#where unnecessary feelings are actually presented like this

[strawberrycowtime]

yes i did this exclusively on post-it notes. what’s it to you.

(to the tune of somethin’ stupid by frank sinatra [but im p sure everyone knows the audio clip by now it’s basically viral])

#ace attorney #my art #art #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #narumitsu #aa edgeworth #aa fanart #maya fey #phoenix wright ace attorney #wrightworth #i like drawing him stupid #little sillies <3 #sorry if it doesn’t make sense #it would with the audio but…ya know #alternate universe #where unnecessary feelings are actually presented like this #like that one south park audio or whatever #“do you want to be my girlfriend” that one #sorry for the long tags #i need to remove the thoughts from my brain somehow #:p

[loveinhawkins]

Steve thinks he’s doing a good job at hiding it, but then Eddie catches his eye right as he’s limping out of the RV and… huh, maybe not.

Eddie, with panicked urgency—which, in Steve’s opinion, is admittedly sweet but unnecessary—asks if the bites are bothering him again.

“No, dude, it’s nothing,” Steve says. “It’s literally nothing.”

Eddie doesn’t look at all reassured.

Goddamn it, Steve thinks. Better rip off the band aid and hope it’s not too mortifying.

“It’s not the bites. It’s… um. My feet.”

Eddie glances down but there’s nothing to see; as soon he’d entered The War Zone, Steve had crammed his feet into the first pair of combat boots he could find.

“Oh,” Eddie says, the penny dropping. “Oh, shit. Yeah, hang on, just…”

He looks around, humming in thought, then grabs a bottle of water with decisiveness, and yeah, Steve thinks, this is gonna be incredibly mortifying.

But he can’t find a way to wriggle out of it without making the whole thing a way bigger deal than it needs to be—so he ends up sat in the grass, wincing as he pries off his boots.

It is, in a word, gross.

“Don’t know why they’re bugging me so damn much,” Steve says just to fill the silence. He huffs self-effacingly, goes to wiggle his toes before deciding ow, better not and ew, better not. “It’s, like, hardly anything compared to…”

He gestures to the bandage wrapped around him.

“Well, you weren’t walking on your stomach,” Eddie points out.

He pours out water onto some tissues he’s rustled up and gets to work.

Steve keeps waiting for the embarrassment to well and truly set in.

But… it doesn’t.

Eddie doesn’t once make a crack about how awful his feet look.

Instead he launches into a story of how, against his uncle’s sage advice, he’d gone to school in a new pair of boots (his birthday present) without breaking them in first.

It was freshman year, so Eddie’s whole look hadn’t been solidified yet. But he was determined to make it work—stomping around the school (“Were any lunch tables harmed?” Steve asks, and Eddie warmly tells him to shut up), steadfastly ignoring the growing discomfort.

At the end of the day, he’d taken his boots off and surveyed the damage with a melodramatic cry; “Kid, I really don’t know what to tell ya,” Wayne had huffed.

Eddie hams up his whiny, teenaged disgust so that he becomes the butt of the joke, and Steve suddenly feels like he’s watching a magician onstage—except he knows where to look, isn’t fooled by the sleight of hand: Eddie’s dramatics all serve as a distraction from the caked on dirt and blood he steadily cleans off Steve’s skin.

It’s quiet, unassuming. A hidden kindness.

Eddie doesn’t need to be doing this; Steve could quite easily take the bottled water and do it all himself—would probably get it over and done with in a matter of minutes, concealed around the other side of the RV, quick and perfunctory.

But you’re letting him, Steve thinks. Why are you letting him?

Eddie’s hands are cold, a pleasant contrast to the burning sensation all across his feet—honestly, he’d been hoping that so long as he just kept walking, he’d gradually become numb to it.

There’s a loud rip of plastic as a pack of baby wipes are opened. Eddie’s touch is light which soothes some of the sting, at least; he trails off into silence as he works, hissing sympathetically at whatever’s revealed.

“You’ve got a couple cracks,” he says, eyebrows drawn.

Steve gives an over exaggerated sigh. “Give it to me straight, doc. Am I gonna have to chop ‘em off?”

Eddie chuckles, but his concern doesn’t fade away.

“Just here,” he says, pointing, and the tip of his finger brushes against Steve’s heel—Steve tries not to, but he twitches reflexively, and Eddie flashes him an impish grin. “Ticklish?”

“Fuck off,” Steve says, smiling.

He kicks out, stops just short of actually hitting Eddie in the face.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Harrington,” Eddie says through laughter, pushing Steve’s foot away—gently. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

It’s a joke; Steve knows it’s a joke. But—

“You don’t need to do that, man. Robin already knows.”

Eddie stands up and stretches, gives Steve’s ankle a little pat.

“Think you’re all set—woah, wait,” he says as Steve reaches for the combat boots, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Uh, what’s it look like?”

“Harrington. You cannot put those on without socks again, you’re gonna summon my uncle; he’s got, like, a sixth sense about that kinda stuff.”

Eddie’s smile drops a little at that, a flash of melancholy breaking through.

God, you must really miss him, Steve thinks.

“I’m just making do. I don’t have any socks.”

“Yeah, you do.” Eddie’s smile returns in full force—puzzled, perhaps just a little fond. “You got me some, remember?”

Eddie retrieves a pair from the RV and, that’s right, Steve had forgotten: he’d bought a whole pack during their first grocery trip, after Eddie had made an offhand comment about feeling cold in the boathouse.

Poor guy, Steve had thought as they walked through The Upside Down. This is cold on a whole new level.

The socks are thick and warm. Steve pulls on the boots, relishing the fact that his toes no longer scream in protest as he does so.

He tightens the laces; Eddie’s sat down opposite him again.

“There. Ready for battle,” Steve says.

Eddie’s eyes flicker over the combat boots, then Steve’s whole get-up—and there’s nothing teasing in his gaze now, as if he’s seeing everything in another light. Like the gravity of it all has just hit him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Battle.”

“Hey, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Eddie huffs with a wan smile. “Wow. And just like that, I won’t.”

Steve nudges him with his foot. Gentle. “M’not gonna ruin your handiwork.”

Eddie doesn’t reply.

Steve stands, tries a short walk in place. It’ll work. It has to.

“I’d just do it again,” Eddie says suddenly. “If… I—I wouldn’t mind.”

Steve pauses. Offers Eddie a hand and pulls him up.

“I wouldn’t mind either,” Steve says softly.

And then he lets go of Eddie’s hand.

Standing tall, he starts to round everyone up for the drive back—and wishes them all a future of simple fixes: of superficial cracks, easy to patch up.

#little moments of care ❤️ #pre steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[babywll]

She's My Wife — Daemon Targaryen × F!Reader

summary: Daemon can be considered the rogue prince, cruel and greedy. But not when it comes to you

tws: enemies to lovers but he is already in lovers

LOOK AT THIS MAN

part 2 here

After the queen's death, your sister. You found yourself completely lost, and increasingly pressured to get married. You couldn't think straight, or at least give opinions to the candidates the king put forward. Viserys was being kind, even more so when he didn't send you away. You knew you would have to please him somehow.

Then as if everything had been completed, Daemon appeared, he was the king's first choice, who quickly made it all line up with the two of you betrothed.

You hated the idea, since Prince Daemon had his history, his long and terrible history. You believed you deserved better, but at that moment, you just agreed, you didn't want to be a burden to anyone. He was wanted, no doubt. Many women in the realm wanted to be in your shoes, and you tried to ignore Daemon's bad things.

You got married, and your niece presented you with the Dragonstone. It was a beautiful castle, and you could easily get used to it. Daemon was a mere detail. You assumed he'd be having a lot more fun with his dates and their silly fights. You assumed he wouldn't stay there, with you.

But he became present, and protective. He was always around, and you gradually grew closer. It was just you and him. At some point you stopped trying to pretend you didn't like him. He was quite loving when he wanted to be. And then you realized it was just like that with you.

You thought you'd never see Daemon, the same rogue prince everyone knew, giving you attention and being a great husband. Until four months together you had never touched again after marriage. You didn't get pregnant by choice and things went on with you married, you could maybe one day even become friends. The prince certainly had his means of satisfying himself, then it wouldn't be a problem.

You certainly wouldn't think that things would change, and that this marriage would actually turn into something more.

But you ignored all the signs. Or at least tried.

You had just finished your shower, and you were reading a book before getting ready for bed. You two used not to sleep in the same room, he made a point of asking you as soon you two moved to Dragstone. You decided it was unnecessary to share a room. Until the king found out about it, and sent a letter asking you about the decision. So you guys started sharing a room.

Daemon had been gone for ten days on a mission, you heard he came back in the morning, but so far you hadn't seen each other. The night already prevails for some hours, and none of it appears in your room.

You decided that you would finally check on him in his office. Which was where he was.

You walked the stone corridors with only a silk robe hiding your nearly transparent nightgown. You knocked on the door, and entered when you heard him say. His white hair fell down his neck, he had his head down, looking at papers.

"I thought I'd come see you," you said, and he finally looked in your direction.

Maybe it was just you, the candle lights could be getting in the way. But you were pretty sure you noticed the look he gave your body, he was slowly looking down from your eyes. You crossed your arms over your body. There was no reason, since he's already seen you naked, but still, it made you feel vulnerable.

"I am grateful for your last minute decision" he smiled slightly, and you rolled your eyes "I thought you were already asleep, I didn't want to wake you up so I spent more time here" he relaxed in the chair.

"I was waiting for you" you said, almost as if you were confessing.

A glint appeared in his eyes, he was surely just waiting for the moment when you showed something for him.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner" he got up from his chair and came over to you.

He ran one hand through your loose strand of hair, and you let your face rest on his other hand. Closing your eyes with the feelings of comfort he brought you.

Surrendering completely.

You then realized that you had missed him. You've spent the last few days walking around the castle and getting bored of your own company. He usually tell stories about his adventures, which stole all your attention.

"My beautiful wife" he whispered.

You felt his fingers run through your loose hair. And you felt a shiver run from your head to your feet.

"Did you miss me?"

You opened your eyes, meeting his. A smile hovered over his perfect face, and you felt completely lightened by the feeling he brought.

"Please don't stay away so long" you said softly. He had become a friend, maybe more, but it was something that made you feel good.

"I promise, I already told my brother that I will stay with my lovely wife from now on" his icy hands now cupped your face, and he gently brought his nose closer to yours. Touching it.

Your mouths were almost touching, and your breath was getting heavier with every second he threatened to kiss you. As if asking for permission. When you whispered a yes, he attacked you with a kiss. You reciprocated the same, desperate, completely desperate for his every touch.

And he played it, anyway. He touched your hair, neck, waist, thighs, and arms. Every millimeter he ran his fingers through. While kissing passionately. To some extent you had to stop to catch your breath.

"Let's go to our room.." he said low, but it was almost like a question.

You knew what that meant, and it was just everything you wanted, ever since you did it after the wedding. Daemon had an incredible ability when it came to satisfying, and you felt it in your body. You've had orgasms at least four times. And you've been wishing for it ever since, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

"Wait, I need to know, how many have you slept with until today " you took your hands off him, and walked away. You wanted to know.

"How many?" he looked surprised, almost offended by you question "I would never sleep with another woman"

"Don't need to lie Daemon, this seems absurd even to you"

"I'm not lying love" he approached again, and looked deep into your eyes "You were the last I was in bed with, and every time I satisfied myself, it was thinking of you. So just blame me for not being a good husband, and not satisfying you as you deserve"

You were out of breath. You didn't want to think about anything else now, even the question you asked seemed stupid. You actually thought it strange that you hadn't heard any rumors about Daemon being with harlots. But you didn't think that maybe it's because he hasn't actually been.

And he was really telling the truth.

"Tell me what you want" he whispered, his eyes still riveted on you.

"I want you Daemon, always wanted" you confessed.

"You always had me, my dear" he kissed you again, and when he stopped it was to kiss the rest of your face.

"And yes, I want to go to our room" a corner smile appeared on his face, and you already knew that the rest would be even better than on your wedding day.

_

I'm too lazy to write smut, and this is definitely going to be part two. I didn't proofread so sorry for any mistakes.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #fem reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #prince daemon targaryen

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

♡♡♡

"What do you think Bridgerton?"

Benedict turns around to find the artist he had accidentally offended at the gallery the other night.

"This one more to your liking?"

"Mr. Granville--" Benedict raises from his chair to approach the man.

"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset House so it can be skyed right next to mine."

"I believe I owe you an apology, sir." Benedict says, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Unnecessary. I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique. So?" He gestures back to the painting on the wall.

"A touch morose for my tastes," Benedict says.

Henry points to the next one.

"A tragedy. The hound deserved better," Benedict comments.

Granville laughs. "Where is yours?"

"My..."

"Your work," Granville clarifies. "Are you tell me you're not an artist yourself?"

"Well, I-- I suppose sometimes I like to... Well, I mean, I almost--"

"I believe 'yes' and 'thank you' are the words you seek. But either way, you should come by my studio." Mr Granville holds out a small card to Benedict, who accepts it. "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you will find my real work far less, um... Oh, how did you put it? 'Cold and lacking inner life?'"

Benedict scrunched up his face as he nodded, still burning with embarrassment. "I shall never live that down, shall I?"

Mr Granville leaves.

Benedict returns to his table where he had been absentmindedly doodling. Eyes. He was sketching out a pair of eyes. Pretty ones. From memory.

He sighs and closes the sketchbook.

♡♡♡

As you sit in the drawing room of the Bridgerton house, as invited by Violet, you discover that she had no idea about the boxing match, or that Daphne had been there.

You keep your eyes focused on the latest Whistledown paper, though you had stopped reading it.

Daphne was playing the piano while her mother interrogated her.

"A boxing match is no place for any young lady." Violet sighs.

"Is it a place for a prince? Was he at today's match, sister?" Hyacinth asks.

"He certainly was."

"It is a loathsome and barbarous form of entertainment," Violet was very displeased.

That was when Daphne took the opportunity to mention you had gone as well, which had Violet looking at you.

"You too?"

You glare softly at Daphne, who gives you a smug little look. Crafty one, she is.

"Anthony invited me," you admit.

Violet looked terribly ill all of a sudden. You were sure she would being this up with her eldest son at some point.

"What about the duke?" Hyacinth asks.

"What about the duke?" Both Violet and Daphne ask at the same time. You eye Daphne curiously from your seat.

"Was he also present?" Hyacinth asked, less enthusiastic now.

"I do not know," Daphne says. "If the duke was there, I did not see him."

Hyacinth leaves the piano to go see what Eloise is up to. She had been scribbling away in her book since you arrived.

You put the Whistledown column down and rose from your seat to seek entertainment near the window. Watching the street was surely more entertainment than listening in on that conversation.

Anthony enters the room and greets both his mother and his sister. You turn and he greets you too.

"Did you truly take your sister to a boxing match?" Violet hounds him.

"Your admonishment will have to wait. I have news," he cuts her lecture short. "Prince Friedrich has asked for my permission to propose." He looks at Daphne.

She stops playing. "So soon?"

"Well, what did you tell him?" Violet asks.

"That I know better than to answer for my sister. I have no objections to the man. People speak well of him. Whatever you decide, Daph, you shall have my support."

You look at Daphne quietly.

"I... uh... I..." She doesn't know what to say.

"You need not decide now," Violet tells her. "You certainly have no known him long."

"Let me know when you have an answer, and I shall convey it." Anthony says to his sister.

"Indeed." Daphne looks at him.

Anthony leaves as quickly as he came in. It was clear Daphne needed time to think.

♡♡♡

When Daphne had pleaded with you to attend the next ball with her, you couldn't say no. There was a sadness to her gaze, and you wondered from where it had risen.

Something had happened between her and the duke, and she had been off kilter ever since.

The ball, like all had been so far, was wonderful. The theme was a little more out there this time, but everyone was behaving quite perfectly.

You were standing with Daphne as she scanned the crowd. Exactly who she was looking for, you weren't quite certain. You would suggest the prince on the account that the duke was apparently leaving London tonight.

The prince could be seen across the room. He was in conversation with someone. You glance toward Daphne, but your gaze shifts as Cressida Cowper comes over. You give Daphne a gentle nudge.

"Daphne." Cressida chuckles. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you, Cressida," Daphne says politely.

