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ckret2 · 1 day

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Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

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Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed.

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched.

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #sev'ral timez #(a tag i have never used before and will probably never use again.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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transmutationisms · 3 days

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Is mbti pseudoscience ? Also what makes a term pseudoscience ? Is it the people involved? Lack of empirical evidence? Inability to replicate the results?

this is called the demarcation problem and philosophers of science have not settled it. i find this debate trite because it's generally framed around ahistorical, apolitical, asocial notions of 'science' as a set of disembodied ideas rather than as a family of knowledge practices occurring and evaluated in specific social contexts. for example, if we call phrenology a 'pseudoscience' we end up making nonsense of the historical observation that phrenological ideas were part of scientific discourses, practices, and experimentation throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. people measuring skulls and trying to map out localised brain functions were engaging in scientific activities; scientific inquiry is capable of producing ideas that are wrong, racist, internally contradictory, &c. one of the main ideological functions of the label 'pseudoscience' has been & continues to be providing a foil for its counterpart, the ideal of 'science' as an inherently noble and truth-producing activity.

it's dangerous to reify the sort of dichotomy that doesn't permit for the existence of scientific error, bias, or ideological taint; it also obscures the internal logic of previous modes of thinking and epistemological frameworks (bloodletting was not just something doctors did because they were stupid; astrology historically depended on particular cosmologies and philosophical axioms) and makes it extremely difficult to say anything worthwhile about practices and ideas that have been designated 'scientific' or 'pseudoscientific', 'orthodox' or 'heterodox', in different historical moments and places. it's easy to see the designation 'pseudoscience' as a neutral or even politically astute denigration of bullshittery or charlatanism, but consider also that powerful institutions, individuals, professional guilds, and states are just as capable of slinging accusations of 'pseudoscientificity' at those they wish to marginalise for various political and ideological reasons. one recent example of this is the fairly contentious argument over the basic and unfortunately true assertion that many respiratory illnesses, particularly covid, are airborne. the process of deciding whose ideas are bunk, and whose are proper science, occurs in social context just as much as the formation and dissemination of the ideas themselves does.

anyway if what you mean is "are the mbti categories real / fixed / universal human 'types'" then the answer is no, definitely not, it was always a philosophically unjustified taxonomy-forward attempt to bring jungian psychology to the masses that caught on with hiring departments and corporate consultants, and that more than a few people have compared to a kind of 'updated' astrological discourse on the 'personality' expressed in today's scientifically fashionable language rather than yesteryear's. now see if every psy-scientific discourse to which a similar critique applies were to be described as 'pseudoscience' then we would have an awfully hard time explaining what exactly are the professional activities their exponents are engaging in all day, and meanwhile we would have very handily preserved the fiction that there is some other, nobler, properly scientific discipline of psychology magically free of all such inconvenient history and conceptual baggage.

#hps

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astroknottt · 3 days

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ASTRO ! I’ve been reading @/ bluegiragi & @/ thegnomlord’s monster au for a quiet awhile now and I’m in love with honestly. I love mythical creatures and monsters so much, but I’ve been thinking of Orc M!reader a lot as well.

TW ! Monster Au ( Orc! mreader )

You’re an absolute machine on the field, not so quick on your feet but monstrous in size and strength—your pure strength and brute mentality. Sure stories portray you as a monster with the brain the size of a peanut but you’ve proven those theories wrong.

Price isn’t an expert with your kind. Sure both your species have existed during the same time period but that did not mean you interacted with one another. Price knew more about your species than you did his, he knew how war and your kind went together like a hog and shit. You were perfect for the profession.

It takes some time for the boys to get use to you. You’re different, different from anything they’ve encountered and they’ve had their share of weird shit.

The moment you stepped foot off of the plane, Captain Price was the first one to greet you. Your stature was everything that thought it would be, in size and muscle—fat filling in all the right places. When you speak it feels like the earth rumbles beneath their feet, a voice that’s deep and carries a guttural, low, and gravely timbre.

You weren’t green which takes him by surprise, you look slightly more human albeit your inhuman features. Like the lower cainines that protrude from inside of your mouth like tusk, your lupine like ears that stand pointed at the ends as if you were some fairy, littered with many piercings, and your hellish build. Slanted eyes that boar a piercing red color that surely sent a small chill down the dragons spines.

You’re not what they expected. A hideous green tank, that drooled every time he spoke, an ignorant beer and pot bellied beast with balls for brains, a creature who thinks of nothing but food and breeding. A hideous man like beast who only plagued on about war and eating humans. He didn’t know much of the kind, but he has enough. Honestly Gaz thought your kind was completely wiped out.

Soap couldn’t say the same. He remembers the horrors his parents would tell him stories about when he was nothing but a wee lad. The stories of ogres and goblins alike, their sadistic tendencies and how they would ravage through villages in Scotland like nothing, eating anything in their wake and killing until there was nothing left. The moment he heard there was an orc joining their team, he couldn’t help the way his lip curled into a snarl—a growl of hatred tumbling past his lips. He was against it but he kept quiet.

Ghost would watch you from afar, slightly threatened by what he didn’t understand. You’re not ignorant, but a skilled soldier on and off the field. You listen to orders and do what you’re told quietly easily, you’re able to lead those underneath you like it’s a simple task. Ghost realizes that there is some sort of line that constantly blurs when it comes to man and beats with you and he understands. He watches that line fade on the field continuously.

#𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐗 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 — ( 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈 )#𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐌𝐖𝐈𝐈 : [ 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝟏𝟒𝟏 ]#𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 : ORC #cod monster au #captain price #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #top male reader

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luceafarul-de-dimineata · 3 days

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Due to my obsession with the devils from abbadon (Phenix is underrated). I DEMAND (kindly ask) you to hand over all your headcannons about them.

Since you're asking so politely, I shall give it to you

Abaddon headcanon (Tw: Abaddon)

Since Abaddon is THE sex dangeon of all of Hell, and you can see public sex everywhere, I think that the people in Abaddon don't have the concept of consent. Everyone already wants to fuck and doing it in public with strangers is just the norm, so if any Abaddon nobles got a boner they'll just get undressed and fuck you right then and there

If we want to get really dark, we could even say that cries for "stop" and "no" are just taken as dirty talk. You can't tell me someone in Abaddon isn't into cnc.

Asmodeus likes seing his subjects fuck so he invites his nobles over and uses his powers to get them to rail eachother for his entertainment. Who needs porn when you can just make two of your people fuck for you?

Weirdly enough, Abaddon demons are actually very interested in romance. Their king was the only one that had a wife and kids, so they can do more than just fuck

Even someone like Phenix can be quite romantic when Asmodeus is asleep or something.

When Paradise Lost first became the ER of hell, it was filled with Abaddon demons because a) they're neighbouring countries b) they try very dangerous stuff for sexual pleasure and it usually fails

Abaddon was the first to lose healthcare priveledges and that's why Asmodeus and Lucifer don't talk with eachother.

