#and they thrive that way without needing to look out for things like social cues/other's perceptions/the will of a “majority”

[einsatzzz]

art time-lapse of this piece that i posted in IG b4 to try out doing reels. i really like how this turned out overall plus "yasashii suisei" (link for eng tl) really fit the vibes so im queueing this here too

[hygieiahub]

Unmasking Social Anxiety and the Pressure to Fit In

It’s Halloween season, and you know what that means—costumes, candy, and pretending to be someone (or something) else for the night! 🎃 But for some of us, the masks we wear aren’t just for spooky parties; we put them on all year round, especially when we’re trying to fit in at school or social events.

Ever felt like you’re not being “you” just to fit in with a certain group? Like you’re putting on a disguise that’s far scarier than any zombie or vampire costume? Well, you’re not alone. A lot of high schoolers struggle with social anxiety and the pressure to fit in, which makes it feel like we have to wear a mask just to be accepted.

The “Mask” of Social Anxiety 👻

Let’s talk about social anxiety—a ghostly feeling that haunts you in social situations. It’s that voice inside your head whispering, “What if they don’t like me?” or “What if I say something awkward?” It can make even the most fun events, like Halloween parties or school dances, feel like a walk through a haunted house—nerve-wracking.

With social anxiety, many of us feel like we need to wear a mask to hide our true selves. We act like we’re super confident when we’re really freaking out inside. Or we laugh at jokes we don’t find funny just to avoid standing out. It’s like becoming a character in a Halloween horror movie, except it’s real life, and instead of scaring others, we’re scared of being judged.

The Pressure to “Fit In” 🎭

Halloween is all about wearing masks, but sometimes the pressure to fit in makes us feel like we’re stuck wearing one every day. Whether it’s the pressure to dress a certain way, say the right things, or attend every party, trying to blend in can leave you feeling like a werewolf in sheep's clothing.

Social media doesn’t help either. When everyone’s posting their perfect Halloween costumes, group pics, or party highlights, it can feel like you’re missing out (cue the FOMO!). You might think, “If I don’t go to this party, people will think I’m weird,” or “I need to act more outgoing so I don’t look lame.” But remember, wearing a social mask for too long can get exhausting, like running from a monster that keeps catching up to you.

The Real Monster: Inauthenticity 🧟‍♂️

Here’s the scariest part of wearing a mask all the time: you start to lose track of who you really are. Social anxiety feeds off inauthenticity. The more you hide your true self, the harder it gets to remember what that even looks like. It’s like being trapped in a haunted maze, where every turn leads to more confusion about what you actually enjoy or who you really want to be friends with.

Being authentic—that is, being true to yourself—might sound scary at first, but it’s the key to breaking free from the pressure to fit in. Think of it as unmasking your real self, even if it feels vulnerable at times. After all, the people who matter most are the ones who like you for who you truly are, not the mask you wear.

Tricks for Ditching the Mask 🎃

So, how do we deal with social anxiety and the pressure to fit in without wearing a mask 24/7? Here are a few tricks (and treats) to help you embrace your authentic self:

Face Your Fears (Like a True Halloween Hero): Social anxiety thrives on avoidance. The more you avoid social situations out of fear, the scarier they become. Instead, start small—attend a smaller gathering, or challenge yourself to speak up in class. Little by little, you’ll find that the fear doesn’t haunt you as much.

Wear the Right Costume: And by this, we mean choose the role you want to play in life. Don’t force yourself into friendships or social groups that don’t feel right. If it feels like you’re wearing a costume that doesn’t fit, take it off! Find people who appreciate the real you, whether you’re into sports, drama, gaming, or even (gasp!) studying.

It’s Okay to Say No: This one’s important. You don’t have to attend every event, party, or hangout to be accepted. Sometimes, saying no to things that drain your energy or make you uncomfortable is the best way to protect your mental health. Don’t be afraid to give your social battery a break!

Be a Ghostbuster: If social anxiety feels like it’s haunting you too often, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. A school counselor, therapist, or trusted friend can help you learn how to face these fears without wearing a mask. Remember, you don’t have to fight the monster alone!

Celebrate Your Authenticity (No Mask Required) 🎉

This Halloween, instead of just dressing up for fun, why not take the chance to unmask yourself in real life? Embrace your quirks, your interests, and your true personality. After all, authenticity is way more powerful than any costume or disguise you could put on. The people who matter will love you for the real, unmasked you—and that’s no trick!

So while you’re enjoying the spook-tacular festivities this season, remember: the scariest thing isn’t being yourself—it’s hiding who you are behind a mask. 👻

Happy Halloween, and here’s to unmasking your awesomely authentic self! 🎃

-hygieia's saint

[sol-consort]

As much as you love the fact that humans are a sociable and communal species, I'm sure you're going to love the Angara.

Their society is based on the expression of emotions, being open and governed by well-being, not only physical and social but also psychological.

They have huge families where they are not even related by blood. And when a new couple forms, they literally merge the families' surnames.

You're absolutely right on the money! The more I'm learning about angara the more I'm falling in love with them.

The fact they wear their hearts on their sleves but are never naive. The fact they are so emotional intelligence and consider it the norm to voice their feelings out loud even if it causes disagreements because it let's people work through it.

Humanity is a constant masquerade, all the invisible tests and social cues. The angara literally defy a lot of the things we have stubbornly latched on into because of our fears.

We play hard to get, we lie about our feelings, we isolate and ghost people rather than face then head on. We downplay how much we love someone, we rarely hand out compliments.

We consider the first person who says "I love you" in a relationship to be the losing one. Love is war in humans. A constant test and guesswork.

So for the angara to come and simply...speak everything out loud? Without fear of embarrassment or rejection? It will intimidate so many humans.

