#perhaps I’ve explained this poorly

[lulu-shiftz]

“I have to convince myself I’m in the void/shifting/manifesting/whatever :/“

no bitch!! You have to accept it!!

You convince yourself of something when you’re unsure of it, like convincing yourself that you didn’t see a shape out of the corner of your eye or that you deserve to be happy when you feel self-deprecating. You ACCEPT things when they’re real, like accepting that you have opposable thumbs.

You already know you have opposable thumbs, idiot. You don’t need to be convinced of that, you accept it because it’s fact and you have eyes and can clearly tell that you have opposable thumbs. Furthermore, your thumbs are still opposable even if you don’t actively know that they are or what ‘opposable’ means, just like Mount Everest is still the tallest mountain in the world even before you learned about it.

See what I’m getting at???

#perhaps I’ve explained this poorly #it’s 1am and I’m a little tired but I need to share my revelations #ignore the fact that this deviates from an earlier statement of mine made in a meme #anyways relevant tags now #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #reality shifting motivation #loassumption #void #void state

[lady-ashfade]

Hi! I've taken a gander at your writing and I LOVE it! If possible, I'd like to make a request of some hcs (or a short drabble, either is fine) of Astarion x a gender neutral, autistic!Tav? Perhaps they've spent a long time masking and have been terrified of telling him about their neurodivergence, but eventually (very nervously) tell him after some time into their relationship? I'm curious to know how he might react. I've fallen head over heels for this man and it would mean a lot to me as someone who's still working to fully embrace their autism. Thank you for your time 💜 ♾🌈

Hidden Truth

This is very short so I apologize! It’s also kinda shitty because I’ve never done much about this before

Astarion x Autistic!Reader HC’s

I do not have autism, and don’t know much about it. But how ever I have seen a lot about it because I have a lot of symptoms so I looked it up to be more in depth with this. I’m so sorry if I get things wrong💓

Warnings: Poorly written autistic people, mention of people leaving for this, short explanation, over all kinds fluffy and a bit sad. Idk.

Astarion noticed that you weren’t like the others, there was just something about you. It wasn’t anything bad you just…Are very unique. And he loved it that.

The way you looked around each cave or place you visited and found something cool. Your little face lights up and starts to squeal and shake your hands around.

He loved how you got so excited over things.

Then when you looked around for a clue of what to say, you tensed up when people cried around you. Or, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time because you didn’t read the room. But, he loved to laugh about it.

Fighting was hard when there was loud sounds and he could see you flinch each time even though you had done this many times before.

At camp he noticed how you played with your hands or things in your hands. But he hated when he’d find you in a panic and never told him what was going on.

These are some of the things he noticed even if you tried so hard to hide it.

You had visited him outside of his tent with a plan to come clean, or to tell him. You loved him and wanted him to know about you, but it was so hard. You often dreamed about him calling you a “freak” and leaving you. It always made you sick to your stomach.

“Why the look? You’d think my presence would make you smile.” He’s tease and inch closer, swaying his body.

“I um- I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” The tone in your voice made him slightly worried but he didn’t show it. Only smirking and showing you to the log in front of the fire. “Anything you’d like, darling.”

You sat down next to him and began to pour your hear out to him. Explaining that you had autism and what the entailed, his confused face made it almost laughable. But he listened to your words like you have always done with him.

Each detail he could see exactly what you were taking about having witnessed you doing so.

“And, pray tell. Have you decided to tell me now?” He saw how you panicked and his eyes went slightly wide at the wrong tone he used. “I only mean..What took you so long?”

You looked away from him and avoided eye contact as it became hard. “I was afraid you’d hate me.” Hugging yourself at the memories of many doing so. “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

His heart broke and his chest felt heavy at the thought you- His darling. Were scared to tell him. So he laughed a bit.

“Oh, how cute. There isn’t much you could do for me to leave you and especially over something you can’t control.” His hand rested onto of your thigh and he scooted closer to you. “I find your traits endearing.”

His other hands reached to cup your cheek and turn your head, he was so soft. Softer then he’d ever been before. “I- I appreciate you telling me. You’d never have to worry about telling me anything,” he leaned forward and leaned his head on yours. “It’s clear to see that you have me wrapped around your finger, and my amazing self has you around mine.” His lips turned to kiss your cheek. 

Astarion doesn’t really care about it much. He learns how to make you feel better and help when you get overstimulated easy.

But he’s very protective when you get stares for a tic or anything. Pulls out his weapon and threats them, glares or just straight up yells at them.

He’s with you when you need him. Over all astarion is supportive over it.

But he was confused for a period of time and acts differently until you tell him not to. He just wants to make his baby feel safe and understood.

#Astarion Ancunin x reader #Astarion Ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 astarion #yandere astarion x reader #astarion x reader #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #x autistic reader #baldur’s gate 3

[hopepetal]

Masterlist

Read on AO3!

Part Four!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

Impulse fell back into control of his own body in the same way one snapped out of a particularly long ADHD-induced dissociative state. Panicked, unthinking, and wondering how much time has it been? 

The book was still burning as Impulse instinctively reached out to snatch it from the flames, only fully processing a moment later that maybe he shouldn’t have grabbed something that was still actively on fire. With a cry of pain and shock, Impulse dropped the book onto the ground as the rain began to beat down more heavily. Stumbling back, he tripped over his own feet and fell, landing with a soft noise of pain as he held his injured hand close to his chest. 

For a moment, he sat there, the small fire put out by the heavy rain far too late. A fear the likes of which he had never felt before sat in his chest, causing his heart to race. 

What just happened to me? Is it going to happen again? My hand hurts I need to get it bandaged I need to TELL someone I can’t tell anyone what if it happens again what if I lose control and hurt someone what if– 

“Impulse?”

Once again, he was yanked from his spiraling thoughts by someone calling his name. Turning around perhaps just a bit too quickly, Impulse looked up to see Scar, sopping wet from the rain, standing behind him. “Scar,” he breathed out, equal parts relieved and terrified. “Scar, are you– are you okay?”

Scar frowned, his eyes immediately landing on Impulse’s burnt hand. “I… think I should be asking you that, Impulse. C’mere, we’re gonna get that all fixed up.” He carefully helped Impulse to his feet. “I’m not gonna ask what happened,” he began as they walked back to the main camp through the rain, “so don’t worry about that. But…” He sighed. “Just… Impulse, I– we– don’t want you to be suffering alone. We’re knights. We’re friends. We’re in this together.” 

Impulse nodded, trying to swallow that stubborn lump in his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Scar.”

Mumbo, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella like any normal person would, waved to the two when they approached the tents. “Did you get caught in the rain?” he shouted, if only to be heard over the downpour. 

“No,” Scar called back, “we’re just naturally this wet!” 

“Oh, okay! Um, Grian and Pearl aren’t around, because, well, you know. Their wings,” Mumbo tried to explain, “their wings don’t– why am I explaining this to you, you both know this, goodness gracious…”

“Thanks Mumbo,” Scar said anyway, “are you gonna get inside? I don’t think this storm is gonna let up any time soon.” 

Mumbo shook his head. “This is actually the perfect time for me to study the possibility of harnessing lightning for power! Theoretically, it could work, but theoretically it could also blow me up. And to be honest, I can’t wait to see which one it is.”

“Have fun!” Scar called after him, before leading Impulse to the swaggon. Instead of tents like the other knights, he usually just stayed in the same place he did before joining the knights. “I have bandages and burn stuff here, because goodness knows I burn myself plenty when cooking. Just sit down right there…” He quickly rifled through one of his chests, before pulling out clean bandages and burn ointment. “Aaand I should have some water– how are you feeling, by the way?– here it is!”

As Scar helped Impulse cool the burn and clean his hand, Impulse was at a loss for words. Scar seemed to take note of that after a few minutes of him being unresponsive to the attempts at keeping the mood light hearted, and continued to silently bandage the treated burns. 

“I’m sorry,” Impulse began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Scar chuckled softly, understanding shining through in his eyes. “I think I’d know that feeling better than anyone, Impulse. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I know I’ve done more than my fair share of… poorly thought out things… in the past.” 

Impulse had to bite back a laugh. “Yeah, I can think of a couple more memorable ones,” he admitted, “but I just… I dunno, Scar. I…” He sighed. “What would you think if I wasn’t human?”

Scar didn’t even pause. “I mean, Impulse, we’ve been over this a million times before. If you weren’t human, none of the knights would be.” He began to put away the bandages, ointment, and leftover water. 

Impulse frowned, shaking his head. “That’s not…” He flexed his right hand, testing to see how much he could move still, before placing it back in his lap. “What do you think of me now?” he pressed, looking back up at Scar.  

Scar smiled, turning back to Impulse. “Oh, that’s easy. You’re strong, kind, passionate, smart, a really good teacher, an amazing fighter, you’re funny, you’re creative, and just… you’re a great friend.”

“But what if I wasn’t…” Impulse tried to figure out how to word the question, bouncing his leg slightly. “What if I wasn’t just me?” 

Scar thought for a moment, before shrugging. “Well, I don’t think there’s any problem with bein’ that! And, Impulse…” He sat down so that he could be at Impulse’s eye level, folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward. “You’re making it sound like there’s something wrong with being human.” He smiled kindly, but there was something that stopped it from reaching his eyes. “That’s what this is about, yeah? I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. With everything going on…”

Impulse shook his head, interrupting Scar. “No, no, no, there’s nothing wrong with being human! I just… what if the me I am isn’t good enough?”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Oh, Impulse.” Scar’s voice broke slightly on his name. “You are more than enough. You have always been. I’m so happy you’re one of my friends, a part of my life, you…” He took a deep breath, in and out. “If you could see the things you’ve done from an outside perspective, you’d see it– just how much you’ve changed and impacted lives. I…” he trailed off, caught for a moment in a fleeting memory. “I can say for a fact I’ve changed for the better since I met you. So please don’t ever say or think that you aren’t good enough. Because you are. Because you always have been.”

Impulse tried to blink away the tears that suddenly were welling up in his eyes, but it was too late. His vision blurred, and the next blink sent salty drops falling from his eyes to make dark spots on his fresh bandages. It was as if the dam burst with that, and tears began to fall in a steady stream as Impulse’s shoulders shook. 

All this pain, all this fear, all the self doubt and anxiety… and he wasn’t alone. He had never been, really. If it hadn’t been for him shutting the other knights out, he wouldn’t have ever ended up with a demon in his mind taking control whenever it wished. But now…

“Thank you, Scar,” Impulse got out, furiously wiping his eyes. “I… I think I needed to hear that.”

Scar nodded. “Of course. I… I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, and I wish I knew more to help you. But just… talk to us, okay? Or, gosh, I don’t know– talk to someone, at least! We won’t be able to help you if we don’t know you’re hurting.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Impulse wiped away what he hoped to be the last of his tears, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “I– I will. I promise I’ll talk to you guys more. And I’m really sorry about all of this.”

Scar waved his hand. “Ah, don’t be. We all have our moments.” He smiled tentatively. “Do you want to stay here with me and wait out the storm? We can make bets on if Mumbo’s new experiment blows up or not.”

Impulse grinned– a real, happy grin. “Sounds great.”

–

Somehow, things got better.

The first day Impulse woke up feeling well-rested, he could hardly believe it. But it continued to happen, again and again, until finally he was waking up at a much more normal time. 

“For you, maybe,” Grian had said, but the clear relief in his expression over Impulse’s “recovery” had taken away any snark intended. 

Slowly, Impulse began to heal. Not only from the burns, but from the exhaustion and lack of appetite as well. The animals seemed to forget all about their previous distrust of Impulse, though Jellie still was a little wary. He didn’t really mind, of course. The joy he felt from being able to settle back into his life again was enough.

The other knights were thrilled, too. It was like a fog had been lifted from the camp, and everything just felt… lighter.

“Alright.” Pearl interrupted the lively chatter during lunchtime about two weeks later, “we’re unfortunately getting a little low on vegetables and some other supplies. It’s been a while since Impulse and I brought back everything, and I don’t want it goin’ bad, ya hear?”

“Soup day?” Mumbo piped up, eyes wide. They’d all heard this speech a million times, and it was always something the knights looked forward to. 

Pearl nodded, smiling. “Soup day.”

“I don’t know why we call it soup day,” Grian mumbled, “it really ends up more like stew, if you ask me.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Because, goofball, it’s tradition! And also, soup sounds nicer than stew.”

And so, Impulse found himself paired up with Scar, who kept watch over the pot and stirred while he chopped vegetables. 

“Whew!” Scar wiped the sweat from his forehead, turning away from the fire. “It's been a while since I've cooked. I forgot how hot everything gets!”

Impulse laughed. “Yes, that tends to happen with fire. Shocking.”

“Oh, you hush!” Scar grabbed a large spoon, waving it sternly in Impulse's direction before turning back to the pot. “You just keep cutting those veggies, mister.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Impulse turned back to the cutting board, reaching for the knife that lay beside it. 

Do it.

Impulse froze. His hand stopped where it was, hovering just over the knife. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. He had to calm down. He was– he was just hearing things. Nothing was wrong. He was fine. The demon was gone. It had to be. It hadn’t spoken in weeks. Why would it show up again now?

Impulse picked up the knife, placing a washed and peeled carrot on the cutting board. He began to cut the carrot into thin slices with deft hands. In the background, he could hear Scar humming to himself as the fire crackled. 

It's just you and him. Alone. The words were like a fog settling over his mind, like icy hands gripping at his heart. An easy target.

Impulse's chopping stilled as he tensed up, before starting to cut again. His movements were sharper, harder, and one of the carrot slices flew off of the table. “Gosh–” He set the knife down, bending to pick the carrot slice up and throw it away. 

“You good, man?” Scar called from where he stood beside the fire, not turning to look away from the pot. “Havin' some troubles?”

He has his back to you.

“Nah,” Impulse joked, though his tone was a bit forced. “Just underestimated my own strength.” He straightened back up, gripping the edge of the table with his hands. 

No. No, no, no no no no. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not now. Not after he’d finally started to be happy again. 

The voice cooed softly in his head, a persuasive siren song. It would take nothing at all to kill him. Impulse found his hand drifting toward the knife, unable to stop. To stab him in the back... He picked it up. Somehow, this was different from the possession. Yes... feel the thirst... spill his blood–!

The demon wasn’t making him do anything. This time, it made him want to.

“No!” Impulse breathed out, stumbling back. He threw the knife down on the table. “Sorry, Scar. I gotta go. I'll tell Grian to come out and help you.” 

Impulse fled, not sticking around to hear Scar's confused “Wait–!”

–

“...just worried, is all. I know you see it too. It’s like whatever happened–”

Whatever conversation Grian and Pearl were having before Impulse interrupted had probably been important by the sound of it, but Impulse didn’t really have the time to feel guilty about that. Panicked, he looked back and forth between them both, still panting slightly. “Grian?” he got out, trying to force his voice to stay calm, “Grian, I need you to go help Scar. I– I can’t…” He trailed off as he realized just how stupid this all sounded. 

Pearl took a step toward him, her face unreadable. “Are you feeling alright, Impulse?” she asked, and after a moment, Impulse swallowed and nodded. “Are you sure, mate? You’re looking awfully pale.”

Grian said nothing, but Impulse noticed how his wings had slightly spread out, colourful feathers slightly puffing up. Grian had never been surprised by anyone before– he somehow always knew when someone was coming. So unless he had been angry at Pearl for some reason (which, thinking about it, wasn’t all that unbelievable), it had to have been Impulse who had set him off. 

…right?

Impulse just tried to smile and nod. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes kept drifting back to Grian, which Pearl noticed.

She turned to Grian and smacked him on the shoulder. “Hey. Birdbrain. That’s Impulse, mhm? Our friend? Pull yourself together, goodness gracious.”

Grian blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Oh– was I staring? Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” His wings slowly folded back behind him, and he lost the alert posture. “Sorry. What was happening?”

“Nothing,” Impulse got out. “I’m good. I promise.”

Pathetic. He was pathetic. It wasn’t even that long ago when he’d had that conversation with Scar about reaching out, and being more open with the other knights. Guess this was just another thing he managed to screw up instantly. 

Impulse began to back away from the two. “The uh. The soup! Yeah, the soup’s almost done. I’ll see you guys at dinner…?”

Pearl smiled, if only to put him at ease. “Of course. See you at dinner, Impulse.”

Impulse began to walk away, and it was only when Grian and Pearl started talking again in hushed tones was he reminded that the contract with the demon gave him enhanced hearing. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to invade on their privacy–

“I told you. You could see it in his eyes.” 

“Grian, not now.” 

…especially when this was clearly about him.

Impulse ran the rest of the way back to Scar, and was all-too relieved to see that Mumbo was there as well. “Hey. Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Oh, it’s alright!” Scar called over to him, “we’re just about finished up, so don’t you worry!”