Now they only have Marbas as the countries doctor

Marbas used to be just a normal demon before he was assigned to Abaddon. Since he was exposed to more of Asmodeus' charm, he started acting more violent and horny, so Lucifer had to tie him up

Asmodeus' charm is kind of like nuclear energy, where, the longer you're exposed to it the worse the symptoms get. And then you end up like Phenix.

The noble with the most one night stands to his name is Ronové. You can randomly ask a devil what their experience with Ronové was like and they'll have a story about it

Asmodeus used to take Ronové to meetings with him as an assistent, but he kept talking about how beautiful amputated feet are so Asmodeus gags him now.

Masturbating is a form of prayer towards Asmodeus.

Asmodeus is autistic and his special interest is sex. He's also a strong believer in learning by doing

Phenix was Asmodeus' caretaker when Asmo was little and that's why he's the most affected by his charms.

Asmodeus is the only demon in Abaddon that you can have a conversation with that doesn't involve sex. He'll still flirt tho

Abaddon demons can heal by having sex, which is how Dantalian got his kink

He got really badly wounded and was about to die before Phenix fucked him and his wounds closed off enough that he could walk himself to Paradise Lost

In that sense, Abaddon demons are healers but only to other Abaddon demons

Abaddon is the top honey moon destination in Hell.

The country they're closest to is Avisos because they have similar views on sex.

Asmodeus is the only demon king that can go to the human world at will without any complications. Even Satan gets shit for leaving for half an hour, but Asmodeus could be gone for days and nobody would complain.

He's closest with Belphegor but only by proxy. They're not friends, but they don't hate eachother so that's a plus in his book

None of the other kings really like him because when Asmodeus wants something, he would do anything to get it. And I trully mean anything. Nobody trusts this charming little back stabber.

Asmodeus has a statue of his former lover in the royal garden. If anyone tried to touch it he would brake all the bones in their body. He sometimes just stares at it and laments her death

He wouldn't even let the decendent of Solomon touch it. That's his wife and you can go find another.

He still has the makeshift wedding ring on his finger and he plays with it when he's bored. When Dantalian was little he stole it to try and get in danger with Asmodeus, but he almost shat his pants when he saw the absolutely terrifing glare Asmo had on.

When there's no battles to be had, Phenix goes to Asmodeus's chambers and humps his leg like a bitch in heat. Asmo sometimes picks him up on his lap and jerks him off while he works.

He'd be on a phone call like "Don't worry about the screams, my dog's in heat."

All electronics in Abaddon are waterproof... or more specificly, cum proof.

Ok wow, fuck this was longer than expected and I still have some. Abaddon is my second favorite country and we'll see if it because the first by Christmas.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb abaddon #whb asmodeus #whb phenix #whb ronové #whb dantalian #whb marbas

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aforestescape · 3 days

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just read @ghouljams post about dating ghost vs dating simon and ugh. it’s 4:30 am but the worms

its far from the first argument you’ve had about this. your chest rising and falling with all the anger and hurt and betrayal you feel deep inside. sometimes it’s easier to hide than others. when ghost is a little more human. when he wraps his arms around you in the night it almost feels like comfort. like he’s holding you close to his heart and not just locking you away. keeping you in his embrace so you can’t escape when he’s not looking.

or the times when he comes back to your little apartment, a bouquet of flowers in hand he got from some lady selling them on the side of the road. tulips. they’re so pretty, you say as you thank him. setting them up in a vase with care and having them displayed on the kitchen table. the place where family comes at the end and beginning of the day to share warmth, laughter, and love. bonding over meals and stories about their days. it’s just too bad the tulips always die so fast. wilting away within days. dried out and falling pollen and leaves onto your table even though there’s still water in the vase.

kind of how your love feels these nights. like something that was once fruitful, that once had a chance to be something great. a nice facade on the surface that quickly gave way to days of loneliness. left to rot alone with your lover only a few steps away from you. and you knew he was rotted too. you knew all along but you thought he could be better. that maybe you’d be able to get away with loving him while he learned to love himself.

but that’s the problem. he doesn’t want to. he’s content like this if it means he doesn’t have to reach back inside, if it means he doesn’t have to look for simon within the darkness and bring him out to light again. besides, you’re his light. he found you and you gave it so freely so why should he let you get away?

you deserve better than him, he knows it. knows it by the way you sometimes stare at him with a hollow look in your eyes. by the tiredness in your voice whenever he pushes aside your desires for his own, by the acceptance of it. knows it when you’re having rows until the birds chirp in the early morning.

you only ever yell when you feel like you’re not being heard and lately it’s all you do. yell at him to just give. give you something, anything. a piece of him that you could understand. to lean on you for once instead of shouldering all the bullshit he’s dealt with in his life. telling him how he’s “so fucking selfish simon, i swear”, and he has to stop for a second to remember who simon is.

he’ll stand in the doorway whenever you’ve had enough. had enough of yelling and explaining your frustrations only for him to be nonchalant. to pass it off like what you’re saying and feeling doesn’t matter.

looming over your only chance of exit with his arms crossed over his chest. he always feels some sick, twisted satisfaction at the defeated look in your eyes. it hurts him to see you like this, really. hurts that he’s the one causing you pain but he can’t let you go. how’s he going to survive without you?

watching you with a detached expression as your face screws up. tears welling in your eyes as you storm out of the entry way and into the bathroom. slamming the door shut behind you and falling down to the floor. sobbing into your hands as he lets out a breath of relief. he’ll let you cry it out and sulk for a few days before having you back in love with him.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #aforestescape

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lou-struck · 1 day

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Your Special Day!

~ Obey Me x reader

Part 1 Featuring Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

~ They have so much planned for your birthday! But first, you have to wake up

a/n: I started this on my birthday yesterday so this is super self indulgent!

Lucifer~

For once, The workaholic demon managed to get a full night's sleep last night since he knew he would need to be at his best for your special day.

As the oldest brother, he invoked his authority over the others and told them that he would be the one who got the pleasure of waking you up this morning. To be the first to wish you a Happy Birthday.

So now, with absolutely nothing standing between him and you, he makes his way down the hallway. His steps are light, and your favorite morning beverage is in his hand.

Getting up to go across the Devildom to your favorite cafe was quite the feat, but it makes the Avatar of Pride smile to himself when he imagines your sweet face when you see the treat he got for you.

His (and everyone else's) goal for today is to make sure that big, beautiful smile of yours never leaves your face. Not even for a minute.

He quietly opens your door; his movements are careful, silent, as he stalks toward your bed, where you rest somewhere underneath the pile of tangled bedding, pillows, and stuffed animals.

He lets out a low chuckle at the silly site and sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly, but he can tell from the soft, even breaths you are letting out from beneath your pile of fluff, not enough to wake you.

His gaze is full of loving affection as he places your drink on the side table and begins to unbury you. Carefully placing each item neatly on the end of your bed.