"You could have chosen anyone," Cressida says. "You have gentlemen lined up to pay you tribute. Yet you did not hesitate to steal my chance for happiness away, did you? I knew the marriage market would make rivals of us, but I never thought youcapable of being my enemy."

"The man made his choice, Cressida. What did you expect me to do?" Daphne asks.

Daphne walks off in the direction of the prince. You look at Cressida and then walk off in the other direction.

There is nothing you could ever say to her.

You begin to walk alongside the dance floor, watching the couples dance. A hand comes into view, and you turn to see a friendly looking young man smiling at you.

"May I have this dance?"

You take a moment to gather yourself. You had hoped one of the Bridgerton boys would be here to dance with you, but you supposed you couldn't rely on them every time.

"You may."

You go with him to dance.

It seemed Benedict wasn't here.

♡♡♡

Benedict was, in fact, making his way to the studio of Mr. Granville. He was intrigued by the artist.

He finds the address and knocks on the door. Henry Granville answers.

"Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stands there a little awkwardly.

"Come in, come in."

Granville lets him in. Benedict enters and follows him. He is led further inside and finds himself in a large room. A circle of easels presented around two nude models.

"I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this." Benedict says.

"Oh, simply a gathering of like-minded souls." Henry tells him. "Here, let me show you what I've been working on."

Benedict is led further inside the studio. He passes a couple of painters discussing war so causally.

"What do you think?" Henry asks.

Benedict walks over and takes a look at the canvas.

"Hmm. It's a far cry from Somerset House, I must say."

"I shall take that a compliment."

They both chuckle.

"And I must say, I'm truly jealous. Is this your life?" Benedict asks.

"There are advantages to being the second-born." Henry tells him. "Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun."

They both chuckle again.

"So... why not go have some fun?" Henry gestures to the models. He's giving Benedict the chance to epress himself through art.

Benedict picks an easel and sits down.

♡♡♡

As you dance once again tonight, you spot Anthony standing off to the side. He's staring at the opera singer.

You hard heard whispers about him being infatuated with an opera singer, but had no idea if there lay any truth to them.

You continue dancing with your partner.

Benedict was still a no-show tonight, which you found to be rather disappointing. You had been looking forward to another evening of his little quips and teasing.

When the dance ends, you curtsy to your partner and head in the direction of Anthony and Violet. Lady Bridgerton had tries to introduce her son to a rather pretty young lady, but he showed no interest.

"Shall we dance, Lord Bridgerton?" You ask, looking at Anthony.

He turns and looks at you, for half a second, thinking you were another lady his mother was intent on pushing on him.

"Yes, let's." He offers his arm, and you take it. Violet watches you both go. Even if he chose you, she would be pleased, but she knows her son will not take you as his wife. You're his friend who has come to rescue him from her for a while.

Violet downs a third glass of champagne.

"She is persistent," you say.

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

Anthony chuckles softly. "Yes. Quite."

"The opera singer..."

He looks at you.

"Nevermind. Its not my business."

Anthony's expression softens. "I was - am - found of her."

"Yes. I assumed as much."

Anthony sighs. "It's complicated.

You nod and say no more on the matter. Anthony spins you around elegantly.

"Is Benedict not here tonight?" You ask, twirling with him.

"Benedict? No." He gazes at you. "Why do you ask?"

"I just noticed his absence."

"Missing your dance partner?" He teases.

You chuckle. "Am I that obvious?"

He winks at you, and you shake your head with a smile. "I'm fond of you boys. I can't help it when I notice one of you is missing."

Anthony grins. "How lucky we are to have gained such a special friend such as you."

As Anthony gives you another turn around the floor, you spot Colin speaking with Penelope. You smile softly at the sight and then turn your attention back to the eldest brother.

At least you'll have one Bridgerton on your dance card tonight.

As the next dance begins, Anthony keeps your company longer. You're aware this may catch attention from others, especially Lady Whistledown should she be here, but none the less, you dance with him twice.

You soon see that Colin has left Penelope on the sidelines to dance with Miss Thompson, and you also find the prince talking to Daphne amidst their dance.

The dance ends, and you manage to catch sight of Daphne fleeing the ballroom.

Anthony bows, and you curtsy.

"Until next time." He nods his head at you. You smile and nod, taking your leave. You worry about Daphne and intend to go check on her, but you're stopped by another gentleman.

You sigh and realise you'll have to dance with him before you can flee again.

The dance feels like it drags on, and on, and on. You smile, you listen to your partner talk, but your mind is focused on Daphne. She did not look well when she fled.

When the dance ends, you spot Anthony leaving the ballroom. You waste no more time and follow him.

He heads outside. You follow.

"Anthony?"

He turns and looks at you. "Go back inside."

"What's the matter? What's happening?"

"Did you see him?" Anthony asks urgently.

"Who?"

"The duke."

"He is here?"

"He was, and now I can't find Daphne." You realise he's concerned about his sister.

You hear something further in the garden, and Anthony hurries off. You follow him, close on his heels.

What you find is not what you ever expected to see.

Simon and Daphne were not just kissing. His hands were all over her. Her dress had been pulled down. You cover your mouth, though you can not hide the gasp that escapes you.

Anthony runs at Simon.

"Bastard!"

Simon receives a strong punch to the face. He falls to the ground, and Anthony takes another swing. He punches him a third time and then stands beside his sister. You hurry to her other side and checks her over.

"Daphne..."

She is speechless. She has no words for you. They have been caught in a compromising position.

"You will marry her," Anthony declares.

"What?" Daphne looks at her brother.

"Immediately. We can only hope no one saw you take such liberties, and my sister is saved further mortification. You will marry her!"

Anthony is angry.

"Brother!"

"I cannot marry her," Simon says.

"You have defiled her innocence, and now you refuse her hand? I knew you were a rake, Hastings, I never thought you a villain."

"I cannot marry her," Simon states more firmly.

Daphne looks hurt.

"Then you leave me no choice. I must demand satisfaction."

"A duel? Anthony, you cannot--" Daphne begins.

"He dishonours you, sister." Anthony looks at her. "He dishonours you and me and the very Bridgerton name. I have misjudged you, indeed. You have duped us both, but I shall not see my sister pay for my own misdeeds. We will settle this as gentlemen."

"I understand," Simon agrees. "I shall see you at dawn."

"I do not understand," Daphne says softly. "You would rather die than marry me?"

You look at Simon quietly.

"I am truly sorry."

"We need to go, Daph. Before anyone should see us." Anthony says softly.

You reach out for her arm gently and pull her away, Anthony follows you both.

Daphne takes her brother's arm after he begs of you not to say a word about anything. You swear by it, looking him in the eye. Anthony thanks you.

You drift off from them as you enter the ballroom once again.

Anthony approaches Colin and tells him he is taking her home. He asks Colin to take care of their mother. You decide to step in and help. Anthony looks grateful.

Anthony and Daphne leave.

Colin looks at you, but you just smile softly at him and ask him to help you with Violet. He doesn't say anything about Daphne or Anthony.

Neither do you.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

[transmutationisms]

Feel free not to answer this ask so you dont have to step into this particular hornet's nest but do you have any thoughts about people sharing inaccurate science about COVID in order to push for more COVID regulations? I agree that COVID is being neglected and we need better policies but I'm also a biochemist so it pisses me off to see people cite research in a way that makes exaggerated and terrifying claims. Two years ago, I was warning my colleagues against this condescending "just trust the science" approach but now the same crowd pushing that has shifted to pushing "don't trust any of the positive science, only my catastrophic interpretations of it". Can't we mask without also trying to convince each other that COVID is a guaranteed one way ticket to death and permanent disability?

you must be new here haha i swing bats at this hornet's nest like once a month. yeah i think the current state of covid communication sucks a lot. i mean the truth is that "follow the science" is always a disingenuous sentiment; Science doesn't speak, and scientists disagree with one another. and it's naïve to pretend majority consensus is a reliable mechanism to identify truth—anyone who has followed the covid aerosolisation about-face will recall that although linsey marr was not the first researcher to challenge medical orthodoxy on airborne disease transmission, even well into the covid pandemic the idea of aerosol transmission was marginalised by global health authorities because it was politically inconvenient, out of favour with powerful established academics, and reminiscent to some of pre-pasteurian miasma theories of disease. those who would "follow the science" were not presented with a convenient dichotomy between reasonable evidence-backed expert consensus and fringe peddlers of heterodoxy; to evaluate these positions required actually, yknow, reading and evaluating the arguments and evidence from multiple competing positions, and deciding which had the greater explanatory power. which is good epistemological advice only insofar as it's so obvious as to be trite.

fundamentally a huge driving force of this situation is the social, political, and institutional forces that make expert knowledge (a generally good thing) all too often synonymous with inaccessible knowledge. i don't mean inaccessibility caused by knowledge being specialised; obviously this is inevitable to some extent simply as a result of the fact that no one person will grasp the entirety of human knowledge. but the fact that knowledge is specialised, specific, highly technical, and so forth doesn't automatically mean, for example, that it has to be monetarily gatekept from all but a select few with the resources to persevere through a highly punishing, nepotistic, hegemonic university system; this is a political problem, and one that additionally has the effect of enabling and sheltering low-quality work (see: replication crisis) behind the opaque walls of university bureaucracy and the imprimateur of the credentials it grants. in lieu of an ability to actually engage with, read, or challenge much of the academic research being generated on any given topic, the lay public is supposed to rely on signs of reliability like possession of a degree, or institutional reputation. what we in fact see again and again, and with particularly high stakes in the case of something like a pandemic, is that these measures are instruments of class stratification and professional jockeying that don't inherently ensure quality information: MDs can and do peddle anti-vaxx lies and covid / long-covid denialism; the CDC and WHO can and do perpetrate bad and outdated scientific advice, like that masks are unnecessary and isolation periods can be shortened for convenience. many of these are just blatant cases of kowtowing to political pressure, which arises from the capitalist logic that counterposes disease prevention to economic growth.

this all leaves us in a position where it is, in fact, smart and correct to evaluate the information coming from 'official' and credentialled sources with scepticism. the problem is that in its place, we get information coming out of the same capitalist state-sponsored scientific institutions, and the same colonialist universities; the idea that some chucklefuck on twitter is telling you the secret truth just because they correctly identified that the government sucks is plainly absurd. where covid specifically is concerned, the liberalism of academic and scientific institutions is on display in numerous ways, including the idealist assumption, which many 'covid communicators' make, that public health policy is primarily a matter of swaying public opinion, and therefore that it is always morally imperative to form and propagate the most alarmist possible interpretation of any study or empirical observation. this is not an attitude that encourages thoughtful or measured evaluation of The Science (eg, study methodology), nor is it one that actually produces the kind of political change that would be required to protect the populace writ large from what is, indeed, a dangerous and still rampant virus. instead, this form of communication mostly winds up generating social media Engagement and screenshots of headlines of summaries of studies.

meanwhile, actual public health policy (which is by and large determined at the mercy of capitalist state interests, and which by and large shapes public opinion of what mitigation measures are 'reasonable', despite the CDC repeatedly pretending this works the other way round), remains on its trajectory toward lax, open exposure of anyone and everyone to each new strain of covid, perpetuating a society that is profoundly hostile to disabled people and careless with everyone's life and health. this fucking sucks. it sucked that we have treated the flu like this for years, and it sucks that we are now doing it with a virus that we are still relatively immunologically naïve to, and that produces, statistically, even more death and disability than the flu. and it sucks that the predominating explanations of this state of affairs from the 'cautious' emphasise not the structural forces that shape knowledge production under capitalism, but instead invoke a psychological narrative whereby individuals simply need to be sufficiently terrified into producing mass action.

#michael hoerger hate blog #covid

[akiiame-blog]

Annoying ways that people view the Mario series and characters Part 2

I think perhaps the biggest misconception that really irritates me is how "Peach rejects Mario and abandons him on the moon at the end of Mario Odyssey."

Especially because that latter part can be easily proven false if you just watched the ending.

People act as if this is the last frame of that ending—

When it actually ends on Mario making that jump towards the Odyssey—

Peach even calls out to Mario and says, "Let's go home!" It's clear she wasn't planning on abandoning the guy.

Now I can hear you say, "But she takes off so quickly!! Before Mario can even get on!! Why does she do that if she wasn't gonna abandon him, huh????"

I believe Peach's intention was to abandon Bowser, not Mario. If she were to wait until Mario got on the Odyssey, then Bowser would've been able to hop on as well, with him being so close behind.

Peach wanted to avoid that, and she was confident in Mario's abilities to be able to jump onto the ship, especially with the moon's gravity helping him.

Now, in regards to "Peach rejecting Mario", there's a couple of annoying ways people took this.

First, people act as if this is a permanent rejection; that this is it for their relationship. They're not getting together ever, it's done, stop shipping Mario and Peach, yadda yadda.

Y'all, just because Peach got a bit upset at Mario's impulsive actions, that does not mean that Mario and Peach's relationship is ruined.

I'm sure there have been times where y'all got upset at a friend or a significant other, but you guys' relationship stayed intact.

It's the same thing here. Especially given how, as soon as she walked onto the Odyssey, Peach took a deep breath, turned around with a smile, and called out to Mario. It can be easily assumed that there were no hard feelings, and that she was able to forgive him.

Another annoying interpretation is: "Peach is SUCH a bitch for rejecting Mario like that!!! How dare she not devote her entire life to him after all he did!!!"

No. My man screwed up here.

He was impulsive and did not consider the possibility that he might've been overwhelming Peach. It was a presentation of Mario's biggest flaw.

In fact, I think this highlights some insecurity on Mario's end. If he was really so sure of he and Peach's relationship, he wouldn't have freaked out like that. But maybe that's just me.

Point is, Peach is not to blame here. Stop calling her a bitch for standing up for herself; the one thing that people have been wanting her to do for YEARS??

Been realizing just how much unnecessary shit Peach gets from people, my god.

#mario #super mario #super mario bros #super mario odyssey #princess peach #akiis thoughts

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for drinking milk with my vegan brother’s food? warning for very brief ed mention

my (15f) brother W (17m) is vegan and has been for about two years. I’m cool with that, I have nothing against vegans whatsoever, but he is very VERY adamant about me going vegan too. we’re sort of at an awkward point where I just avoid conversations about it because the subject makes me very uncomfortable, he always resorts to guilt tripping me and making me feel shitty about the subject instead of actually presenting points (he calls me an animal abuser very frequently which I’ve expressed I’m really hurt by) and I am recovering from an eating disorder and don’t need another thing to worry about in regards to my diet (I’ve also expressed this to him and he doesn’t seem to give a shit about it, treats it like an excuse)

that aside, I try to be chill with him about it and just avoid the subject. more recently he’s started cooking more and particularly experimenting with pastries, which he lets me eat. I appreciate it a lot when he lets me have some, but recently he saw me drinking milk alongside some plant based muffins he made. I always drink milk with pastries— it’s probably a sensory thing, the specific feel of milk is the only thing that feels right to drink with pastries n desserts and stuff and I genuinely cannot enjoy them without milk because the mouthfeel bothers me a lot, but that’s kinda besides the point— so he saw me drinking milk with the muffins and blew up at me, said it’s super disrespectful that I’d do that while eating his food. I had never thought of it that way and was pretty damn guilty about it in the moment. I told him I was sorry but he still seems upset. told him about the thing I have regarding pastries and that I have a hard time enjoying them without milk. then he forbade me from eating anything he cooks again because “my muffins aren’t for animal abusers” (yes he said that and says the same thing rather often when he doesn’t wanna share other food with me)

I may be TA because idk that might actually be disrespectful to his views to drink milk with his food and I do feel like maybe I’m in the wrong for that, but I’m also really bitter about how he guilts me and is so aggressive about the whole thing and feel like that’s unnecessary and rude of him. aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[lasirenatarot]

💫🌟WHAT BLESSINGS ARE COMING YOUR WAY? 💫 timeless pick-a-card reading.

- SIDE NOTE: some days my intuition is craaaazy (today 23.07.2023 is one of those days😂), so I decided to do this very random reading. It may be disorganized and totally not resonating for some, but it may help others, as Im writing all that I get without a clear topic, so enjoyyy!!