“I got to chop the vegetables,” Mumbo added, “but really, I’ve been thinking– it would be quite simple to just get an automatic…” He started to ramble about his idea of an automatic vegetable cutter, but Impulse found he couldn’t quite follow along as well as he’d hope to.

The demon was back. Or maybe it had never left. And not only could it speak to Impulse and possess him but it could influence him as well. 

Impulse was strong. He had trained all his life to hone his strength and skills. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t breathe underwater, couldn’t withstand a fiery blaze, and most certainly couldn’t teleport. But he was strong. In terms of pure physical strength, none of the other knights stood a chance.

And that terrified him. 

Dinner went by in a blur, and it felt as though barely a moment had passed by when Impulse laid down to sleep. He had been stuck in a sort of zoned out state ever since the demon had reappeared, and only now did his head feel more clear.

Today had been a warning. What happened with Scar– Impulse could’ve killed him. The fact that he hadn’t was frankly a miracle. But it would happen again. The demon would speak to him and he would pick up the knife and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself in time. 

Tomorrow.

Impulse would leave camp tomorrow, and he would run until he was far, far away from anyone he could hurt.

But for now, he needed to sleep.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic #obv i'm not updating the ao3 rn #bc of the attack

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 2

“Okay, make a fist.” Asked the serious geckin, blue in scale but the owner of long spines that started on his nose and continued up and over his head, down his back and finished at his tail. Zeet was his name.

Casper the friendly human, made a fist and felt the action drain him, as if he’d been at the gym for the last hour doing the same action. However, as his fingers met his palm and the tendons on the back of his hand tensed and corded against his skin, the giant metal fist not a few metres away, suspended in a secure field; made an identical fist.

“What’s the drift?” The blue geckin asked the second geckin who monitored the process not a few feet away, but a fair distance for the diminutive creatures. Her name, as far as Casper knew, was Wren.

“0.001%.” She retorted with an equally serious tone, she turned back and adjusted the two round panes of glass that sat across her snout. If not for the fact that Casper was sweating with the exertion of making a fist, he would have found her cute.

“Impossible. Check it again.” The first geckin demanded, turning to face her as if she had just made a poorly timed joke.

“Sir, I checked it three times, then used the older program to see if it got a different result.” Wren explained, quite confident despite Zeet’s incredulous tone.

“And?”

“It reports 0.002%.”

Both geckins turned back to the human, almost expectantly and gazed at him. No; studying him.

“W-what?” He asked, strain in his voice.

“You can relax Casper. You did very well.” Praised Zeet as Casper gasped, unclenching his fist, and slumping in the chair. He’d been fresh as a daisy when he’d sat down; why had a few wires been so draining?!

“That… took effort…” The young man explained, slipping his arm from the sleeve, and ensuring it was placed carefully onto the caddy.

“You were controlling more than just muscle and sinew young man.” Zeet explained, touching a finger to the control rod of his own personal walker and approached the human. At a foot tall, just like the rest of the geckins, he utilised mechanical legs attached to a platform that he stood upon to move around larger distances.

“Why am I exhausted?”

“Because, unbeknownst to your conscious mind, you not only controlled your own limb, but also controlled that robotic limb.”

“I’ve seen that done before…” Casper licked his lips to try and bring moisture to them. “They used electrodes or something… they had to concentrate, but it didn’t tire them out.”

Wren appeared at Casper’s side and pressed a bottle of orange liquid into his hands. It was almost as tall as her.

“Drink this, you’ll feel better.” She promised, her green scales were a deep emerald, her it was the frill around her neck that was only partially pulled in that made Casper smile. She was agitated. Perhaps worried about him?

The man gave her a curt nod, which caused her frill to pull in tight before he grasped the bottle and drank from it deeply. It wasn’t quite ‘orange’, but it was certainly something citrus and refreshed him almost immediately. After the first gulp he took a breath and downed the rest of the bottle in one, almost immediately feeling better and like his old self.

“What you just did was unconsciously control every single servo, circuit, and piston within that machine. Your mind: without your knowledge, was able to manage and steady all of that. The electrode method, that you mentioned, is a low intensity method of controlling simpler systems.”

“And we can’t use that method with these?”

“These are not for domestic use. I make it quite clear to you; these are bleeding edge machines. Capable of not only reacting as your body, not as a mere extension, but also your mind being able to incorporate the advantages these machines have.”

“Like what?”

“We can have a play with telescopic vision if you like? I’ve heard that is the easiest to manage. If you get addicted to the world those eyes, we can try out electromagnetic wavelengths, infrared, perhaps-“

“Sir.” Wren cut in, a frown on her face and her small, pointed teeth being bared.

“Mm, yes. Carry on.” Zeet surrendered, holding up his hands as if giving up.

“Before we go on, how are you feeling?” Wren asked, looking up at Casper and adjusting her specs.

“Better.” The man replied, giving her a warm grin.

“Better? You weren’t well before?” She poked, not letting him off the hook yet.

“I was tired, like I’d been doing bicep curls all morning. But now it’s like I’m fresh again?” Casper admitted honestly, if she was a doctor checking on him, then he wasn’t about to lie. The speed of his recovery was as if he had been fooled into being tired, rather than actually being tired.

“Marvelous.” Zeet whispered.

“*Sir.*” Wren immediately hissed; the respect of his seniority gone. Casper frowned then cut in, there was something he wasn’t being told.

“What’s going on? Is this about the.. the ‘drift’ thing? What was the drift you were on about?” He asked, demanding an answer.

“I knew he was bright, am I allowed to answer that *direct* question doctor?” Zeet asked the green geckin with a near taunting tone.

Wren merely sniffed, flattening her neck ruffle against herself and shrugged with a single hand, offering Casper up to Zeet, seemingly satisfied.

“’Drift’ is the natural loss of signal strength between your mind and the mechanical parts. The more parts, bits, and pieces, the greater the chance of drift and the more sluggish the movements and actions of the piloted mechs will be, all the way until failure.” Zeet explained with a toothy grin. It was Wren who spoke next, softly explaining it to Casper without infantizing him.

“Geckin have a fantastic drift score. We can manage mechs of incredible size and complexity without much loss of control. Realistically, the next closest would be chintians, but they refuse to be pilots for our mechs.” She said, turning her hand in a gesture as she spoke, still calmly and softly.

“Why?” Casper asked.

“You know the plug in your arm?” Zeet began, pointing at the limb that was limp in Casper’s lap.

Casper looked down and turned his arm over. There was a single dark red dot of scabbed blood. Around it was a bright red circle with the metal casing of the plug had been pressed into his flesh.

“Yeah?”

“It can lead to fur-loss.” Concluded Zeet, rather offhandedly.

“Along with other things.” Cut in Wren, with the speed of someone adding ‘terms and conditions’ at the end of an advert.

“They consider that unacceptable. We consider it the cost of having faster reaction speeds to our machines. They rely on taking hits and surviving them. We believe in the philosophy of never getting hit.” The tiny lizard explained with a mouthful of sharp teeth, eager at the thought.

“Do geckins have any fur to lose? Do you lose scales?” Casper asked, if there were side effects for some species, were there any for geckins?

“No.” Zeet answered immediately.

“Well…” Wren began, but was immediately cut off.

“No, we do not lose scales with use.” Zeet said again, staring at the doctor.

“They can dull though.” She explained, closing her eyes then turning her head to look at Casper before opening them again. She held his gaze firmly.

“Not through usage doctor!” Zeet snapped, certainly exasperated.

“A pilot who is connected for long periods or who is in intense environments requiring constant movement will find side effects, such as scale fading.” Wren continued, putting across the idea that it was not without a cost.

“He doesn’t need to hear this, what is the chance he’s going to be in that environment? Zero!” Zeet shouted, throwing his hands up before gesturing to Casper, then then inert arm.

“Look, it’s fine. As you say; unlikely.” Casper agreed, trying to calm the tension in the room. “So what about me? What about human drift”

“Ah, good male. A fine mind between those big ears.” Zeet grinned again, turning to Casper and clasping his hands. “Your drift, at worst calculation was about 0.002%. That is nothing. That is about as good as a prostetic replacing your actual arm. Unheard of for managing an arm that complicated.”

“What’s a geckin’s drift percentage?”

“5.” Wren said pointedly. “On average. Ace pilots are around the single percent or less range, but that is through biological luck, augmentation and prolonged life-long training. Your natural ability appears to be quite potent.” The tiny green lizard admited.

“Yours, baring in mind your evolution wouldn’t have any sort of natual selection for this, is considered a one in a life time pilot. If humans are all this well adjusted, each and every one of them will be very much welcome in geckin territories…”

Casper turned to the arm and gazed at it. A mech pilot? That would be fantastic! He didn’t like the idea of ‘stressful environments’ though.

“You wouldn’t want me in like, a fight or anything, right?”  Casper asked, staring at Zeet carefully.

“May my tail fall off! No! Could you imagine what the GC would say if we endangered a human? Immediately after your new classification? Absolutely not. Completely out of the question.” He promised, waving his hand as if to dismiss a fly that was bothering him.

“Normally I would warn you about listening to our Zeet here, but he’s right. The geckin people are still under threat by ssypno aggression. Their seat at the table of three means all they have to do is convince one of the other two to agree that they be allowed to create a vassal of our people and we can expect no support from the GC to stop them. Endangering you would all but guarantee the support of one or both of the other two.”

A small hand touched his arm as she leant forward to rest her’s against him, the good doctor offering him a smile.

“The danger to you is over, you can rest easy knowing the rest of your life will be free of hardships.” She lied.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[esther-dot]

people can accept that robb was doomed by the narrative but not dany? is she better than him? why?

If you imagine a writer sitting down at his desk, you can see how he’d come up with the trajectory of Robb’s story. It’s a clean tragedy, it shocks us, it hurts, but it also rings off that tragic romanticism that the series is full of. However, it is hard to imagine Martin sitting writing about a man raping a 13yo until she wanted to die with the thought that yeah, she will ultimately die betrayed, unloved, murdered, a few books later. 

If Dany were to sacrifice herself and die, I think most fans would accept it because we have a kind of reverence for tragic stories—they’re widely considered more intellectual, a higher form of art, and there is a deep strain of melancholy in the story that you can situate such an ending in. Now, you and I would cry foul, we want justice for Dany taking part in the slave trade, for her allowing the murder of teenagers, for her upcoming invasion and the devastation that will bring and the burning of KL etc. A lot has/will happen that explains how Dany will arrive at her end, but many Dany fans are women and they simply aren’t gonna go along with an abuse survivor/rape survivor -> villain -> dying at the hands of the heroes pipeline. It’s so antithetical to their sensibilities. I’ve even seen Dark Dany fans say they’re uncomfortable with how Martin has written Dany’s life knowing where he’s taking her and that perhaps such a story shouldn’t be written by a man, so it isn’t only hardcore Dany fans who take issue with this choice. 

And of course, s8 handled everything including Dark Dany so poorly, had her nephew/lover kill her, so the topic is toxic, and I routinely see people saying X can’t happen in the books even though it’s one of the few things that has been confirmed to come from Martin (Poor Shireen, King Bran…), I assume because the show so effectively poisoned the well. Anyway, now people say, "well that's just D&D fanfic" as a way to not consider Dark Dany/her fate.

Actually, I suppose that's the real issue. Stannis burning Shireen means you have to reconsider what you thought about him, what you understood the story to be, and Dany going up against the heroes and dying their enemy, that too means you have to rethink things--it upends everything. After his death, Robb remains a hero, even if he made some poor choices, so you don't have to ask yourself,

"wait, why didn't I think burning people alive was a red flag? Why was I cool with making money from the slave trade? Why did I think it was okay to conquer a continent Dany's family had already been rejected by?"

When someone (Kit? D&D? I can't remember now!), said that the audience had been cheering Dany on and that it was kinda, damning that they had, I was incredibly annoyed because GoT took out some of the red flags and then rewrote main characters to hide Dark Dany until the last minute, but ASOIAF hasn't done that. We're pointed to these issues by characters in the text, asked to weigh these things, so that's another issue, it requires some self-reflection.

That, I suppose, as well as the fact that being in her head, walking the journey with her in a way we didn’t with Robb, just makes the idea untenable to most.

#dot chat #anti got #anti daenerys #< for filtering

[tantalizingtopi]

From the Journal of Gale of Waterdeep #3

Gale x Tav (Talia)

Word Count: 667

Disclaimer: characters are owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

Gale reflects on his Moment of Magic with Talia, and his relationship with Magic and that of his goddess, Mystra.

Enjoy!

From the Journal of Gale of Waterdeep, #3

‘Tonight Talia found me at camp whilst I was conjuring the image of Mystra, contemplating what twists of fate had brought me to my current predicament. Mystra is my goddess, despite her rejection of me, she is magic and all I’ve ever known. But yet, tonight while I beheld her image, she seemed to hold less allure. Perhaps it is because I am so taken by another, or perhaps it is that I feel so disconnected from my goddess and the weave at this moment, given that the tadpole has further stripped me from the wizard I was before I stumbled on my path to greatness.

‘Talia startled me initially when she approached, so graceful and quiet are her movements, no doubt a result of her countless hours spent in the forests and in animal forms. I tried to explain, rather poorly looking back, what Mystra means to me, what magic means to me, and she seemed to understand. I felt that it would be better to show her, and she agreed to let me teach her how to connect with the Weave. We walked through each step slowly, and she followed my instructions seamlessly. While she possesses her own form of magic, this was something new and wonderful to her. I could see it on her face, the excitement and joy when we channeled the weave together.

‘The closeness I felt to her in that moment was blissful. In retrospect I should have warned her to be on guard, for she does not have the same familiarity with magic as I, and her thoughts and feelings rushed at me in our moment of connection, much more than what the tadpole allows. And by the Weave she imagined kissing me in that moment! I cannot recall a time where I’ve been more startled to discover something so wonderful, so unforeseen. To think, she feels similarly as I do, despite much better candidates for her affection in this very camp.

‘Her face flushed slightly when she realized, and I tried to reassure her, knowing that my shock had allowed my own feelings to flow to her as well. The moment slipped away and the weave parted from us. My own thoughts on the subject were so overwhelming, combined with the feeling of loss when a person disconnects from the Weave, that I ended our evening there, thanking her for letting me share a piece of myself with her, a moment of magic.

‘She appeared startled by the abruptness of the ending and thanked me in turn, leaving to go back to the campfire, where Wyll and Karlach were swapping stories and laughter. I tried to read a book I pilfered from the abandoned village we explored today after slaying some goblins, but I couldn’t focus, my thoughts trailing back to what I imagined she was thinking. I heard her peel of laughter after a while, and comforted myself in the knowledge that she was able to regroup after our interaction. Talia is so resilient, able to keep a smile close at hand and an innate ability to read the situation and always say the right thing.

‘I must finally admit to myself that my feelings about her are very much not a passing fancy. She has marked my heart in a way that I didn’t dare believe another ever could again. I can’t help but worry that I’m a passing fancy for her, especially with the ease at which she connects with everyone around her. She is a beacon in the darkness and we are all light-starved insects reaching for her glance. I know I am the least deserving of her glow, yet she has bestowed it upon me. How can one not be drawn to her? Not bask in her presence, drown themselves in her blue eyes? I know I am now hopeless in regards to her, and will gladly accept any and all she may ask and offer.’

#fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate gale #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #druid x wizard #wizard #druid #books that aren’t actually in bg3 but should be #gale romance #bg3 romance #bg3 act 1

[hannahssimblr]

I shower for ages, standing underneath the piping hot water with the pressure on its highest setting because I like the way it pummels the aching muscles in my shoulders and my back. This is the border of punishment and pleasure. I stay like this until I hear the dressing room doors open and all of the other boys coming in with loud, raucous laughter and the clack of the metal studs of their rugby boots on the tiles. 

“Let off early, Turner?” one of them calls to me as I round the corner of the shower room towelling my hair. 

“Yeah, I’ve plans,” I explain, and as I dress myself by the lockers they all chortle and speculate loudly about the nature of said mysterious plans.

“You’re right,” I say when they suggest that I’m fucking Doherty’s wife, and they love that. They laugh with delight because I am a good sport and I play along with whatever they’re talking about, laughing whenever they’re attempting to be funny. Jen criticises me for this, she says my teammates are like my cronies, whatever that means. That they all follow me around and try to to impress me, but that’s not it. Some of them are nice, they just don’t always know what’s funny and what’s not, what kind of hair looks good, what music to listen to. They need someone else to tell them. 

Back in my uniform my footsteps echo in the school hallway. The cleaners are working in the classrooms. I hear them hoovering the floors and emptying the bins, and around the corner some guy is going through his locker. He jumps when he sees me. 

“Evan,” I saunter in his direction, “Still here?”