Finally, he finds you. Your face is smushed into your pillow, and you are drooling slightly, but to him, you have never looked more adorable.

Gently, he reaches his hand out to brush a little white feather from one of your pillows off of your forehead. As much as he wants to let you rest, he knows you have a big day planned full of love, gifts, and spoiling that you just can't miss.

"Mc, wake up," He says softly. Leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You stir at the contact and blink sleepily.

When you see his stunning features just inches from your own, you sit up and rub the drowsiness and some gunk from your eyes. "Morning, Luci." You murmur, sleep still lacing your vocal cords.

Lucifer smiles and reaches for the drink. When you see the familiar cup the look of joy on your face is better than anything he imagined. "Happy Birthday, Little Lamb

Mammon~

Of course, he gets to be the one to wake you up on your Birthday.

He is Your First, after all.

Mammon was so excited to get to you this morning, he forgot to change out of his pajamas. He's down the hallway in a blur. His inhuman speed swishing past the long curtains. He only pauses to take a breath once he is outside your door.

He reaches for the knob but pulls back slightly to gingerly pat the pocket of his pajama bottoms. When he feels the small box inside, he relaxes a bit and lets himself inside.

When he sees the way you're sleeping, he quickly covers his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Sometime during the middle of the night, you must've shifted in your sleep. Because now you are sprawled horizontally across the mattress, your blankets are pooled on the floor under you and your pillows rest untouched at the top of the bed as your head rests in a not-so-comfortable position.

Despite his poor attempt at being quiet, you seem to wake up. Twisting over, you lift your head up from the edge of the mattress to look at the avatar of greed.

"MC! He says with a start, a light blush appearing on his tan cheeks, "I didn't mean to wake ya like that."

"It's okay," you smile, reaching out your hand and making a grabby hand gesture to tell him to come closer.

"You humans are so clingy," he chuckles, more than happy to oblige. He lays down on the bed next to you, and you wrap your arms around him. Despite having no blankets on your bed, it still feels warm and cozy.

"You love it," you tease, burrowing your face into his chest. "it's my birthday."

"I know," He says, reaching for the little gift box in his pocket. "Did ya really think The Great Mammon would forget about yer birthday?"

He takes the box out for you to see and hands it to you. You look a bit confused as you undo the slightly squashed little gold bow on top.

Once the knot is undone, you open the box to reveal a beautiful golden chain. Your smile makes the demon's heart melt as you express your gratitude for the lovely gift first thing in the morning.

As you wrap your arms around him once more, Mammon hides his satisfied smile in your neck. Because he knows there are more surprises in store for you today.

And he is willing to bet a decent amount of Grimm that you were going to love the next surprise even more than this one.

Leviathan~

Levi is mid-daydream as he walks towards your room with a spring in his step. A bundle of enchanted balloons bobbing behind him, bumping into each other with a happy little bonking sound

Recently, the Otaku saw a scene in a romance anime where it was the love interest's Birthday, and the main character woke them up by filling their room with balloons and he is so excited to try it out on you.

Maybe he can make you blush even harder than the love interest did?

Just thinking about it makes steam come out of his ears as his brain short circuits just outside your door.

"Okay, Levi, you've got this. You have to make today special for Mc," he whispers to himself. "Just be cool. Just be cool.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his pant legs as he takes one more calming breath. Determination flashes in his amber eyes as he lets himself into your bedroom.

He can't tell if he is just imagining it, but you look like you are glowing. Your Birthday really suits you. You look so good; in fact, Levi's confidence disappears, and his knees buckle; he stumbles forward a few steps, his ankle catches the leg of your dress, and he hits your bedroom floor with a thud.

The large bunch of balloons in his hands scatter, and he wants to curl up into a ball and disappear.

The loud thump of Levi hitting the ground wakes you, but as dozens of enchanted balloons seem to rise up from nowhere, you are mesmerized by the sight. You gasp in amazement as they reflect the moonlight that shines through your windows.

Levi, noticing the wonder-filled smile on your face, feels relief blossoming in his chest.

Maybe he didn't completely blow it?

"Levi, that was incredible," you say, noticing the Avatar of Envy on the floor. The balloons still floating around you peacefully.

His cheeks heat up as he carefully gets to his feet, "J-just like I planned." he smiles. "Happy Birthday, Mc."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer x reader #levi x reader #mammon x reader

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madaqueue · 1 day

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conversations about love

synopsis: as a psychology researcher, your job is to understand the most complex human emotion: love

pairing: choso kamo x gn!reader

a/n: i am...not...doing....good ....anyways here's some sad fluff i wrote in 30 minutes bc i am tormented !

“what does love mean to you?”

your voice is clear as the sound echoes across the room, the question one you had grown accustomed to asking. over the past year you’ve posed it more times than you could count, now a routine part of your research work, striving to better understand the psychology of human emotion. as participant after participant entered your office you always began the interview the same, letting them take the lead on defining one of the most complex feelings the soul can experience.

your current participant, a man named choso kamo, sits across from you, his leg bouncing nervously as his shoes hit the dark green carpet of the interview room. his gaze shifts from yours down to his lap, absentmindedly picking at his nails while the question hangs in the air.

“i think,” he takes in an uneven breath, “i think love means sacrifice.”

tilting your head slightly you write his response in your notebook, hiding any reaction you may have, a skill you’ve been forced to develop as you’ve been working in this field. hearing innumerable answers to this question, choso’s evokes a pause, a novel and deeply personal confession.

“oh?” you hum, implicitly prodding for more.

your eyes are on him as he leans back into the couch, tilting his head and looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought. the sound of the overhead lights buzzing fills the space as he contemplates.

“i think love means being willing to do anything, give anything, for the people you care about,” he follows, his voice deep, soft.

another momentary silence falls between you two. “do you love anyone?”

at the question, one that is nothing more than a standard part of the interview to you, he freezes, breath catching in his throat. it was a necessary one to ask, imperative to investigate how each person views their own relationships with others, but choso nonetheless struggles to articulate a response with the weight of it. tilting his head down he finally makes eye contact with you, his dark irises deep set with tiredness.

“yes,” he states softly. “i love my brother.”

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips at the endearing sincerity. “tell me about him.”

a new steadiness enters his body, his eyes now focused on yours as a soft grin forms across his face. “his name is yuji,” he begins. “he’s a few years younger than me, and i’ve been taking care of him for a while now. he’s in highschool, and he’s gotta be the smartest kid i know.”

you can’t help but grin yourself as his adoration flows. “what do you love about him?”

his smile continues to grow, warmth encompassing his body at the opportunity to share his fondness for his brother. “he’s kind, and strong, a-and he inspires me to be better.”

“and how do you know that you love him?”

“because i would sacrifice everything for him,” he answers without a second of hesitation. glancing up from your notes you see a conviction behind his eyes, a reassurance that he completely and wholeheartedly would.