The way Jaal complimented Peebee so openly and Cora tried to make him embarrassed about it but his only reaction was to compliment her too and she fell silent. We have to be constantly under 13 layers of irony to function, otherwise we die from embarrassment and shame.

Fuck when Jaal talked about having many mothers, I melted in my chair. Not only are they so beautiful looking with skin that reminds of galaxy and stars as their white markings, but they are so filled with love for each other.

Because at the end of the day, love is why any of us even bothers living. Be it love for one's children, or love for your passion work. Even love for another or simple love like videogames or dogs.

If love didn't exist, life wouldn't be worth living. We want to live and not just survive, we fall in love with the universe, art, concepts, and people constantly.

But none of us speaks it. And none of the speices in mass effect are bold enough to confess it. The closest ones were the humans with their enthusiasm and clear burning passion but even then, we let out actions speak our love rather than our words.

So, for the angara to come and achieve everything we've written millions of psychology guides for just naturally? The fact there was a couple clearly hugging each other and confessing their love inside the military resistance base so openly and their commander never barked at them to let go or stop? It's truly the alienating experience.

I envy them man. They have the social structures that humanity wished it had, constantly dreamed about but could never commit to. Because of our pride, our ego and fears.

I like to think the reason Ryder agrees to help the angara so much, not just to earn their trust but because humans see the angara and immediately have this urge to protect them.

They're so beautiful inside and out, so filled with love and acceptance for one another. So interested in their own community and safety. Fuck, the fact they need the sun to thrive is so poetic, they're like this beautiful garden of roses amidst such harsh environments. Of course, humans are gonna build a greenhouse to keep them alive during the winter. Are you kidding?

humans are such simps for these things.

Also, it is funny how the Angara and Protheons are on extreme opposite poles of one another.

[bioticbooty]

15 questions for 15 friends

Tagged by @pigeontheoneandonly!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?: My birth name, no. My coming out as they gayest fucker without a gender you've ever met, yes, but oddly, after myself??? Because I decided to write a self-insert (SaOS) and writing my birth name felt WRONG (for reasons I didn't understand at the time) so I made a new name that felt "right," examined those feelings over the course of a decade, and when it came time to change my name, I already had one thanks to my weird Mass Effect-loving, fanfiction-writing, stumbling-into-an-epiphany-yet-completely-missing-it self. In other words, I named myself before I knew who I was.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: Saturday, April 6, between 7:30 pm and 9:15 pm, watching Star Trek: Discovery Season 5, episodes 1 and 2

DON'T LOOK AT ME

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?: I have zero offspring and sometimes I feel a way about it and sometimes I don't.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?: Track. And I am also going to include marching band because we walked for MILES with HEAVY INSTRUMENTS wearing SHITTY SHOES THAT ARE DEFINITELY NOT MADE FOR HIKING and WOOL UNIFORMS in the fucking HEAT (and also in the cold, in which case we were stuffing little heat buddies into the toes of our shoes).

I do not play a sport now. But I do go on little mental health walks and occasionally hike a volcano.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?: Not once in my entire life.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?: How they look at other people. Which is such an incredibly autistic thing, but I fucking studied the shit out of how other people communicated with and looked at other people around them in an attempt to understand it myself because I was always missing these cues that everyone else acted as if they were immediately obvious to the point they didn't need to be said. Communication became one of my special interests as a way to understand and survive in social situations.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?: Hazel. When I was 17 and on a picnic with a friend I was incredibly gay for (but who was tragically straight), she gazed into my eyes as the sun sparkled around us and said my eyes looked like sunflowers in a meadow.

Naturally, I fucking love sunflowers.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?: Happy endings. Both are good, and scary movies can have happy endings too, but I like soft and kind stories more where people don't have to suffer in order to experience or earn joy.

ANY TALENTS?: Writing (though writing that makes me feel an imposter), cooking, building, and the ability to stand in a room and spatial reason the shit out of it without moving a muscle to come up with the perfect layout.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?: Portland, OR

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?: Writing, reading, painting, home improvement, gardening, photography, rock-hounding, traveling, being a professional asshole.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: Three cats!

HOW TALL ARE YOU?: 5'6"

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?: I loved history and literature the most at the time.

DREAM JOB?: I don't know. This is a complicated question. I don't like that jobs are tied to our ability to thrive. I like doing a lot of different things, and most of those things at the rate I like to do them are not sustainable for paying my bills. It's hard to divorce "dream job" from the hellscape that is living under late-stage capitalism, where everything we do is monetized and categorized according to how productive we are. In which case, the job I have now as a labor organizer, actively combatting this system, is my dream job. But I wish I didn't have to do it and I wish it didn't exist.

No pressure tags: @cr-noble-writes, @pushingsian, @therev28, @eletaniia, @galtori, @mrsd-writes, @rotschopf-thedrow, @swaps55, and anyone else who feels so inclined

[plus-size-reader]

Curfew

Randy Meeks x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 3065 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader struggling when the curfew is put into place, but Randy has an idea that could make it a little better.

—————————————————————————————————

You were bored.

Woodsboro wasn’t a super happening place to begin with but now that the curfew was in place, it was even worse.

There was nothing to do, and with the additional stress that these recent murders had put on everyone, you were about to blow. The boys could see it, Tatum and Sidney could see it, and most important, Randy could see it.

It was only a matter of time before you absolutely lost it.

Your parents were taking this whole thing extra hard and basically had you on complete lockdown outside of attending school. They couldn’t imagine going through what Casey and Steve’s parents were going through right now, and they were scared.

Which was fair enough.