“Detention,” he seems pleased with himself, like detention is a fitting part of his self-image. I note the way he pushes his thick fringe out of his eyes as he says this as though I, Jude Turner, am not the worst behaved boy at school. Perhaps he would like me to be shocked or ask him what he did, and I would if I were remotely interested in knowing.

“New eyebrow piercing,” I note, “Did you get that from Santa?”

He scowls. I think Evan knows when I’m joking, I believe he is smart enough to note the difference in my tone but he always does this, acts like I’m being mean because it confirms his biases about people like him and people like me. He doesn't want to get along and prefers to believe that we are a different species who are not supposed to be normal with one another. He gets off on the idea of being the enemy of the boys who play rugby, even though it’s mostly not true. Actually, most of them don’t even know who he is. I know because I brought him up in the dressing room before and they were all confused.

The only reason I know who he is is because he’s going out with Michelle, hence contact with him is inevitable. 

“Says you, with the earrings,” he bites back, but I just shrug. They look good and he knows it. 

I move around him and he shifts his body to shield his open locker “A bit protective of your locker, there,” I observe, “Hiding something?”

“Not your business.”

“Right, cool. Well, good chatting to you as always, this was so nice. I’m off now to-” I pause. It’s probably not going to be very funny to say spend the evening at your girlfriend’s house judging by how poorly this conversation has gone already. “Um, to go home. See ya, Evan.” 

He grunts. 

Mist creeps in from the sea that evening and it sits around the yard, lit up orange from the street lights. A girl I used to talk to is at the school gates, and my stomach sinks with dread when I see her. 

“Hey, Jude,” she says, quietly, her voice almost obscured by the swoosh of a passing car, so I pretend not to hear her and hop the wall so that I can avoid passing her at the gate. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #tw: sex mention #I've never been in a boys changing room #but this is how I imagine it ok

[spicedrobot]

maybe something with omeluum and a peculiar (sex pollen) mushroom from the underdark?!

(tumblr ate this ask, but I still had the email of it so here you go !!)

this also has blurg in it because I love them together I hope that's ok 🥰💖🙈 there's also slight spoilers for act 1/underdark/myconid colony content!

-

Tav returned to the myconid colony more quickly than Omeluum had anticipated. Normally, it would attribute Tav’s expeditiousness to his competency, but as the half-elf withdrew the requested specimen from his bag, Omeluum gave pause. Tav's movements were jittery and clumsy compared to the capable, dexterous ranger that it had observed previously. 

It wanted to inquire about the specimen’s procurance—it had only learned of the mushroom from a half-rotten journal which gave only vagaries to the fungi’s location—but Tav didn’t appear in good health. His dusky complexion was splotched all the way to the tips of his ears, and his skin glistened with a sheen more commonly found on illithid than humanoids. For a moment, Omeluum worried that his transformation had begun. Though the other telltale symptoms had not yet manifested, and Tav requested no assistance with the tadpole as he had done before. He simply stumbled away after payment was exchanged, his large druid companion tailing closer behind him than the rest. 

Curious, indeed. But if Tav’s condition was not an immediate cause for alarm, then Omeluum could turn its attention to the strange new specimen.

Unfolding it from the cloth it was wrapped in revealed an innocuous mushroom with a dark blue stem and supple, rounded caps. At first glance, it would seem at home with the other species nestled in the colony’s meadows. Omeluum wondered at its properties: the journal had been as vague about them as it had its location. 

It retreated to the small dwelling that constituted as the Society’s residence within the colony, away from the prying receptors of the myconid who may look poorly upon such a rarity dissected for research. Omeluum donned gloves and eyewear before handling the specimen directly. Overly precautious, perhaps, as few of the more dangerous Underdark fungi affected illithid in the same manner as its native denizens. 

As it turned out, Omeluum’s precautions had not mattered in the slightest.

After a few hours of inspection and initial observational notes, a dreariness began to overtake Omeluum. It may’ve suspected something was amiss, but it was past its normal time to rest, so it retired with little resistance.

It woke some time later to a hard grip on its shoulder.

“Omeluum, are you well?” 

Blurg was leaning over it, shaking it awake. Omeluum sat up in its bedroll and looked blearily at Blurg. His brows and mouth were pinched with concern, and his face was oddly colored in the dim light.

Strange… as strange as how Omeluum was feeling. Its skin tingled, felt as slick as it did after a proper and sumptuous meal. There was an unusual softness to its thoughts as well, as if they were a viscous solution being filtered by mere gravity. And the warmth—no, the heat—radiating in curious places—along its tentacles, beneath Blurg’s grip, and lower, much lower—

Omeluum meant to speak. Instead, it released a quiet, throaty rumble that shivered down to the tips of its tentacles. 

Impossibly, Blurg’s complexion darkened further, rich purple blooming over his cheeks and nose. He released Omeluum and began to pull away, but Omeluum grabbed his wrist.

They both froze. Omeluum hadn’t meant to do that. 

“That new specimen. It’s done something to you,” Blurg breathed.

Omeluum could find nothing to protest such a claim. It had been in perfect health before. “That would also explain the strange state of our infected companions.” It spoke slowly, each word rising soft like a bubble that was apt to be forgotten as soon as it popped. “Where is the specimen?”

“I’ve placed it in a more suitable container outside. Speaking of…” Blurg kept looking down at where Omeluum was holding him, then to his own feet, unwilling to meet its eyes. “... you should get some fresh air. Well, fresher. That mushroom’s spores have permeated the dwelling. Smells like a brothel in here.”

“A nice brothel, or a poor one?” Omeluum said as carefully as it could. It could not smell, at least not in the ways that other beings did. Its tentacles began to curl in on themselves, dragging along their own lengths restlessly. 

Blurg laughed. The comment seemed to ease him, and he looked at Omeluum properly. “A fine one.”

“And what aromas comprise of a fine brothel?”

Blurg’s gaze dropped to its tentacles. His shoulders tightened again. Omeluum felt the tension in Blurg’s wrist, his throbbing pulse, but he didn’t pull away. And Omeluum didn’t let go.

“It smells… good. Honey-sweet like a sussur bloom. And like sex, of course.”

Omeluum’s mind supplied what its olfactory senses lacked. It had tasted honey before, and it had felt the soft petals of a delicate sussur. Sex, it barely remembered; it hardly ever considered such acts as an illithid. But at its mention, Omeluum tightened its grip on Blurg’s wrist. Blood thundered under its palm, and the heat within itself grew to a fever pitch.

“I do not think… I should be outside in my current state.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? The affects may lessen—”

Omeluum shook its head. It pressed Blurg’s hand to its chest. Tentacles parted to make way for it, then drew closer again, sliding along his exposed forearm. There was a sensation, almost like a current, where their bodies connected. Omeluum closed its eyes, felt them cross in its skull, felt its lower half quiver.

“Omeluum,” Blurg choked out. His hand flexed against its chest, his claws digging into its tunic, scoring covered flesh. His voice was closer. He was closer. “Are you in pain? What should I do?”

“I…” Omeluum swallowed, shifted. It was humid inside and out, wet skin and heat. It was leaking through its tunic. “Will you touch me… offer succor?” It was almost too easy to ask, with its eyes closed, with Blurg so close, sharing its breath. “It… it will help.”

“Touch you.” Almost a question. His voice rose, cracked. 

Omeluum opened its eyes. Blurg was staring at Omeluum, staring hard. His nostrils were flared, his eyes bright. He was inhaling the spores, scenting Omeluum. 

He was interested. In an academic or sensual sense, Omeluum had no preference. It just wanted, burned. Its trousers were slick with it, its tentacles writhing, clutching what it could of Blurg’s arm, weaving between his fingers, leaving warm, damp trails in their wake. 

Things proceed quickly, then. Omeluum shifting over on its bedroll and Blurg all but falling into it. Its tentacles never quite freeing Blurg, dragging relentlessly over him until his hand slipped into Omeluum’s trousers. Then its tentacles clung. 

Omeluum tossed its head back and groaned at the touch. It had felt hot, and with fingers pressed against it, it was unbearable. The pressure it hadn’t been able to identify rose—desire, desperation—in organs that were all but vestigial. It throbbed and grew against Blurg’s hand, twisting and pulsing as something emerged from its body. Tentacles of some kind, Omeluum hadn’t even known that about itself, its dormant physiology normally so forgettable, so unimportant.

Blurg swore, his head half-tucked into Omeluum’s shoulder. He was embarrassed, and Omeluum knew it was asking too much of its companion. But shame wasn’t enough to make Omeluum push him away.

As the uniqueness of Omeluum’s body unfurled to Blurg’s touch, he groaned, leaned in closer, began to observe the mystery between Omeluum’s thighs. There was no way to tell him how to do it. Omeluum didn’t know itself. Yet, they were learned men, weren’t they? Blurg tested the external appendages first, stroking over them, petting along and between.

 Omeluum clutched at him. “Perhaps… internal stimulation?”

Blurg went purple in the ears, then he pressed a finger inside, careful with his claws. There wasn’t much room for it, but it was better like this, hotter, deeper. As he grew more confident, he hooked two fingers within, ground his knuckles against something firmer than the surrounding soft, twitching muscles. Omeluum began to rock into this touch instinctively, felt its insides seize and swell, tender and more sensitive than it would’ve dreamed. The sensation was incredible. Its external appendages agreed, dripping and twisting, curling around Blurg’s wrists, pulling him closer, trying to draw more inside.

“Blurg, I—” Omeluum whispered. Its hands clasped the back of Blurg’s tunic, claws nearly rending the fabric in its desperation. 

Blurg’s words, though gruff, were little more than a moan.“Well, get on with it.” 

He shifted his hand harder, circling against something new, something deeper, that spotted out Omeluum’s vision. Its tentacles were acting on their own again, salacious, twisting around Blurg’s throat, slipping against the edges of his ears. It wanted to push inside Blurg somehow, his mouth, stuff him full, have him choke—

Strangely, it was that thought that undid Omeluum, had it writhing as wildly as its tentacles, spilling in a hot rush over Blurg’s hand. The motions were uncontrolled, and it felt Blurg’s nails against it, but it was not enough to put off its ardor, in fact, it only seemed to enhance it.

When Omeluum’s thoughts dared to drift outward, it realized its tentacles were twisted around Blurg’s jaw, their tips trailing around his mouth. He was wet with Omeluum’s touch, marked. His breath was shallow, his pupils dilated. 

“I think I’m also in need of… assistance,” Blurg said. 

The spores, Omeluum thought belatedly, and looked down. 

Blurg’s trousers were tented with desire. A desire that Omeluum had never dealt with before. But Omeluum felt certain that, between them both, they would be able to figure it out. 

#omelurg #omeluum #blurg #bg3 #sex pollen #asks #fics

[kthynes]

husband for hire (2)

18+

previously

There’s some ground rules and a sweet assemblage of affirmations. You’d hate to hear it.

warnings: course language, mentions of arranged marriage. fake husband/wife trope. Mafia!Lloyd x fem!reader (non-descriptive).

word count: ~2.1k

authors note: I’ve been going through a bit of a mental break and decided to write after a long time. It’s not written in my usual flowery flow so hopefully it makes sense and is coherent to some degree.

This has not been beta’d — any mistakes are my own.

Everyone had big little lies. Yours was just that and some. Maybe your dilly dally approach was untelling of time and place. But more so than not, Lloyd was an equal opportunist, playing your game with the same insouciant vigour.

“So what now?” He shifts against the vinyl seating, knees spread far apart, chin tucked in as he gazes through his lashes with a slight grin. It’s trifling how enigmatic his aura was around you. Almost as if to say that he’ll always have an eye on you. But he’s far more observant than that. “Nice baby gun by the way.”

He casually points at your thigh where the outline of your pistol that was strapped under your evening gown.

His face changes, genuine curiosity takes flight. “Do you always carry and conceal… poorly?”

“Only when I have to.” You reach under and yank out the revolver that was snagged in between the garter. Lloyd’s smirk widens as the small, toy weapon lands on the upholstery next to you. “But then again I’m not meant to be in this rodeo.”

“Well in that case I might have to get you something better then.” He hums. “Bigger perhaps?”

A double entendre? Gross.

“How ‘bout we start with a ring first.” You preamble, sniffing at his staunchness. Lloyd’s pinky ring admonished your ring finger in place of a lie. It was the least he could do given the circumstances and no one seemed to have bat an eye. “Something more shiner and made of diamonds, perhaps.”

“That can definitely be arranged.” He laughs, realizing the day has come for him to be somewhat of an honest man. But his signet band was a perfect fit minus the fact that it was a bit lacklustre and worn down.

“Why’d you agree to this?” You flummox while taking an unsteady breath. Everything’s uncomfortable, even his goading glare.

“Because you asked.”

“Just like that?” He simply nods and you let out an aghast little, “Huh?”

“I can see the wheels turning.” He crows. “It’s not that deep, mi luna.” His moon. Opposite of day and befitting to how you unscrew your beautiful face.

“Yeah right.“ You look out the window to be blinded by abysmal darkness. “Also is there a McDonald’s nearby? Because I’m fucking starving.”

Lloyd squints, there's some misjudgment and humour interlaced behind a slight grin.

“There’s a ruddy little diner coming up.” He answers with poise. “Does that work?”

“As long as I’m fed.”

“Hey Sergio, can you make a quick stop at Mama’s.” Lloyd says over the intercom that’s placed by the partition. Wordlessly, the driver reroutes and the ride becomes guided through your silent reverie.

Lloyd’s watchful as you fidget in a swathe of satin and sweat. You’re not used to being someone’s focus, attention, even desire. But he takes it upon himself to be dignified, to show some empathy for someone like you— a conning escapist and his best mistake.

He opens his mouth to say, more so ask something but then the town car comes to a stop.

“We’re here.” You relieve, already one foot out the door. Lloyd’s jaw shifts as you flit over to the abandoned establishment. “You sure this place is open for business?”

“It’s where I do business.” Lloyd patiently explains from a few feet back. He looks to Sergio and nods, their exchange is a little stoic, trained code that you don’t pay much attention to.

“So the food is probably subpar?”

“I wouldn’t say that earshot away.” He stifles a small laugh and guides you in, hand on the square of your back that immediately stiffens to the touch. “Have an open appetite and you might be surprised.” He comments under his breath.

The door chimes ping to a midsummer palladium. There’s mismatching futon and aisles of brown oak booths lined with floral seating. It was giving kitschy Dior.

“Onja.” Lloyd greets a quick working geriatric woman with silvery blonde hair and a moon shaped face. She appears out of nowhere, barely out of breath.

“Lloyd.” She fondly announces, arms wide open, fashioning a freshly stained apron. The exchange is uncalled for. But truly they were right at home and he’s beguiling her like old times.

“Is the kitchen open, ma?”

“For you?” She hums and haws, surprised he has to even ask.

“Not me. But for her.” He cocks his head towards you, slyly holding you to it as the exception.

“Oh!” She first looks at Lloyd a little too cheekily. Like a mother apprehending her son whose aimlessly asking for one too many favors. “Of course. Come! Sit anywhere! I’ll be right there.” Onja proclaims, hop skipping away as you both stand parallel to one another.

“She thinks I’m your bed mate doesn’t she?” You turn to the choosy mobster. His grin grows tenfold.

“Bed mate?” He snorts, inadvertently exuberant. “More like a growing pain in my ass.”

You huff and stumble into a random booth, furthest away from the window and right next to the kitchen. While tucking yourself in, Lloyd scans the area before sliding off his dress coat. Onja brings around a pitcher of water as he’s slowly undressing himself to some duress.

“Water.” She states, wiping her wet hands against the rag.

“Thank you, greatly.” Lloyd lifts his brows, expressing his highest gratitude. Onja shuffles on her feet, smiling briefly before seeding an apologetic grimace.

“So I just checked the kitchen and I have to inform you that we are out of a lot of things—“

“We’ll have whatever’s leftover then.” Lloyd interrupts and then quirks up. “Actually, do you have a pot of your French Onion?”

“Soup?” You croak, making a face.

“Yes!” Onja excitedly answers. “Two soups OK?”

“Just one. I’m good.” He confirms and the kind woman becomes relieved.

“Coming up!” She gusts, scurrying away. You’re soured, disbelieving of his actions.

“Fix your face.” Lloyd commands as he unrolls cutlery for you from across the booth.

“I don’t want soup.” You say in a nasally tone.

“Just try it.” He calmly coaxes you. There’s a quiet stillness, you’re irritated as can be. With quick work, Onja appears again with a small, antique cauldron and some serviettes.

“Here you are.” She places the piping hot bowl in front of you. “Is there anything else I can get you Mr. Hansen?”

Lloyd assured her all was good. For now.

“Have at it.”

“No.” You stubbornly state, arms folded across your chest. He lets out a loud exhale and starts plating your meal for you. The soup is aromatic and cheesy. Fresh and mouth watering. Your stomach growled. He ladles a small portion into a bowl and pushes it forward.