“do you think he loves you?”

again, a routine question, but something flashes across choso’s mind as he hears it - the tiniest, most hesitant, shred of doubt.

“i hope so,” he breathes truthfully.

something in you, some very human part, wants to reach out and hold him, to cradle his tenderness between your arms. instead, you offer him a smile, one he returns genuinely. you find yourself hesitating as you prepare your final question, not yet wanting your time with choso to end.

“do you think he knows that you love him?”

with a tired smile, his gaze softens. “i hope he does.”

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genderkoolaid · 4 hours

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expand on ur "mental asylum Marxism shit" thing about children & grief?? from what you've said im pretty sure i will relate from my own experiences as a grieving child. also it sounds interesting!!

so i was thinking about how weird it is that, when a child has to deal with the death of a loved one, they say something like "no child should have to go through this! no child should have to even think about death!" which strikes me as weird because i was a child who dealt with the deaths of multiple close family members, very close together. the first was my great-grandmother, who i lived with and who was my best friend. death was never foreign to me (my mom has always been very death-positive on top of all that). grief was just part of my life like everything else was.

but i realized that its because people think childhood should not have any flaws. you should be 100% happy and fulfilled all the time. any time a child experiences anything painful, its bad. not "children should have access to love and support," but "children should not have basic life experiences because the idea of childhood being anything other than fluffy purity scares me."

because children in society are fundamentally not people. especially in a society structured around christian beliefs in natural law theory, that what is natural = what is good, healthy, and Divinely commanded. so on top of children being the property of adults, they are also forced to be the symbols of Nature. whatever is the most useful to whoever needs them. which means we built up this idea of children as tabula rasas, pureness incarnate. like a magic mirror where if we look into it, we'll be able to catch a glimpse of the true face of humanity. every single thing children do can be scrutinized for some grand truth about humans as a whole. and then, the ways children are treated also reflect how we think humanity should interact with its own nature.

example: the idea of humanity as inherently sinful and wicked, with that urge needing to be suppressed through state violence (hello hobbes) = the idea that children are annoying and shitty on purpose and need to be forced via punishment into being Good Citizens.

this is also why children cannot be trans, even though all trans people must prove that we were trans children. being queer must be unnatural; and even if not, its inherently sexual, and sexuality is dirty and bad. so children can't be trans, and they also can't read books on puberty until their parents decide when and what exactly they are allowed to learn. child victims of sexual assault only matter to the extent that they can be used as a symbol of a cultural threat; calling Jewish or trans people pedophiles means saying that they are foreigners attacking basic human nature, and indirectly, Divine command. if you aren't the right kind of victim, or when you inevitably reveal yourself to be A Person with complicated experiences and opinions, you are no longer of use to the agenda.

it sucks that bad things happen to anyone. aspects of youth can exacerbate the pain sometimes, but sometimes it does the reverse: I wish I could have spent more time with the family members I lost, but I know other people who are glad they loss family members young, because they weren't really hurt by it. I think the main thing is that, even sometimes when we talk about our past selves, we project this cultural idea of Child As Purity and ignore the actual person having the experience. when we "empathize" with children by projecting Purity onto them, we aren't actually connecting with them.

#m.#ask box #csa tw #youthlib

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soracities · 2 days

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how do you cope with knowing that you gave your whole heart to someone for so many years and they chose someone else? i loved her for over ten years and we were together for four of those years but she's getting married in two weeks. i don't know how to forgive myself for loving her so much and i don't know what to do with all the love that's left.

i don't believe you need to forgive yourself for giving love to another person. giving love isn't a wrong you need to correct, and it implies the relationship you once had was never worth anything to begin with, which is deeply unfair to both of you and disregards the reality and sincerity of the love you did feel when you were together. i don't think you need to recall the love you gave, i think you need to look at why you believe being the honest version of yourself was the wrong thing to do: why do you need to forgive yourself for being you? why do you need to scrub yourself of your past to be worthy of a future moving forwards? why do you think the only version of yourself worthy of anything is the one you were with her and cannot be without her, with someone else?

at the end of the day, love isn't bookeeping. it's not a tally of incoming and outgoing expenses, or a series of investments you need to account for and justify based on if x was a bad transaction or y turned a nice profit etc. you respond, at any given moment, in any given relationship, with the love you have at that point, with the way you know how to give it at that point. sometimes this will allign with whomever you're with; sometimes what they need and what you can give, what you need and what they can give, will be one and the same and feed and nourish the other. and sometimes it won't--but that doesn't mean it's a moral failing on your part as a human being. sometimes, things simply will not fit any longer and i think it is vitally important for you to realise that someone who cannot reciprocate your feelings or the extent of them is, ultimately, not the person for you no matter how deeply you felt (or still feel) they were The One. that feeling has to be mutual to be true, and you haven't failed at being a person if it isn't.

heartbreak is different for everyone and there is no set timeline for moving on from somebody--all the love that's left over requires different outlets for different people so i don't know of any surefire way of dealing with it. but i do believe you won't find the outlet that you most need as long as you keep holding on to what you lost and all the ways you think you failed, or weren't good enough or the litany of if onlys that promise an alternate ending if only you'd done or been different. you cannot will yourself into a different ending for a past that has already happened, and no amount of keeping that past on life support will change this. all that love that remains is painful because it has nowhere to go, but the person you love isn't the only place it was ever destined for, either--i think love is receptive and dynamic and has a capacity to bloom into countles different things if you let it. but it cannot do this unless you begin to loosen your grip on it and allow yourself to find something other than loss or a condemnation of your entire being in it; otherwise it will continue to have nowhere to go and in the meantime only grow heavier and heavier. but once you let go of what was and what you wish had been, what you had finally takes different forms as a result of that new freedom--it becomes new awarenesses or new lessons or opens up new paths and understandings for yourself. it becomes knowledge, becomes tools, becomes something you can actually use in your life going forward to shape it in a more fulfilling and healthier way for yourself: but you have to let go for that change and learning to take place, without seeking to erase it or shame yourself for it not turning out the way you wanted.

clichéd as it sounds at this point, the only thing i really hold to, in anything, is that all rejection is redirection. and if you are able to love and give so boundlessly to someone who ultimately wasn't the right fit for you, then allow yourself to imagine how much and how vibrantly you can give to the person who is the right fit. what will your life look like when you allow yourself the opportunity to find the right pair of hands for that love? what will your life look like when you give that love back to yourself? when you let go of what isn't and cannot be and let new air into those old, locked rooms? when you stop trying to shame yourself for your care and your generosity? painful as it is, you won't be able to clear any space forward for yourself as long as you hold on to whatever you feel you lost: you can't go back to the relationship you had with her and for as long as you keep revisiting it you're only digging a deeper and more painful hole for yourself that will be harder to get out of in the end: you will remain stuck, while everyone else moves forward, and that will make you feel even more hopelessly stuck and the cycle repeats.

i'm not saying it's easy; it will be unspeakably painful to fully accept and admit that this is, truly, over and turn your back on what has been, i'm sure, a formative part of your life. but you can't grow there--you won't grow there, anon. and if you want a way forward for yourself, you have to go all the way through it. it sucks. it's not fair. but condemning any and all of your future happiness for a situation you can't change is not fair, either: you won't earn anything for this suffering except more suffering. and you need to realise this

so if pain in this process is inevitable, you may as well choose the pain that will get you somewhere. if she's moving on, you owe it to yourself--for your own sake, no one else's--to do so too.

i don't know if any of this helps, but please know i'm sending you love and rooting for you that the journey through this will lead you to a healthier, happier, and more fulfilling place, anon.