Everyone was scared right now, but you didn’t understand how putting you under house arrest was going to keep you any safer than you would be anywhere else. Casey was killed at home, after all?

If anything, you would be much safer in a group setting than you would be locked up in your house alone. Still, your parents had made themselves very clear where this topic was concerned. You were absolutely forbidden from attending Stu’s party, or any other party until the curfew was lifted.

It just made everything that much worse.

Parties, especially Stu’s parties, were one of the only things you were looking forward to as of late. Knowing that you couldn’t go to them was really starting to wear on you, and you were understandably let down by the whole thing.

...but it wasn’t just that.

Getting together with a big group of people, your age and ready to party, was an escape for you. With so much uncertainty going on and everything falling apart at the seams, you needed that normalcy to feel human again.

Not that you could really complain about that to anyone who could actually do something about it.

You knew that there was a very real danger out there and the only way to really be safe would be to stay inside your home where no one could get you but you just felt like your folks were taking it a little too seriously.

If everyone else was going to be out anyway, what different was it going to make, really? If anything, it made you a bigger target because you were one of the only people stuck in your house while everybody else was together.

To you, the logic was sound but to them, it was little more than a pathetic excuse to get out of the town’s mandated curfew.  

Which it kind of was, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were being unreasonable. You were a smart, responsible young woman and you weren’t going to take any stupid, unnecessary risks. You just wanted to maintain some level of normal life.

You were tired of being stuck at home like a rat in a cage, never allowed to go out and do anything. It was a stark contrast to how you normally were, with a thriving social life and active party presence.

It was almost as if you were dead too, not to be dramatic.

This was just hard on you, and they weren’t making it any easier. You had to rely on your friends, now more than ever, and they were basically cutting off any contact you had with them to lunch at school and quick phone conversations.

No one would have just taken that and been happy with it. Certainly not within your tight knit group of friends.

You sighed, fiddling with your pen as you tried to remember all the things you needed to get done when you got home. You knew well enough to know that if you didn’t write it down now, you would never remember it all.

With everything else on your mind, school seemed like the least of your worries.

You were so enthralled, in fact, tapping your pen away on the table that you didn’t even notice at first when Randy came up and sat down beside you, taking note of how unhappy you were about everything going on right now.

He couldn’t blame you.

The male at your side was perfectly aware of how excited you had been for the parties the recent nice weather was bound to bring, and equally as aware of how bummed you were that your parents had put a kibosh on the latest shindig before it even had a chance to begin.

“You okay?” he hummed, startling you just a bit when you looked up to see him already sitting at your side, but the racing in your chest calmed down just as quick. No one really knew who was responsible for all these terrible murders but you knew in your heart it wasn’t Randy.

You had known him all your life and even if he was a little strange, he was the sweetest guy in Woodsboro. He wasn’t some natural born killer or a sociopath on a killing spree.

“Honestly, if I have to think about this anymore, my brain might explode” you allowed, leaning slightly into his side to take some of the pressure off your aching, tight muscles as you kept focus on your schedule.

All this stress had to be bad for your body.

Tatum seemed to think so, at least, warning you that if you didn’t learn to decompress somehow you were going to go prematurely grey and get crows feet under your eyes. While you weren’t sure how much you trusted her endless cosmo knowledge, you certainly didn’t feel the greatest.

This was all just a lot for one person to juggle.

Randy could see that much.

He had been watching you all day, moping around that you wouldn’t be allowed to go to Stu’s party and worrying about a huge midterm you had to take for your english class that would physically make or break your grade.

You were spreading yourself way too thin. Luckily, he had an idea of just how he could help you feel a little bit better without breaking your parents' rules.

He just wasn’t so sure you’d go for it once you found out just what he had in mind.

“I was thinking, maybe you’d wanna come over to my place later? I have tonight off so we could watch a movie or something?” he offered, trying not to come across as painfully awkward as he felt. Randy was your friend, and usually could talk to you no problem but what he was proposing was different.

The two of you had never really hung out, just the two of you, before.

You nodded, not even looking up from your notebook as you scribbled something down in black ink, likely a reminder to do your calculus homework based on the way your brow knit together as you formed the letters.

You were preoccupied, too in your head to really consider what was going on but he certainly wasn’t.

Randy was aware of every little movement you made, from the way your nose scrunched up as you concentrated on making sure all the due dates and assignments were right on your calendar to the way your shoulder rested gently against his side.

“Who else did you invite? You know Tatum always complains about the movies you pick” you reminded, thinking over all the times the six of you had tried to watch movies together in the past. She got bored of psychological thrillers and grossed out at the gorey slashers.

She was much more of a Meg Ryan fan herself, constantly pulling for the cheesy romance flicks that made you want to ralph. You couldn’t put it past her to make Randy grab a couple of sappy videos too, just in case.

If she was going to be involved in movie night, you were sure you’d have to shoot down a few of those crappy comedies before you could watch anything worthwhile.

Randy sighed lightly, doing his best to keep you from noticing as he thought about what his next move was. Clearly, you’d missed the point of what he was asking entirely, not that he could blame you.

He had never really been good at asking out pretty girls, especially not ones he;d known since he was in elementary school, so this was new for him as well. He just sort of hoped that you would catch his drift early so he wouldn’t have to clarify out loud.

The last thing he wanted to do was put you on the spot and make you uncomfortable.

“Oh, I was actually hoping it could just be the two of us. I know it's no Stu Macher party but it could be fun” he shrugged, this time almost wishing a giant hole would open up from under him so that he didn’t have to have this conversation.

He wanted you to say yes, of course, more than anything but he just wasn’t sure if it was going to happen and if it wasn’t, he wanted to know early on.

At least then he could have some dignity in this whole thing.