Piles:

1->2

3->4

Photos: Magdalena Frackowiak for Harper’s Bazaar USA, september 2009

PILE 1

Okayy so possible blessings coming your way, those who chose pile 1:

Short term luck; possible salary raise/ bonus/ promotion; for some it may be a sum of money you didn’t have to work much for or somebody simply just gave to you, money you won from the lotery or gambling; giveaway wins; finding a banknote on the street; finding lost jewelry/items; for some it may be more sales of your products that certain month if you’re a business owner etc. - the main point is you will get sth bc of luck (money/present/item..), not much hard work.

More $€x, pl€asure, parties, celebrations (carefree times basically) coming your way.

You may go on a holiday where you celebrate sth, have pl€asurable experiences. All this may be after time in which you have been waiting on for a loooong time. Prior to that you may have been « isolating » yourself a bit so you can work on yourself, your mental health, cleanse yourself spiritually from bad energy you’ve had in you from the past & heal from sth.

Tip for this pile: don’t go into excesses; do everything in moderation - drinking,partying, $£x, don’t take unnecessary risks, don’t be greedy or careless with your money; going against that may lead to an unpleasant a-ddiction of some sort.

PILE 2

Hope after tough time. You may get good news about a situation you’ve been worried about; You may find a solution to a problem, the truth about sth which may later lead you to the solution..

Someone might have lied to you/ did you wrong, bc of that you felt like your « life » was falling apart but it was actually a blessing; Learning who was a fake person in your life and who was actually faithful was the blessing;

You will have new beginnings in your life- might be a new job/new relationship/new friends/even new home or area where you live;

some may start new important friendships, change in social circle is sth prominent in this pile; you might feel way more valued and happy in this new social circle;

Some might have found out about infidelities /lots of lies, which may be the reason for all these changes; the situation may look bad at first sight but it will free you from a burden that was never yours ro carry in the first place.

Changes might happen very quickly;

You will get on a new journey to find your true happiness

PILE 3

Okay the first thing I got may not resonate for many but if you’ve been wishing for a child/pregnancy, or to start a family, it may be coming soon.

Those who are not looking to start a family it may mean that you may have some carefree days coming ahead, you will live your life like a baby, without that much responsibilities;

Some may get some sort of inheritance;

Money

Moving to a new house;

A lot of you may cut ties with their past, get rid of their past bad habits, toxic people and situations; you have to leave your past experience behind in order to live your ‘dream’

A dream of yours you tought was impossible to get may come into fruition during this time you’re reading this/near future. You just have to be strong and keep the faith.

Love for many of you!!!!

You may get help from a female figure or your intuition on sth that is bothering you;

PILE 4

Healing;

GOOD HEALTH ( for me that is the biggest blessing that’s why I wrote it in all caps )

Huuuuuuuge changes in your love life!!!! I cannot stress this enough, so many signs here in the cards.

If you’re single, the love interest you meet might be VERY masculine, career oriented, might look cold on the outside (won’t be true when you get to know that person tho, they seem like a sweetheart, u just have to get them out of their shell..); might be a foreigner or you may simply meet them away from home/abroads;

Your « cup » will be overflowing with love and emotions, but you don’t have to lose yourself completely. Boundaries and everything in moderation are important things to have in relationships😄

If you were mistreated in previous relationships - you will get your justice.

Those who are in a relationship might get proposed to or move in together; become official if you haven’t already, sth like that => getting to the next level.

Glow up, confidence boost; end of melancholy;

You will get things you’ve even have not let yourself dream about bc it seemed delusional at the time, what u get will exceed all your expectations;

Off topic but, Pile 4, be careful of envy, gossips&lies. Get rid of your subconcious limitations.

As always, leave a comment if resonated & follow for more.

- La Sirena.💋

#tarot #lasirenatarot #tarot blog #pac #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #free tarot #free tarot readings #oracle #fortune telling #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #tarot readings #tarot spread #daily tarot #blessings #love tarot reading #tarot cards #editorial #chanel #harpers bazaar #magdalena frackowiak

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚝𝚠𝚘 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby (eventually), mini slowburn, suggestive language, jealousy, nora & mel & ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parental death, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: hi everyone, waaaa thanks for all the follows! i appreciate you all sooo soo much. this is something i just thought of idk, maybe a series who knows! i am thinking abt putting this on ao3 too!

(no y/n)

wc: 4.3k

pt one.

Alarm. Dress. Meet Abby. Go. Today was a lecture day and although long, at least you got to sleep in a little this morning. The only thing is Abby is always locked in and there’s no way to get her out of that headspace. She doesn’t take unnecessary breaks or doodles, she is virtually a perfect student. But you sit beside her scrolling through your notes, unamused. 

Abby’s head is downwards, with her braid falling over her shoulder, focused on the presentation. Her hand moves quickly as she writes all the details down, while you type mindlessly. You notice how her bulging veins dress her hand peak-a-booing out of her cardigan. The way she gripped her pen enhanced the greenish threads under her skin as she drew diagrams and large title cards. Why was everything about her attractive, you thought. Mel was sitting next to you with her laptop open, scrolling on Pinterest, mumbling. Her clique of girls speak in what they think is a hushed whisper, but it's just a poor attempt. You feel your lips forming to sh them. 

“Hey.” Abby snaps, holding direct eye contact with Mel. 

Mel looks over her screen with disgust, like she just wished death upon her. But that lasts only a minute before they start up again and Abby sighs, slamming her pen on the desk which causes your professor to turn and look in your direction. 

“Ladies, let’s focus.” She said. 

At the 30-minute break, Abby stormed out of the lecture hall and you followed behind like a lost puppy. She stood in the hallway with her hands above her head, inhaling and exhaling with her eyes closed, counting silently. She rolled her shoulders back and finally looked to find your eyes. Which calmed her for a moment — seeing you there.  

“Y’know what pisses me off about that Mel?” 

She said her name like a swear word.

You were taken aback at the anger bubbling inside of her. Her calm demeanor was all you knew, she avoided conflict, never raised her voice but seeing her like this pang in your heart unlike anything else. 

“She only acts like that because she doesn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend what’s going on. Not everyone can just throw their life away, some of us actually have to work for what we want.”

Her eyes were wide, her fists curled, and her lips tight. You walk over to her and just wrap your arms around her. She was reluctant to reciprocate but eventually did — give into you, and fell into your arms. Her hands linger on your lower back, tugging you.

“They don't understand.” Her voice cracked. 

You knew what this was about, it was about her dad. You saw how reluctant she was to go into detail about him last night. She just changed the subject. You didn’t know what illness he passed away from, if any, she wouldn’t go that far. 

“Abby, I know. They don’t.” You reply pulling away sooner than you both would like. 

She composed herself and peered at your welcoming eyes and she suddenly forgot where she stood. In the middle of a high-traffic hallway, filled with the rustling of scrubs. Her hands came up onto your shoulders and she nodded her head. “You’re right and I can’t fault them for that, can I?” 

The rest of class was incredibly quiet. 

As you both stood at the entryway of your apartments you felt like you wanted to spend more time with her. Just because. You slid your key into the lock and swatted the thoughts away. “Dummy?” She asked.

“There’s a party today, uh, some sorority thing. I don’t really know anyone else going—“

“Yes, yea absolutely.”  

You smiled at her and then closed your door with excitement, maybe too much? 

Abby wasn’t sure what came over her, after overhearing the other nursing students she thought it would be nice to go out, since it had been three years. That text from Nora was burning her phone, flames encased it so brightly that she didn’t go on her phone all day.

After pouring a glass of wine and stripping to get in the shower she stood in the mirror examining her body. Checking her back out, quads, and glutes… she didn’t know why but looking at herself was so invigorating. She pulled her phone out and snapped a photo, forearm covering her chest, gently flexing. Her eyes brightly admired her frame and debated sending it to Nora. She had never taken a nude photo before let alone sent it to someone. She shook her head reaching into the shower, turning the knob, and throwing that thought aside. 

When she was showering all she could think about was your embrace earlier. It was unusual for her to be held — well have human contact at all. She wasn’t one for physical touch, but in that moment she yearned for more. She wet her hair and paused, rekindling the memory in her mind, how you smelled, your warmth, and how she felt — safe. 

She didn’t want to admit it to you this morning but she stayed up last night after you left. She replayed the quick events as she rinsed her hair, visualizing sections of your face behind her eyelids. 

As she was on her last full body rinse, there you stood on the other side of her apartment door knocking, slightly startling her. 

“Wait!” She hollered from the bathroom. 

Quickly wrapping herself in her white towel, wet feet trailing to the front door, she peeped out the hole to see you nervously awaiting her arrival. “Hi, oh shit. You were showering, right. Sorry. I just, I should’ve texted you, but if you wanted to get ready at mine you can.” You said casually. 

Abby felt your eyes flick toward her collarbones, making her pull the towel taut. 

“Yea perfect, leave the door open for me ‘kay?” 

After closing the door Abby became self-conscious instantly. Her sopping hair clinging to her wet face made her feel strange, especially with your lingering eyes. Abby wasn’t the type to rush but she wanted to be closer to you as quickly as she could. She blew her hair dry, finished her wine, and got dressed in twenty minutes, already walking through your front door. 

She had never actually ever seen your apartment in its full glory. It was cluttered by her standards, decorated by yours. “Hey Dummy, it’s me.” 

You peered your head out of your bedroom and welcomed her to help you pick an outfit. You sighed at Abby fully dressed, all ready to go, and completely misunderstanding the concept of getting ready together. 

“So, I was thinking of this combo.” You say, breaking her wandering eyes from your unpolished bedroom. 

Abby looked at your dress, long sleeve, black number, comfortable and easy. She imagined you in it and it made her tense as her mind began to wonder. 

“That’s pretty.” She replied eagerly. 

You were in your silk robe that wasn’t very well at hiding what was underneath, she became flush and attempted to focus on the stitching on the dress or something. But when you bent over to reach for the next item you laid out on your bed she fought herself to look away. Your skin was freshly moisturized and the scent filled her nose so instinctively making her nostrils twitch with pleasure.

“I think so too, but I also have this. I used to wear this a lot, I don’t know. Should I try them on for you?”

You showed her a dark brown number with a swoop back, flowing out at the knee in a wing-like manner. She thought about how high up the hem of the bottom was and blinked her eyes vigorously, unsure if this was a dream or not. She said no words but just nodded her head. 

“Okay, let me change, there’s tequila on top of the fridge.” 

Abby pulled her hands into her carpenter-style jacket and retrieved the liquor. She took the bottle, no glasses, and waited for you at your dining table. Her forehead was misty with beads of sweat looking for an escape, she felt sheepish at how turned on she got from looking at your body. What the fuck is wrong with me, she thought. 

You walk out in the black dress and look at her eyelids lifting at the fabric hugging your body. She brings her hand to her chin as you do a spin for her and then pose. Abby watches you walk towards her in what she swears is slow motion, and straightens her back as her eyes drift up and down your body. She looked completely hypnotized by you. You reach for the bottle, removing the cap in a swift motion and then bringing it to your lips. Abby latched onto each of your movements. In her comatose state, she made it a mission to let it be known at that moment that she was yours. Her thick eyelashes hung heavy as she watched you move your hand to her chin, lifting it and pouring a shot directly into her throat. As her lips came to a close you swiped her chin. 

“I like this dress a lot.” She said, now having an excuse to peer down at your body. 

“Me too,” you smiled. “Let me show you the brown one.” 

She couldn’t refuse the pleasure of watching your ass switch as you went to change. She took another pour into her mouth and shook off the heat coming from her core and throat. You threw your arms up and spun again. 

“I like both but the black one, it’s— it’s really pretty.” 

“So, I’ll wear that one then.”

Abby felt a light bubble form in her stomach from your willingness to listen to her and do as you’re told. She watched your hips sway into your bedroom, just moments after she realized her jaw was set like a rock, wide open, admiring your ass. 

Abby held all the doors open for you as you exited the apartment building, which rendered small thank you’s from under your breath. The sound of your boots clattering against the pavement filled both, you and Abby’s ears, prying at the silence in the air. She looked exceptionally clean tonight, most days you don’t see her outside of her uniform but today, you were really mesmerized by her. You questioned if it was the drinks you consumed or just her sweet scent enticing you. 

Her black boxy tee was blanketed in a woody sage perfume, just nipping above the hem of her dark-washed denim that was slouching below her hips, exposing the skin around her navel.

“I haven’t been to a party in a while,” she sighed. 

You smiled at hearing her voice within the stillness. 

“Me too, I’m glad you invited me.” You reply. She peers over to you with a bewitching smirk that makes your cheeks hot. 

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have wanted to go with anyone else.” She says matter-of-factly, not knowing how sweet her words sound. You think of a reply, but nothing seems good enough at the moment.

You both slip side glances at each other as the moon shimmered on your skin. You kept tucking your hands in your hair and adjusting accordingly. In this moment, you became conscious of how close you two were huddled together. Occasionally her knuckles would tickle yours and she’d hum a sorry, but you couldn’t help to indulge in the brief moments of her touch. 

The house party was secluded, the bass of the shitty music vibrating the outside of the porch that was sprinkled with stoners and nicotine rats. Abby grabs your wrist to guide you up the steps sees your dress ride up your bottom and gently tugs it down, following behind you. Your mind buzzed with the image of her hand drifting further. 

You pull open the jagged screen door and inhale the miles of smoke trailing outside. You look over your shoulder to see Abby retreat into her turtle shell and instantly become turned off. You reach for her hand and clasp it, to which she refuses and intertwines them, tying her clammy hand into yours. Your palm pushes wet bodies to find a corner worth standing in. The house was crumbling under the music and clabbering feet. 

Abby saw you were struggling to plow your way through the crowd so she took the lead. Her eyes were like darts, locking in on the target. She used her elbow as a driving force, the pull of her weight had you tripping over your feet. You ended up at steps going towards the basement, florescent with colored lights. The vibe was mellow and not as many people were here. After hitting the last step, you feel the release of compression from Abby’s hand, and you casually cross your arms. 

“You good?” She asks, hand softly grazing your hip as she leans in. 

All you can muster is a nod. 

The room was surprisingly cold, the old basement that had been decorated in FSL graffiti and memorabilia. In the corner was Mel and her friends from class who instantly spotted you and Abby like a sore thumb. Sitting on the couch were two women, legs laid on top of each other, sharing a dab pen. The brooding brunette peered over at you and you swore you could hear her voice by the look coming from her eyes. Abby taps your shoulder and gestures to all your classmates who are now loudly offering drink service. Mel lifts a bottle of flavorless vodka to Abby’s lips, pouring it into her mouth, while nursing her open jaw. 

“Good job, Anderson.” She practically moans. You’re unsure if she’s being condescending or flirtatious, either way, you become uncomfortable.

Mel was in a mini skirt and a tube top, both white and pristine. Her hair was pinned back and tied in a low bun, embellished with a pink silk bow. Her makeup was simple but flagrant, enhancing her features so beautifully and highlighting her predator eyes on Abby. 

Suddenly, after handing you both a shot, Mel’s perfectly polished fingernails were gripping Abby’s strong shoulder. Massaging it and laughing as if she hasn’t been an asshole to her for almost four years. Obliviously, Abby just continued to collect shots from Mel, being drawn into every string pouring out of her mouth. You follow shortly behind but are left out of the conversation, standing behind Abby, watching like the Secret Service. Mel’s hand slowly creeps down towards Abby’s back, under her jacket, and now making some joke about our professor, throwing her head back and forth, then setting it on her shoulder, rubbing her. 

You glance over to the couch to see the cat-like woman sizing you up. She waves her pen in front of her face like a dangling carrot. You strut towards her and she pats the couch and you swear you see dust fly into the air. She brings the pen up to her lips and lets the smoke brush her bottom lip. Her hand comes to rest on your thigh and then blinks narrowly at you. 

“Why haven’t I seen you before.” You whisper in her ear. 

She waits to pull away, allowing the pattering of your breath to trill against her skin. 

“Don’t know,” her hand slides upwards. “What’s your major?” 

“Nursing.” 

Her arm was colored with an interesting tattoo that you find yourself tracing. Her hand came up to the curve of your ass. “Smart girl, so if I get an injury say… here,” She brings her mouth to graze your neck, then places a soft kiss. “Then you’d help me out?” 

Her lips flick against your ear lobe which makes you shift under yourself. 

“I certainly can.” 

In the midst of the ever-present tension, Abby walks over with her pinky wrapped around Mel’s, a smile, unapologetically flashing gums and teeth. “Coming to dance with us?” She asks. 

“Yea we can come.” Your new companion replies. 