#ask #Anonymous #notes from elsewhere

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causalityparadoxes · 5 hours

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Interesting that the Doctor says his adopted family is the reason he uses a title. Except thats not quite true is it?

Sure they are stuffy aristocrats who love ranks and titles but Tecteun, Rassilon, Borusa, Romana, Pandad, Andred, Rodan, Darkel, Flavia, and practically every other non-renegade timelord (and even some renegades like Drax) still use regular (if not human) names.

But you know who does often use titles? THE GODS. Those from before or beyond the universe's constraints. The Toymaker, The Guardians, The Maestro, The Trickster, The The Beast, The One Who Waits, The Gods of Ragnarok, The Entity, etc. Even those with 'names' often have descriptive ones like Time or Swarm.

Is it really the Doctor's adopted family that made them identify with titles? Or is it perhaps traces of their 'birth family' peaking through?

More than anything I just want to know if RTD is going anywhere with this. Did he just need a quick way to get new audiences on board with calling the main character the Doctor? Or does it mean something.

#this is not particularly researched btw i am just grasping at straws because rtd BESTIE what are you on about with this #i am on board with eldritch horror doctor tho :)#doctor who #dw spoilers #spoilers #dr who #season 14 #series 14 #fifteenth doctor #15th doctor #dw meta #dw speculation #the timeless child #timelords #space babies #also the doctor started of the renegade title game by calling themself the other. i said what i said

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marieisnothere12 · 2 days

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Sunday HSR Analysis

“People often forget that when the first bird took flight, the entire world envisioned a future where… No more fledglings would ever crash to their death.”

Hsr 2.2 spoilers 👇

I think Sunday values security and safety above all. Robin tells him he doesn’t need to do everything and not relax and we also see how much he does. He’s kind of like a pastor (or preacher idk the difference) hearing ppls confessions. Sunday is definitely seen as the perfect person. A responsibile, talented, brother than handles everything. Sunday’s main internal conflict is him not being sure he’s doing the right thing. He’s trying to persuade himself that he’s just trying protect people (but mainly Robin ig). And as Aventurine’s Future says something along the lines of:

“To deceive others, you must first deceive yourself.”

I think there are multiple parallels between the two. They both value security (or a false sense of it), deceive others, and in a way, gamble. Sunday’s plan of teaming up with Ratio and getting the “aventurine” stone. His questions with the Trailblazer, Himeko, March, and Firefly were pretty risky if you ask me. And like Aventurine, has questionable ways of achieving their goals. He believes he’s doing the right, and more importantly, necessary things to keep Penacony up and running. His drive isn’t principle like he suggests at the beginning, but need.

When Welt, Sunday, and Robin talk to the Dreammaster, he speculates that they do not worship the Harmony but the Order and Sunday confirms this. He says:

“We were never the children of the Harmony… Within the foundation of law, humanity establishes civilization. And through Harmony, we obtain Order.”

This makes a lot of sense. Sunday’s truth spell doesn’t match the belief of the Harmony very well. It’s very forceful as we can see with Aventurine’s interrogation. Since we now know it’s the Order, his power matches that path perfectly. I mean, he’s a control freak like Ena the Order.

Furthermore, he keeps bringing up the bird story and it dying. When he tells Himeko, March, Firefly, and the Trailblazer the story, he asks them:

“…build a nest with a soft net where the Charmony Dove fell? Or build a cage for it, and feed it, giving it the utmost care from within the warmth of a home?”

March chooses to build a cage and protect it

Himeko chooses to build a cage and protect it

Firefly chooses to build a cage and protect it

The Trailblazer chooses to build a nest.

He then asks another question, the Trailblazer chooses the opposite of what Sunday chose.

Sunday then asked the third and final question.

“Would you still support Robin’s journey on the path of Harmony?”

The Trailblazer says yes.

Let me ask you this: How much can you blame Sunday? He wants protection, for himself and others. That’s why he follows the Order. He believes that you need force to have preace. Sunday wants to unite people under the Order.

But every planet that followed the Order shined bright but burned just as quickly.

He thinks his sister is naïve for following the Harmony and getting that bullet injury, but I would argue Sunday is just as naïve as her. None of the planets that worshipped Ena the Order succeeded in the long term. But the thing about Sunday that makes his naïveté worse than Robin’s, who is less naïve and more idealistic, is his arrogance and ignorance. Sunday is constantly reassuring himself he is a follower of the Order for the sake of Penacony and the Dreamscape.

I think Sunday’s view on humanity is pessimistic (as put in the hsr wiki) bc he detaches himself from. When he talks about, well anything in 2.2 it gives very “i’m a god and you pitiful humans are doomed.” However, he still genuinely wants to help people. I think this god-like stance is a bluff, a facade. We know from the Robin and Sunday cutscene that Sunday believes he has the be the one person that protects everyone, the person who suffers for everyone else. He has to put on a face that says “dw I got it.” Sunday thinks that he has and always will be the reliable one. He emotionally distances himself from everyone else to “see the big picture.”

When Sunday asks why does life slumber, the Trailblazer answers:

“Because someday…we will wake up from our dreams.”

This shocks Sunday. And if i’m being perfectly honest. I don’t really know exactly why. Maybe because he realizes that people (and himself) need to stop indulging into escapism. He may also be reminded he’s human. He isn’t perfect and his ideals aren’t the right solution for humanity.

And he replies:

“The night is still…too short…”

Sunday still wants to dream of something (or reminisce the past?). I’m not sure we gotta wait for him to be playable.

Before that Robin says:

“Even if that star… must hang in a perpetual night of solitude”

So that might also mean he thinks he deserves being alone or doing everything :((( this is a stretch tho

Robin also says:

“Brother… the weakness of humanity cannot be redeemed by others. Stop it… You want to achieve the paradise we promised but the Order is not the only choice! True happiness and the meaning life lie in defying Nihility and embracing all that life offers!”

Sunday wants to solve other peoples problems and humanity’s weakness

He might be nihilistic :((

He’s lonely :(

To close, Sunday doesn’t have bad motives but his execution is pretty questionable. The Order is more about control than anything (Ena and Sunday are both control freaks).