You stopped writing for a second, letting the meaning of his words sink in as you sat there, your left leg bouncing up and down to try and keep up with the racing of your thoughts. It had been going nonstop since you sat down, but now, it was just resting against his.

Was Randy hitting on you?

Randy Meeks, your childhood best friend who had never once made a move on you aside from calling you pretty in your winter formal dress in middle school?

It didn't seem likely, but it was also hard to misinterpret his words. That was about as cut and dry as a date invite could be, and if it had been coming from anyone else, Tatum and Sid would have surely confirmed it for you if you asked.

Not that you could ask either of them right now.

“You wanna watch a movie tonight? Just you and me, at your house?” you clarified, setting your notebook down beside you without a second thought in favor of looking him in the eye.

He was uncertain for a second, trying to read any cues of how you were feeling about that from your own expression but found nothing there, so he nodded.

“Like a date?” you hummed, the words barely leaving your lips as you spoke them, feeling silly at having to clarify at all but you couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t meaning it in that way and you took it like that, you risked making an even bigger ass of yourself.

...but if he did, you needed to know that too.

There was a light blush on his freckled face as he considered his options before he nodded again, giving you all the information you needed. Randy was definitely hitting on you, now all you had to do was decide if you wanted to.

A movie could be fun.

You and Randy had watched a hundred movies together before, with you sometimes staying after hours at the video store while he closed to just see the ending of Frankenstein's bride that you loved so much.

Usually, there were more people there, Tatum and Stu at the very least, with Billy and Sid joining in when they saw fit, but it couldn’t be so different to just be the two of you.

You loved spending time with him, so doing so under the context of it being a date couldn’t possibly change that up so much. This was just Randy after all, it wasn’t like he was some guy you’d only just met or some creep Tatum thought it was okay to set you up with.

...and you were sure that your parents would agree to it.

Spending a few hours at Randy’s house was vastly different than going to some house party and out of all your friends, you knew that they trusted him the most. If he said you were there, they would believe him which would cut down on the third degree.

There really were no downsides.

Besides, if you were going to go out with any of your friends, it would be him, even if Billy or Stu did happen to be single. You and Randy just had a lot more in common and you knew that he would never put you in any danger.

You trusted him, and you liked him.

If he liked you too, it only made sense that you had a movie night together, just the two of you.

~

Getting your parents to agree to letting you spend a few hours at Randy’s house wasn’t as easy a sell as you thought it would be but by the time he came to pick you up, he managed to convince them that it would all be fine.

He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, and in all honesty, they believed it.

Randy had never given them any reason not to trust him and at the end of the day, they came to the conclusion that you did have a little bit of a point. Knowing that you were somewhere with someone else made them feel a little bit better than if you were home alone.

It brought some amount of comfort to know that Randy would be there with you. Besides, your mother was just so thrilled that he’d finally asked you out on a date that you were sure she would have agreed to anything.

That was how you got here in the first place, walking down the familiar aisles of the video store with Randy as you searched for something to watch. Between the two of you, you had basically seen all the good horror films that they had available.

Not that knowing that was stopping either of you from picking up title after title, looking them over incredulously as you searched for the perfect thing.

Initially, Randy was just going to pick something up on the way to get you but decided that this would probably be more up your alley first. The video store was only open for a short time today due to the curfew but that was more than enough time for him to find exactly what he wanted.

After all, there wasn’t a title in the store that Randy didn’t know by heart. In fact, he had likely put them each right where they were, in each of their respective spots on the shelf. That was literally all he did all day when he did work.

“What about this one?” you suggested, holding up a pretty well loved copy of night of the living dead happily for his approval. It was a classic, one that you had each seen a dozen times, but because of that, it was quick to go into the basket.

Then, after scanning the few horror aisles one more time, Randy settled on what he always settled on and plucked a copy of Prom Night off the shelf.

At this point, you were sure he’d rented that specific video nineteen times by now but didn’t bother to point that out. You knew that it was one of his favorite movies of all time and if that was what he wanted to watch tonight, you weren’t going to argue.

All you really wanted to do was spend the night relaxing with your best friend, on what was technically also your first date. It was a little bit of pressure, more so than you were used to, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

At the end of the day, you loved Randy and this was just something else you could do together.

“Alright, are you ready to go? I’ve got plenty of good snacks at the house for us to munch on too” he promised, fully aware of just how you liked your movie nights to go down. That was something else the two of you had in common.

You were very particular about your movies, especially horror movies.

It was something he could appreciate, along with your sense of humor and heart of gold. All in all, when Randy actually stopped to think about it, he wasn’t sure why he’d waited so long to ask you to do this in the first place.

This was going to be awesome.

~

Randy’s house was nice, of course, well put together every single time you had been there but you couldn't really focus too much on that.

Instead, you occupied yourself putting the tapes into the player while Randy made popcorn in the kitchen. It was kind of strange for a few moments, as you sat waiting for him to get back, looking around the living room under such new circumstances.

You have been here a hundred times before.

You had sat in this exact spot plenty of times but tonight, it was so different. You had only ever been here before as a friend, normally with all your other friends there to keep you company even when someone had to leave the room but not anymore.

Right now, you were waiting here as a girl on a date, a date with a guy you’d known your entire life.

It was just so strange how quickly everything had changed. Just this morning, you and Randy were little more than friends, and now, you couldn’t quite be sure what you were. Not that you had too much time to consider that before he was back.

“I bring gifts,” Randy grinned, plopping down beside you on the couch, swamping the coffee table with bags of chips and assorted boxes of candy before handing you the big bowl of popcorn. Clearly when he promised snacks, he wasn’t kidding.

You watched him do a onceover of the spread he’d provided before he ultimately decided that it was going to be fine.