Abby smiles stiffly at her, then dashes her eyes back at you, saying your name, and then lets go of her connection to Mel. 

“Sure, be up in a minute. Get us some beers?” You smirked. 

Even under the lights, you can see how flush Abby became. Mel dragged her off, their hands back in love. You look back at your partner, cup her chin, and follow shortly behind. 

Abby stood in the corner with Mel waving her hips against the beats of the song. She held three bottles of beer by the neck in her large hands. You two caught each other’s eyes and for a moment you could see her grin. Once you join them in their designated area, your date retrieves the bottles from Abby and sips behind you, wrapping her hand on your waist. 

“I love this dress?” Her voice vibrating against your damp skin. 

Her hand kept running over the smoothest parts of your body, gripping, pinching, — drinking you in. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Ellie.” 

Abby came over to you and asked if were you okay to which you replied with a nod. Ellie was pushing her pelvis against your ass, gyrating desperately. Her hands became sticky with desire, practically bending you over, forcing you to arch your back. 

Mel pulled Abby into her sphere and tacked her arms around her neck, tossing her head wildly, and making Abby slide her free hand on her lower back. Mel’s eyes were glossy with a feminine ache, the same one you had. You stood confused watching it all play out and Abby went along with her. Something boiled inside you, lust or jealousy, you didn’t know. It distracted you so much you didn’t realize Ellie’s lips pressed on your nape. 

You turn to her and she latched her lips onto your neck, tattooed hand cupping your ass, dipping you back as she fused with you. It felt so good to be wanted like this, you felt your eyelids flutter and you could've sworn you smelt Abby’s shampoo. You could feel Ellie’s hands widen, and you could see the shimmering blonde locks under the flashing lights, and the formation of Abby’s name on your bitten lips.

“What?” Ellie pulled away in a half-hearted laugh. 

“Hm? Did I say something?” You yelled. 

Ellie couldn’t stop peering at your mouth, then glancing upwards, then down again. As she closed her eyes and moved inward, a shove from behind you interrupted your connection. Ellie yells at them but all you see is Abby locking lips with Mel, her hands full of her ass and Mel’s knees buckling. You see how Abby casually slides her tongue inside her mouth, and Mel accepts it like it’s hers. 

Ellie bucks up to the guy who pushes you. His beer split on his shirt, hair soaked in sweat, mouth sloppy, and hollering slurs at her. Abby looks over at the situation and notices you in the midst of it all and pulls you away. 

Her lips were bright and wet as she looped her arm into yours and put you behind her. You bring your hands up to her shoulders and tug at her when you see Mel searching for Abby in the crowd. Abby’s steps stuttered as you led her out of the house. It was like being released from a chokehold as the fresh wind smacked your face. You guide her down the steps and she smiles, teeth on display and eyes wedged into her cheeks. 

“Abs?” 

“Hmm… fuck me. I’m drunk.” 

Her voice was resonant, sexy. 

She stumbles over to you and dangles her wrists off your waist, face-to-face. Although drunk, she had no issue flashing you a playful gaze. You analyze her soft face and stare at the tip of her nose, then her lips, and back to her eyes. You break out of your tipsy and notice how fidgety her hands are, causing your panties to dampen.  

“You think you can handle me?” 

“Wha— what do you mean?” You choke. 

She reaches into her coat pocket and dangles her keys, which you take for safekeeping. Thoughtlessly, her hands return and cascade towards your ass, fingers brushing your dress fabric. You stay like this for a moment, relishing her touch. 

“Let me get you home Anderson.” 

She tried her best and pick her feet up off the ground and not wash her shoes against the concrete. You held her by her waist, looping through her outer arm, hoisting her up, which wasn’t an easy feat. The puffs of her breath filled the air in front of you and you couldn’t believe you were carrying her home. 

You walk her through her apartment and lay her out on her bed, turning on her lights. She groans loudly, pressing her palm against her temples, “No, turn it off. Open the blinds.” 

She sounded so sweet, totally different from her persona at the house party. So you comply, the moon was full in the sky, cascading over the room like the sun, illuminating her face. Abby sat up lazily and attempted to remove her shoe, but all she could do was giggle at her failure. You sat the the edge of the bed and unlaced them, placing them across the room. She manages to remove her jacket alone, but you insist on tucking your fingertips under her shirt and pulling it upwards. The static made her fly-aways stand up, which you naturally brushed downwards. She observed you as you then moved to unbutton her pants. The beats in your chest were obnoxious in your ears — you were sure Abby could hear it too. The only noise in the room was the huffing of her breathing, which was two touches away from becoming moans. Abby sat before you, legs spread, dangling off the edge in her nude bra and matching lace panties. Her dainty underwear in contrast to her toned body filled that cave in your belly. She brushed her hands through her hair, rolled her neck, and fell back on the bed. 

You ran in the kitchen and filled a glass with water, leaving it at her bedside. She was now under her sheets, admiring you. 

“I’ll come check on you in the morning.” 

A heavy pause floated above your heads. 

“Wanna just… s—?” / “I’m gonna go.” 

You both speak simultaneously, you freeze, curious if you let her repeat herself, but you don’t. 

“Okay.” She smiled weakly. 

“If you need me just knock. ‘Night Abby.” 

You peeled your dress off and tossed your shoes and underwear on your living room floor. Your naked body glistened with goosebumps, making your nipples harden. They became so sensitive, begging for touch, and suddenly you wished you didn’t leave Abby alone. You fall into your bed that was plush with warmth, ruffling the sheets under you. Your mind painted images of Abby’s hands slipping under your dress, pushing aside your panties, and sticking her fingers in your slick that she was responsible for. 

Your hands trailed to your aching core, surprising you with how wet you stayed all night. You roll your arousal-covered clit languidly, imaging Abby. The picture of her partially nude body flashed clearly, making you sweat. Once you build up the courage to slip your fingers in you groan her name. Abby. Letting her name levitate in the air as the sloshing noise between your legs increases. 

The Saturday sun broke through the curtains of your bedroom, revealing the state you left yourself in, nakedly aroused. A soft pattering was rhythmic at the door, which spooked you. Your back is now erect, and you don’t care to remember how or why you were this nude in bed, you just reach for the nearest t-shirt and cover your top half as you open the door. Abby was grinning, a smile as bright as the sun, holding two coffee mugs. She had ditched her matching attire for red and black plaid pajama pants, with an old college top that was worn from time. You undo the chain lock and let her in, kicking aside your dirtied clothes. 

Even hungover, she still looked beautiful. 

“Good morning.” 

You were slightly upset that Abby woke you up this early on a weekend, especially looking this good. You run to the bathroom and see the caked makeup on your face and wash it fresh. You lead her to your room where you ruffled through your dresser for a clean pair of underwear. Abby shot her eyes to the ground as you lifted your shirt to slip them on. You accepted the coffee from her hands and sat on your bed, curdled in the corner. 

“Thanks.” You squint. 

“I woke up feeling like shit.” 

“You had a night.” 

Just for a moment you had forgotten the Mel fiasco, but quickly remembered. 

“I did?” 

“You and Mel…” You allude. 

Her face falls into her palm, “Oh no,” 

You force a giggle but you hated seeing it. 

“Full tongue.” 

“Fuck. I really — I don't really know why or how that happened.” 

“She got you drunk, kept feeding you drinks… hands all over you.” 

“But it’s Mel! It’s Mel, she hates me.” 

“Hmmm.” 

She stares. 

“There you go with that again.”

“What?” 

“The hmmm stuff.” 

“You’re just hard to understand sometimes Abby.” 

“Maybe I’m not meant to be understood.” She smirked, watching your face contort with agitation. 

She leans against your headboard and just stares at you. 

“Did I do anything else?” Her voice suddenly capricious. 

You shook your head in reply as you sipped. 

“I just didn’t know she liked girls.” 

“Abby, she doesn’t.” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Glad nothing further happened. Right?” 

“Nope. I mean unless something happened just as I put you to bed.” Her eyes lit up at this news, something ignited in her, mostly gratified. You drink more and feel your body tensing up under her lens. 

“Put me to bed?” Her fingers find her ridges in your sheets, the same way they did to your dress, and smooth them out. You shudder remembering her drunken touch. Her eyes glaze over with a sharp look, almost as if she remembered too.

#abby x reader #abby anderson smut #ellie williams smut #abby anderson x you #abby smut #abby anderson #sub!abby #sub abby #ellie smut #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou

[qtubbo]

Note: For people who were just watching Phil’s POV, while this was still present it much harder to notice how genuinely insecure Phil was making Sunny feel, being much more blatant with full context of who Sunny is through Tubbo’s entire POV of them.

QPhil was incredibly mean spirited towards Sunny, to the point where it felt much more purposeful rather than Phil just being in a weird mood, he was also unnecessary judgement towards Tubbo’s parenting. To an extreme unmatched by any of the other older parents to any of the new parents, constantly mocking Tubbo’s builds, abilities, and rules. While he started off very pleasant towards if not a bit confused, as the day progressed and later conversation from Phil about Sunny he became more bluntly resentful and annoyed. The easiest way to simplify his actions is to consider him acting like Tubbo’s cruel mother in law, if you know the trope.

I think this was done from the simple fact that he missed his kids, and was projecting his own relationship with Tallulah onto Tubbo and Sunny. A lot of how he treated Sunny at the beginning was more similar to how he treats Tallulah and as the day went by the more certain I felt that he was projecting Tallulah onto Sunny. He was more critical of his parenting because he wanted for Sunny what he would want for Tallulah, he rejected a lot of Sunny’s actual wants because he knows what’s good enough for his daughter and what Tubbo was doing wasn’t enough. This is also why he was rejecting of Sunny’s actual wants because he was coping through her, anytime Sunny strayed off what Tallulah wanted it was hurting his illusion and therefore needed to be squashed.

Sunny came off as cold to Phil, because instead of giving her bright personality to him it was given to Tubbo. The more they strayed from Tallulah’s personality the harder it was to continue pretending, he wanted Tallulah and got Sunny, and he resented Sunny for that. I fully doubt this was on purpose, rather Phil was subconsciously projecting is own daughter on to Tubbo’s. Nothing Sunny could have done would have made Phil love her, even though she was trying so hard to be loved by the man their Pa looks up to. This becomes even more obvious when you compare his relationship to Sunny to his one with Empanada. While I don’t consider Em and Tallulah to be very close in personality, I think they are similar enough to scratch that itch for Phil and Empanada was less reserved then Sunny making Phil feel that was kinder than Sunny. Which was inevitably why he ended up saying the most hurtful thing of all about Sunny to Tallulah.

“Sunny’s nice I’ve met with them, and talked to them about stuff. She likes money.”

“Oh look over there, there’s Empanada! You’ll really like Empanada!”

He said this to comfort Tallulah but he still said it in front of Sunny, Kids notice that stuff when you talk about them like an afterthought, and then the next kid with full blown excitement it hurts. You’ll like Empanada you won’t like Sunny.

Also I’ll analyze Tubbo and Phil’s relationship more in another post, since I’ve seen a lot of conversation around it right now and I wanted to say something on its own. As a second note I took out a lot of the crueler comments Phil said in private since while he did say them, I would only include them if I had quotes as to not accidentally villainize him through misremembering.

#qsmp #Qsmp phil #Qsmp tubbo #qsmp sunny #qsmp tallulah #REMINDER THIS IS ABOUT THE CHARACTERS NOT THE CCS !!!! REAL LIFE PHIL AINT BEEFING WITH SUNNY THE EGG #BECAUSE THEY WEREN’T HIS DAUGHTER THAT WOULD BE WEIRD #Also before I get this accusation again I watch phils whole pov for this thats why im able to make that note #I did research okay! I did make the mistake of not writing down the actual qoutes from phil…. Which is why that section was removed

[ghouljams]

Build Me a Castle of Memories Rating: M Word Count: 6.8k Tags: hurt/comfort, christmas fic, Ghostxf!oc/f!reader, background Pricexf!oc, dissociation, anxiety, grief, 09 Ghost's backstory, Ghost reconciling with his past, dad!Ghost, baby oc Summary: Ghost has never had what you would call a happy Christmas, but you have and that chafes more than he wants it to. He wishes it didn't, but he doesn't know how to stop it. Maybe he was doomed from the start.

“Simon, wake the fuck up, we got chores.”

Ghost folds his pillow over his ears and rolls over, away from the pounding of your fist against the door. There’s nowhere to escape the noise in the little one room house, but damn if he can’t try. He presses the pillow more tightly against his ears, squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like a kid again, your insistent knocking filling in holes in his memory he’d rather forget.

His father banging on the door, screaming as he tries to shield Tommy. His mother’s voice attempting to pacify him. The crack of skin against skin, the soft shocked noise that comes from being struck. A sharp yelp, a plea, but the banging on the door doesn’t stop.

Ghost jerks awake again. His mind struggling to disconnect from the past and focus on the present. How long have you been trying to wake him? He tosses the quilt off and grabs his mask. He needs to get away from this memory, and you’re just in time to help. The mask is pulled on as he goes to yank the door open. 

You stare up at him, unapologetic for the early hour. Actually you look a little annoyed it took him so long to get up. Your eyes drop down, and Ghost leans against the door frame to let you look. One nice thing about Texas he supposes, it’s still warm in the winter. Warm enough he doesn’t need more than a pair of shorts to sleep in. 

Your eyes pull back up to meet his and he cocks a brow.

You’re cute in an oversized jumper and shorts. He wonders if you’ve started chores, must have since your boots already have mud on them. “Is it a Ghost day today?” You ask, referring to his mask. He hums. 

“What do you need, Princess?” He’s already tired of the direction this conversation is taking. Better to keep you both on track and avoid unnecessary topics. December is starting to chafe despite the climate. The feed store had giant candy canes out front the last time he passed it, and a tree lot has already been erected by the church. Must be a merry time of year, not that Ghost’s ever enjoyed it.

“Momma wants the Christmas tubs, and I need another set of hands with the trailer.” You explain, dangling the keys from your fingers. Ghost hums again, you shouldn’t have trouble with a few boxes of decorations, not enough to need his help at least. It’s a good excuse to grab some time alone with you though, one he’s happy to take.

You’re always a welcome distraction from the tightness in his chest.

“Lemme get my boots,” He grumbles, turning back into the house. He leaves the door open for you, knows you’ll follow him in and make yourself at home. It’s charming, you’re charming, if a little annoying.

Sure enough the door clicks shut behind him, and he hears you fussing in the kitchen with the kettle. Ghost is tightening his belt when you offer him a to-go mug of tea. It always tastes better when you make it, the thermos is warmer, the bitterness a little softer, the sugar a little sweeter. 

He burns his tongue on the scalding liquid as you pluck his hat from the coat rack by the door and settle it on your head. You toss a smile over your shoulder at him, and it’s like a sunrise over the hills.

The darkness of memory scurries back where he can lock it. The house feels gentler somehow, he feels gentler. Softer around the edges when he rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Come on ya big softy,” You laugh, patting his chest, “The quicker we get started the quicker we get done.”

Ghost huffs, “They’re Christmas decorations, how long could they take?”

-

Ten tubs in Ghost decides your mother is insane.

The shed that they’re all in seems dedicated solely to Christmas decor. There are light up reindeer and inflatables, boxes overflowing with lights, and tubs. Tubs upon tubs of heavy ass decor. You hand him another box to find space for on the trailer and Ghost is forced to reconcile with the fact you’re hardly breaking a sweat. You give a soft noise of effort when you lift a tub from the floor or pull one off a tower, but otherwise… Ghost spends a fair amount of time on the walk between the shed and trailer thinking about it. 

Maybe they’re not that heavy.

He comes back to the shed to see you stripping your jumper off, the dark tank top underneath hits him like a train. You fold your jumper neatly and place it on top of the tub you lift off the ground with a huff. You blink at him when you turn to take it to the trailer, and a smile creeps over your face. 

“Pick your jaw up baby, you’ve seen worse than this,” You tease, shouldering past him just to bump his arm with yours. Baby. You could call him anything you wanted and he’d have to stop himself from following after you. How can one little word make his chest swell and tighten?

How could he ever want to raise a hand to someone that made him feel like this?