I love Sunday sm <333

#sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday #hsr #honkai star rail #Honkai star rail Sunday #sunday analysis #Charactet analysis #Hsr 2.2 #honkai star rail 2.2

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ooorgeorge · 2 days

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DR. GATLIN HAYES— a horrible character sheet/visual guide

unfortunately, i am not someone who knows how to compose character sheets that well. I was gonna make this way different than it turned out to be but. oh well. Here is Dr. Hayes, beloved Foundation Psychiatrist and comforting shoulder to many!

specifics and better explanations under the cut! hopefully this makes sense.

(click to see full + better quality images)

Basically, SCP-963-Y is a vengeful, shapeshifting angel (or used to be an angel, at least, more-so a flesh chunk of the angel) that has been locked and bound to a box. It hates humans with a fiery passion and, if let out under uncontrolled conditions, can and will reassemble itself by all means necessary and attempt to destroy the entire human race. The angel is the reason why various “myths” like dragons and other beasts exist, as the angel took on various forms similar to attempt to scare humanity into a corner to kill them all. So in a sense, those myths were real.

Anywho. The way the foundation examines the SCP is that they bring in SCP-963-X, which is Hayes, and they get her to open the box and allow the angel to use her body to take up its forms. Then, once everything is recorded if need be, the angel is shoved back inside the box.

This strip of images addresses what happens when Hayes doesn’t notice a blob of flesh belonging to the box angel that hides from him. It will attempt to install the same changes that it would as a complete entity, only to have the changes be minimal. However, these changes are noticeable. This is bad for the foundation because the whole experimentation thing is supposed to be kept secret. Therefore, Hayes will attempt to hide anything weird using articles of clothing!:

the scarf he wears daily can transform into a “hood.

Gloves can cover the hands

Sunglasses and surgical masks can cover the face.

If the changes are more mass scale entire-body changes, she’ll have to wear a coat. Usually, at this stage she will call in sick or just not show up at all and hold virtual sessions with her people instead. The foundation basically told her to “do whatever is needed to keep this stuff a secret from others.” so yeah! This is their attempt to do so.

Thats all i can think of right now! please be nice to my son.! thanyou

#scp foundation #scp oc #scp doctors #scp fandom #hayes #mythos masquerade #mythorade #mm #scp #scp 963 #963 rewrite #bright rewrite

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 2 days

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I had to share a blorbo w you cause I know you’d see my vision OKAY. Whumpee. Magic whumpee.Whumpee, a magic user, is captured and kept unconscious for months via strong bliss inducing sedatives, their magic drained periodically. When discovered by a caretaker, they are frail, unconscious, and when they wake up, disoriented. Caretaker grabs them and runs but whumpee is barely conscious and not used to anything other than the temperature controlled room where everything felt hazy and safe, being jostled and put in the cold

I need someone to understand the horror, of A, delirious whumpee not understanding what’s going on, after being awake for the first time in months. B, withdrawals. C. The feeling of helplessness, shame, and weakness that comes from the experience. Plus the human trophy aspect???

Oh my LORD do I see the vision!!!

I really, really like this idea. A gilded cage, a captivity designed to be as inoffensive as possible. It feels almost more dehumanizing than your more typical captivity because it highlights how little whumpee matters outside of their magic. Whumper doesn’t even care enough to see them suffer.

Speaking of Whumper, I feel like they could be really interesting! What are their feelings towards Whumpee. Why this method?

Was it fear? A whumper who’s equally part in awe and terrified of Whumpee’s power. A whumper who sees whumpee like an exotic animal, equal parts awe-inspiring and deadly. So they use the drugs to contain whumpee, leaving them as harmless as a housecat. Defanged, harmless, safe. It’s only then, with whumpee’s body too burdened with drugs to resist, that Whumper dares to touch their prize.

Or maybe it’s out of devotion. They see whumpee as a god, something to be worshiped and coveted, something worthy of the world’s greatest comforts. And what is a greater comfort than freedom of choice? So they bind whumpee with gentle hands, testing them with the utmost care. Tending to their body with revere, keeping their mind in a blissful unconsciousness. They’re harnessing whumpee’s power as they believe their god would wish it, and whumpee doesn’t have to lift a finger.

Or maybe it’s simple efficiency. It’s just easier, logically. Whumper doesn’t care about whumpee besides their magic, and thus they reduce them to nothing but their magic. Whumpee is a battery for them, not a person. It’s simply easier to keep them drugged and compliant.

I really like thinking about the brief moments where Whumpee’s consciousness is able rise to the surface. The brief flashes of clarity between doses. Whumpee’s eyes focusing for a moment, mind only clear enough to have the vaguest notion that something is wrong. Only aware enough for their eyes to meet Whumper’s and question who they are.

It’s never enough. Their limbs are always too heavy to move, their mind too foggy to make sense of their situation. Their captor too vigilant to allow the light in their eyes to linger before snuffing it out again. Whumper’s always ready with another dose, sending bliss into Whumpee’s veins and dragging them back down.

And the rescue! I gotta tell you, I’m always here for whumpee being disoriented and drugged while being rescued. But I feel like we so often default to a confused terror, with Whumpee believing their rescuer means to harm them. I think the total opposite end of the spectrum is really underexplored!

Just! Caretaker finally finds Whumpee after spending so long searching for them. They expected them to be weak, to be hurt and terrified. They were prepared for it, as much as the thought of someone so powerful being brought so low scared them.

They don’t expect to be greeted with a smile. They don’t expect to find Whumpee blissed out of their mind, babbling nonsense with a grin and nothing behind their eyes. Whumpee barely reacts to Caretaker’s presence, gaze passing through them even as Caretaker grips their shoulders. There’s no recognition in Whumpee’s eyes. No recognition of Caretaker, no recognition of their situation. Nothing, and it makes Caretaker sick.

And I just think it’s so creepy! The contrast between the tense situation and whumpee’s response, whumpee’s sheer inability to recognize what’s happening around them. There’s no tearful reunion, no pleading, nothing that would make sense. Caretaker feels like Whumpee is miles away, even as they press Whumpee to their chest.

When it comes to the recovery, one big point sticking in my head is Whumpee’s emotional response to the whole ordeal. We gotta consider that Whumpee is a powerful magic user. They’re used to protecting others, being the one people ask for help. They likely took pride in it on some level, maybe were even a bit cocky at the power they had at their fingertips.

And now that’s just gone. Now they can’t even stand without help, muscles deteriorated after months of inactivity. They can’t go an entire day without a nap, can’t stop their hands from shaking. The magic that once came so easily to them now burns, their power still exhausted weeks after captivity.

They hate it. They hate how easily controlled they’d been. Mind clear for the first time in months, they can’t help but recall their captivity. Recall all the moments that, if only they’d been stronger, they could’ve escaped. Recall that they hadn’t wanted to escape, how they’d felt nothing but lazy, warm contentment. Tamed and leashed and controlled like some pet monster, and having been happy in their captivity. Whumpee can only look back with disgust.