“Perfect, just what we needed” you smiled, relaxing even further into the couch next to him, getting ready to start whatever it was that was going on between the two of you. It was new, uncharted territory for the both of you but it wasn’t looking too bad.

A copy of Prom Night and some popcorn with Randy was perhaps the only thing that could make this whole curfew thing worthwhile.

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[lady-charinette]

Adrien Agreste =/= Sociopath - About Adrien Salt

I've seen a lot of posts going around about Adrien being a sociopath or the other (harasser, abuser...etc.)

What I find most of those posts lacking is looking at the big picture, or just zeroing in on certain moments of the show and even disregarding the context of those selected moments to unfairly rule judgement on a child (in canon) no less.

Definition of sociopath: A sociopath is a term used to describe someone who has antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). People with ASPD can’t understand others’ feelings. They’ll often break rules or make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they cause.

People with ASPD may also use “mind games” to control friends, family members, co-workers, and even strangers. They may also be perceived as charismatic or charming.

We have to analyze the context and the surroundings Adrien is in.

Family, social life, relationships (platonic and romantic), personality, age, environment...etc.

Family:

We know Adrien has a father who is controlling, preferring to micro-manage every aspect of his son's life to continue to have a semblance of control at all times. We assume (heavily implied in the show), that his mother was kind, warm and emotional (whether that emotional is the "out-there" kind her twin sister has, it remains to be seen.)

According to a snippet from "Simon Says", Adrien also has "Quite a temper, you remind me of someone" according to Gabriel's own words, we can assume the "someone" is Emilie, Gabriel says this when Chat Noir refused to follow his orders and told him to basically "get off his high horse". In this context, anyone who defies Gabriel in such a way would either be branded as "disobedient" or to "have quite a temper".

According to Adrien himself in "Adrien's Double Life" (from Miraculous Secrets) he describes being Chat Noir as "...I can finally do whatever I want to do, say whatever comes to mind." He doesnt feel as restricted and controlled since that's the one aspect of his life his father has no knowledge of.

Social life:

Adrien has had no or very little interaction with peers.

Evidence: Chloe being his childhood friend. Felix commenting on Chloe's appearance in the video she sent for Adrien's birthday, saying "Chloe. Just as annoying as usual." suggests he knows her from before, maybe even as early on as their childhood days.

This makes Felix and Chloe the only kids, of spoiled and rich background, with whom Adrien interacted.

Felix is shown to be good at manipulating people and keeping up appearances (potentially connected to insecurities within the family? Not confirmed), Chloe is openly mean and bullies others (with underlying insecurities also connected to her parents).

The only positive adult (if Gorilla isn't as involved and Nathalie had been solely Gabriel's secretary and not Adrien's caretaker since there was Emilie) in Adrien's life would be his mother, who also fell into a coma during Adrien's formative years (and still during a time where he's figuring himself and his emotions out: puberty), leaving him with his father.

Moving on, even if the writer's sometimes may not always successfully show Adrien being awkward in social interactions, it doesnt mean they dont exist.

This interaction between him and Marinette, asking for her autograph, very formal in his question, awkward in posture:

He's picked up on some speech patterns from his frequent interactions with Nino ("dude", "Hey man." "Totally dude.") showing he's, like many people, mimicking his friend's behavior and speech to grow more favorably in their eyes.

The same pattern can be observed with Gabriel and Adrien: Adrien adopts his father's formal speech whenever talking to him, since that appeases him.

Adrien has had very limited friendly interactions with his peers, romantic interactions are basically non-existent. The scenes where Adrien is being chased by his fans, who obsessively adore him, cant be linked to Adrien experiencing healthy romantic contact (Lila doesn't count since she only uses Adrien to further her goals). Marinette doesn't count since Adrien's isn't even aware of her romantic feelings for him. (Again, difficulties picking up social cues due to only ever being homeschooled > limited social contact with peers)

So no, in my humble opinion, Adrien sometimes doesn't understand other people's feelings not because he's a sociopath, but because he's an awkward kid with very little experience about making friends and having healthy relationships with them.

Relationships:

Let's be direct here: Gabriel is an abusive as*hole.

If the writer's wanted to show Gabriel struggling or having remorse for his actions being Hawkmoth and putting his son through danger, well... They blew it. "Gorizilla" was a 5 second reaction of Hawkmoth showing concern after letting Adrien fall from a skyscraper. Applause. After that? Not much.

Nathalie: Adrien likes, she takes care of him, his schedule, was the one to convince Gabriel to let him attend public school. There are moments in the show where she softens up towards Adrien, but always carries that air of professionalism on her to (possibly, assumption) not grow too close. Gorilla is...Gorilla, but at least the man tries with his nonverbal support and affectionate grunts. Lol.

Gabriel: He loves his father. It's his parent, after all. However, Adrien's reactions to him are vastly different than to how he reacts when thinking of his mother. He shows signs of fear (tensing up, growing obedient...etc.), he excuses his father's excessive controlling tendencies to just be "he's just worried about me", "that's the way he always was", "father cares and protects me". Adrien shows to be frequently disappointed with Gabriel, one of the first scenes being that Gabriel couldn't attend parent's day at school, Adrien was talking on the phone alone in the school hallway. He was genuinely surprised by the blue scarf his father gifted him (not knowing it was Marinette), since all he used to get were pens (again, not even from Gabriel, but Nathalie). This is my assumption but: Adrien has previously begged his father to go outside more or attend public school, but this time it worked only because Nathalie managed to convince him.

Friends from school: Nino is his best friend, Adrien seems to be good friends with Alya too, basically everyone in class, with varying degrees of closeness. Chloe is a childhood friend whom Adrien is fond of but also grows exasperated with and corrects her behavior if she's too harsh.