Fifteen tubs, nine light up reindeer, and more lights than Ghost has ever seen. He boxes you in as you’re locking up, leaning heavily against his arm on the shed door. You turn to lean against the rough wood as you tuck the key back into your pocket. He holds your chin with his fingers, thumb rubbing against your skin as he takes you in. You give him a confused sort of smile and settle your pretty hands on his chest.

“You ok, big guy?” You ask, your voice light to disguise your concern. Ghost tips his head, quiet. It’s the season, he wants to say. It’s bitterness and resentment that creeps in every year at this time. It’s the smiles of kids swinging their parent’s hands and chattering about santa. It’s the sun shining and the wind blowing without a chill, like it would hate to ruin a perfect December with snow. 

“Fine,” Ghost tells you. Your brows twitch down like you don’t believe him. He kisses you quick before you can ask again. 

-

“Swear you got more of this stuff every year,” Price gripes back at the house, his smile telling Ghost he truly doesn’t mind. Your mother eagerly pops the lids off each tub to inspect the contents before telling Price where to take it. It’s a slow process, slower than the initial loading, but easy enough. Ghost takes a huge tub from you, this one clearly labeled “garlands.” It’s unwieldy, but not too heavy. He shifts it up over his shoulder to get it up the steps to the farm house’s front door. 

“Thank you for helping Simon,” You mom smiles at him, her hand light on his arm. Something about her touch sears against his skin, her smile chokes him, he’s glad for his mask as he holds her gaze. He nods and continues into the house.

Outside he can hear your mom arguing with you about something. A well meaning sort of tone that carries through the air without yelling, never yelling. Your huffing and whining hardly seem to break the atmosphere. No harsh words, no physical altercation, no familiar ending. 

Price passes Ghost on his way out and pauses. His eyes dart to him as he brushes past before he’s out the door again. Ghost sets the tub in the living room with the others. He pats the top, stares at the red lid, pats it again. His stomach twists. He pats it again.

Why can’t he move away?

He pats it. Job done. So why is he still standing there? 

He pops the lid off the tub and stares at the pine green garlands, nestled in with fake snow and little red baubles. Christmas-y. His fingers skim the fake needles. Plastic, of course, crushed and bent in places from years of wear. Where do these go? Ghost glances around the room, it feels smaller with all the tubs. The first garland has been lifted from its place by the time you wander by with your own tub, and your jumper on.

“Better leave it, Momma’s particular about her decoratin’,” You tell him, setting your box on the dining table. Despite your warning you tug your tub open and pull tablecloths and centerpieces free. Apparently you’re allowed to help past moving boxes. 

Ghost drops the garland back into its tub and presses the lid shut. He goes to grab another box.

-

For how many tubs there were, the actual decorating goes fast. “Plenty of hands,” You mum, Duck, she told him to call her Duck, tells him with a smile.

There’s a heavy weight on Ghost’s chest, something too large to wrap his arms around. He doesn’t say much as he helps get reindeer plugged in, and fluffy cotton snow tucked around ceramic houses. He finds himself outside with a cigarette between his fingers more often than he’d care to admit. The choke of smoke in his lungs is more familiar an ache than the other one. Nameless, because to name it would mean acknowledging it. 

Ghost watches the wind rustle through the dry grass, his eyes trained on the wide horizon. He wishes he could change the shape of his shadow, knock off the parts that dig into his skin. He’s tired. Maybe he should find somewhere to go for the next few weeks, get away from the festivities. Just for a while. Just until it stops hurting. The screen door knocks against the frame behind him.

“You’re quiet,” You lean against the porch railing, eyeing him. You’re so damn observant it kills him. Ghost snubs his cigarette on the ashtray next to him and lets the last of the smoke leave his lungs.

“So I’ve heard.” He tells you, turning to push past you and back into the house. If he stays around you too long he might say something he can’t take back. It’s better like this.

Price is busy enough with the upstairs decorations that Ghost doesn’t feel bad making a beeline for the living room. Red and green cover the place. The mantle over the fireplace hosts a christmas village, the couch boasts flannel throws and christmas pillows, miniature christmas trees in various styles are set on every horizontal surface. Somehow the room feels warmer, the twinkle of fairy lights giving everything a soft glow. 

How could he have anything to say around this? All this- Fucking hell why do you have to be one of these families? A happy family. You don’t even have a proper tree yet but there are already presents set in the corner Price partitioned off as the “tree spot.” 

Ghost rubs his thumb against one of the garlands hung up around the entryway. So this is where they went. Your- Duck waves him over when he makes eye contact, offers him a baby of a hammer and a few tiny nails.

“Make yourself useful and tack up the cotton,” she smiles at him. He gives a short nod and follows the line of her fingers to the line of cotton circling the room, nestled neatly over a thick garland. Duck surrenders the step ladder to him and Ghost is quick to take over. He tucks the cotton into place and pushes the little nail into it, taps it with the head of the little hammer.

“We have to re-plaster every other year or so,” Duck says behind him, filling the silence with her voice.

“I can tell,” Ghost grumbles, eyeing the little holes that dot the wall. He tacks another length of cotton snow to the wall, squishes it up against the ceiling and drives the nail in. He looks back down at Duck and holds his hand out for more cotton. She’s already holding the next batch of it, apparently well versed in this whole decorating business. 

“You should’ve seen the wall before we started fixing it,” She hums, “years and years of holes.” Ghost says nothing. These holes are nothing. Years and years of holes knocked into walls, covered by picture frames and curtains. “Most of these decorations have been in the family for years,” She tells him, background noise to the drone of his thoughts, “We still use my mom’s plates for Christmas dinner.”

“You ever broken one?” He asks, feeling his throat tighten as soon as the words are out. He squeezes his fist, the points of the nails digging into the meat of his palm. 

“Of course,” Duck’s tone is alien to him, it’s all alien to him, “that’s what happens with old things, but I don’t need the plates to remember her.”

Ghost stares at the wall, the plastic needles of the garland, the red bows and white cotton. He bounces the weight of the hammer against his fingers, unseeing. There’s something at the edges of the statement that feels targeted, that speaks to an understanding he wishes she didn’t have. You don’t know me, it says, but I know you. Something wet tickles his fingers, he can feel the warmth of it dripping from his grip. 

Remember when you had things you could carry with you? He asks himself. Pictures, smiles, something more than a memory? When’s the last time he visited their graves? Are they clean? Has anyone brought them flowers?

“They’re just things Simon,” his memory whispers, voice watery, like it doesn’t want him to see it cry.

Someone touches his arm, and asks, “Simon?” in a voice so close to his mother’s that he jumps, and nearly topples off the step ladder. A pair of hands press to his back to keep him steady.

“I’ll be alright,” his memory finishes, like a hand stroking his hair. He feels small. It hurts.

He drops the nails from his hand, lets the hammer fall free as he grips his wrist with a shuddering breath. Shit. Small puncture wounds dot his palm, nails still clinging to the meaty base of his thumb. He focuses on his breathing, pushing the pain down into its tightly lidded container as he steps down off the ladder.

Duck grabs his hand before he can shoulder past her towards the bathroom, inspecting the damage. Damn doctor. She clicks her tongue, the same way you do when you’re upset. She spreads his fingers out, opens his hand as she prods around the blood.

“Doesn’t look like any permanent damage done,” She smiles up at him, a mother’s smile where he’d hoped to see a doctor’s, “Just needs cleaned up.” Simon swallows.

“Let’s get it over with.” He responds, the same way he always does to medical.

-

Ghost studies his bandaged hand in the quiet of his bathroom, water patters against the tile of his shower in the silence. Plain gauze and bandaging, the same as it always is. No stitches needed. No permanent damage. Just plain gauze. And bandaging.

He rubs his thumb against the rough bandage, feeling its familiarity.

He sighs and leans back against the sink, presses his hand over his eyes to block the buzz of the overhead light. How much longer does he have to wait before it all stops hurting? 

-

Things quiet down after the house is decorated. The holiday lulls into something almost palatable. You’re over less. In the week following Ghost finds himself sleeping alone three days in a row, finds himself unable to sleep when he does have you in bed with him. You hug close against his chest, your legs tangled with his and your breaths soft and even. He can’t lose the time he has with you to sleep, his lips press against your forehead as he feels like an outsider in his own skin.

“You should come stay in the main house,” You offer over your coffee, “until the holiday is over.” Ghost hums.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb the Christmas cheer,” He sips his tea, scrolling through the news on his phone. Never anything good, never anything that makes him happy he left the service.

“I want you there,” You press, “we want you there.” You always do that, make it sound like you aren’t enough to convince him, like he needs more than you to ask for something before he grants it. 

“I like my space,” He looks up from his phone, and his heart twists at the sadness in your eyes, he fixes his eyes back on his phone, “I’ll think about it.”

“Maybe closer to Christmas? I know it’s not-” You hesitate, he hates hearing you hesitate, it doesn’t sound right to his ear when your confidence wavers, “With my parents around, I know it’s not ideal, or romantic, but-”

“I don’t like sleeping alone either,” Ghost finishes for you, swallowing his own feelings down, “I’ll think about it princess, promise.”

“Ok,” You smile, and kick your feet up into his lap under the table. 

He spends the whole day thinking about it. Spends the day thinking about sleeping in a guest room, about seeing Price in the morning outside the bathroom, about family meals, about waking up surrounded by cheer when he feels anything but cheerful. He walks into the kitchen to grab lunch and finds the counters covered in unfrosted Christmas cookies, sprinkles and colorful icing laid out with joyful care. It makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, his memory working overtime to remind him of the clatter of baking sheets and the shouting that comes after the smell of burning flesh. 

He skips lunch.

There’s something broken in him, Ghost knows that better than anyone, but he can’t stop the sharp edges of it from cutting. There’s something angry clawing at his ribs, licking his scars until they itch, choking his throat with dirt and earth. He snaps at Price while the cattle files past, and wishes his captain wasn’t so damn sturdy. “I know son,” Price tells him easily. It hurts more than it has any right to. All of it hurts more than he knows it should.

He holds you in bed at night and stares at the wall, tracing the path of the moon by the light it casts through the windows. He just needs to make it through the holiday.

-

Easier said than done.

Christmas seems to take over the ranch the closer the holiday gets. Presents appear piled under the tree, cookies tower on plates just out of reach of the dog, carols seem to always be playing, and the television happily hums with every holiday movie he could think of. You catch him under a mistletoe and Ghost feels like he’s quickly reaching a boiling point. Your joy, usually so infectious, now seems tailor made to destroy him. 

He’s not mad at you, he knows he isn’t, knows exactly what this feeling is. It’s the same feeling he had in primary school watching other kids excitedly chatter about Christmas plans. Jealousy. Why did the universe see fit to give everyone else a happy family but him? He was just a kid. Kids don’t deserve that. Why did he have to go home to hell when you came home to Christmas carols and twinkling lights? 

He tried so hard to be good,

And it never mattered.

Still, he doesn’t want to ruin the holiday for you. He follows you around town while you Christmas shop, smiles when you smile, offers you new jokes to hear you laugh, stops to look at the little display in the antique store window. Somehow it cheers him up, buying you a gift. It feels small, but genuine. He tucks the little felt lined box into his pocket and rubs his thumb against it when his thoughts start to drift away from you. 

You squeeze his hand, your fingers intertwined as you walk. It feels reassuring for the first time in days.

-

With your gift in the back of his mind Ghost finally feels like he’s getting a handle on the whole Christmas situation. He can do this for you, he can give you a good holiday. You deserve a good holiday, even if he feels like a recruit getting pushed into action without so much as a vest. It still chafes at him, but Ghost has gotten good at ignoring uncomfortable feelings over the years. He shoves down the green eyed monster, and tries to throw a tarp over the old wounds that threaten to reopen. 

He ignores the twitch of your mother’s brows, the clench of Price’s jaw, your hopeful smile. It’s strange how… easy it is to join the holiday, like you’d been waiting for him, holding a place for him to slot into. The warmth of it sinks into him, wraps around him gently where he’d thought it would try to pierce him. 

He still hasn’t worked up the courage to take you up on your offer. He can’t look at you when he leaves, can’t see that tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It feels colder when he goes back to his little house. You’re so busy with your family, and he’s been holding himself back from you. He’s never been a coward before, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than letting you know how hurt he is, how broken he is to be jealous of your happiness.

Ghost tugs the towel off his mirror and stares down his reflection. His fingers squeeze the edge of the sink, knuckles white as he leans against the porcelain. It’s the season, he tells himself for the hundredth time, but it isn’t, is it? There’s a piece of his father lodged in his soul, dark and cloying, desperate to get out of the cage Simon shoved it in. The little voice in his head that asks why anyone else should have something nice if he didn’t get to. 

He grips the sink tighter, keeps his eyes focused on their reflection. 

The world is unfair and cruel. That’s why he joined the military, to even the scales. It’s his mum’s fault really. He swallows the lump in his throat. God she would have loved this, loved all this Christmas bullshit, pushed him to enjoy it, pushed him to stop holding you at arms length. She would have loved you, and you would’ve gotten on with Tommy like a house on fire.

The sink cracks under his hand.

It’s shallow, but he hears the break like a bell. It pulls his attention from the mirror as he rips his hand away and inspect the damage. He shoves down the guilt that tries to bubble to the surface. This is exactly why he’s keeping his distance. He wouldn’t be able to survive hurting you, can’t stomach the thought. He’s not his father, he can give you a good Christmas. He’s going to give you a good Christmas.

He’ll kill himself before he puts you through the sort of holidays he had.

-

Christmas eve creeps up without Ghost realizing, and all of a sudden he can't escape the warmth of the main house. There are no chores for him to do, you and Price having gotten up early to finish them. There's no help he can offer, Duck shoos him out of the kitchen. Every time he attempts to leave you drag him back to the couch. It's suffocating. Price follows him out to the porch to smoke, and he realizes he hasn't had a moment to himself in hours. Ghost can't turn a corner without bumping into someone. You're all just… hovering.

And yet no one has said anything. That almost makes it worse. The atmosphere inside the house is warm and festive, but Ghost can't help being reminded of a funeral. It's the sort of long dirge that seems to have no end in sight covered in a Christmas carol. There's plenty Ghost can ignore, but this is pushing it. He's both scrutinized and ignored.

You laugh and make jokes, Price snags cookies off the plate, Duck asks about santa. The dog is handed a bone and jumps around excitedly. The lights twinkle and carols ring through the house. Ghost doesn't think he's said a word in an hour, there's no point. “Big family syndrome” Soap had said once, “makes ya louder even when there's just the two of ya.”

It's too loud. It's too normal. It's too happy when he feels like he's going to break. All of the anger and hurt in his chest that wants so desperately to explode only makes it that much worse. He can't do this.

Ghost pushes back from the table when you settle your hand on his knee. He balls up his napkin and tosses it onto the table, turning to leave as your chair scrapes against the floor. He hardly hears when you call after him.

He just needs a minute of silence, a moment for his grief. He just needs two Goddamn seconds where he doesn't have to pretend he didn't lose everything. Where he can hate Christmas in peace.

Ghost presses his hands against his eyes, he can’t stem the stream of anger and hurt that pounds at his ribs. Why? Why can’t he push this down like he always has? Why does it feel so much bigger, so much meaner? It's never been this bad before, he's never had grief boil like this.

He doesn’t raise his head to the crunch of hay underfoot. You’re coming to try and comfort him, he supposes. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. 

“Go away princess,” He grits, as you take a seat next to him.

“Oh that’s cute,” You mother hums, “she is like a princess isn’t she.”

Ghost looks up from his hands, glares at Duck to try and dissuade this line of conversation. Somehow this feels worse than if you or Price had come after him. He doesn’t know your mother well enough to anticipate her script. Open water without a life vest.

“I like to come out here when I’m upset too,” Duck smiles, looking out the open barn doors. The texas sky is darkening, the first pinpricks of starlight starting to make their appearance. Somehow it feels like Christmas, even without the cold.

“I’m fine,” Ghost looks towards the doors too, clasps his hands together where he leans over his knees. Duck hums again, quiet and patient. So assured that Ghost would spill his heart to her that he almost wants to. When he glances at her again she isn’t looking at him, her eyes watching one of the barn cats sleep with a soft smile.

“You know the first christmas I had with John was two years after Goose was born,” She tells him, “he was still in his fatigues, fresh from the airport, and I was so mad at him-” She laughs, “-because he didn’t want to hold her for a picture.” Something in her smile strikes Ghost as sad, he can’t take his eyes off of her. “He said he didn't want to get blood on her, and I-” a shaky breath “-I don’t know. Eight months in combat and he couldn’t touch his daughter, I just wanted to make him forget about it.”