It’s about the wounded pride! It’s about Whumpee experiencing fear for the first time in years, suddenly feeling so weak and vulnerable after being powerful for so long. It’s about the shame whenever they need help, whenever Caretaker looks at them with worry in their eyes.

It’s about the realization that they’re not untouchable. That it could happen again, and they might not be able to save themselves.

#excuse me while i proceed to be insane about this #whumpee #caretaker #whumper #magical whump #magical whump my beloved #an ask tag #whump #captivity whump

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hadesoftheladies · 1 day

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“that’s just war” is what i keep getting told. women get raped and butchered? that’s just war. children get bombed and buried? that’s just war. when i read stories of the hamas hostages and the frustration and pain of jewish families caught up in the war, what do online politics offer? “that’s just war.” that’s just the price of resistance. when i tell my dad while watching the news on palestine “thousands more children were bombed by israeli forces this week” all he can say is “that’s just war.” if a man pointed a gun at you wouldn’t you want to have a gun, too?

were the allied soldiers better than the nazis? depends on who you ask. they bombed, raped, sabotaged the planes of women in their own army. nazis were terrible. did that make allied soldiers saints? we weep for the mass graves in 20th century concentration camps across the world. then when we grow up we learn that those black and white photos were actually grey all along. the victims had also victimized others. male prisoners could rape as the soldiers did.

“ignore war men will be men” some women say. “they’ll find a way to keep killing each other. let them have at it.” is it feminist action to bask in our own self righteousness as women? do people sleeping while sirens go off in their city have any choice other than to wake up and run? can they ignore such a thing?

where should i stand? will the white women online help me if their president ordered a siege of my country? my country’s history is riddled with blood. the resistance gave me freedom. I can walk on my own land. go to school and own a car. I can dress myself without dressing a white mistress first. I can farm for myself and not for some smelly englishman. that’s good, isn’t it? but they also killed scores of setttlers, the resistance. they raped white women and girls. slaughtered white children and dumped their bodies in pits for their husbands and fathers to find. wasn’t that bad? but wasn’t it the black kikuyu children and women that bent their backs over white fields? wasn’t it the white people who put them in camps and exacted harsh curfews. didn’t white men shove broken glass up black detainee’s private parts? which white women came to free them? didn’t they laugh at the same racist jokes as their husbands did? didn’t she smile and pour tea for him as he told her about work? didn’t she love having such a wide sprawling estate? wasn’t that bad?

“so you stand with the evil black men that raped white women just because they could? you think their rape served a purpose?” no, but— “so you stand with white women who were okay ordering your people to be shipped, slaughtered and starved?” no! these questions are like asking me which bullet i’d prefer to be shot with. the answer is i don’t want to die. i am not comforted by the rape of women or by the enslavement of my people. why would either be something i want?

what this all is, ultimately, is a question the entitled never like to hear. in regard to the oppression of women by men, blacks by whites, the indigenous by the colonial, the one question at the heart of it all is this:

who has the right to self defense?

why is the woman that killed her rapist jailed? why is the slave that killed his master himself killed? by what means and to what extent do we rule an act of violence as self-defense or something monstrous?

the answer is even more uncomfortable: to the extent that we view the aggressor as human.

it’s not an answer that really solves anything. it doesn’t change what happens in war. it won’t stop any war.

but in these scenarios, my way has been to accept that there is rarely such a thing as moral purity in a human, and for this reason, our default attitude may need to be humility, the acceptance that we can be hypocrites. that we aren’t exempt from tragedy or more special than another life. that we’re as alike as we are different, even if we may not be equally guilty of certain acts. because if we are open to the humanity and dignity of the life of others (and I do extend this to animals as well, because they have the capacity to suffer and the will to live), we are bound to be less prone to repeat the cruelties we decry.

and maybe that’s more of a solution than a neat, easy answer or a casual dismissal like “that’s just war” might be.

#radblr #war #mine #free palestine #anti zionism #pro jewish #anti imperialism #free congo #free sudan #tigray #free haiti

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moodymisty · 10 hours

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I mean you got anything sweet for Blood Angels...

Though my brain keeps jumping to Flesh Tearers but I feel like that's just me trying to get myself to write for Flesh Tearers (and Lamenters)

(Rambling idea below)

I mean lets be honest Blood Angels are ultimate predators for humans... being so handsome I mean Sanguinius was often called ethereal and other worldly with his beauty. So of course his sons are handsome and all so well bred for the arts... easy to lure in many humans to just listen to their prose or see their paintings.

Just don't show up during your period because suddenly a lot of the poetry is about blood or blood adjacent... they can't seem to find the right red paint... and why do so many of them look at you like they are dying of thirst?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Do I have something for Blood Angels- BOY DO I! Enjoy! I didn't exactly do your idea but I've had this plot in my head for weeks and wanted to use it and you're ask was the only one that let me /sob Not my best work by far, but I hope you enjoy.

Relationships: Unnamed Blood Angel/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Oral, Period blood kink/menstrual kink that type of stuff, Is this too weird? maybe I dunno you guys all seem like freaks so hopefully this will go over well? If not I can just return to my dungeon

"Why are we going this way?"

This is a long way around, though some of the Red Tear's maintenance areas. He doesn't answer you however, and with disgruntlement you let the question lie as you return to more civilized parts of the Red Tear.

This whole interaction has been odd, since he had picked you up to escort you back from your duties. Normally he doesn’t act like this; He's stoic and lacks a good bit of emotion yes, but you almost feel as if now he’s taking you to your execution.

"I thought you were missing,"

You had jokingly said, walking closer to him. This planet had been pleasant enough after the Blood Angels brought it under the Imperium, but you're quite eager to return to Terra. Or at least the Red Tear.

He ignored your little comment and stepped closer, but you noticed his face change when he got close enough to touch you. His body became more rigid, and you furrowed your brow as you looked up at him.

"Are you ok?" You say as he clears his throat and nods stiffly. "Yes. We should return to the Red Tear. Our work here is done."

You look up at him again try and get any sort of hint as to how he's feeling, but he only has that same, stiff expression; Though slightly more irritated than usual.

You round yet another corner to see a group of freshly armored Blood Angels leaving one of the armoring rooms. They all perk up at the sight of you, staring at you like something fierce. You get more than a bit uncomfortable under their gaze, until your supposed guardian grabs your arm and swiftly pulls you down the hall past them. He glares at them to keep their distance, and you grab at his gauntlet to try and relieve some of the pressure. You're arm is in pain from how tight he's pulling you along, until you stop in front of a room he opens.

It's not your own, so you presume it's his. He shoves you inside.

"Stay here."

As a diplomat you technically reside outside the command structure of the Blood Angels, but no one in their right mind would disobey an astartes. Especially one that is looking at you with such fire in his eyes. He turns to leave, but your sudden question makes him turn towards you again.

"What is all this? Why are you-" He grabs you tight at the shoulder, and you gasp in pain as the force of it pins you to the wall.

"Why do you smell like blood?"

You pull at his hand and grimace in pain, and at his oddly specific question.