“One bite. Or slurp.” He corrects himself while slipping in a spoon. “You got this.”

“It looks like sewer water.”

“Delicious sewer water.”

“Is this what you get?” You start stirring the soup. Scooping and pouring the liquid into the bowl, distracted by your most intrusive thoughts.

“I don’t eat here.” He jokes, absolutely deadpanned. Meanwhile, Onja quietly settles by and places a small steaming Pinming cup in front of him. He thanks her yet again. “But Sergio seems to love it.”

“It’d make sense if you had a fondness for it.”

“I mean you and I don’t make sense yet here we are.” There’s a swift pause as he looks at you coyly. “Now eat.”

You’re far from humbled but reluctantly so you take your first sip. It’s good. Too good to speak as you shovel more into your mouth. Your hunger becomes insatiable.

“Have it with the challah loaf as well.” Lloyd comments into his mug. You obediently dip the Jewish egg bread into the savoury bath and take another bite. “How’s it?”

“Good.”

“Just that?” He snickers.

“Sooo good.” You exaggerate in between mouthfuls. He’s observing your every move like a silent pariah. And maybe it was time you broke the boughs. “Can we talk? You know, establish some ground rules.” You meander, swallowing down your pride with a tight grimace.

“Go on.” He nods, gesturing a lending hand.

“This isn't real. We’re not a couple. So that means there’ll be no kissing, no touching, no copulating of any sort.” You’re abrupt and he laughs, loud enough to put you in your place.

“Says the girl who was desperate for a fuck.” He respires while peering out the side window that glazes over a dark road strip and the alpines. It’s a lonesome plight where you said a lot of things. Promised nothing.

“That… that was out of character.” Your back straightens, clearing the uprising bile from your throat. Your appetite went away as quickly as it came. To say you were embarrassed was a ruddering understatement.

“You’re telling me?” He scoffs, running a steady hand through his perfectly gelled quiff that is stiff to the touch.

“I think there’s a lot of things we can keep to ourselves.” You insist.

“Of course Mrs. Hansen.” He jokes, the name itself rolls off the tip of his tongue. He likes that there’s a nice ticklish ring to it. “But I hope you know that our people will ultimately want more, expect more of us… from us, really.”

His wild blue eyes dilate, forehead creases patronizingly. You don’t falter.

“So we make an appearance.” Making an appearance was a very loose term. “Fake it till we make it.”

“No. We break rules.” He corrects you.

“I don’t like that.” You huff. He smiles. It’s a good thing he likes you.

“Help me help you.” He proposes and your frown deepens. He cocks his head to the side. “You did ask for my hand in marriage after all.”

“Fuck all I did.” You mutter to yourself while returning to your poor man’s meal.

“Look, I don’t like your old man either. So let me spite him a little.” Lloyd offers, jokingly. His phone rings, that overtures the mood. “Excuse me.”

He slides out of the booth with some unpleasant gruffness. “What is it Cyrus?”

His voice carries down the parlour as you slurp on soup. Nowhere to be. Indigestion on a slow prowl. Something about Lloyd Hansen fiercely kept you on your haunches. His coffered gaze. His strong unclenched jaw. The long legs that pace his stride as he takes to a far corner, earshot away.

“There’s no deal.” He hisses. The conversation comes out choppy that you desperately pick up on. “We need to… Yes I know… She is…. No we’re not… it’s complicated.”

It’s complicated. Those are the final affirming words before your eyes meet and he says a quick ‘I got to go.’

Your soup is cold now. He makes it back to the table, anew again.

“You good?”

“Here’s what I want from you.” He becomes stern, countenance changing in a snap. You match his energy by a hairs breadth. “Are you listening?” He raises his brows. You simply nod.

“I don’t like your tone but I’ll play nice.”

“You can’t be out of my sight.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I’m taking you home.” Your eyes thin out. “To my home.”

“I thought you were a recluse, y’know some kind of unexplored hermit.” You soured with some sass.

“I own ten luxury properties, two suburban complexes and a shantytown.” He emphasizes, irises dimming to a slight torment. “I need you around me, wherever I go.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” You object while kissing your teeth.

“This isn’t me asking.” He fiercely insists in a way that is paralyzing. One wrong move and you’d be bound. So you clear your throat, eyes cast downwards out of contemplation, jaw clenched. A slow steady breath prepares you for a grander comeback.

“How can I trust you?”

“You don’t. Now let’s go. We’ve overextended our stay here.” Lloyd hisses, eyes scouring the premise hastily. Somethings up and mafia men had their tumultuous moods. He perks up, hands readjusting the gun that’s hoisted in the back hem of his trousers. There’s a facetious look on his face, angered by suddenness and your calm presence.

When you walk out before him, he catches up in stride.

“Don’t question the things I do for you.” He mutters close in your ear. The night's dew exasperates the chill in your bones. It’s cold, embittering how you truly felt and every resurgence to be. The town car’s pulled up, running in ignition while Sergio has the back door open. He looks the other way as you turn to Lloyd with a challenge. “I’m not yours.”

“You’ll never be.”

#mob!lloyd hansen #chris evans #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #mob Lloyd Hansen au #series: husband for hire

[crevicedwelling]

possibly a strange question, but do you know any ways to get people in your household to warm up to the idea of keeping insects? there are a few species i want to keep (primarily mantids, but i’m also very interested in isopods, and i’ve recently been looking into millipedes) but i still live with my parents. they’re alright with me getting a mantis, but very unfriendly towards the idea of isopods and i don’t even want to bring up millipedes because my dad has always been creeped out by them. is there any way that you’ve helped to introduce people to critters where they may not have liked them before, or should i just accept this as a lost cause ?

perhaps appeal to logic? if they’re concerned about an invert pet escaping, show them that isopods & millis can’t climb plastic. if worried about how you’ll feed them, then explain they’ll basically just eat vegetable scraps and leaf litter (quite frankly, if I were your parents I’d be more upset with the mantises—they need constant live food, so you’ll either be constantly buying flies, crickets, or roaches, or breeding each of those in quantity). in millipedes and isopods’ cases, they’re hardly different from a box of inert dirt that eats food on occasion since they are so rarely visible.

however, people who don’t like bugs usually don’t like them for illogical reasons. if they are just grossed out by the idea of bugs in the house, i have no experience dealing with that (the first pets my parents got me were hissing roaches) so if anyone has suggestions, please leave them here!

and while they might be easy to hide, I’d avoid keeping pets secretly. it often can end poorly for the animals.

[theflyingfeeling]

Twelfth Day of Gift-Giving: Gift Ideas

Prompt(s): jewelry + polaroid camera

We can have a little Christmassy angst & pining. As a treat 🖤 (another standalone, the main story will be continued...later this week 😌)

~

“Janne told me he’s buying Joel a dildo."

Olli snorted the mouthful of coffee he had just sipped back into his paper cup.

“What?!”

“For that stupid Secret Santa thing," Tommi explained. "He got Joel. Said he’s gonna write him a card saying ‘Merry Christmas, go fuck yourself’.”

With his mouth now empty – and provided with proper context for the anecdote – Olli was now able to laugh at it. 

“Just what he needs, really.”

“D’you mind if we pop down to some stores on our way? I still need to buy mine for Porko.”

“Yeah, sure. Haven’t bought mine either.” Olli didn’t have much else scheduled for his Tuesday than a coffeeshop slash passport picture date with Tommi, so he might as well try to get the whole Secret Santa gift exchange fuss over and done with in time before the band Christmas party on Saturday.

“Who did you get?” Tommi asked and bit into his Christmas star pastry.

“I ain’t telling you. It’s Secret Santa, if I may remind you.”

“So Aleksi?”

Olli brought his cup back to his mouth, hoping it might at least partially hide the sudden blush creeping on his cheeks. 

“When are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what,” Olli said laconically. Somehow, playing dumb was much easier than facing the truth. That was why it annoyed Olli to no end how he never stood a chance when Tommi as much as raised his eyebrow at him.

“Why should I tell him?”

“Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

The question made Olli sigh heavily, out of sheer frustration. 

What right does Aleksi have to know, huh? How does he deserve to know that I can’t stop fucking thinking about him any more than I deserve this bullshit misery I’ve dug myself into? Or perhaps I do deserve it, in fact, just as a punishment for having fallen for him in the first place. Aleksi, on the other hand? All he's done has been just being his amazing, funny, sexy self to deserve nothing but blissful ignorance.

“Dunno.”

The creases on Tommi’s forehead softened.

“You’ll make your own decisions of course, but just… consider it. It might help you… you know…”

To get over him? To move on and forget about him, because it’s not like he’s ever gonna feel the same about me, and even if he did, by some goddamn miracle, it wouldn’t change a thing because he’s engaged to be married next spring? If anything, it would only make matters worse, thank you very much. 

“Sure, I’ll think about it.” Olli chucked down the rest of his coffee, still so hot it almost burned his throat. “Well, let’s go then?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair he was sat on and headed towards the shopping mall escalator, not stopping to see if Tommi was keeping up with him. He did hear the long sigh with a beaten undertone to it but hoped that would be the end of that conversation. 

~*~

Still empty-handed after visiting a number of stores at the mall, Tommi pulled on Olli’s sleeve as they passed a jeweller’s.

“I wonder if they have something under twenty euros there?”

“Worth a shot,” Olli shrugged, although he had already more or less given up on finding anything he’d want to give Aleksi for Christmas that wouldn’t scream either ‘I’m crushing on you so fucking bad that I will go insane if you look at me like the way you did that night in Berlin one more time’ or ‘hey, bro, have this stupid boob-shaped flower pot as a token of my brotherly affection, because I’m totally cool with the fact you’re getting married to someone that’s not me and that I’ll never get to have you the way I want you… bro’.

As soon as they entered a shop, Tommi’s face lit up when he spotted a display of cheap children’s earrings.

“Hell yeah, now we’re talking. Oh, look, Little My ones!” Tommi picked up a box with a pair of stud earrings inside, a poorly-painted Moomin character as decoration.

“They sure would fit Porko’s new stage fit,” Olli smiled wryly.

“Yep, that’s my gift for Porko settled,” Tommi agreed, checking the bottom of the box for the price. “Have you found anything for Aleksi yet?”

Olli then pretended to look around the selection of jewellery and shrugged.

“How’s about one of those fake septum rings? Since he seems to like the one he already has.” Tommi nodded towards a shelf displaying a collection of fake piercings in various colours and styles. 

Olli swallowed. He did not need a reminder of Aleksi’s new-found love for piercings, not after that one night Olli had, lying in his bed at night going out of his mind missing Aleksi’s stupid face, been browsing Aleksi’s social media accounts until a picture of the man Olli had never seen before, with his neck and eyelids painted black and a ring decorating his septum, appeared on his phone screen. Promptly Olli had ignored the other piece of jewellery Aleksi had been wearing on his left ring finger and had begun grinding against the mattress with his eyes nailed to Aleksi’s face until he had come inside his boxers, his moans and gasps muffled by a pillow.

He hadn’t felt proud of himself afterwards, even though it was hardly the first time he had masturbated to the thought of Aleksi.

“That one looks cool,” Tommi pointed at a septum ring with decorations imitating brass knuckles. “I think Aleksi might like it,” Tommi pointed out helpfully before heading towards the check-out counter, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he admired the perfect gift he had found for Porko.

Aleksi would like it for sure, but what about Olli’s own sanity?

Fuck it, he thought nevertheless and grabbed the damned ring before walking after Tommi.

~*~

So far, Olli had succeeded in keeping a sensible distance to Aleksi without seeming like he was avoiding him, while also holding on to the last bits of his mental health. At least Aleksi wasn’t wearing that ridiculous(ly hot) fake piercing, even if Olli did have to restrain himself from staring at Aleksi's unruly hair and the front of his tight black t-shirt for too long, or else he might have actually begun to weep by Aleksi’s feet. 

Joonas loved the Little My earrings Tommi had bought him, and Janne did, indeed, gift Joel a large, pink dildo just as he had threatened, which resulted in a round of immature laughter as the silicone sex toy was passed around. When it came to Aleksi’s turn to open his present, Olli made sure to look everywhere else except at him.

“Oh, wow, this is cool.” Aleksi brought the little box almost to his nose for a closer inspection. “Really cool, actually.”

In his moment of weakness, Olli dared a glance at Aleksi, only to find he was looking straight back at him in return.

“Thanks,” Aleksi said. Olli wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what had blown his cover.

Not exactly in his best Christmas spirits, and even less in the mood of being everyone’s centre of attention, Olli dawdled unwrapping his present until everyone else was already gawking at the silly knick-knacks and tacky accessories they had been gifted by fellow bandmates or members of the crew. Luckily his was hidden inside a simple paper bag, so he could easily sneak a look in without making a show of tearing it open from wrapping paper. 

When he saw what was inside, he swore his heart stopped for a second or two.

He was looking at a polaroid camera, but instead of a brand-new, never-before-used one, he had been given his own polaroid camera, the one he had lost during their European tour in the fall. It had been broken that night, dropped on the floor one too many times, and on top of that someone had stolen it right from their table towards the end of their afterparty in a crowded local bar. He had pretended not to be bothered by the loss, even though snapping random, aesthetic shots at their tour locations had been his favourite pastime during those weeks; at least it had given him something else to do and think about than drowning himself in his heartache.

Aleksi was the only one who would’ve known how upset he actually had been about the stolen camera, for Olli had (literally) cried about it to him afterwards in their hotel room, too tipsy on cheap German beer to care how Aleksi might have perceived him. It was Olli’s best and worst memory from that tour; falling asleep with his face buried in the crook of Aleksi’s neck, waking up with a throbbing headache and his yearning for the man stronger than ever.

Although Olli had immediately recognized the camera from the slight dent on its side, he still reached for it to pick it up in his hands, just to make sure it really was the same one he had lost – or thought he had, it now seemed. With a trembling finger he turned the camera on and couldn’t help the soft gasp that left his mouth when he saw the device coming to life, which had not happened the last time Olli had held it in his hands. Then he proceeded to take a picture of the pile of torn wrapping paper on the table in front of him and watched as a still blacked-out picture slid out of the machine. 

Suddenly the private room they had rented for the night at a downtown Oulu restaurant felt too small and suffocating around him, so he set the picture and the camera on the table and stormed outside.

The frigid coldness of the outdoors punched the air out of Olli’s lungs, forcing him lean against the brick wall by the back door of the restaurant to catch his breath. At least it was winter and the terrace was empty; he didn’t exactly need witnesses for his little meltdown.

He wasn’t granted the privilege of privacy for too long, however, because a moment later, the back door opened, letting out the cheerful chitter-chatter of the restaurant for a couple of seconds before muffling it again. 

“Everything okay?” Aleksi asked him. Olli could only bring himself to nod. 

“I, ummm… I had your camera fixed.”

“I noticed."

“Sorry I had to steal it first though. I didn’t meant to, in fact I was just trying to make sure you wouldn’t lose it, but then I just… then you… fuck, nevermind.”

A small cloud erupted in the cold winter air as Aleksi sighed heavily.

“It’s fucking cold in here,” he said when the cloud had disappeared and stroke his bare arms. “Let’s go back inside?”

“Yeah, you go, I’m just gonna… I need another breath of fresh air, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Aleksi said quietly, but showed no other signs of leaving his side. 

Olli wondered if the silence between them was as deafening to Aleksi as it was to him.

“Thanks for the piercing, by the way. It’s fucking cool.”

“How did you know it was from me?” Olli couldn’t help himself any longer and blurted out the question or else he’d go mute for good.

Aleksi chuckled. “Christmas magic, I guess.”

Olli almost felt like telling Aleksi to shove his ‘Christmas magic’ to you-know-where for giving him such an annoyingly vague answer instead of a serious one, and he supposed Aleksi understood his passive-aggressive silence as the man continued a moment later:

“I, uhhh…” he paused to chuckle, “I may have gone through everyone to figure out who was your Secret Santa and then switched with them. And now I sort of regret it, I mean… I should’ve just given the camera to you weeks ago. I’m sure Niko would’ve gifted you something that wasn’t as… creepy.”

“It’s not creepy,” Olli shook his head. “It’s very thoughtful, actually. Thank you. I… god, I hadn’t even thanked you yet,” he groaned, hiding his face in his hands for lack of anything better to do with himself. Aleksi had just given him the sweetest, most unbelievable Christmas gift Olli could have dared to wish from the ridiculous Secret Santa humbug Joonas made them do every single year, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be thankful from all his pining and grief? Such a friend he was.

(Aleksi did deserve better.)

“So you’re not mad at me for taking your camera and not telling you?”

Olli shook his head again.

“No.”

How could I ever?

“Good,” Aleksi nodded. His teeth had begun clattering. “Fuck, it’s freezing tonight. I could never live this up north.” 

Please don’t remind me.

“You should go back inside. I’ll be right behind you.”