Marinette: likes and respects her, but can't read her well or at least when he thinks he's got her figured out, she claims the opposite. Marinette has been sending mixed signals, on one hand even making Adrien believe (and fear) they weren't friends. "Chat Blanc" contrary to popular belief, showed that Adrien is delighted at the prospect of Marinette being Ladybug (he'd severe doubts when Chloe or anyone else was brought up as a possible option).

Kagami: likes her, respects her, admires her fencing skills, learned to have fun hanging out with her and playing as kids usually do since she also has a controlling parent and they both know some ways/tricks around their boundaries to sneak off and meet their friends. Adrien and Kagami have similarities in that respect, Gabriel pushing Adrien to be a model, Mrs. Tsurugi pushing Kagami to be a master fencer.

Lila: At first defended her, was friendly towards her since she was a new student from overseas he sympathized because surely it would be lonely? The new girl would need a friend who supported her through all this things that were new for him too. However, as soon as he caught wind of Lila's schemes, he changes his tune. He feels uncomfortable around her overstepping his boundaries, expresses anger when Lila accused Marinette of crimes she didn't commit and even makes a deal with her to not bother Marinette again (but use him instead, doing photoshoots together...etc.) to keep her safe.

Age:

A 14-15 year old, having lost his mother, the only positive, healthy relationship in his life. Surrounded by a controlling father, not much free time, many extracurricular activities and being a superhero alongside Ladybug.

Some of the signs of being a sociopath include: Breaking rules and being impulsive.... Didn't Ladybug do those too?

Breaking the rules: (since LB and Marinette are the same) stealing phones, sneaking into places where she shouldn't, using the miraculous for personal gain (latest example: getting Kagami away from Adrien), giving Adrien the snake miraculous due to personal preference instead of drawing logical conclusions. Sneaked into the Agreste mansion.

Impulsiveness: Marinette's daily fantasies (sharing a future life with Adrien and their hamster-who-must-not-be-named), when Lila's "precious family heirloom necklace" was "stolen", Marinette was quick to include her classmates in the list of potential perpetrators for it (without ill intent, but still..)

You know who the real potential sociopath in the show is?

Gabriel

Some of you might include Lila too (since she fits all the criteria for being a sociopath), but the key difference is: Lila is still just a kid.

We don't know much about her family life. Just that her mother is busy with work, we don't know where her father is, who her friends were/if she even had them. She might be lying and manipulating people to follow her own agenda, but she thrives in attention, when people notice and praise her. In some aspects, that could've been Adrien. With one neglectful parent, a missing parent, no friends (prior to going to school)...etc. There is also a lot we don't know about her.

[saharamae21]

Vapor (Part 18)

Hey guys.... It’s been a while, but happy late thanksgiving. Sorry I meant to update before I went home but here I am. I’m sleep deprieved and stressed but I love ya all. Please let me know if you want this to keep going on.

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Work count: 1.5K

Warnings: Language, mentions of kidnapping and violence.

IMPORTANT (PLS READ) : There is two ways this fic can go depending on what you guys want. It can go on for about 3-4 more chapters or about 7-10 more chapters. I don’t know if you guys aren’t reading it anymore or if you lost interest, so please let me know.

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I had no sense of time anymore. Everything was a hazy mess as I woke up and fell asleep, constantly under the influence of some sort of drug. I wondered if it had been hours or days. I wondered if anyone was looking for me. I wanted to believe that JJ was spending every waking moment searching for me, but I couldn’t be sure. As the drugs played tricks on my mind, I remembered the look on his face. The way he glared at me caused my heart to sink further and further into my stomach. Ever since I was 12, I just kept disappointing him more and more. And as much as I loved him, I would be lying if I hadn’t thought that me being out of his life was for the best. I brought out the most extreme sides of him, the parts of himself he couldn’t control. I made him contemplate everything he’s ever known. I didn’t want to tear him apart anymore.

I woke up and the room was silent. No lights were on and the walls were moving in a ripple like effect. I could barely see through the darkness, but as the minutes passed, I became more and more coherent. I knew better than to speak out at this point. I knew better than to draw attention back to myself. As the current waves of drugs left my system, my mind wandered back to the pogues.

I wondered if John B had worked out a way to get the gold. I wondered if he and Sarah were happy together. John was always one of those people that you look at and smile. To me, he always had things figured out to an extent. He might not work well under pressure all the time, but he preservers no matter what. I knew that he would thrive no matter what the situation was. The truth was, John and I were never super close. I constantly competed with him for JJ’s attention and that often made us argue. I respected him though for doing the one thing I couldn’t the past few years, protect JJ.

I wondered if Pope had gone to his scholarship interview already. I had no doubts in my mind that he would crush it. He was the smartest person I knew and that was honestly an understatement. Not only was he booksmart, but he was streetsmart as well. He knew how to handle himself in a situation and overcome everything. He might not completely understand social cues, but he was still one of the most friendly souls that I have and will ever meet. If I ever needed anything, he would be the first person I would go to for help.

I wondered if Kiara was holding up. She had her hands full with the three boys. I remembered always being jealous of her as I grew up. She became a kook and they still wanted her around, but when I became a kook, they were so ready to push me away. I wondered what made her special enough to keep around over me, but as I grew closer to them all again I began to realize. She was special. She knew exactly how to handle everyone and keep situations under control. She was also the most caring and genuine person I’ve ever met. I would’ve kept her around over me as well. I hoped she wasn’t trying to pick up the pieces of the mess I caused.