“That’s your sob story?” Ghost raises a brow.

“That’s why our Christmases look like this,” Duck turns to him, “I’m sure your mother had the same thought.”

“You don’t know my mother,” Ghost grits, squeezing his hands tighter, “There wasn’t any- We never had a happy Christmas, the old man wouldn’t have allowed that.”

His father always felt so big. Always stood so tall and hit so hard. He was impossible to go against, impossible to ignore, the threat of him always hanging over Simon’s head. Christmas especially he seemed to haunt, a monster around the corner ready to pounce. He delighted in others' misery, it was no wonder he seemed to take such joy in destroying the holiday.

There was no father Christmas, no meal good enough, no decoration that didn’t end up destroyed. Good china smashed and ornaments shattered. Just things, his mum would say wiping snot from his nose, not worth the tears.

“It couldn’t have all been bad,” Duck tells him quietly, “your mum wouldn’t let it all be bad,” her grip on his hand tightens, “I wouldn’t.”

“It was all shite,” Ghost assures her with a harsh chuckle. “Just about the only Christmas that went well was-” Ghost stops, frowns as he stares out of the barn. Duck is quiet next to him, letting him sink into the memory. The first Christmas after he kicked his dad out. The first Christmas after Tommy had Joseph, his pudgy little fingers reaching for the shiny ornaments on the little tree they had. His mum had baked cookies. It was the first time she’d actually managed to get them all iced without anyone storming in to scream at her, or throw the tray on the floor. They’d sat on the floor playing Father Christmas, passing out presents with smiles. It was warm, and quiet. Just how he’d always wanted it to be.

Duck’s hand cups his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek with a startling gentleness. Simon looks at her and she smiles at him, something warm and watery in her eyes. He feels the tightness in his throat reflected back to him, feels the wetness tracing lines over his cheeks brushed away with care.

“You two would’ve gotten on like-” He shakes his head, looks away from the ache in his chest, “Doesn’t matter now.”

“She would’ve been proud of you,” Duck says, and it hits him like a bullet through the heart, “I am. We all are.”

And he realizes where you get it from, realizes why you change your ‘I’s to ‘we’s. It’s not a worry that you won’t be enough, it’s an assurance that he has more than just you. 

Simon looks at his hands, unclasps them to rub his thumb against the pinprick scabs that dot his palm. It hurts, the ball of grief in his chest bounces around hitting nerves and making everything feel bigger and scarier than it is. It eclipses everything, impossible to ignore. Duck settles a hand on his shoulder and grief presses too hard against his throat. His vision swims, and a tear falls into his hand. Duck squeezes his shoulder, an ever present warmth at his side as Simon tries to stem the flow. 

“It gets easier,” Duck's voice is soft, sympathetic, “but the good times always hurt worse than the bad ones.” Simon shakes his head, and looks at her over his shoulder, she swallows down the sadness in her smile. “I'm sorry baby,” she tells him, her sincerity hitting him the same as Price's, “I'm so sorry.”

Simon nods, he feels small and far away. He's too big to want to be held like a child, too old, yet Duck pulls him into her arms and he can't do anything but curl into her grip. His hands grip her jumper tight, keeping her held in place as he takes the offered comfort like a starving child takes grapes from the pale man’s table. There’s no judgement as tears stain her sweater, no harsh words or calls for him to “be a man”, only the quiet of the barn as Simon lets himself feel the grief he’d been avoiding all month. For years really. Ever since he found his family dead, felt the cold grasp of understanding wrap around him that he’d never have the sort of Christmas normal people have.

Not when his gifts were soaked in blood, not when he burned the last good things in his life.

“Why don’t you stay with Goosey tonight?” Duck offers, cutting through the tears, “The guest room is a mess, and I know she won’t mind.”

Of course you won’t, you’ve been trying to hold onto him all month. Trying to pull him out of the past as desperately as he was trying to avoid it. The first good thing in this chapter of his life. He should’ve been holding onto you, not pushing you away.

“You’re a good man Simon,” Duck mumbles, her voice quiet enough that he almost doesn’t catch the end of her sentence, “they wouldn’t blame you.”

He says nothing, just curls a little closer, and imagines it’s his mother saying those words.

The house is quiet when he and Duck walk back inside. Price sits on the couch reading, and opens his arms for his wife when she wanders over to him. His captain pulls her onto his lap and brushes her hair off her forehead, a quiet moment of affection in front of the fire that speaks to years of familiarity. He can only hope to have that with you someday, but first maybe an apology is in order. Simon bypasses the happy couple to go upstairs, following the lights to your room. 

He pushes the door open as quietly as he can, watches you look up from where you're sitting on the edge of your bed. Your eyes water, but you smile for him. Simon steps inside, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“Momma finally convince you to stay here tonight?” You ask. Simon hums, and holds his arms out for you. It's entirely too endearing how quickly you rush into his hold. You press your head against his shoulder and Simon does the same, burying his nose against your neck to breathe in your familiar scent. Somehow it settles in his bones like coming home. God, he missed you. Missed the way you feel in his arms, the way you melt against him with a sigh like he’s all you’d ever need to be happy.

“You were waitin’ on me,” Simon says looking at the still made bed. The room is bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights, and you stare up at him with a funny sort of smile, the kind that makes him think he’s said something colossally stupid.

“I’m always gonna wait on you,” You tell him, like it doesn’t mean the world to him. Always, you tell him, and Simon wonders again how one little word from you can make his heart feel like it will burst. You reach to cup his face, stroking your thumb over his stubble with a fondness he’s never seen before. It makes him want to tell you he loves you. 

“I have something for you,” You say before he can spill his heart. You lean out of his arms to swipe a present off of the dresser next to you. You hold out a flat parcel, wrapped in brown paper with a neat red bow. It’s simple, but the way his name is written carefully on it, far flung from your usual chicken scratch, speaks to the care put into it. He lets you go to take it gingerly, turning it over in his hands to check the seams.

“We’re more of a presents on Christmas family, but I thought you might like this early.” You explain as Simon carefully slides his finger under the tape holding the paper together, gentle not to rip it as you watch him. He turns the picture frame over in his hand and freezes.

Grainy and just barely colored is a photo of Tommy’s wedding. The happy couple smiles up at him, with Simon and his mother standing at his brother’s side, while their new in-laws stand with Beth. His fingers trace the smile on his face, the way his mum holds onto his arm, happier than he'd ever seen her. He looks up to meet your eye, your unsure smile.

“Where did you get this?” Simon asks, looking back at a life he'd buried years ago. You step closer, settle a hand on his.

“I called a couple genealogy places in Manchester,” you explain, “figured your mom might've put an announcement in one of the local papers. They faxed a couple photos over.” You pause, unsure as Simon looks at the photograph. He looks back at you when you've been quiet a moment too long. “I have one of Joseph under the tree, I can go get it.” Your nerves bleed into your voice, your tone softer than Simon's ever heard it. 

“I gotta have something to open tomorrow,” He tells you, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close to his side and kissing your forehead. “Thank you.” Simon feels quieter, you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze.

“I know it's not much,” you murmur, and Simon cuts you off.

“It's perfect.”

Somehow looking at the photo makes his heart feel lighter. It’s tangible, physical proof of the life he lived, and of the people he lived it with. He wonders if it was really so easy to find, you must have gone through a lot of effort to find this picture. The kind of effort you only put in for someone you love. 

“Got something for you too,” He sniffs, settling the picture back where it had been.

“You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simon flicks your forehead, and you swat at his hand. He grabs the little hinged box from his coat pocket and tosses it to you. You barely fumble it, popping the lid open with a smile. He almost worries you hate it the way your face screws up, your lips pouting and your nose wrinkling.

“I love it,” You tell him with a wavering voice, pulling the necklace free of its velvet prison. The little porcelain charm hangs gently from the silver chain, a tiny white goose with an orange beak and a blue scarf painted on it. You hold the charm in the palm of your hand, studying it. “Can’t believe you got me jewelry,” You joke, trying to cover the water brimming at your lashes, something Simon is happy to brush away with his fingers.

“Thought it was cute,” He supplies, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” You unclasp the clip on the chain, and hold it out to him, turning so Simon can pull the two ends around the back of your neck.

“I ever tell you that the bartender no-showed the reception?” Simon asks, helping you clasp the necklace. You laugh, trying to keep your voice down.

“No time like the present,” You smile over your shoulder at him, the sun peaking over the mountains just for him.

-

Simon holds his daughter up in front of the family Christmas tree, her little pudgy fingers reaching for the shiny ornaments as her eyes reflect the lights. She kicks her feet excitedly, cooing at the display and letting out eager huffs as she attempts to escape her father’s arms. He’s never seen anyone so excited about a few decorations, but the glee that radiates off of the baby is enough to lighten anyone’s mood. 

“Don’t let her grab anything,” You call from the couch. Simon pulls Mary back into his arms and steps closer to pull a little fuzzy teddy bear ornament off a branch. He jingles it in front of her grubby little fingers with a smile.

“This one’s yours,” He tells her quietly, “don’t tell your mum.” Tiny fingers wrap around the soft toy, and pull it close. It’s amazing how different the holidays feel with a baby, it’s like experiencing everything for the first time all over again.

Mary holds onto the little bear and Simon holds onto the ornament hook, keeping it out of her mouth as she gums at the ornament’s ears. He’s almost tempted to let her keep it, except that the baby has more presents under the tree than any of them. The perks of being less than a year, he supposes. Having doting grandparents helps too. 

Not that Simon can blame them. Mary smiles at him around the bear’s arm and his heart melts a little. Christ, how did he ever make something this perfect? “How many of these did you say you wanted?” He asks over his shoulder.

“As many as you can carry.” You hum. Simon bounces Mary in his arms, and pulls the ornament from her grasp when she switches her focus to him. Tiny fingers reach for his face, soft baby skin feeling over his stubble and giggling. He catches her hand and presses it to his lips, feeling the way Mary squirms in his arms, her chubby legs kicking excitedly.

“They’re all going to be good,” He promises her, “every Christmas-” he kisses her hand again, “-and every birthday-” another kiss, “-and everything in between. For the both of us.”

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cowboy!ghost #captain john price #john price x oc #f!reader #cowboy au #cowboy!price #oc: goose #oc: duck

[tsaomengde]

The Ones Who Found The City

Ursula K. LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" is a classic short story, and obviously I knew of it, but I'd never actually read it until recently. Well, I finally got around to it, and as many timeless classics do, it got stuck in my brain. This story is my - response? homage? sequel? pale imitation? - to it. I suggest you go and read "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" if you haven't. Not because it's actually required reading for this story - I think it stands on its own more or less okay - but because it is a classic for a reason.

---

Initially, no one is quite certain of what they’ve found when the Animus breaches the next manifold layer.  This is in and of itself expected, of course.  Exploring psychspace is by its very nature an unpredictable venture.  Each of the various infinite layers is unique and bizarre in its own way, reflecting the archetypal underpinnings of an entire species present, past, or future across an infinitude of possible realities.  The crew of the Animus, therefore, has seen things so utterly alien and inexplicable that only the rigors of their training and the care put into their psychic warding saved them from insanity.

It is somewhat disappointing, then, to find that this sub-domain is just a city.  Definitely not Terranic, certainly not, but still following the Terranic modality, with no more than a seven-degree quantum drift.

“Towers,” Thromby says into the recorder as they sit at their post at the nose of the Animus’s command center.  “Following the standard skyscrape pattern.  Unclear if they’re domiciles or business centers or both.  Coastal city, bay appears to be oceanic rather than lake.  Pleasing blend of urbanization with natural setting.”  They glance at Vigil.  “Anything on the lifescope?”

Vigil shakes his head.  “Nothing.  It’s empty.  Totally empty.”

“That’s odd,” Katrina speaks up from the helm.  “The city doesn’t show signs of decay or reclamation by nature.”

“Entropy may not work in the usual way in this sub-domain,” Teasha reminds her.  “The city itself could be the natural growth, reclaiming the artificial countryside.  We’ve seen things like that before.”

Thromby feels Katrina’s unconscious bristling at the subtle reminder that she is the newest member of the crew and thus less experienced in the vagaries of psychspace than everyone else.  Next to Vigil, who is only nineteen, she is also the youngest.  “I would expect,” Katrina says, her voice cool, “that in a sub-domain so obviously based on human archetypes, entropy and nature-versus-civilization tropes would function more or less as usual.”

“I’m certain you would,” Teasha replies, her voice equally cool.  “When you’ve been at this as long as me and Thromby, you’ll learn better.”

“Enough of that,” Thromby says before Katrina can reply.  They love Teasha, but she tends to be too harsh on new crewmembers.  A defense mechanism, they know, to insulate her from the all-too-common pain of losing them.  But Katrina has too much to prove.  The clash is natural and to be expected, and even useful at times, but now is not one of them.  “Vigil, get me readings on atmosphere, microbiome, and psychic radiation, if any.  Katrina, pick a spot on the coast and bring us down there.  I want to see if the ocean is actually an ocean or a liminality representation.  Teasha, get the Animus tuning to this sub-domain’s resonance frequency.  I don’t want any dissociation issues.”

The orders are mostly unnecessary, since everyone already knows what they’re about, but they serve their intended purpose, which is to re-focus everyone on the task at hand and redirect their nervous energies, particularly Katrina’s.  Thromby still isn’t sure she’s going to make the cut after this expedition is over, but there’s potential there.  They would be foolish to ignore someone with Katrina’s strength of identity grounding. 

There are plenty of sub-domains out there where it’s useful to be entirely certain of who you are, and not everyone can be.

---

The first day’s worth of exploration yields more questions than answers, which is normal and expected.  Thromby is indeed certain that Katrina’s initial assumption that this is a human-archetypal sub-domain is correct.  Human atmosphere, human shadow- and ontological concepts, Terranic fish in the very-real ocean.  But the iconography is sparse and mostly nonsensical.  It’s clear that the city was able to actually function as a city, but it feels purposeful, designed, in a way that actual cities outside psychspace rarely do.

“It’s a metaphor,” Vigil says as they sit around a campfire on the beach after the first day.

“Well, obviously,” Katrina agrees, and Vigil lights up – both visibly and psychically – at her concordance.  Thromby knows Vigil has been nursing burgeoning feelings for Katrina since she joined them, and has so far seen no need to make anything of it.  “But a metaphor for what?”

“We don’t have enough data,” Vigil replies.  “But I’m certain of it.  We just need to keep exploring.”

Thromby takes a bite of the fish they’ve been roasting over the fire.  It’s a pleasant change of pace to be able to eat something real, instead of the platonic nourishment suggestions dispensed by the Animus.  “Agreed.  I’m curious to see what the point of this place was.  We have five more days before we have to resurface and the expedition has been quite successful already.  I think we can spare the time.  Teasha?”

Taking a bite of her own fish, Teasha purses her lips as she chews.  “I concur, but I’m uneasy.”

Teasha is their psychometry specialist, so this makes all of them sit up a little straighter.  “Are we in danger?” Katrina asks.

“Of course we’re in danger, we’re in psychspace.  But in this particular sub-domain?  Metaphorical danger, as Vigil says.  Ideological or memetic patterning rather than physical.”

Thromby nods.  “I suspected that might be the axis of it, here.  We will need to split up to cover the necessary ground in the time we have left, so everyone stays in contact while exploring.  Mechanical and psychic.  No exceptions.”

None of them are particularly happy with this pronouncement, but they see the wisdom of it.  It’s distracting and somewhat draining to keep a four-way psychic connection going, especially over distance, but their implanted transceivers sometimes don’t function properly, depending on the sub-domain.  Electromagnetism and causality both seem to be standard here, but such things have been known to change in an instant depending on whether the sub-domain is actively malicious or not.

Thromby doesn’t feel any such malice here, though.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t present; such things are often quite good at hiding themselves.  But they’ve been exploring psychspace for seventy-eight years subjective.  They’ve learned to trust their instincts.

---

Two more days of exploration are frustratingly unrevealing.  The city is the size of a proper metropolis, and they know it will be impossible to actually explore any significant percentage of it in only a few days, but Thromby is still irritated by their lack of progress.  They find evidence of cultural signifiers, rituals, and traditions, but again, the iconography is vague and appears opaque to standard Jungian-Jingweian analysis.