“No, I can wait. Keep you company.” Aleksi shoved his hands in his jean pockets, casually as if he wasn’t literally shivering from the cold. “I mean. Unless you want me to go.”

If Olli had been even half as strong as he would’ve liked to be, he would’ve ordered Aleksi to leave him alone so he could dwell in his misery in peace. Tragically, the part of him that craved to be near Aleksi always trumped any other feeling.

“Just stay. If you want to. Although I’m afraid I’m not the best company right now.”

He could feel Aleksi look at him, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

“Is there anything I can do to help that?”

Is there? Let’s see. You could throw that ring of yours in the Bay of Bothnia and call off the wedding for starters, or if you can't do that, then at least cross my name off the guest list, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to witness your happiness next May, as selfish as it sounds. Or then I guess you could pull me in your arms like you did when I cried to about how grief-stricken I was about having my camera stolen and maybe even let me fall asleep on your chest one last time, for old times’ sake, before I’ll pack my bags and move to the North Pole perhaps, or some place else that’s too cold for these thoughts of you to follow me.

“Not much, I’m afraid.”

Next to him in the dark, Aleksi nodded. Yet, he made no effort to leave his side, although by then he must have been struggling to appear unbothered by the cold in just a thin t-shirt and jeans.

After a while, when Olli himself was starting to feel the effect of the minus degrees, Aleksi shuffled closer to him; not quite touching him, but close enough to easily rest his chin on Olli’s shoulder if he wished to; close enough for Olli to hear his shivering breaths in his ear.

“Olli, I… I should tell you. While I still can.”

It was laughable how just one sentence was all it took to bring Olli’s hopes back up from the gutter. Not awfully high, but on the surface, as if to make sure they'd still be alive to maximise the pain on the way back down to the depths of his agony. 

Because there were times Olli had asked himself if the lingering looks or touches they shared meant as much to Aleksi as they meant to him. He had spent many a sleepless night wondering if there really had been something other than friendly fooleries going on in between them when Aleksi had pinned him against the backstage couch in Berlin or whether Olli had only imagined the thirst he had seen Aleksi’s his eyes. Sometimes he stayed up until morning, trying to come up with a rational explanation to why Aleksi had been texting with him throughout the night instead of being asleep next to his fiancée. 

Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he couldn’t sleep for whatever reason; literally any other reason than what Olli hoped would be the truth.

“Tell me what?” His voice was shaking, but not because of the cold.

“That I, ummm… that I’m… Oh.”

Instead of finishing what he was about to say, Aleksi reached for his back pocket and took out his phone, a soft buzz sounding from it. Another cold silence fell on them as Aleksi stared at the screen, studying the notification that had popped. Only then Olli could dare a look at the man, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the phone screen.

Olli decided he’d be better off not asking who it was that was missing him, afraid he knew the answer already. 

“Ummmm… Nevermind.” Aleksi sighed at the phone before putting it away. Then he reached his hand to brush the back of Olli’s palm lightly. Aleksi’s touch was surprisingly warm and gentle, yet it sent shivers down Olli’s spine.

“Don’t freeze yourself to death, okay? I’mma head back inside.”

Olli was left staring at Aleksi’s back before it disappeared inside the restaurant, leaving him to voice his response to the pitch-black wintery night instead.

I might as well, he said in his mind, as I’m sure it would be less painful a way to go than dying from this torture of being in love with you.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #ollixallu #this is awful actually. like. downright mean even and i'm sorry (no i'm not <3) #but at least this was inspired by /those/ pictures of aleksi 👀 #shame about the septum being a fake one tho :\ #ironically this is also the only one that's a little more christmassy #in the sense that there's christmas shopping and a pre-christmas party (pikkujoulut) involved #i promise tomorrow we'll be back to funsies again 😇 #i've just been writing one sappy story after another lol i needed a break 😮‍💨

[jadedrrose]

Hi!! This is my first time ever requesting some fic but i saw some of yours and i really loved you writing! Can I request Law with the dialogue "Aw, you're blushing" but is reader who says it? I know Law is a tease pre timeskip but he gets more serious after it and i would loooove to see a reader teasing law and could you do it lightly nsfw? Like it doesn't have to be really into detail! Sorry if my writing off too, English is not my first language 🥲 thank you so much!!! 💕

I would’ve made this full blown smut if it didn’t say lightly nsfw lol. I love a flustered Law.

Warnings: Mentions of some nsfw things, but nothing in detail.

Being reunited with Law had filled you up entirely with so many emotions at once, you felt like you could explode.

You’d waited at the gates, knowing Law would show up at any given moment after you’d seen the newspaper about Doflamingo’s downfall. When he did arrive, you had embarrassed him by jumping into his arms, pulling his hat off and placing many kisses onto his face. All in front of the Strawhats too, to make things worse for him.

You were overjoyed, almost crying out of happiness, any good emotion that existed, you felt it. But of course, you then had to explain what had happened when you and the others had shown up.

Now, you were waiting for a chance to be alone with Law at the banquet. You’d changed into a dress that resembled the one Nami wore, only it was in your favorite color. You knew it would get your lover’s attention, and the banquet was a perfect opportunity to wear it.

You sat beside him as he ate his food, shaking his head as he watched his crew goof off. He was pretty distracted, so naturally he jumped when you put a hand on his inner thigh and leaned up close against his neck.

“Law, I’ve missed you,” you told him.

“You’ve told me that thirty times already, y/n.”

You giggled, “I know. But I’ve missed you in other ways, baby…”

He looked at you with a brow raised, curious as to what you were trying to insinuate.

“Really.”

“Mhm, maybe you should come back to our room so-“

“Captain! Look here!”

Law’s attention was now off of you, and on the three idiots before him.

Bepo was holding a cake, Penguin and Shachi laughing and pointing at the desert.

“We made it just for you, captain!”

“It was my idea, too,” Penguin announced.

“What?! Don’t lie, it was mine!” Shachi interjected.

“Um… it was actually mine,” Bepo quietly said, head downward.

“I don’t care whose idea it was,” Law said. “Why the hell did you make me a cake?”

“Read it!” All three of them said in unison.

In perhaps the sloppiest handwriting ever, the cake read: “welcom bak captain!” You wondered who wrote it. All three of the boys in front of you were equal contestants.

“Try it!” Bepo told Law, placing the cake at the table in front of you. Penguin then presented some clean forks.

Law seemed hesitant. These three could barely cook without starting a fire, let alone bake.

“I’ll try it,” you said, taking a fork. The boys all cheered.

You took off a small piece and brought it to your lips, looking Law in the eyes as you slowly put your mouth around the fork, winking as you pulled the fork away.

“It’s… actually edible,” you said, surprised.

“WHAT?!” Shachi shouted.

“YOU THINK THAT POORLY OF OUR BAKING?!” Penguin cried.

Bepo looked down, sulking.

“N-no! It’s good, I just… was surprised you uh, could cook so well in a different kitchen! Mhm!”

“Ah, makes sense,” Penguin said, crossing his arms. “We do usually cook on the Tang, I guess.”

Shachi nodded, “very true. Well, if y/n likes it, Captain will too!”

“I’m… full,” Law muttered.

“Don’t lie, Captain!”

“Really, I am. I realized I took food for granted after being stuck on that dumbass crew’s ship. Not a single person on that ship could cook to save their life.”

Honestly, maybe that was true. Law had told you about the weird Luffy fan club pirate crew earlier. All of the men seemed helpless.

“Fine,” Shachi said, grabbing the cake. “We’ll just have this cake all to ourselves! Of course, y/n is welcome to have some.”

“Thanks,” you said, as the three turned away and walked off.

“Idiots,” Law mumbled.

You giggled and returned your head to his shoulder, placing a kiss on his jaw.

“So, as I was saying… we should get away from this stupid party, finally be alone, hm?”

“You’re desperate,” Law noted.

“Law, please… I haven’t felt your touch in so long… I- it’s been so hard, baby. My fingers just aren’t the same, they can’t even compare to your cock, let alone your fingers,” you said, taking one of his hands and placing a kiss on his tattooed knuckles.

Law froze up, and you could hear his breath becoming uneven and shaky. You tilted your head to see his face, and noticed the deep red tint along his cheeks.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” you giggled, kissing his fingers again. “See, you’re desperate too, if I can get you to blush like that-“

Without any more warning, Law stood up and flipped you over his shoulder, stomping off to the room the Minks had provided you with, locking the door behind him.

#trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law #one piece x reader #requests

[marauders-peace]

Loving lies incorrect quotes

Masterlist Prologue - - - Part 7

So... I realized that my characters in my story don't have many moments. I can't write all the moments i would like to so i made something like behind the scenes for you, so you can connect with these characters. And for fun all of these are canon in my story.

It was only a little idea and I hope you will enjoy these <3

Maya and Lydia

Maya: You're ignoring all your problems. Lydia: I know. Maya: You also know it's an unhealthy coping mechanism? Lydia: I'm ignoring that fact as well. Maya:

Lydia: You know me, Maya, I don’t take any shit. You know what I say to my haters? Maya: What? Lydia: I say: “Please don’t hate me, I’m really nice.”

Maya: Can you keep a secret? Lydia: Do you know anything about my love life? Maya: No, I don't. Good point.

Maya: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the black lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? Lydia: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Maya: Caffeine no longer keeps me awake while class, so instead I have every morning Lydia saying ‘we need to talk after class.’ It gives me the right amount of adrenaline and fear I need to keep going.

Seraph and Sirius

Seraph : Are you alright with constructive criticism? I don't want to sound mean. Sirius: No, go ahead. I want to hear it. Seraph : You two suck together. Sirius: That's not constructive criticism.

Seraph : Quick! You must come with me! Your in great danger! Sirius: Why?! Seraph : Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.

Seraph: Is this mistletoe? Sirius: Uh, no, no, that is basil. Seraph: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you. Sirius: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

Seraph and Leander

Seraph: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?! Leander: … Seraph: Oh, right. The lying.

Leander: Come to think of it… You’ve always been nice to me. Leander: I mean, you listen to all my problems- Seraph: No, Leander I just simply stand here while you talk, there’s a big difference.

Leander: Why are you like this?? Seraph: I used too much "No More Tears" shampoo as a kid and I haven't felt a single emotion since.

Leander: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Leander: And if you don't well then fuck you. Leander: I'm looking at you, Seraph, you jealous mop.

Seraph: Wait you like me? For my personality? Leander: I know, I was surprised too.

Seraph: Dammit, Leander, you ruined everything between me and Sirius! Leander: You’re welcome.

Seraph and (y/n)

Seraph: Whisky, can I speak to you for a minute? In private. (Y/n): Ooh, someone's in trouble. It's me. I don't know why I did that.

Seraph: Deep down, I'm sure I was always pretty okay with you. (Y/n): Thanks, Seraph! Seraph: It wasn't a compliment, numbnuts.

Seraph: You’re overthinking this. (Y/n): You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Seraph. What if I’m underthinking?

Lydia and friends

Lydia: My heart is guarded but like… very poorly. The kind of guards that would let 3 kids in a trench coat into an R rated movie.

Lydia: The only straight I am is a straight-up badass.

Lydia: How late were you up last night? Luis & Luke, in tandem: Me? Lydia: No, not you two. You stay up late all the time. Lydia, (thinking Maya was on a date) to Maya: You.

Luis: What's worse than a heartbreak? Lydia: Stepping on a cat's tail and not being able to explain that you're sorry.

Luis: Hey, what are you reading? Luke: This is my magic book where any ink spilled shows a scripture of the future, however it bears a curse making it broken, and as such in order to make any scripture appears, I have to do it myself. Luis: Impressive! I must have it for myself! Maya: So it’s just a Notebook? Luke: It’s just a Notebook.

Luis: Something tells me Lydia's going to be a bit more unhinged today... Lydia, holding a lit match and a bag of cheetos: Leave me be, Maya isn't home to stop me, I'm going feral.

Luis: For most of human history, vehicles had automatic collision avoidance and could even take you home if you were asleep or drunk. But then we got rid of the horse. Luke: You complete moron. You stupid fucking idiot. "Cars would be better if they could bite and shit" – that was you just now, dumbass. Luke: "Wouldn't it be cool if cars could piss? Wouldn't it be cool if cars could fuck?" Fuck off. Maya: It would be cool if cars could fuck. Lydia: We... We still have horses.

Sirius and Leander

Sirius : Why can’t we all just get along? Leander: Because most of us are assholes, Sirius.

Sirius: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff. Leander: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

Leander: Let’s not Sirius this into a worse situation than it already is. Sirius: Did you just use my name as a verb?

Leander, to Sirius: You wanna fight? All right, let’s take this outside. The stars are so bright tonight and the moon looks so nice. Here, hold my hand—

Slytherin friend group

Damien: Remember that time you dared me to lick a swingset? Phina: No, I said "Damien, don't lick that swingset" and you said "Don't tell me what to do" and licked the swingset.

Damien: I'm so happy, I could kiss you! Phina : Um…Neat. later Phina , lying face down on their bed: I said "Neat," Leander. Who the fuck says neat these days? It's not neat to say neat but I said it anyways because I'm fucking stupid. Leander, reading a book: Don't beat yourself up too much, Phina . Everyone gets nervous sometimes. Remember what I did when Seraph kissed me at the lake? Phina : Didn't you thank her? Leander: closes the book and looks at the ceiling I fucking thanked her.

Seraph: Does anyone know how to relax? Asking for a friend.

Seraph: Cassie, where’s your report card? Cassie: My friends stole it from me at school, so now I don’t have it anymore. Seraph: Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that lie? Cassie: What lie? Seraph: That you have friends.

Seraph: I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes.

Seraph: I am literally evil incarnate. Seraph: I’m not actually, I just enjoy being evil. Seraph: Which I think actually makes it even more evil because I’m making a conscious effort.

Phina: Seraph has no idea I’m high. Seraph: You’re high? Phina: Oh, I’m sorry. Phina, leaning over to Cassie: Seraph has no idea I’m high.

Seraph: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Seraph lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

Leander: Someone take me to art museums and make out with me. Damien: But they said not to touch the masterpieces. Leander: Well somebody's got to pin the artwork to the wall. Seraph, on a walkie talkie: This is Seraph, those idiots are fucking around in the East wing again.

Damien, putting his hands over Phina's eyes: Guess who! Phina: It's either Damien or the cold, clammy hands of death. Damien, putting hishands away: It's Damien! Phina: Dammit.

Leander: I’m gonna die alone. Cassie: Leander, you’re not gonna die alone. Leander: Seraph, was my safety net, okay? She and Sirius got together and now I have to get a snake. Damien: Uh-huh. Why is that? Leander: If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face. Leander: So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Man With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake man. Leander: Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE MAN!

Damien, in a horrible German accent: Bill Nye is on break, I'm Bill Nein. Seraph: Can I go to the bathroom? Damien, in the same horrible German accent: Nein!

Damien: Am I right, Leander? Leander: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair, I wasn’t listening.

Phina: Hey, Seraph, are you free on Friday? Like around eight? Seraph: Yeah. Phina: And you, Leander? Leander: Umm… yes? Phina: Great! Because I'm not. You two go out without me. Enjoy your date! Leander: Did she just-

Bonus:

Lydia, pointing at seraph: I hate her. Maya: I don't like her either but why do you hate her? Lydia: She is in every single chapter. Even the short ones! I just have one long conversation with the protagonist. Just one in which I tell her secrets we share! Maya: You have what. Lydia: You don't? Leander: At least you have conversations with the protagonist! I only have one in which I destroy her self-esteem and get in a fight with Sirius! Damien: Please don't complain about that. Luke: At least you had more than two sentences. Phina: I had literally no conversation with the protagonist. I only made fun of them. I only interact with Seraph and Cassie. Leander: At least I have many interactions with Seraph. Phina: Fuck you. Cassie: Wait you guys said something?Phina: Shut up. Cassie: Sorry. Seraph: What are you talking about? Lydia: Nothing. Seraph: Are the side characters fighting? Maya: Please, piss off. Seraph, laughing: I'm so relieved I'm not a side character. Luis: Well I was in two stories just saying. Seraph: Fuck you. Laughing in the distance. Sirius: Amateurs.

Taglist: @theofficialmadman @fanboyluvr @fjdjsiskcjfj @starsval @olkathedestroyer @helloitsmeeeeeee @xamapolax @maripositanoctruna @ancientimes @cloudlst @marina468 @regulus-black-223048 @loving-and-dreaming @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @princesspuffle8@lonely-nerd-sodaholic@lostgirlsstuff@wolken-n@thepunisherfrankcastle@nefri-black@solitarioslilium@briskesby@ropickle@my-current-fandom-is @hawkinsavclub1983@dancingwithreality

#marauders era #marauders #harry potter #original character #incorrect harry potter quotes #marauders incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #oc incorrect quotes #the marauders #dead gay wizards #sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #sirius black

[randomfoggytiger]

Typing: INTPs In Their Own Words

A short while ago, I created a Mulder Typing post explaining why he's an INTP (not INFJ/INFP); and, while I was compiling notes, I collected some comments from INTP users and stashed them away in a document. While going back through to get inspired for a future post (whatever that will be), I found them again; and was struck with a brilliant idea: why don't I simply post them in full so that everyone can read INTP thoughts/processes in their own words? There are many flavors of INTPs (since Typing is just a system showing how the brain processes information, not as a personality box you have to stuff people into-- the old Nature vs. Nurture); and perhaps you'd be interested in what they have to say?