I wondered if JJ cared that I was gone. I wondered if he thought I had disappeared on him again and that this was good riddance. I wondered if he was tearing himself apart. I couldn’t figure out which scenario I wanted more. On one hand, I wanted him to care that I wasn’t by his side right now. I wanted him to tell me he loved me and that nothing would ever hurt me again. However, with that came the guilt. I knew he would be worried sick. I knew that he would blame himself. Then there was the part of me that wished he couldn’t care less about me. The one where his anger gets the better of him and he eliminates me from his mind. He wouldn’t hurt that way. He wouldn’t see me as I slowly unraveled. But, after how long would he begin to lose bits of himself? Would he close himself off to the world again? Even if that did happen, he would have his friends to help him pull through.

I lifted my head once again and my throat felt dry. Nothing had changed since my thoughts ran wild, but something in me had changed. I was preparing to give up. I had reflected on the ones I loved the most and I had made peace with the idea of slipping through their fingers once again. My head was spinning and my body felt heavy. I was thankful for the moments that I had spent reconnecting with them, but this was the full circle ending that my life was destined. I didn’t die like all the children before me even though I was nothing special. Nothing set me apart from those children and I should’ve suffered the same fate. I shouldn’t have to live knowing that I was the one that got away… This was the ending of my full cycle.

JJ’s POV:

I sat awake and thinking about all the horrible things Addie could be going through. I wondered if I should tell her parents. Maybe they would know what to do, but how could I tell them I lost their daughter for a second time? I mentally screamed at myself. I knew that I should be out doing something, anything, but what if she came home while I was away. What if I just messed everything up further? A million thoughts ran through my head at a million miles an hour and I couldn’t keep track of them all. I let out a soft sigh and buried my head into the pillow beside me. How could I live with myself knowing that I kept failing her over and over?

I raised my head at the quiet knock and a small voice. My name left their mouth in a desperate manner. Sarah stood cautiously at the door, staring at me with sad eyes. I knew that none of this was her fault, but anger still filled me when I saw her. Her brother was doing this to Addie. Her family always looked down on people like me. That didn’t mean she was like that though. I saw the way John B and her cared for each other and I was happy for them. I just wasn’t happy at all right now.

“JJ?” she asked again. My eyes met hers and I looked away.

“Go away…” I muttered. My voice cracked as I forced the words out. I knew she was just checking up on me, but I didn’t think there was anything she could say to make me feel better. I was wrong.

“I think I know where Addie could be…” Her words repeated in my mind as I rushed with her to the car. My hands were shaking and I was sweating. I sat in the passenger seat and tried not to lose my cool. I just needed her to drive faster. I needed Addie. When we arrived at the shipping dock, I thought she was pulling my leg. I looked around frantically and saw no sign of A. I was losing my fucking mind without her.

“This way…” Sarah muttered. Her voice was small and scared. I followed her up to a shipping crate. I heard her mumbling about how her parents use this for storage. I heard her, but I wasn’t listening. I started as she fumbled with the keys and opened the doors slowly. The crate was dark, but I could still see perfectly. Addie.

I rushed forward to her and knelt down in front of her. I gently placed my hand on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and stared at me. Tears filled my eyes at how weak she looked. I muttered out apology after apology, begging for her to forgive me. I untied her as I pleaded. As soon as her arms were free, she reached forward and lifted my shirt. She said nothing, but she brushed her hand over my closed wound. I broke down at the small action. I told her to stop. I told her to stop worrying about me. I told her I was sorry. It wasn’t enough though. She made herself small around me. She was hurt because of me. I pulled her into my arms, lifting her to carry her to the car. Her small, hoarse voice whispered softly next to my ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said. I hugged her tightly in my arms as if to tell her I would never let her go again.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said back. I rushed to the car, my main focus on getting her somewhere safe. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

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[jaskierswolf]

The Bard of Kaer Morhen Pt.2/4

Previous

Jaskier had just turned eighteen the second time he met a witcher.

He was fortunately sober this time. He’d bumped into Eskel a few times over the last two years and whilst the man tragically still rejected his flirtations they had become fast friends. Eskel thrived off the extra coin that Jaskier’s songs brought in and had even managed to upgrade his armour which thrilled Jaskier. Eskel’s last set of armour had been starting to fall apart and Jaskier was worried about him. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt on the hunt.

Another bonus to their friendship was that Jaskier was already successful fresh out of university, the envy of all his peers. He was the up and coming talent. He was the bard to hire for social events.

And he was also earning a reputation for being an unparalleled lover too.

He wasn’t sure which he was more proud of.

He was strolling down the path from Lyria towards Vengerberg with his lute in his hands when he saw him.

His hair was like fire but his eyes shone like liquid gold.

Another witcher.

Jaskier grinned and trotted up to the man. He was pulling a dark horse behind him and grumbling under his breath with a sour expression on his face.

And Jaskier loved him.

“Witcher!” Jaskier called as he approached.

The man glared at him with fire in his eyes and Jaskier could have swooned. Were all witchers so handsome and sexy? Jaskier decided they must be, a side effect of the mutations perhaps. Eskel hadn’t never been willing to discuss that side of witcherhood.

“What do you want, bard?” The man growled.

Jaskier felt a rush of arousal at the gruff tones of the witcher’s voice. “Spare a humble bard a tale, witcher, and maybe you’ll find out.” He winked as he stepped closer to the gorgeous redhead.

He wanted to run his hands through those curls, and he was certain the man’s armour was about to rip open on his arms. Jaskier had never seen such large strong arms before, not even on Eskel. This man was pure muscle and it made Jaskier’s heart feel weak.

Recognition lit up in the witcher’s eyes much to Jaskier’s delight. “You’re Eskel’s bard.” He grumbled.