Teasha spends the two days on a different investigative track than the rest of them.  “Psychometrically speaking the city is remarkably healthy,” she said on the morning of their second day.  “Most locations, metaphorical or otherwise, bear the echoes of trauma or strife, but this place seems to have been almost entirely peaceful.  Totally voluntary anarcho-communism or ordnung-socialism, perhaps, without the usual markers of systemic violence inherent to capitalistic or fascistic systems.  But there’s a thread somewhere that I keep detecting the edges of.”

“A thread of what?” Thromby asked.

“Pain, of course.”

It is on the evening of their third day in the city that Teasha calls them to her.  She uses their transceiver link rather than a psychic summons.  “To avoid contamination,” she explains.  “I’ve found the source of the thread.  Double your usual wardings and enter seclusive patterning before you come inside.”

Thromby does so, of course, though they dislike cutting themselves off from their extrasensory perception.  It feels like trying to see with only one eye.  When they arrive at Teasha’s location, however, they immediately understand why she insisted on it.  The possibility of psychic contamination here is very high.

“What is this?” Katrina asks, holding her nose in disgust.

“The point of the metaphor, of course,” Teasha replies.  She indicates the filthy cellar in which they’ve found themselves, the only part of the city so far that has seemed actively decrepit.  “I guarantee you that even if we spent the rest of our lives exploring this city we would find only this one place showing any signs of entropy.”

The cellar stinks of excrement, a combination of ammonia and fetid shit, despite the physical processes creating such smells having terminated long ago.  The floor is dirt.  There are no windows.  In one corner there are two mops, their heads stiff with drying waste, and a bucket, the metal bands around its circumference orange with rust.

“They concentrated all of the city’s entropy into a single space?” Vigil asks.

“Not entropy,” Teasha tells him.  “Cruelty.”

Katrina gapes, her hand falling away from her nose for a moment.  “Come again?”

“Something lived here,” Teasha explains to her.  “Or, more precisely, was forced to live here.  It functioned as a psychic magnet, of sorts.  The functioning of the city relied entirely upon its imprisonment and use as a scapegoat.”

“What was it?” Vigil asks.

“One of the innocence-sacrifice archetypes.  An animal or a child.  I suspect a child; an animal can feel pain and misery, certainly, but it doesn’t conceive of injustice in the same way a child does.”

Thromby feels their stomach turn a little.  “Ah.  I see.”

“See what?” Katrina demands.

“The point of the metaphor indeed,” Thromby replies.  “This entire city and all its inhabitants, predicated on the suffering on a child.  It’s a morality construct, and a good one, too.”

“A good one?” Vigil asks.  “It’s grotesque.”

“Your deontological leanings are showing,” Katrina tells him.  “From a utilitarian perspective it’s perfect.  Nothing exists without imposing an energy burden on the system in which it exists.  Even the nourishment suggestions the Animus feeds us in liminal space between manifolds is distilled from universal krill.  But this?  The concentration of all of a society’s utility burden onto a single individual.  The ultimate maximization principle.”

“And your teleological leanings are showing,” Teasha sniffs.  “You’re missing the point of the metaphor entirely, Katrina.  It isn’t about utility.  It’s about cruelty.  The cruelty is the point.”

Katrina’s nostrils flare and Thromby cuts in before she can start really arguing.  “Enough,” they say.  “A conflict here in this space could be dangerous.  We’re at the focus of the sub-domain and things have a way of rippling.  We’ve discovered the point of the metaphor, so we can go back to the Animus and leave in the morning.”

Both Katrina and Teasha look ready to argue the point with them, but then they master themselves and both nod.

“Do we have to wait until morning?” Vigil asks, looking around the cellar in transparent disgust.  “I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later.”

“You know the rules,” Thromby replies.  “We don’t transit without everyone being rested.  A tired mind is a vulnerable mind.”

Reluctantly, Vigil nods, too.  The four of them walk away from the cellar, their thoughts opaque to one another.

---

Thromby is jolted out of sleep by Teasha screaming.

They sit bolt upright and look down at Teasha in the bed next to them.  She is clutching at her head, shaking, writhing beneath the sheets.  “Teasha!” Thromby snaps.  “Focus!  Center yourself!”  They grab her by the wrists and pry her hands from her face; her nails are leaving bloody marks in her skin.

“Too much, it’s too much!” she shrieks.  “I’m lost!”

Thromby forces their way into her mind.  She previously gave them her consent for this, knowing that it might be necessary in a moment like this one.  What they see there –

“Aquinas,” they say aloud.  The implants in Teasha’s cochlear nerves pick up on the trigger word and activate, sending the kill-signal to other implants deeper within her brain.  She stops screaming and slumps, unconscious, temporarily brain-dead.  When Thromby says the word again she will be switched back on, but for the moment she is safe from the psychic contamination that was attacking her along her psychometric vector.

Which, of course, means that Thromby has to deal with this issue alone.

They dress quickly and exit the Animus into a beautiful summer day.  Pennants and banners wave atop the rigging of ships in the harbor, bells sound from the city, and people, so many people, cavort and revel on the beach, in the waves, in the streets.  There is laughter, merriment, the intoxicating psychic swell of happiness and excitement.  Thromby threads their way through the crowds in the streets – mothers carrying their infants, children running through the streets in elaborate games of some variation of Terran tag, huge parades of horse-drawn carts with animalistic balloon totems floating in the air above them.  Vendors call out to Thromby, offering delicious food, intricately made jewelry, amazing clockwork-mechanical toys, sensory-enhancing drugs, and a thousand other variegated temptations.  Street musicians play upon cunningly crafted instruments – strings, pipes, percussion, keys – and revelers cavort to the tunes.

Thromby can feel the bright sparks of all of these people in their mind.  These are real, thinking, feeling beings.  They belong to the metaphor, certainly, but Thromby could speak to them, touch them, verify their self-consciousness and interiority, even invite them to come and join them onboard the Animus and explore psychspace.  They could bring them up into the real, return home with them, have a life with them.  That is how it has to be, of course.  Thromby knows they themself may belong to a different metaphor of a different order, after all.  The real is only real because enough people agree it is.

But they do none of these things.  They just walk, stolidly, back to where they know they have to go.

Katrina is waiting for them outside the cellar, barring the way in.  Thromby has their wards up at triple strength and has been in seclusive patterning since before leaving the Animus, but they don’t need to be psychic to read her mind.  Everything she is feeling and thinking is there in plain sight – the proud and defiant way her chin is thrust out, the blaze in her eyes, the way she has her arms crossed and feet at shoulder width.  She is ready to fight.

“Let me through,” Thromby says without preamble.

“No.”

Well, that’s their respective positions, Thromby thinks, articulated clearly and easily enough.  “Why not?” they ask.

“Vigil consented.”

“Vigil is in love with you and you know as well as I do that consent is a matter of framing,” Thromby snaps.  “Move.”

“No.  I explained everything to him and he consented.  It has nothing to do with whatever feelings he might have for me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, but fine.  For the sake of argument, tell me how you explained it.”

Katrina hesitates, and Thromby can tell she wasn’t expecting them to actually offer her a chance to proselytize.  “The point of the metaphor is that no matter how great and beautiful the society, if it’s predicated on cruelty, it’s unjust,” she says.  “Deontological thinking, obviously, but cruelty is by definition nonconsensual.  I explained to Vigil that if he allowed it, we could collaboratively put blocks in his mind, purposefully regress him to a childlike mental state, and put him in the cellar to suffer for a specific length of time.  Then we can pull him back out, remove the blocks, and even erase the memories of the trauma.  The child-Vigil won’t, can’t, consent, but it also won’t exist for more than a day, and pragmatically speaking never will have.”

Thromby massages their temples.  “Congratulations.  Once again, you have missed the point of the metaphor.”

“Damnit, Thromby, I’m not a child!  I have the same training and grounding in theory that you and Teasha do.  Everything I’m doing is teleologically sound, and Vigil agreed that with the steps we’re taking –”

“You’re trying to outsmart it,” Thromby cuts her off.  “That’s how I know you’ve missed the point.  You can’t outsmart this, Katrina.  There is no perfect set of circumstances you can construct to get around the simple fact that this city functions, exists, because of deliberate and terrible cruelty.  That’s the entire point of it, just like Teasha said.  Teasha, who, by the way, is currently in a coma.  I had to put her into it to keep Vigil’s misery from damaging her.”

“It’s a thought experiment,” she argues, obviously not addressing the point about Teasha because she knows she won’t win that argument.  “There’s always a correct answer for them.  The trolley, the Gettier, the –”

“It’s about fucking sin,” Thromby sighs.

“Are you joking right now?  You’re going back to the religious well?”

“Yes, because that’s what’s happening right now.  The city is a sin, Katrina.  The excesses of its beauty, its wonder, its perfection, are obscene precisely because of how and why they function.  It’s rooted in the ideology of disgust and taint.  Utility, teleology, all of these justifications and rationalizations exist and have their use, but at the end of the day, answer me one question: will you trade places with Vigil?”

Katrina hesitates.

It’s only a bare moment, less than a second, even, but it’s there.  And Thromby sees it, and Katrina sees it.

“Yes,” she says, finally.

“I knew that would be your answer.  But you know that the answer doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Katrina lowers her head.  “No.”

“You know why you hesitated.”

“Yes.”  She looks back up at them.  “But – there’s no such thing as absolute morality, any more than there’s a single objective reality.”

“Of course there isn’t.  And yet, you hesitated.”

They just lock eyes for a few seconds.  Then she lowers her gaze again.  “And yet, I did.”

Thromby steps past her and opens the cellar.

#writing #my writing #story #short story #short stories #creative writing #omelas #the ones who walk away from omelas #ursula k leguin #leguin #science fiction #sci fi #sci-fi

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ Same Breed of Annoyance — Geto Suguru

warnings: none? Slightly suggestive; fluff

“Lillies or Sunflowers?” Suguru’s question hung in the awkwardly for a second that seemed too long.

Nanami looked at him slowly, “Neither, I’m not a flowers kind of guy?” Confused as ever, he didn’t question further.

“It’s not for you idiot,” Suguru snorted, bandaging up the rest his arm—Shoko was busy—“I need to get something for y/n,” he continued, “But I wouldn’t be too sure- and where do I even begin?”

The ever present frown on Kento’s face only deepened as he continued staring, “Asking your girlfriend and not your junior would be a great place to begin,”

Suguru smiled, amused with the annoyance evident on Kento’s face, “so mean to the guy who’s patching you up—it’s a surprise, she likes sunflowers better you know?”

His jaw only ever clenched harder, “I didn’t, nor do I wish to know further,”

Suguru tapped his hand- urging him to show the other so he could deal with the blemishes there too—so much longer Kento would have to deal, “But I dunno, I think she’s feeling Lillies these days, they’ll compliment the little thing I bought her the other day too,”

“You bought her a dress?” Now don’t get me wrong, Kento was the least bit interested but to know his senior was already spending money on his girlfriend—after just two months of being together?

He deemed it unnecessary.

Suguru smirked as he wiped the blood off of his forearm, “Something like that—she looks the cutest in that set,” kento was sure he saw a wink before that dreamy look on Suguru’s face appeared—he didn’t wish to know further.

“You’re the same breed of annoying as Gojo,” he muttered under his breath, a roll of his eye he passed too—when Suguru barked out a laugh, “just get her a bouquet of both,”

An impressed hum Suguru offered at his words—as if it was ground breaking to him, “you’re actually smart you know that?” Kento winced as Suguru abruptly got up—in midst of wrapping Kento up—“you can deal with the rest of course,” he grinned and before a word of resistance Kento would offer, he was gone.

The same breed of annoyance indeed.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #geto suguru #geto x reader #getosuguru #getou x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru #getou suguru x reader #jjk geto #suguru geto #jujutsu geto #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x y/n #jjk fluff

[allmyloveandyours]

Asteroid Nemesis (128) and Where People are Praying for Your Downfall

Asteroid Nemesis (128) is one of the asteroids I've kinda always been interested in, mostly because every time I check someone's chart it's always been accurate 💀 So let's look at why some people may hate you (earned or not, but not is more accurate tbh)

Short explanation: Where Nemesis (128) is in your chart can explain the types of enemies you may have/where you could feel like you're hated.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not a professional, this is my opinions we're getting goofy w this one frfr

❥ 1st House - A hatred of the personality you present outwardly could cause people to dislike you. Whether it's actually how you are in private, people will use that as a way to justify their hatred towards you. It gives me the vibes that if you were in high school people may have simply hated you for expressing your general interests on your sleeve. Like simply putting on mascara or wearing a band tee could've had people going "who does this person think they are"?

❥ Aries - Your tendency to be a leader and move with confidence could make people seethe. In the zodiac ruled by Mars, people could simply hate the fact that you may not immediately care that you're hated. Aries gives enemies the nerve if that makes sense, as they could be very outspoken and rude about their hatred of you. They may be the type to actually bully.

❥ 2nd House - Hate geared towards the things you own, skills you possess and values you may have occur in this house. Rich or poor, people could perceive you as trying to fit into a different social class, and dislike that "fact". Another issue that could arise is general skill, as you could have a niche that people dislike you for. An example could be you have a skill for sewing and making your own clothes, enemies could think the skill is useless. They could also hate your personal style and always have something to stay about it.

❥ Taurus - An unflinching and stubborn view of you could be set by enemies regardless of how well they know you. While this doesn't make extremely outspoken enemies, in this fixed sign it could be for long periods of time. Alternatively, they could hate the fact their hatred doesn't move you in the direction they desire. You could be a tough nut to crack, which causes them to hate you more.

❥ 3rd House - Your speech, mental activity, siblings and social media could be mocked by people in this house. This house could've had enemies fixated on the way they communicate, online or not, that could provoke anger in people who don't like you. Whether they think you talk weird or post weird things, the placement points to them hating any mode of communication you may love. This could also point to getting a lot of hate comments on social media. Or even having a sibling who bullies you.

❥ Gemini - On the note of hate comments, under this sign it could signal to some verbal abuse, choosing to talk shit about you In public or on private. You could also be the subject to rumors, and take up a lot of mental activity in their brain. Literally rent free. On the flip side, they could hate you for how finicky they could perceive you. You may have a tendency to jump from one thing to another with ease, prompting unnecessary jealousy.

❥ 4th house - Enemies could have a hatred of your family life, ancestry, and general safe spaces. Any calming or parental vibes you may give could have people foaming at the mouth, most likely wanting to anger you for that inclination. It may not matter if you mean to give off this vibe or not, they could simply hate it. They could even hate you for the place you live, opting to associate you with the area you live in. Your roots could also be something they pick on, choosing to ignore any context and simply bullying you for something you have no control over.

❥ Cancer - Your enemies could act very parental towards you. Instead of something like spreading rumors and talking shit about you, it might be very passive aggressive. They may opt to make fun of you in a belittling way, presenting themselves as someone who may care for you. It could even be a material figure who does the most damage. They could also hate your caring nature, and it could anger them how you choose to mute and not hurt others.

❥ 5th house - Talent, children and fame are under a spotlight in this house. Also children could just like be your biggest hater I'm sorry ur fighting kindergartners lmao it's like that "would you kick this baby for 1 billion dollars" meme. But in all seriousness any attention you may get naturally brings haters to you, and they may be of the mind you're undeserving or simply not worth the hype. Any talents you may show off will be met with a "so what" by these people. This house could also be the kind to get "hate accounts", and have people dedicated to simply hating you.

❥ Leo - Outspoken, loud, and flashy with their hatred, your enemies could go out of their way to bring you down, often attempting to one up you or attempt divert attention away from you. They could also just hate how you choose to express yourself, and use creative talents to get attention with ease.

❥ 6th house - Coworkers, health and daily routine is under constant scrutiny in this house, as simply living your life in your preferred way can have people going crazy. Coworkers could dislike you for your work ethic or how well you do your work. Your health could also be made fun of, this house gives me the vibes of those genuine health people on Instagram or TikTok who get comments making fun of them for not enjoying good food or relaxing, like exercise doesn't help them really like stfu. Also this house rules over pets so people pets could really not vibe with you but that's just kinda funny. Other end is people hate the fuck out of your pet which is equally funny 💀

❥ Virgo - Your enemies could attempt to wear you down by nitpicking, as like Gemini you live rent free in their heads. Under this sign people generally may not like the way you operate and organize your life, choosing to instead of helping you, make fun of you for it instead. The detail orientated sign could have people picking on you about the smallest of things. Alternatively, they could hate you for how uptight and meticulous you may be. You could also know everyone who hates you, at minimum they're in your mental notes.