There's a lot of good, some bad, and a little ugly; but we need a full picture to see these good souls for who they are~.

(Shoutout to my INTP mutual @baronessblixen! She mainly inspired this post for me~.)

**Note**: I will try to translate the technical terms as I go along (since they are mostly referring to Typing terminology and processes), so don't worry if the comment doesn't make much sense at first! :DDD

And now-- in no particular order-- here they are on their own terms!

""Why bother... Why do I even bother?.... Why would anyone care?...." The mantras of the INTP"

""They are legitimately worried that other people in the world are stupid."" As an INTP, I genuinely started to have that worry when I started noticing that my former classmates are holding executive jobs. As for fashion sense, I used to let my mom buy my clothes until late high school. But in the past 10 years or so and probably due to my ENTJ sister's influence and my interests in arts I started to develop a bizarre wardrobe. It had mellowed down a bit but I still get "that looks cool but I'd never do it myself" comments."

"I’m an INTP and the telling the same story over and over again is definitely a thing. But I don’t do it because I don’t remember having told it that person, usually. I’m usually the one who remembers everything I’ve ever said to someone, or heard from them in response in unreasonable amounts of detail. And then, over time, no one else remembers our conversations as well. So I start telling the same story I like telling, assuming that either they don’t remember hearing it, or if they do, they’ll stop me and say they remember me telling that one."

"The Ni critic explains why i can never decide on an acedemic/career path. Afraid of not choosing the wrong path or not being able to contribute anything new/novel/inovative to the field. But desperately wanting to prove to the world our brain has some thing significant to contribute but afaid of failing"

"Ti is logic and it’s basically what the individual believes is true or false. Like me, for example, if this is truth and this has to be true, basically, if this-then this, constantly." 

"My INTP younger sister is exactly like this [easily exploited]. I hate when she lets peope use her at a door mat. I've dated many INTPs as an INTJ female and really really love the dynamic. But how do I cultivate "immoveability" into the INTP? Personally, my own views are what matter to me, but I find INTPs to almost be too flexible (if that makes sense). One of my exes used to get taken advantage so much it caused me to question his love for himself. I love my sister and obviously want wants best for her, how do I give her some of the INTJ "immoveability" to be less of a door mat?"

"So I’m an INTP but I don’t feel like I’m nowhere near brilliant. I now understand why I always felt so different from everyone else. I understand stuff easier than most but I have to break it down and reiterate to myself. I also did poorly in school until last 2 years of college.... I also have a hard time putting my words together or finding the right thing to say or word to use."

"As a INTP I hate jobs with hierarchy. The idea that someone with a lesser mind will be in charge of me will irritate ... me. At the same time I don't want to be the boss either, the idea of having to baby sit lesser minds will also irritate me lol. The person in charge in my opinion has to be highly intelligent, because that is the only time ill accept it because then I feel like I actually have something to learn from that person to further my own knowledge and the position they have is actually justified in my head."

"In my opinion, INTPs "inevitability" stems from their pessimistic functions, both in the ego and the shadow. The sharp Ne [Me: the fate of all humanity, not just one's own path forward] parent with how responsble it is with its forsight combined with the Fe [Me: human interconnection and emotional outreach] in aspirational mode can provide the most efficient choices for anyone to be better. While their shadow reinforces with  using their will with Ni [Me: personal future and fate, the path one creates forward for oneself] critic and principles with Fi [Me: personalized morals and beliefs] demon/angelic to give structure and brings things to reality to what they foresee."

"I’m an INTP, and can tell you in all honesty that we view forgiveness very differently than all the other types. Forgiveness is but something that you acquire, but in fact more of a gift. You either have it, or you don’t"

"MBTi type claim that they’re INTPs and use it as a crutch to not get anything done or not to go anywhere in life. To be honest, that’s not how that works. INTPs just get too comfortable, and really the only way to motivate an INTP or an INFP because they have Si child is to just make them uncomfortable, and to pull them out of that behind the scenes realm. So, in general respect the behind the scenes, but if they’re not growing as people, if they’re not becoming better human beings, be prepared to pull them out of the behind the scenes, be prepared to expose them, because it’s the only way they will grow. They only understand pain. It’s kind of like those people who have to hit rock bottom before they ever grow up, right?" 

"[Me: Context-- INTP's Nemesis makes them want to question everything, even if they like the information they're given; but often ther Si Child doesn't want to get out of their comfy routine to actually fact check it.] The nemissis thing is funny because as I watched this (and just about everything else I have some experience with) I thought "yeah you seem to have a good grasp of this, but if I had time..." and then I moved on, my inner critic was appeased."

"It doesn’t mean that we should be labeling them hermits or these people who are not good with human beings, etc. Especially INTPs, people are just not as much of a priority to them, because they’re too busy playing with their metaphysical systems. You know, it’s like a big toyland universe that they have access to, mentally, that they’re able to use their thinking models and solve problems. Life to them is a giant puzzle box. Let them play with their puzzle box. They really need that."

" I was talking recently with an INTP mother, who’s actually very good at type, and she trained her son or her daughter, I don’t remember which … But she’s married to an ESTP and they go to church and get involved in church events, and she’d be extroverting in her unconscious or her subconscious side of her mind at that point, and then all of a sudden, she’s like tapped out of energy and she just has to completely disappear and people are like, “Where did she go? Where did she go?” And you’ll find her in a corner where there’s like nobody but her, literally doing nothing but playing puzzles. That’s just how INTPs are."

"Whereas Ne users are very beautiful, they just like to be told by the Ni user what they should do, right? Because the Ni users connected to extraverted sensing and then the Ne users able to be like, okay, “Well I should do this because that’s what you want,” right?” That’s how it works. [Me: Meaning-- Ni users are more focused on what they want/their path forward; and Ne users are less focused on those areas, and are chill if Ni calls most of the shots as long as their opinions/voices are heard.]"

"Fe [Me: INTPs] users want to feel valued, not be source of value. [Me: Meaning-- they don't want to be the stereotypical male bird in a mating ritual dancing and making a big fuss. Others can do that to make them feel valued; but that's not how they show someone that they love, value, or care about them.]"

"Growth and self improvement has always felt to me to be an illusory concept. Obviously we change based on experiences but you can never predict if the experiences you are about to experience are going to lead to being "better" than you were. And what constitutes better? This is the philisophical black hole an INTP like myself can get stuck in when it comes to wanting anything."

"My Fi Demon is a really sharp and brutally honest critic that tells the object of my anger everything that makes them wrong. It’s often followed by guilt, even though I’m only speaking the truth without applying any filter."

"I think with INTPs if they are smart taking the initiative to learn from self help books or if they grow   up in a family and environment that constantly challenges them, it's more about learning what to avoid after repeated experiences of getting burned. I learned about physical pain through sports starting at a young age thanks to my father and social anxiety, dealing with it head on in sports locker rooms, taking toastmasters classes to become a good public speaker, approaching people in cold approach sales etc. So I have the ability to tolerate pain if needed but also have the knowledge on what to stay away from because I've experienced it repeatedly and already know the outcome." 

"I definitely wish my parents had been strict with me. When I asked them for advice, they told me they had no advice to give, and that I should do whatever I want to do. I support myself now, but I spent 10+ years aimless, living off of them. I would have built more useful skills, self-respect, confidence, and better values if they had guided me towards a career and a normal lifestyle. I will definitely give my kids an ultimatum to move out and support themselves for at least a year at age 18, but also will give loving guidance and provide a sense of how to live rather than a liberal attitude of laissez-fair parenting."

"those INTPs, you know, driving their car, they’re like the old man driving their cars, you know what I mean, or the old woman, taking their jolly sweet time, you know, not really in a hurry, I’m never in a hurry. I make sure there’s enough time in my day scheduled, so I can take my time on the road, and [others], you know, cuss at me, honk their horns at me, you know" 

"I agree with you about the subconscious part of INTP. We do care about our loved ones. But if we KNOW that they’re not going to listen, why would we bother?"

"hero of the INTP is a little different. It is Ti hero, logic comes first, they can see into the future of other people, but they do it from a more responsible, a pessimistic point of view." 

"I know that although I always had a real hard time falling in-love and develop strong feelings for a guy, I didn’t have any difficulties being committed and loyal. I know that as a female INTP, it takes lot to decide on a lifelong partner, but once that decision is made, I am fiercely loyal"

"Sometimes, as an INTP, I feel like that I actually am a really-really bad person. I think that I'm actually a psycho, but now I know the reason. When my father died 7 years ago, I remember it was a cold night, my families were grieved, my mother was cried hysterically and so my big brother. Instead, I did not feel anything atm, my aunt kept telling me that my father Infront of me already died but I still didn't feel anything. I was thought that it just a phase of human life and everyone will die eventually, until my brother yelled at me 'What are you doing? It's our father who died!!!' So tried so hard to cry, I didn't even know if that was a real cry or not. And when everyone was still grieving, I decided to sleep so maybe tomorrow I would get my feeling and start to grieve. But after several weeks, I started to think that I don't have my father anymore, the one who was always love me no matter what I did, then finally I can feel my lost and start to cry sincerely. Don't be like me my fellow INTP friends, feeling is important. Don't be so full of logic in those important moments and just blend in. Have a good day!"

"Most of time I have to outsmart myself to not smoke weed, lay in bed, play video games, watch movies and rather go to work instead. Getting out of the comfort zone, nah rather, throwing myself out of the comfort zone is so crucial for me. It completely changes my mindset and pushes me towards growth."

"I'm an INTP. I was married to a very abusive man and had spent 8 years trying to make up my mind as to what I was going to do about it. I went to work one day with a black eye and a co-worker said "if you don't leave him I'll call CPS and then your kids will be taken away" (whether she would have done it or not, idk). That forced me to make the decision to leave and take me out of my "comfort zone". It was the best thing that someone has ever done for me."

"I loved when you talked about wisdom being harsh and "fire". Yeah turns out telling someone "here's the harsh truth about what you're doing wrong, just stop doing it and you'll be fixed" doesn't go over well with most folks. As a teacher, I could absolutely tell how kids were going to turn out due to their parents' behaviour (if the parents were too accepting, the kids would end up helpless; if the parents were too inconsistent, the kids would be unreliable as well etc.) But would I bother telling this to parents? No, of course not, no one likes to be told they're parenting wrong, no one would listen to advice from me, a childless professional with years of experience. Sigh."

"Society appreciates ignorance rather than wisdom."

"I am an INTP. As an ex-smoker it was really hard to stop smoking cigarettes I tried everything but I just couldn't. It was frustrating to me that there is something controlling me. That was [eating away at] ... my brain.I found a book called the easy way to stop smoking on Reddit recommended by ex-smokers. I read it I stopped in a week. Now I'm 8 months clean. I distributed the book to all the people i know who smoke ligit the whole uni. No wants to read the book they think they won't stop they don't believe me. People don't like to take advice people just don't care. This makes me sad."

"It's scary how accurate this is. I almost feel called out for my ways of thinking. In typical INTP fashion I hate being predictable so it's weird to see someone get something this spot-on"

"I see these personality types like INTP as a starting point for personal development and not as a destiny. For example I try to be the one who kicks me out of the comfort zone instead of being dependent on someone else to do that."

"When he said people will hate you and alienate you because you always think your right and come off as arrogant but you usually are right which makes them hate you more. My whole life summed up and yet I never understood why it seemed people had an aversion to me when I had the best intentions. Now I know"

"[Me: Context-- this poster is not an INTP, but has a lot of Fe users in their family. Further context: INTPs are Fe users] I have a family with, I think, a lot of Fe functions. I mean, it does get overwhelming as time progressed and I feel like I'm being gaslighted not being as normal as them, but I can handle it, yes. But the repeating part is just so true. My mom and dad like to repeat stuff as they say it i.e "Don't forget to bring them. Don't forget to bring them. The bag for grandma. Okay ? Don't forget to bring them."

"This was really interesting to watch. I feel that my Trickster Ne is worse because of my Asberger's, it's much harder to interact with people and be aware of my surroundings. Interacting with people and understanding them can be completely exhausting and draining. Weirdly, I find it incredibly hard to predict people, but when I do, it's scarily accurate. My husband, an ISFP, gets so frustrated that I'm "always right". He does have to push me to do things, too. LoL. He, as you said, doesn't give me options but just tells me to stuff, and I do it, kicking and screaming the whole way. :P"

"I am lucky to have a mom that appreciate me and tells me about it quite often, which is very good-feeling, but if she thinks that I'm getting too lazy, she'll be sure to make a move. Really happy to have her in my life."

"I have always had zero fashion sense and 'sloppy' with messy hair is my default look. To help me understand the art and science of dressing right, I have been studying the Kibbe body type system and seasonal color analysis for awhile now, and it was a great starting point. I ended up going really deep into it (like I would any other science), adding my own theories to it. I'd analyze and type friends and family, giving them fashion advice with great accuracy. As for myself, I still look sloppier than ever. Ugh. It's the shopping I hate. And I am too attached to my large comfy hoodies. I need to change lol. I mean, I am an attractive woman otherwise, and I'd like to settle down in the near future. Dressing like a 17 year old boy who lives in his mom's basement certainly isn't helping".

"As an INTP I get stuck in familiar and safe logical pattern loop, caused by my own thinking. On top of that I choose to endure that pain of not taking a risk, being open to risk and taking risk causes me anxiety. Not knowing what to want scares me even more cause i can see the logical fallacy of will and desire with its shortsighted-ness, which causes me further to retreat to my safe routine which i'm willing to endure cause its familiar or obligatory, not taking risk. Its like the saying 'paralysis by analysis', invoking fear and anxiety to risk taking."

"So, I am INTP and also a Psychology student. It's a little bit tiring explaining that I don't want to make therapy. I just want to follow the investigation path and well... they all just say then why did u choose Psychology- and then I am like bcs I WANTED TO KNOW HOW WE WORK. Sad hours... lol"

"I'm not afraid other people are stupid.  I'm afraid they'll misunderstand, which is a slightly different Te nemesis manifestation because that misunderstanding is a HUGE threat to everything I do and it happens a lot.  Also, I can be very ascetic.  Wants are difficult for me.  You put that on the Si child function but I really think it comes from the critic and the blindspot acting in tandem.  Because Se trickster doesn't just mean I bump into stuff.  I barely even recognize material reality.  Like it actually [angers] me ... sometimes that I have to have a physical human body. I don't really understand the necessity of this skin suit.  But as long as I've got it I may as well make it comfy right?  So, I'm off to play PUBG and get some of that dopamine we love so much". 

"As an intp I always felt like I could tell what people were going to do, but until now I never rlly figured the word used to describe it, I always just used the phrase i can read people better in certain situations but I never rlly felt socially adequate like others"

"Yeah... The best way to tick off an INTP is to know what peeves us, but do it anyway... We can tolerate a little, but one second past our timer(and you can't really ever know how long it will be at any given time), our patience will burn away FAST. The better we think you know us(<the "we think" is usually the reason it can seem to come out of the blue), the less tolerant ... we become. Our patience with strangers can be enormous(sometimes ridiculous or un-called-for), but those who we expect to be on our side are expected to know better(whether or not they understand that)... edit: typos"

"[Me: Context-- This is referring to an INTP being uncomfortable about being asked to talk about their innermost feelings casually.] As an INTP female, I have to say this was quite accurate :D I especially appreciated ''Never, ever ask and INTP how they feel! '' I would add, never give an INTP the advice "follow your hart". It makes zero sense to me :D"

"I'm an INTP, here's a little anekdote: When i was younger my dad often went out with me and my brothers to a lake and just relax in the evening before going to bed. So i was like 8/9/10 (dont know exactly) and before going there me and my brother had a discussion, about who is going to sit in the front seat in the car. We said he will sit there on the way to the lake and i will sit there on the way home. But when we wanted to go home, my brother switched into: "No, i am older than you and therefore its my right to choose the seat". We had a little fight and basically i was like: "Okay, ... i am out of here", so i just quit and walked about 15km into the little town where my grandparents lived, because - u know - at grandma's house everything is always fine :). My dad was searching for me, driving around and even thinking about calling the police..because i said NOTHING.. i was just gone I am 22 now and still i have some problems communicating my actions in terms of just leaving the situation. I am always thinking: "U dont have to care about me, you are fine as well so i dont have to care about you...so where is the problem?""