"What? It's just normal, It's that time of the-" He lightly shakes your shoulder and despite speaking relatively quiet, his voice still hits you in the chest with out seething it sounds.

"Every one of my brothers on this ship can smell you. You're lucky I got to you before one of them did."

Even if they did, why does he speak of it like something would happen? Like he avoided it for a reason? He's talking as if you would be in danger if they found you, for something seemingly so simple.

“What would happen if they did?”

You quietly question, watching the expression on his face instantly change. He looks conflicted, like he’s nearly lost in thought. For awhile you think you may not even get an answer from him, until you finally see his lips shift.

“I, assume you’ve heard mutterings of a curse in your time here.”

You have vaguely- even he had cursed it once. At the time you'd assumed it some sort of unfamiliar swear or perhaps just an odd phase adopted by Blood Angels, and so you'd paid it little mind other than the initial confusion. When you hesitantly nod, he continues.

“The curse is real. It has changed our legion. And,” You figure he’s about to speak a secret he shouldn’t to someone like you, so you stay quiet.

“It makes the smell of blood, tempting.” He continues. “It sates a hunger only we Blood Angels possess, and keeps us from going raving mad.”

He quiets, and you feels his gauntlets shift on your shoulders. He changes the subject to something adjacent; You assume he probably feels guilt for confessing a chapter secret to you.

“You’re not hurt?” He says confusedly. You aren’t particularly surprised he knows little about such things, though explaining it to him in this state would take far too long and be far too unfruitful.

“No. I'm fine.” He hums. You think you hear him mumble about hearing such a thing from somewhere, a woman's illness, and the comment would make you laugh if he wasn't looming down on you so intensely.

“Very well.” He shifts his jaw a bit, the scars along it shifting. He seems to have run out of things to say, though it also seems like he can't pull himself away from you. His throat and jaw are tightly wound, like he's holding something back.

“You want some… Don’t you?”

He seems surprised oddly enough; Perhaps by your bluntness and stupidity. Many legions would not take kindly to you assuming things about them, but Blood Angels are remarkably kinder. He is remarkably kinder.

“I," He grimaces. "I would owe you a great deal. Our superiors look at those with the Red Thirst as little more than a danger.”

The Blood Angels have been nothing but kind to you, in their own way. To even just be on the Red Tear is a safety and security you couldn’t repay.

It helps that it's him; You haven't ventured far around the Blood Angels ship alone, and you shamefully feel yourself beginning to get attached. If this curse can be sated by something so seemingly menial to you, then you have no reason to refuse.

“Ok.”

You move to take off your pants hands shaking just barely in nervousness, as he drops to his knee with one heavy thud. The sound startles you, just as your pants fall to the floor.

Once they’re off, and just your underwear remains, you hesitate for a moment. His stare is so intense, and you don't know how to describe it other than hungry. Given what he's told you, it makes perfect sense.

After what feels like and eternity of you being frozen, you finally manage to regain enough control to peel your underwear away. He viscerally reacts to the presumably iron filled scent, and the sight of blood against your now bare skin.

You see the way the knot in his throat bobs just above the black skinsuit beneath his armor.

With a speed that has you almost letting out a scream he grips your hips pulls them forward enough that the angle feels precarious, but he has a solid enough grip that leaves no chance of you falling. He throws your right leg over his shoulder next to open your thighs, your foot pressing against the front of his jetpack.

He hesitates for a moment, and you look away from the sheer intensity of his expression before you feel his hot breath on your skin.

You feel the moment he finally takes a taste and you can barely hold in a whimper, it coming out a tiny squeak as you feel the way his hands shift and tighten against your hips. Any hesitation he had is gone near instantly, as he presses his mouth against your cunt.

His armored hands grip at your hips with a strength that makes you ache and fear bruises, easily keeping your legs spread with minimal effort as his tongue laps at your folds. You can see the blood smear across his face, though he pays no mind. He acts as if this is the first meal he's had in ages, or the last he'll ever have.

But while perhaps your pleasure might not be at the forefront of his mind in his quite literal bloodlust, the way his tongue slips between your folds and teases you still makes shivers go up your spine. Your hands grip his hair and attempt to steady yourself, as his strength pushes you around. It's impossible to stop the way your hips push forward trying to get closer to him, gasping as he briefly brushes around your clit.

Suddenly however he pulls himself away, mouth stained much the same as your cunt and upper thighs are. You can see his eyes are glassy his throat bobs.

"I should stop."

He mumbles something to himself about loosing himself further to the Thirst, as if he's treading a line between sating his hunger or falling victim to it. You, perhaps stupidly, encourage him to do the exact opposite.

"No, no just, just a bit more,"

You breathlessly whisper and attempt to pull him closer. He silently resists for a moment, before the knot in his throat bobs and he returns his mouth to between your legs. You can't stop the loud moan you let out into the barren room, damning the consequences of anyone hearing you.

You're so close to that peak you only need a bit more, and the way his teeth scrape against your skin and nose presses against your clit gets you there. Your hands tighter in his hair and you inhale, trying not to cry out. But even after you start to come down he continues, his mouth overstimulating so many little nerves you feel on the edge of tears. Your face is hot as your fingers grip at his armor, desperately whining for him to simultaneously stop, and never stop.

He pulls away again, and gently emoves your leg from his shoulder to let you stand and wobbly attempt to yourself. Your knees feel weak and so many of your muscles are sore, even though he was exceedingly gentle with you.

Realizing his face is a mess, he uses the fabric of his cape to wipe it; How fortuitous the fabric is red.

"You should still keep clear of my brothers until this, passes. You never know how close one of them is to loosing themselves and hurting you." You'll heed the warning. If they're anything more than what gusto he already displayed, you wouldn't be surprised angels more lost to the thirst would be dangerous to you. He displayed a remarkable degree of restraint, you could tell.

Though, a curious part of your mind wonders what he'd be like if he hadn't.

"Do you at least feel better? I don't know how the Thirst works but," He nods.

"Yes. It is nice to not have my head so clouded. I... Thank you."

You smile, before accidentally letting more words tumble out of your lips that you should've allowed. It seems his presence always seems to makes you accidentally forget how to not act a fool.

"Always happy to help." He takes your phase at face value, though you suppose you wouldn't refuse him if he asked again. It wasn't as if this ended badly for you.

"You are kind, offering yourself to a Blood Angel. Not many would."

Beyond their sophisticated veneer they are still dangerous predators more than capable of killing you with the slightest motion, you understand why any few who learn about their supposed defect would fear them.

Maybe something is clouding your judgement, but you don't fear him; At least not yet.

Adjusting your clothing you watch as he rises to his full height, his cape flowing behind him. You grip your own fingers nervously and look around.

"But, would you mind bringing my back to my own quarters? I'll admit I have no idea where on the ship you brought me, and I'm still a bit woozy." He offers a gentle but stoic smile.

"Of course."

#space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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