❥ 7th house - Your personal relationships are under a magnifying glass under this house, people opting to attack you for any one on one relationships you may have. They may be the type to tear you down for your partners, maybe not seeing what they see in you. Same with any business contracts you may acquire. As this house could rule open enemies, people could be praying for ur downfall like CONSTANTLY. On the flip side your partners could be the ones to attack you, along with getting into bad business deals. They could also attempt to isolate you and keep you to themselves.

❥ Libra - Hatred for your preference of peace and balance could make people upset with you. They may want to shake up that peace, attempting to be the opposite-chaotic and unfair, under the mask of wanting to spice something up. Libra, similarly to Cancer, would get passive aggressiveness from their enemies, getting a "I'm doing this because I want to see you improve" kind of combat rather than straight up bullying like Aries their sister sign.

❥ 8th house - Secrets, intimacy and death could force people to dig into your personal life, wanting to get as much information about you as possible. You could have hidden enemies, they instead attempt to get closer to you instead of farther away. They may pry for information, or exchange it with you in order to have as much info on you as possible. They could hate how little information you give out, seeing you as needlessly secretive.

❥ Scorpio - Your enemies may never really disclose if they hate you. They're mysterious yet emotionally when it comes to you, as they may opt to write in their journals about you rather than gossip. You could also just simply be hated for the aura of secretive you give off, as they see it as unnecessary. In my brain, this gives off a Megan Fox/Lilith in 1st placement, as the vibes you simply exist with can cause people to freak. You may get treated as an exception when it comes to hating. They could hate no one but you like it's a guilty pleasure.

❥ 9th house - Your life philosophy, religion or foreign places could be a highlight for hate. You could have a happy go lucky nature that gets hate, as people may not see you as uptight as you need to be. Your religion could also get hate, but idk how much I need to explain for that tbh that's pretty straight forward. You also could have trouble in foreign places, as you could be a subject to scams done on visitors and such. A flip side could be people hate you for your travel plans, gossiping about how you may be able to afford trips that they cannot.

❥ Sagittarius - Enemies in this placement could be a little relentless, focusing to attack you in waves. Similarly to Gemini with a hatred for finickiness, they could be extremely superficial, jumping back and forth between loving your lust for life and hating your relaxed nature. They may also be the type to try and ruin plans, or piggy back on trips without paying.

❥ 10th house - Your achievements, status and career are obsessed with this house. Your enemies may attempt to tear you down with either trying to discredit you or simply one upping you and trying to take your status from you. If you have a rags to riches tale they could think you're undeserving of any pride you may get. Other people of status may not like you in this house, and attempt to be along for the ride of your successes undeservingly.

❥ Capricorn - Your enemies may be hardasses, plain and simple. They could either hate you for your hard work ethic, or think you're not working enough. Nothing is ever enough for them. They could also potentially be authority figures in your life, having teachers who don't stop putting pressure on you, or having a father who doesn't treat you like you need them to.

❥ 11th house - Your enemies could come in the form of friends, large communities, and having people hate on you for your goals. Friends closest to you could be jealous of you, whether it's in a general sense or more in a way as they only want you for themselves like 7th house. Anything you may achieve could get hate no matter how good it is, and you could just like 5th, people could form communities just to shit on you. As a counter, you could have a hostile fan base, that outsiders perceive as you also being hostile.

❥ Aquarius - Your future-forwardness could have enemies attempting to get ahead of you, and putting a stop to your futuristic views. Your zaniness and individuality could get hated by people who cannot live the same way. Enemies could want to get ahead of you, trying to copy ideas or mimicking you in an uncomfortable way. They could also stick to tech, not wanting to one up you in person like Aquarius' counterpart, Leo, they could simply cyberbully you, or attempt to hack accounts.

❥ 12th house - Hidden things and maybe yourself are your biggest enemy, as 12th rules all things hidden, fears and maybe mental issues. Opposite of how you may live in enemies' brains rent free, you think about them a lot. You may have a fear of garnering enemies and come off as a people pleaser. On the opposite end, you may never know you have enemies, as they never never make it known. You could also get attacked for your mental state, or your ability to process your own emotions and mental health.

❥ Pisces - Enemies may hate you for your emotional intuitiveness, spirituality and head in the clouds nature. You have a bit of an issue of not really acknowledging your haters even if you know they exist. They may hate that you don't give them the attention they want as you're focused too much on yourself. Kinda like how Rihanna's ignoring the fact people want an album to peruse the things she wants to do in life. Does that make sense? Pisces has a nonchalant nature that makes people unhappy.

Aspects to Planets/Angles

Ngl this part gets the goofiest since idk how to explain this well enough oopsie

❥ Sun

Positive - Using your personality and general presence, you often can outside your enemies by simply existing.

Negative - Enemies may use your personality against you in an attempt to bring you down.

❥ Moon

Positive - You may have a stronger emotional state than the people who want to bully you, so it may be like they're bullying a brick wall.

Negative - Your emotional outbursts and reactions to bullies may be a reason they choose to pick on you and not another person.

❥ Mercury

Positive - You may be able to talk back to your enemies, breaking down any argument they have. They may not even want to engage with you verbally.

Negative - Rumors may be something that you're subjected to, as they may feel the need to constantly talk about you.

❥ Mars

Positive - You more bark and all bite than more people, and your drive may keep people away from you out of fear, of you may be able to simply win against them regardless of situation.

Negative - Your ego and angry may be the reason you get picked on, and outbursts of anger may be the reason they choose to bother you.

❥ Venus

Positive - Your love for peace, balance and style rules over any issues they may have with you, as they really could just hate you for being pretty.

Negative - They could try to use your love life against you, making you feel ugly and attempting to trash you for your style.

❥ Jupiter

Positive - Your success and expansion pushes back on people who look down on you. They may not have the ability to hinder you as well as they'd like as you're too busy expanding your boundaries.

Negative - You may feel like your enemies are bigger than they are, and prohibit your expansion. Your shine may be easily dimmed by them, and they may make fun of your life philosophies, aiming to kill whatever nature you embody.

Positive - Your stability and almost refusal to budge when it comes to other people's opinions of you. You could simply be working too hard to acknowledge any hate.

❥ Saturn

Negative - You could perceive any criticism you get as negative, and they may use your inflexibility against you.

❥ Uranus

Positive - Your innovation and need to discover more could lead you to advancing father than your enemies ever could at a faster pace. Your creativity shines over competition.

Negative - Trying to too individualistic could get the better of you, and your enemies could go after you simply because they think you're weird.

❥ Neptune

Positive - Anything they may use against you is simply a projection of themselves, as with Nemesis aspecting this planet it could mean it's not even about you.

Negative - They negative is also the positive, as with the positive aspects they may be aware of it, but in a aspect they may be completely oblivious to their actions against you, and you could get gaslit.

❥ Pluto

Positive - Your transformations will leave any sort of completion stunned and unable to complete as you're never going to be what they're hating you for at the same time.

Negative - Changing yourself too much based on what people say about you could lead people to pick on you more.

❥ Chiron

Positive - You're healing effects could end up reversing the damage that your enemies could do, taking it instead as a mental boost to know that people worry about you in that way.

Negative - Any sort of meanness could send you spiraling, causing mental distress very easily. 

❥ Ascendant

Positive - Simply continuing to exist and express yourself is enough to win against enemies, as touching the ascendant you could simply get hate for existing, and by complete strangers as well.

Negative - Since people simply hate you for existing, it could be harder for you to make friends, along with enemies being able to isolate you easier.

❥ Midheaven

Positive - Success is the path best to take in order to silence your enemies, refusing to worry about how others may process your achievements

Negative - Your coworkers may prove to be an issue, along with you may receive more public scrutiny than others.

This was a quick one, I kinda just jotted everything down so if you have any questions, let me know! Literally woke up and went "omg nemesis time" and kicked my feet and typed.

#astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #asteroid 128 #asteroid nemesis #astrology asteroids #astrology notes

[crooked-wasteland]

Okay, but like, what even is this writing?

Vivienne Madrano has the dreaded affliction of having too many characters, followed by too many ideas. And the logical narrative to link everything together to actually tell a story doesn't seem to be a high priority for her.

For starters, the main plot of the story is supposed to be the relationship between Stolas and Blitz, but every decision that has been made throughout the show has worked to decrease the interest in this plot and relationship. Let's just start at the beginning. The major interest was Blitz being an Imp while Stolas is a prince of the Ars Goetia.

The status discrepancy and how these two individuals came to be in contact was a long-standing source of intrigue that the show seemed very aware of. The first episode (actually the pilot) established a hostile relationship between the two, mainly on Blitz's side, as he was the one who obviously had the weaker position in the deal. If he refuses to sleep with Stolas, he loses the book. He loses the book. He loses his entire business. The pilot also estaished that the business was Blitz's chosen family and thus was an emotional point for his character.

Regardless of the problematic blackmail-ish pretense to the whole thing, it's a good launch pad. It would be interesting watching Stolas fall into true feelings for Blitz, or for Blitz to become aware of his own soft power within the dynamic and how much control he actually has over Stolas through his emotions. However, we never see Stolas fall in love. From LooLoo Land to Ozzie's, the relationship just is changed every time we see it. Even with the suggestions made in the bad trip sequence of Truth Seekers, we never have any actual understanding of how Blitz feels on the relationship. Is he afraid? Trapped? Does he ever realize his own strength in the dynamic? Is he resentful? It never actually settles in what the relationship actually is.

Instead, Madrano does what I think has to be the worst form of storytelling I have ever seen. Rather than watching the characters grow and become more complex, we are sent back in time to justify the relationship by contrivance. Somehow, being friends for a day over two decades prior is all the justification we need. It rewrites the earlier dynamic of Stolas using Blitz because he can to having it be that Blitz was Stolas' childhood crush. That this crush was so strong it persevered through deception, distance, and time for Stolas to immediately beg Blitz to have his way with him at his wedding anniversary party.

The complexity and intrigue on how this relationship was supposed to work was stripped of all depth and relevance. There is no journey for this relationship to take actually because they got along so well that one day, a quarter of a century ago, that their compatibility is all but assured to the viewers. There is nowhere for the relationship to actually go now, making it unnecessary to the plot while also being the primary focus of the plot.

It is a beyond fascinating faux pas that hasn't just derailed the main plot, but appears repeatedly as microcosms of everything wrong with the shows past, present, and future.

The upcoming episode has been rather highly anticipated on Twitter. However, there is an inevitable looming disappointment that hangs over the episode and thus the show at large. As it has yet to be released, this is solely speculation, but I am fairly confident in this assessment due to the trends thus far.

To be frank, this episode exists on the foundation of misunderstanding the narrative purpose of a character, namely Fizzarolli. Madrano suffers from the amateur affliction of over-creation mixed with under-exploration. While not every character needs an explicit purpose outside of expanding the world, a character to closely entwined with your main lead needs a very clear reason to being involved with the plot.

And that's where I feel this episode will crash and burn. There is no purpose to the existence of Fizzarolli. He did not need to exist for Blitz to have an unsuccessful performance career or his resentment to those who have success and fame. It adds nothing to the main character or their life.

Narratively speaking, it would make sense if Fizzarolli existed as a former or slighted love interest to Blitz who then can be used, not as a foil, but as a mirror for Blitz to be forced to contend. Because the point would then be to have Fizzarolli be the living embodiment of all of Blitz's past mistakes that he must reconcile before he and Stolas can be happy and grow their relationship.

Except, as previously mentioned, that is not a factor in the plot. The childhood friends trope between Blitz and Stolas makes this narrative unnecessary. Blitz and Stolas just are, and their conflicts are external threats (Octavia, Stella, Striker), not internal reflections of their worst tendencies. They are not at odds within themselves so much as they just seem to level up and change after every major emotional beat.

Less an MMO where you need to work for that next number through time and dedication to the world and character and more akin to those click bait ads where the most mundane change can completely alter their present self. It's unfulfilled.

Additionally, instead of focusing on the main cast, Madrano insists on reaching above her ability. To treat a minor side character as a main character is an event that is earned by first proving you understand your main characters, which has not been achieved. So, instead of experiencing the same story from the alternative perspective, it feels like a wholly new beginning unrelated to the previous concept. It feels unfinished on a narrative standpoint because the question remains, why is this story important to tell.

That's a very lean way of structuring any story, but lean is worlds better than what we are currently being fed. Bones and fat do not a hearty meal make. Learn to stand before we walk. Madrano hasn't learned quite how to crawl narratively speaking.

In Seeing Stars, the conflict between Stolas and Octavia is identical to Season 1's LooLoo Land. The one way it attempts to make up for the spiritual rerun is by trying to add a parallel secondary plot between Blitz and Loona. However, the problem between Stolas and Octavia is resolved with a simple "Whoops, I forgot" while Blitz and Loona never share a word about their problems. Rather, the episode justifies Loona's abuse of Blitz and misbehavior in general by basically saying "She's had a hard childhood". Showing a brief glimpse into said childhood for Blitz to feel guilty for attempting to set any kind of boundary and claim ownership of being the problem when, in reality he isn't the one in the wrong.

Loona is never given the opportunity to talk about herself either. Instead, she is the preaching mouthpiece for Madrano and Co to talk about how great these characters are without actually seeing any of them do those great things. Loona never speaks on herself and how insecure she feels or how she can't help but need to push Blitz's envelope constantly to feel any kind of security, waiting for him to abandon her like everyone else.

None of this is explored, instead implying that this understanding of the characters should be derived from engaging with their pasts rather than their present selves. We are not encouraged to want our characters to actively change, but to instead "remember the good times." We are not challenged to grow and adapt with age and experience, but instead should be allowed to remain the same and not be responsible for how our actions affect others.

The entire approach to character growth and complexity is antithetical to the mere definition of "Maturity".

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #this isnt how writing works #characters need growth

[venerawrites]

I CANT GET ENOUGH IF UR JEALOUS GAARA

I probably need a pat 2 because of this

THANK Y SM FOR ANSWERING MY AAKS

author’s note: thank you so much for the kind message! <3 since I’ve focused Part 1 more on his behaviour at the beginning of your relationship, I decided to base part 2 on his jealousy after you’ve been together for a while. Hope you enjoy!

Like I said in Part 1, Gaara will grow and change in the course of your relationship.

He would stop being so paranoid and worrying his mind with unnecessary fears of what are you doing, who are you talking with, and if you are going to leave him with someone else.

Tbh, I feel like it may take him between a year and a half to two years to feel fully secure in your relationship.

That doesn't mean he would never get jealous.

While he will be more controlled, he will still start to feel the ugly feeling of self-doubt and annoyance forming in his stomach if he sees or hears someone flirting with you.

If he is close by, when it happens, he would stare right at the person, while resting his hand on your lower back/right above your bum.

Doesn't feel shy to intervene in the conversation and completely change the topic.

If he is not close by, but witnesses it across the room, for example, he will totally sneak in his sand under your feet and slowly slide you away, hinting you need to get away.

If you don't get the hint, he will excuse himself from whatever conversation he is having and come and get you, using the excuse he needs your help with something.

Would still throw the nastiest DEATH GLARE at the other person tho.

During meetings or celebrations where you are present, he would try to constantly be close to you or rest his hand either on your back or your shoulder.

I feel like he is not as emotionally immature, as many people expect him to be. He is completely aware of when his attitude is nasty or rude towards others, but I feel he uses the fact that many people give him the benefit of the doubt to his advantage.

Like he can stare and be snarky or rude to someone who has been too "friendly" with you, and if confronted, he would just say "What do you mean?" with the most confused expression ever.

If he finds that someone, he doesn't consider a threat, has a crush on you, it would actually boost his ego a bit.

He has the most beautiful partner in the whole of Suna, what is there not to be proud of? Watch and burn with jealousy, hehehehe.

Jealous! Gaara is also passionate Gaara

Would totally give you special treatment later that night or an unexpected romantic gesture, just to remind you that despite not spending ton of time with you, he loves you more than life itself

#gaara headcanons #gaara x reader #gaara imagine #naruto imagines #naruto headcanons