"I don't think an INTP forgets that he told the story already, I believe he tells the story he thinks about because it makes him feel better to talk about it. It's a selfish reason really, but I'm guilty as charged."

"i used to know this intp (i believe) friend. you are extremely on point... extremely. this guy was a red haired nerd who made me laugh harder than anyone i've ever met. i used to be amazed with his casual novel acumen. he often had me crying in laughter in class. he was a huge story teller (stories told over and over). i used to throw him random verbal stimulus (just throw ideas his way) to see his reaction. this man had, literally, zero friends in school (other than me) and i was generally considered somewhat popular and i would regularly leave larger popular groups of others to be around him for his insane entertainment value. he regularly called me a, "... idiot," which made me laugh every time (he would be dead serious when doing this). oh, and btw, i had to beg him to hang out with me when he did... to know how strange this is, you just have to know our situation i guess (like i said, i had the extreme social upper hand that he didn't care about)... anyway, he knew a bunch of small anarchist type knowledge like what would happen if you did these strange things like stick gum wrapper in a socket, rob places in particular ways; it was wildly interesting. the lack of attention he got from others baffled me because he was so unique and extraordinary in my eyes. i was always intrigued how his mind worked. it was intimidating being around this guy with so much street wisdom and casual ability to function flawlessly when he felt like it. ...he's now a pothead (smokes 4 times a day). he did earn a casual master's degree in psychology that he doesn't do anything with. if i smoked like he did, i would fail classes in days. he had a 4.0..."

"I was once told at 26 that I was too old to still be wearing “Sarcastic Tees” from Spencer’s like a 14 year old boy and should be wearing grown men clothes like a respectable member of society. I conceded to wearing flannel button up shirts over those tee shirts. May have been the best criticism that I ever received, because I’m often told how mature I dress now at 32... I guess not a lot of men these days look mature?"

"You just described my dad in 2 functions Ti= Super logical man. Loves motors and electricity. Thinks everybody's an idiot (Shadow Te) Si= Tells the same story a million times not knowing he told the story to the same person the last week. And the week before, and the week before. I've seen it. He doesn't know he's done it. 3 Sundays in a row he told the same story to the same man."

"Back when I graduated high school I skipped the ceremony. My family thought I was crazy and I was like, "so what, almost everyone has a high school diploma. Doesn't mean you're smart.""

"I had an INTP supervisor & his assistant is ISTP, they're brilliant with everything you've stated, but I think I was great at my office manger job & they were unsupportive with some changes I wanted to make. I was trying to create a more positive, supportive experience for our staff & clients by getting rid of [awful] staff. He agreed to fire 1 of the people I was adamant about, but ended up changing his mind (he can be a coward). At my last meeting with him he told me he appreciates me (but it pained him to do it) and I was very valuable to the program, so he does have a heart somewhere. He also said he was critical of me & other leadership staff, to help us. I let him have it. I'm not tolerating that .... He wanted to control everything, even from behind the scenes. He needs puppets and I wasn't going to be that. He is arrogant & 2-face. In front of clients & staff he pretends to be kind, behind their back he talks [badly about them]. He is also overly dependent on the istp too, when she leaves, he is [a goner]. Not a good match for me at all lol"

"[Me: Context-- INTPs are very chill until you ignore their warnings over and over and ruin their own life by extension.] I lost it when you described the Vegeta level tantrums.... So many flashbacks to grabbing the closest thing I could find and straight up hurtling it at someone's (my brother's) head."

"My first and to this day only experience in isfp super ego [Me: Meaning-- INTPs are their angriest/in a rage was, when my mom confronted me the morning before school that I didn't gave her an super important school letter the days before, so she wouldn't sign it that morning, I really thought I would need it this day (later I heard we would need it 2 days later, but I didn't know this at this moment) I saw my future and honor to the teachers and from the teachers breaking away, so let's get to the rage part, I ran into my bedroom and by mistake pulled the door 1meter away from where it should have been (it was ripped out those things which hold the door). That was a really shocky moment for me, because I thought I would have me under controle in such situations, but obviously I didn't."

"you nailed it why care when ppl don't want to know they hate you for caring"

"INTP here. As far as food goes, super adventurous and familiar at the same time. I'll try anything once, and if I like it I can eat it all the time. If I don't, I'll get the priciest/highest rated version I can to make sure it wasn't just the chef/ingredients."

"I'm a female INTP. I'm always so deep into my head that someone can be right beside me and I don't notice them. When they start talking to me, It startles me out of my head. There have been times when I have actually let out a slight scream. I usually get puzzled looks when I try to explain that I was deep in thought and didn't notice them."

"I'm an INFJ living with my boyfriend that is an INTP, and I had to laugh at some of your points because they're so accurate! This man is miserable [in] a suit!"

"I'm INTP and I'm trying to not stagnate, it's pretty weird, because it's seems easier to be moving than to start moving, so yeah moving is worth it I understand that logically, but that's not internalized and I just have incredible difficulty at starting to move forward, or even continue that without external help."

"i'm a intp, i love math, learning about things at school that are actually useful in my life, and the things that are not useful in my life i find it really hard to concentrate on."

"In school we had an art project once to do without the teacher. Just written instructions. I felt like I had understood what was asked and told my classmates. But they thought differently (in a actually wrong way). After ten minutes of pointless arguing I just left them where they stood and started doing my picture. I was practicly the only person who had time to finish. And I was the only one in my class that has understood the instructions correctly. In fact, this project had such bad results that the teachers didn't let it count for the grades. My whole class got Es and Ds while I got a B+. I got to keep the grade and dump another bad grade of mine."

"Used to think I was kind of a feeler and extroverted. Then I stayed alone over Covid... I invented a cure for aging and developed a new species of fish. I think I'm definately INTP. Absolutely nobody believes me, so I know that I must be one!"

"When I first saw the board, I saw Fe, Ti, Si and Ne. And literally it screamed out Iron, Titanium, Silicon and Neon."

"Although I’m not certain I am An INTP( I cannot figure it out!), the “everybody is stupid part” got humbled in me when I entered the oilfield workforce. I grew up with the idea that tradespeople are dumb, and if you aren’t university educated, you won’t be successful. After seeing firsthand that absolutely is not the case, and oftentimes we are struggling with the engineers( Usualt INTP) lack of foresight on their projects implementation. We also have this theoretical framework I use to learn how our plant works, but oftentimes it’s experience and outside the box thinking that operates the plant on a day to day basis. The framework is merely a framework, and reality is usually way different. Paper to implementation is never perfect. Tradespeople in my opinion are far more brilliant than those educated in our institutions and I find myself side by side with teachers, economists and the like. Something I didn’t mention was The humbling part for me was how stupid I was mechanically entering the work force. Able to explain complex plant processes but unable to drain a vessel to prepare for isolation( this is similar to how intps can become good cooks or drivers, by just doing it, million dollar concept eh??). I dedicated myself to doing things on my own like following manuals and YouTube videos for vehicle repairs and performing them myself. I am catching up to rest of my peers and once my working memory and mechanical ability are good, with my abstract ability I’ll be a very good plant operator."

"I’ve stopped doing it, now that I mostly eat lunch at home, but I had a habit of ordering only one dish in each restaurant I went to. My order was always the same, only the type of food changed. So, the waitress would see me and just put in my order. It was very efficient, I reasoned, no need to suffer through the ordering process every day. I wonder if they resented me for it or liked it."

"INTP's: say something that's obvious and really simple to us. ------------others:why are you so mean? ------INTP's: did you say something? ----Others: ...! ----- INTP: shrugs and goes back to absorbing information like a sponge."

"I am an INTP, but I don’t experience a lot of the apathy problems, mostly due to a dad that understands my needs. Also I understand the inferiority/ superiority paradox and constantly try to underestimate myself (still fail to see long term thinking in the majority of people) and try to give credit where credit is due"

"INTP female here; pretty accurate, feeling attacked lol used to be called ice princess as a child. my friends used to call me robot so when my [personality test] came out saying that INTPs are robots, my friends had a lot of fun with that."

"What would you say would be the cause for an INTP with a very messy apartment? I have a few things even from my high school days that haven't thrown away and I'm in my fifties. Also have trouble making decisions of what mail to throw away. Apartment at least navigable but not using nearly all the space that's available..."

"I have anger instead of apathy/indifference. I - or rather my Si - has gotten seriously tired of seeing the same mistakes happen constantly & their repercussions constantly affect my life too, so I can't bear to see people in my life make a similar mistake one more time; thus, I snap & I have to vent...."

"Don't fall into the trap of ignorance for Ti users: last known input or preferred input will make your Ti useless. You have to test and experiment with every opinion or premise, even if you disagree with them."

"A note on my physical environment: (I’m an intp) I do tend to set things down without even thinking about it, it’s like there’s a hidden part in my brain that decides when i want to put something down, and my body just does it, completely unaware. and since i don’t notice it, i can’t even consider whether the place i am setting the thing will lead to struggle in the future."

"[Me: Context-- Here's a rare 'brutally honest' INTP] I’m a woman who’s an INTP, and it’s definitely lonely lol I’m always correcting people, if what they are saying is false. I get told that most people don’t want to be corrected, and find it offensive. Which makes no sense to me. So I’m just rather indifferent when it comes to people. Same with advice, I’m brutally honest when people ask for my opinion/advice. They usually don’t accept it, and wonder why their situation didn’t turn out right"

"My fear of feeling like people around me are dumb have been quenched by my little brother being an ISTP, my mother being wise and my grandmother being an utter genius. If there are three intelligent people around me already there will be more. You will just have to find them and build networks of trust with people humble and knowlegable in their field. Edit: I had an emotional talk with my mother because I agree with my father (even tho his reasons are unknown) that my mother should stop funding my studies. Why? Because I feel like I need an incentive to do something, and I do nolonger want my father to have any authority to say anything to me. Just finally after 21 years to actually become a somewhat independent adult. I know I will always survive, but I am really stagnating."

"As a true INTP , i listened this while playing Sims 3 creating an INTP character , with music turned off while drinking coffee at 12:23 night. 10/10 would listen again. Anyway , i feel like only stupid people are repeating the same story over and over again. I have a rule , if i like a new person and we get close i use my crazy ... stories to "flex" and get close , but only one time. In fact if a person it's telling me the same story three times , im done, i send him/her to the "lame people zone"."

""Wisdom is like fire, it's truth. You gotta get burned in order to get closer to the truth."" THANK YOU. That was beautifully said."

AND LASTLY: INTPs who can't seem to pick a calling in life-- below is some advice (from Person B Person E, and Person F), commiseration, and soothing words of wisdom-- most INTPs change their jobs or career paths regardless because of their fluctuating interests!

Person A: "I am worried to pick my specialization. I dont know what to choose. I am interested in so many things and then i move on. Example: I love art, been going to extra curricular art class since childhood and we would try all different techniques. Even now when i do something, i am interested in it (sewing, knitting, editing photos, felting, clay modelling) and it never sticks long enough to become "proficient" in it, i do it just long enough to get the basics. I am using art or hand work techniques as an example, it is a hobby not a profession I wish to pursue..."

Person B: "Compare all interests, which one of them you stick to the longest and excites you the most. Use a scoring scale & hierarchy to compare so that it is easier to analyze. And then, refer to your Fe, of all those, which one would be the most beneficial to the society. Narrow down to 2-3 choices (you know it's hard to make one choice) and try exploring them (i.e take actions) to further make distinction which one is feasible for you to specialize in (I mean realistically). I was at one time that it is possible to me to choose any career path I want to, from medicine to architecture, from art and design to computer engineering. Just like in the video, a naive INTP decided not to choose because he knew people in those field and didn't feel like really great about them and thought it didn't feel too worthwhile to take on a path to be like them. I ended up compromising my specialization and chose a subjectively easier course just because I could continue learning other fields and I did learn them. Though right now, I didn't 100% regret my choice back then as I aspire to do integration of fields rather than traditional specialization, I didn't see any problem if I did choose one of the famous career path earlier and I might feel as fulfilling as I'm now but in different departments of fulfillment."

Person C: "I’m going through the same thing. I’ve completed my bachelors in science and I work as a youth worker... but I also want to be an author. In fact, it’s always been a passion but I’m just now realizing that. But I’ve also developed a passion in research while doing my undergrad so I’m wondering whether or not to pursue my masters since that might lead me to a more sustainable career"

Person D: "Everyone I Know: You are so gifted. You could literally be anything you wanted be without even trying. Just pick something. Me:.......There are so many options, but are any of them worth it. I fail to commit to one area of study and let years go by without moving forward in life."

Person E: "I think society puts so much pressure on what you're gonna do "for the rest of your life" and "it has to be the perfect fit FOREVER". Unfortunately it never works out like that, people change and you change, and you won't be the only person who will likely want to change careers later on in life, and that's ok. From what you wrote, it seems like you are more on the 'create and make' side of things, and I find that really cool, and I also think the best step forward would be to force yourself to stick to something and build it up a bit, after a while you'll find yourself comfortable with where you're at and you can either go to something else (creative jobs have lots of transferrable skills and you'll probably be very good at them if you wanted to) or stick with whatever you choose because it's now your new comfort zone Something that helped with my indecisive nature is reading a quote, basically: time will pass anyway, so might as well be a year in the future with a step forward towards a specific something than nothing at all."

Person F: "I struggled with this one for a bit at university when I found what I originally thought was the perfect profession that would blend everything together (medical illustration). I went to a school with a weak art program, wanted to transfer after the first year and felt guilty about starting something and not finishing it. I graduated with the degree but didn’t finish the art program. convinced a counselor to let me skip classes. Since I wasn’t at the level I needed to be 3 years ago, I changed my goal and decided to hold this one off until I’m way older. Do something for a few years then switch off when you’re ready for that next experience!"

WELP.

That's all for now!

If you want, I'll make another post in future-- maybe more INTPs, maybe some ISTJs (for Scully representation, post here~.)

Thank you for reading--

Enjoy!

Disclaimers: This is a self-assessed analysis. This information is not based on the abominable MBTI system (which has been butchered from its original Jungian typology since ~WWII); instead, it’s a combination between the works of Jung’s type psychology, Dr. Linda Berens’ Communication styles, Dr. Dario Nardi’s EEG brain scan compiled research, and others’ data and practices as compiled and simplified by CSJoseph. This system is based only on the Nature side of Nature/Nurture; and each “type” is not a “box” to fit everyone into– simply a tool to help understand the basics of the human mind that science has only begun to fathom in its limited scope.

#Types #Typing #INTP #In Their Own Words #analysis #mine #comments #and only a little mention of: #Mulder #xfiles #txf #x-files #meta #xf meta #life #beautiful #MBTI #but not

[timptoe]

Two Lovesick Idiots

I was inspired by this lovely art of Shepard and Kaidan drawn by the incredible @sinclairsolutions - so with their permission for running with this idea, my first fic in twenty years:

----

Citadel, Silversun Strip, Anderson’s apartment Two weeks before the end of the Reaper War

Tali drops it unceremoniously on the coffee table in front of them, with the air of someone who has both lost a bet and is still somehow smugly triumphant.

“Here.”

Shepard cocks his head. From his position cuddled into Kaidan’s side, the motion causes his closely-shaved scalp to tickle the underside of Kaidan’s chin. 

“What?”

Leave it to Shepard to sound both irritated and intrigued at the interruption. Kaidan kisses the top of his head in amusement.

The party celebrating the demise of Shepard’s clone has been in full swing for most of the night, and it’s showing no sign of slowing down. Kaidan can hear Vega and Cortez over near the bar gleefully explaining biotiball to a surprisingly interested Javik, who’s just declared how much better the protheans would be then the current primitive teams. Kasumi is trying to teach Grunt how to play the piano, with limited success, behind the couch where Kaidan and Shepard have ensconced themselves. Kaidan can see the dance circle in the kitchen still going strong, though now absent two of its erstwhile dancers.

Both of whom are standing in front of the coffee table, Tali gesturing at what she just dropped, Garrus inscrutable as ever.

Kaidan reluctantly pushes his boyfriend—his boyfriend, heart still skipping a beat at getting to call Shepard something so intimate—off of his lap so he can lean forward to pick up what, by all appearances, seems to be a scrapbook. He dimly remembers heirlooms like this back at the orchard: binders of pictures, chintzy artwork, and scribbles commemorating the reunions or anniversaries or what-have-you of various Alenkos over the decades. None of the scrapbooks back home have the violently purple hue of this one, though. None of their titles are quite like what’s emblazoned across the front of this one, either.

Two Lovesick Idiots.

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “Tali, what is this?”

“I, uh…okay, it was going to be a present later. After. But this one—“ she backhands Garrus in the stomach, who oofs softly “—told me I had to give it to you now.”

