Deaf or HOH person is in a crowd/lecture setting, the speaker will want to use a microphone. If this is a frequent occurrence, the microphone may be linked to a small personal speaker or earbud used by the d/Deaf or HOH person.

TTY: Much less frequent now that everyone can text and email, but stands for Text Telephone Device and was/is a way to send written communication over a telephone line. The message is sent, the phone rings, and a robot voice reads the message. Obviously, this is not effective for d/Deaf people communicating with other d/Deaf people, but it was often used to communicate with hearing people/hearing establishments, as when setting up appointments.

Media About/Including Deafness

No media is perfect and unproblematic, but here are somethings I have seen that I can verify do at least a pretty good job -

CODA is a movie that features Deaf actors, ASL, and a story about growing up, family, and independence vs. interdependence. 

The Sound of Metal is a movie that features ASL and a story about identity, recovery, and hearing loss/Deaf gain.

A Quiet Place is a movie features ASL and Deaf actors, although Deafness itself is not necessarily integral to the story.

BUG: Deaf Identity and Internal Revolution by Christopher Heuer is a collection of essays by a Deaf man that discuss a wide range of topics. This book is not always up to modern standards of political correctness.

Train Go Sorry by Leah Hager Cohen is a memoir by the granddaughter of a Deaf man, which discusses the intersections of the hearing and Deaf worlds.

Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon is a research book about the effect of horizontal identity on parent/child relationships and features a chapter on d/Deafness. This is a good look at how d/Deafness can impact familial relationships. Some aspects of the book are outdated, and it was written by a hearing author, albeit one who extensively interviewed Deaf and hearing parents of Deaf children.

If you made it this far, congratulations! Thank you so much for taking the time to read through my lil/not so lil primer :) If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or feedback, please feel free to hit me up! If you have any requests for a diagnosis or a disability you’d like me to write about next, I’d love to hear it. Happy writing!