“Okay, but what is it?” Shepard says. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Kaidan nudges him with his shoulder fondly. “It’s a scrapbook.” At his precious spacer’s precious look of confusion, he continues, “It’s for memories, pictures and things. An old Earth practice.”

Shepard turns his adorably confused gaze to Tali. “But why? And how?”

The tipsy quarian groans in response. “Just open it.”

Kaidan opens the cover. On the first page is a full-sized photograph of Kaidan and Shepard sitting in a bar somewhere. Flux, maybe? He traces his finger over it absently. They look so young. The early days of the SR-1, perhaps. Kaidan’s in the foreground, staring into his drink—whiskey, by the looks of it. Shepard’s seated next to him, giving him a soft, almost secret smile. The candid shot is as sweet as it is striking.

All that time. How did I never know? 

A sweet knot of nostalgia settles in his chest, and he smiles at the memory. “Tali,” he starts to murmur, “where did you…”

That’s when he reads the picture’s caption.

“Two Lovesick Idiots Pine for Each Other in a Poorly-Lit Bar,” photo by Tali’Zorah nar Rayya, 2183.

“What.”

Shepard gets to the caption at roughly the same time. But where Kaidan’s knot of nostalgia immediately turns into annoyance, Shepard lets out the most delighted, surprised laugh Kaidan’s heard from him in a long time.

“Tali,” Kaidan says in a measured voice, pointedly ignoring his boyfriend as he dissolves into giggles, “what the hell is this?”

“It’s a gift! A present,” Tali repeats. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Just…a lot of effort went into this,” she says bashfully. “Keep going.”

He turns the page. This one has two photos, separated by a common caption. The top one is a selfie of the late, great Ashley Williams, clearly taken with her omnitool in the SR-1’s mess. Her face is frozen in mid-cackle, while way in the background over her shoulder, Kaidan and Shepard stand near that console Kaidan was forever trying to repair. The picture on the bottom is zoomed in on them, Shepard’s hand nonchalantly resting on Kaidan’s forearm in mid-conversation. The caption reads, “Two Lovesick Idiots Flirt Badly over a Busted Console,” photo by Ashley Williams, 2183.

“Ashley? Ashley was in on this?” Kaidan asks incredulously. This sets Shepard off giggling even harder somehow.

Kaidan glances around. The rest of the party is starting to notice. Fantastic.

“It was actually Ashley’s idea,” Tali responds, tipsy mirth tempered a moment by a sort of fond sadness. “She was the first one to figure you two out, I think. She thought this would be a nice memento once you two…um, what was the phrase, Joker?”

“I believe it was, ‘Once those two get their eyes off each other’s asses and get their own asses in gear,” Joker supplies helpfully from the other couch.

Kaidan doesn’t like Joker’s shit-eating grin. Or the hot feeling of the blush that erupts over his own face. He especially doesn’t like that his boyfriend is still giggling.

Said boyfriend snorts in between giggles, “Yeah, that sounds like Ash.”

Tali looks a little unsure, shifting from foot to foot. “Are…are you mad? Is this okay?”

Kaidan’s suddenly very aware that most of the party have crowded around the couch, peering with interest at the scrapbook. Well, mostly they’re staring at their giddy commander.

When it’s just the two of them, Shepard’s learned how to let down his guard. He smiles more, laughs more. The war has taken its toll on him—him more than most, especially after everything in the last three years—but in the privacy of Shepard’s cabin, Kaidan has worked hard to give him space to just be happy.

So anything that makes him happy enough to giggle like an idiot? Around other people, no less?

He shakes his head and gives Tali his biggest grin. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”

Her posture relaxes. “Everyone helped.”

They start flipping through the pages. 

“Two Lovesick Idiots Find an Excuse to Touch by Scraping Plant Goo Off Each Other,” photo by Garrus Vakarian, 2183.

“Hey, we were worried that stuff might be corrosive!” Shepard says defensively.

Kaidan chuckles. That hadn’t been…strictly true. More like, he wasn’t going to pass up any opportunity to be in Shepard’s space. Sure, his face in the photo is the picture of seriousness as he plucks a piece of tentacle off of Shepard’s chestplate, but he remembers how hard he had to concentrate not to look at Shepard’s lips instead. 

“Neither of you offered to clean Thorian gunk off my armor,” Garrus grumbles.

Tali pats his arm.

“Two Lovesick Idiots Don’t Know How to Drive a Fucking Tank,” photo by Ashley Williams, 2183.

“He’s the one that can’t drive, not me,” Kaidan objects, pushing his again-giggling boyfriend away.

“It does not appear that you are attempting to stop him, Major,” EDI muses from where she’s settled next to Joker.

And indeed, Ash somehow captured a shot of the Mako’s cockpit from the back. Shepard has one fist raised in celebration, while Kaidan’s head is turned in mid yell. There’s no mistaking the fondness on his face, though.

There’s also no mistaking the fact that only sky, no ground, is visible through the Mako’s front window. 

“To be fair, Liara isn’t stopping them either,” Cortez says from over Kaidan’s shoulder.

To be fair, Liara’s passed out from stress in the photo, blue face tinged slightly green as it lolls to one side in her safety harness.

Present-day Liara just sighs.

“Two Lovesick Idiots Have the Mother of All Lovers’ Spats,” photo captured by Horizon security feeds, obtained by Miranda Lawson, 2185.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, really?” Kaidan says incredulously. “We’re commemorating that moment?”

“Eh, you two made up,” Miranda says from the other side of the room, raising her drink in a mock toast, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Two Lovesick Idiots Have the Mother of All Lovers’ Spats, Part Two,” photo captured by C-Sec security feeds, obtained by Kasumi Goto, 2186.

Kaidan rolls his eyes.

“Eh, you two made up,” Kasumi’s voice echoes with a laugh.

Picture after picture just like that, chronicling the dance that he and Shepard have been doing around each other for the last three years. And not just pictures, Kaidan realizes.

Some of the pages have text, hard copies of omnitool message chains:

== 2183.05.03 snippet from group chain == Ashley: did you see how red LT’s face got when Shepard complimented him in the debrief? Tali: It was so cute! Ashley: fuckin nerd Ashley: him, not you Garrus: He didn’t do anything, though? Just managed not to faint from Shepard’s driving? Liara: That is harder than one might think. Ashley: pfffft Wrex: why am I in this group

== 2185.09.12 snippet from group chain == Jack: okay but seriously the two of them used to be a thing, right? nobody gets that mad at someone they’re not duckin Jack: fuckin Jack: FUCK Tali: it’s…complicated Samara: We are often cruelest to the ones we love. Mordin: Unresolved sexual tension often a source of adrenaline. Recommend putting a picture of Alenko in the shuttle before missions. Could increase Shepard’s battle performance. Garrus: No Tali: absolutely not Grunt: Unresolved sexual tension heh heh heh Wrex: goddamn it, why I am in this group too

Other pages have short handwritten notes from their friends.

Adjacent to a picture of Kaidan sleeping off a migraine in the SR-1′s medbay and Shepard sleeping in a chair next to his bed, with the caption “Two Lovesick Idiots Are Bad at Sleeping,” photo taken by Karin Chakwas, 2183, a scrawl in silver pen reads: I am very glad that you two have better places to sleep than my medbay now.

Kaidan looks at Shepard. “I don’t remember this.”

Shepard ducks his head a bit, responding, “Not surprised. That one was pretty bad, you were out for a while. I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“By screwing up your spinal alignment?” Traynor says, sitting next to Shepard on the couch and frowning.

Shepard huffs.

On another page, next to a picture of Shepard standing at Kaidan’s bedside in Huerta, seemingly taken through a window, with a caption reading, “Two Lovesick Idiots Have a Very Close Call,” photo taken by Thane Krios, 2186, a note in a different hand reads: It is good to see your soul tu-fira, my friend.

Shepard touches the note, sobering quickly. 

Kaidan furrows his brow. “I don’t understand this one.”

Shepard puts his palm on Kaidan’s cheek, and Kaidan leans into the touch. Shepard gives him a sad smile and says, “Thane. I’ll explain later.”

The final page, though, takes the cake.

The picture’s taken from a weird angle, but it’s striking in a way that stuns Kaidan. On first glance, it’s just a picture of the doors to Starboard Observation as they’re closing. But framed in the doorway, you can see Shepard and Kaidan sitting on the couch, their backs to the door and the camera. The observation window looks out on the starry expanse, silhouetting the pair as Shepard rests his head on Kaidan’s shoulder, Kaidan’s arm around him.

The caption reads, “Two Lovesick Idiots in Love, Fucking Finally,” picture taken by Tali’Zorah vas Normandy, 2186, and for all its tongue-in-cheek snarkiness, it’s the most beautiful thing Kaidan’s seen.

He looks over at his quietly smiling boyfriend and his shining blue eyes. Maybe the second-most beautiful thing.

“Tali,” Shepard says, voice thick with emotion. He stops, swallows, and then starts again, “Everyone. Thank you. This is…unbelievable.”

“What’s more unbelievable is that the two of you finally hooked up!” Vega catcalls, and everyone cheers.

Kaidan rubs the back of his head sheepishly as everyone laughs, looking sidelong at Shepard. Shepard just laughs too and pounces, smothering Kaidan in kisses.

When they come up for air, Tali picks up the scrapbook and says, “Look, see, these rings open up so you can add more pages. You know, if you want to.”

Shepard grins. “Actually, I can think of another photo I’d like to add.”

Years later, amongst the bric-a-brac of a house at an orchard in the Canadian interior, in a row of scrapbooks commemorating the reunions or anniversaries or what-have-you of various Alenkos over the decades, one violently purple scrapbook is given pride of place. And inside, nestled between pages of pictures and printouts and handwritten notes, a specific page sits at what had at one time been the back of the book, but now precedes dozens of recorded memories.

On that page is a picture of Shepard and Kaidan, seated on a couch in an apartment on the Silversun Strip of the Citadel, looking lovingly at each other. On the couch beside them, and arrayed in rows behind them, are some of the people who loved them in that moment, too.

The caption reads, “Two Lovesick Idiots Surrounded by a Bunch of Other Lovely Idiots,” picture taken by Glyph, 2186.

#mass effect #mass effect 3 #citadel dlc #mshenko #kaidan alenko #my writing #the first fic I've written since college #the most fun I've had in a while #man this game just crawled into my head and won't let go #also GO CHECK OUT SINCLAIR'S ART IT'S AMAZING

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 15, 2024

How do we argue with those who are incapable of argumentation? This is a question I’ve been grappling with for some time. If your child is demanding sweets before dinner, screaming like a banshee and committing various acts of domestic vandalism, you have few options. You might attempt to initiate a debate, outlining the pros and cons of ingesting unhealthy food in advance of a nutritious meal, but this strategy will invariably fail. In the end, you’ll just have to tell the little brat to shut up and do what he’s told. Or, better still, avoid having children in the first place.

Many of us will have experienced something similar on Twitter (or X, if you insist). Something about the platform has the effect of curdling the sweetest Dr Jekylls into the most repugnant of Mr Hydes. And when someone just bleats insults, or mischaracterises your views, or generally cannot engage in good faith, the best thing to do is to block them. You don’t owe anyone your time and attention, and you’ll only drive yourself insane trying to reason with the unreasonable. Most clever adages end up being attributed to Mark Twain whether he wrote them or not, and this one is no exception: “Never wrestle with a pig; you just get dirty and the pig enjoys it”.

One of the best things about withdrawing from Twitter is that I am no longer bombarded by complaints that my blocking people on the platform proves that my commitment to free speech is inauthentic. The typical tactic is to screenshot the cover of my book Free Speech and Why It Matters as a kind of “gotcha” to illustrate my hypocrisy. And while I am grateful for the publicity, it does get rather tedious having to explain this most common and basic of misapprehensions. The podcaster Stephen Knight put it rather succinctly: “Someone implying that being blocked on Twitter is somehow a violation of their free speech is the fastest way you can tell people you don’t understand free speech.” Instead of smugly posting images of my book, perhaps they ought to read it instead.

In a surreal twist, my blocking habits on Twitter recently made the news. Just after Christmas, an article by Pierra Willix was published in the Metro with the headline: “Confusion as GB News presenter who champions ‘free speech’ blocks critics”. In truth, I have never blocked anyone for polite criticism; I welcome it. And while it goes without saying that nobody expects factual accuracy from the Metro, we should be concerned that an individual who aspires to make a living in journalism does not appear to understand the concept of free speech.  

Willix has fallen for what Helen Pluckrose and James Lindsay have called “the fallacy of demanding to be heard”. They make the point that just as freedom of religion incorporates freedom from religion, the right to speak and listen also entails the right not to speak and listen. If you’ve ever received an unwelcome phone call and hung up, you have not impeded on the caller’s rights. If you choose not to read my books, I cannot claim to have been censored. If you block someone on social media, all it means is that you’re not interested in what they’ve got to say. I’ve been blocked by hundreds of people online and, although this clearly reflects poorly on their taste and judgement, my freedom of speech remains intact.

Permit me to suggest a workable rule of thumb when it comes to blocking online. Just imagine if someone came up to you on the street and exclaimed: “You’re an evil ugly Nazi and you should be thrown into a live volcano”. (I’m paraphrasing one of my more disgruntled critics.) Now what would you do in that situation? Would you…

Stop for a moment and say: “Goodness, that’s an interesting point of view. Let’s discuss that a little more, shall we? Perhaps over a glass of crème de menthe?”

Walk away.

If you opt for the latter, that’s the equivalent of the block on social media. Blocking is not censorship. It’s the difference between choosing to cover one’s own ears or forcibly stopping someone else’s mouth.

There are many other good reasons to block. I generally block those who throw insults, post threats or libel, assume bad faith, or those who tell me that they know what I am secretly thinking. These amateur telepaths are remarkably common on social media. Total strangers have variously informed me that I am a men’s rights activist, a white nationalist, a Tory voter and a raging homophobe. All of these happen to be the precise opposite of the truth, but since my detractors speak with the certainty of Old Testament prophets, their lies tend to gain traction. I’ve even been told that I’m being funded by “dark money”. This money must be very dark indeed, given that I have never actually seen any of it. 

If one wishes to avoid being drawn into endless arguments with these fantasists, many of whom seem to believe that the promotion of liberal values is some kind of “far-right dog-whistle”, blocking is a sensible option. But even if you were to block someone on a whim – for overusing emojis, or being a Sagittarius, or because they can’t spell “parallelogram” – this would be your prerogative. I have started blocking those who claim that blocking is a threat to their free speech. Not that I’m intolerant of the intellectually challenged, it’s just that I prefer to keep them off my timeline. Call it quality control.

Another option is to mute the worst offenders, but of course this does leave you open to malicious campaigns of mass reporting. In addition, there is a certain species of online troll that feels no compunction in posting libellous tweets wherever possible. Although muting them means that you will never have to see it, they are still able to use your tweets as a springboard to defame and smear. Why give them the satisfaction?

In the midst of pile-ons, I have been known to block the most sociopathic offenders and all of their followers. This instantaneously has the effect of curbing the swarm; a clipping of the winged monkeys, if you will. Of course, this does inevitably result in a degree of friendly fire, and I am always happy to unblock those who have been caught up in the melee. It’s an imperfect situation, but once you have reached a certain number of followers, Twitter becomes unsustainable without weeding out the more bizarre and abusive users. (In other words: if I’ve blocked you by accident, don’t take it personally.)

Being in favour of free speech doesn’t mean you want to listen to what every single maniac or numbskull has to say. It means that you don’t want anyone to be censored. Far from being a threat to free speech, the block function on social media is a guarantee of free speech. It means that each individual user gets to decide for themselves what they read. It means we don’t require big tech overlords, or those sinister Silicon Valley “Trust and Safety Councils”, to decide what’s best for us and ban those accounts deemed to be “offensive” or “unsafe”.    

That said, we need to wary of the “echo chamber” phenomenon. I’ve never understood those who only wish to hear their own opinions repeated back to them. How can you possibly develop your ideas if you don’t leave yourself open to be challenged? Without humility, we cannot grow, and there is always something we can learn from even our bluntest critics. I have no interest in echo chambers, which is why I go out of my way to engage with those who disagree with me. I read their books and articles, I participate in public debates, I invite them on to my show on GB News. But the idea that Twitter is the best forum for these discussions is absurd.

Somehow, in the quagmire of social media, we have to find a way to restore civility when it comes to our differences. The block function is a useful tool in this regard. We should all be open to persuasion, but that does not mean we should waste our time wrestling with pigs. There is little point in attempting to defend a fictitious version of yourself that your detractors have invented. Instead, reserve your time and energy for those who are still capable of adult discussion. Leave the rest to roar away into the vacuum of cyberspace.

#Andrew Doyle #free speech #social media #freedom of speech #freedom to block #blocking #online trolls #religion is a mental illness