“I’m my own bard.” Jaskier corrected. “Darling Eskel seems determined to reject any opportunities to claim me.” Jaskier pouted for added affect and let his fingers trail absentmindedly down the witcher’s arm.

“Back off, bard.” The witcher growled. “I have a partner.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smirked. “That’s not a problem.”

The witcher laughed. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against another witcher, bard.”

Jaskier pouted but stepped away. “Fine. You win but I’m a flirt by nature so don’t take it personally. You witchers are a slippery bunch. So handsome and yet so unobtainable. Although,” He dropped his voice back into his lower register to flirt some more. “If you and your partner ever want some company.”

“Fuck off bard!” The witcher snapped. “To the gods, Eskel must be mad.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I grow on people. I was serious about the tales though. Same as Eskel, you’ll get a cut of the coin if you tell me some ballad worthy adventures. Perhaps a wyvern or other draconid, they always go down well with an audience. Ooh or a real dragon! There aren’t many of those left.”

“We don’t hunt dragons.” The witcher rolled his eyes.

Jaskier persisted. “But you must have seen one.”

“No.” The witcher shook his head.

Jaskier huffed. It seemed this witcher would be harder to crack than Eskel. Eskel had always been funny and open. This new witcher was faster to anger and less tolerant to Jaskier’s tactile and openly affectionate personality. He grinned, perhaps this one would be more likely to let him join him on a hunt, if only he could prove himself to be useful. He was pretty handy with a dagger after all. His enemies always seemed to underestimate him which he used to his advantage masterfully.

Jaskier walked with the witcher back towards Lyria. He was going in the wrong direction to where he wanted to go but he was a curious fellow and he just couldn’t let this beautiful man walk away from him without at least getting one story or even a name.

When they reached the city Jaskier waved at the merchants in the square that he knew and bartered quite successfully with the barkeep for the witcher’s lodgings and food. He slid onto the bench opposite the witcher and stared longingly as his red curls danced in the candlelight.

“So tell me, witcher, do you have a name?” He hummed as he sipped his ale. He preferred wine but prior experience had taught him to only order ale in this particular tavern.

The wine was shit.

“Lambert.” He growled.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lambert.” Jaskier raised his mug of ale and grinned.

The ale loosened Lambert’s tongue somewhat and Jaskier was able to pull a few basic tales from the man, nothing to sing about in their raw form but Jaskier knew he could easily fix it with a few artistic embellishments. The food was tolerable, not great but not as bad as the wine. Lambert seemed to have no complaints as he wolfed down two full plates to Jaskier’s one. Jaskier had noticed Eskel ate like a starved man too when coin afforded a more lavish amount of food so Jaskier had made sure to order extra.

Lambert grumbled what could have been a thank you, or equally a grievous insult, at Jaskier and then downed the last of his ale.

It was at that point when things began to go downhill.

The doors flung open and two rowdy drunk idiots fell stumbling into the tavern.

“Oi!” One of them shouted. His skin was pale, and almost yellow from years of excessive drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. He was a mess. “Where’s the fucking mutant?” He roared and the other man laughed before coughing his lungs out.

“We don’t want no mutants in our city.” The second man wheezed. “They’re unnatural beasts!  Steal our women and children to turn them into the monsters they’re supposed to kill!”

“Come out, freak and we’ll kill you quickly.” The first man cackled and spat on the floor.

A silence fell over the tavern.

Lambert gripped the hilt of one of the swords that was resting next to him on the bench, but Jaskier was faster. He’d pulled the dagger from his boots and had it pressed up against the first man’s neck before Lambert could even blink.

“Say that again.” Jaskier hissed as he pressed the dagger into the drunkards throat. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it had certainly shaken the other man.

The first drunk swallowed nervously and his eyes flashed to his companion who answered, sounding less confident than before. “We don’t want no mutants in our city.”

Jaskier grinned and tilted his head. “Firstly, that’s a double negative. So you’re saying you do want the witcher’s in your city which I wholeheartedly agree with. Witchers are some of the finest people I’ve met.”

The poor man looked confused. His alcohol addled brain couldn’t keep up with Jaskier’s quick tongue.

“Secondly. Don’t you dare call my friend a freak again or I will not hesitate.” Jaskier pulled his dagger away from the man’s throat and turned back to join Lambert at the table.

He heard the heavy breathing of his attacker as he launched into an attack but the blow never hit. Lambert had drawn his own knife and thrown it at the man before Jaskier could even turn around.

The dagger hit the drunk in the shoulder and the man howled in pain. Both men scurried from the tavern with their tails between their legs. Luckily Jaskier was well liked by the barkeeper and his family and they weren’t thrown out after them.

Lambert clapped him on the back. “Thanks, bard.”

Jaskier nodded and pulled the witcher into an awkward hug. “Anytime, witcher. Anytime.”

__________

It was a rare occasion when two witchers met on the path. They preferred to stay out of each other’s way, there just weren’t enough contracts anymore for them to occupy them same areas and still make enough coin to live on, even with the bard’s songs, which was why Geralt was surprised to run into Lambert in Rivia.

He tried not to go back to Rivia too often. His chosen name made it awkward to be around the locals. He’d tried to assimilate a Rivian accent but around born Rivians he just sounded like a cheap copy but as was the way, a contract had lured him into town.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Lambert cheered when he spotted him and Geralt cursed under his breath. “You’ve come home!”

“Very funny, Lambert.” Geralt muttered but went over to greet his brother. “You here for the contract?”

“Just got back from the Alderman’s house. Drowner infestation down by the docks.” Lambert pushed an ale towards Geralt.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Fancy splitting the coin.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “Desperate for the coin, wolf?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “My armour needs repairs. Right now it’s that or a decent meal. Not both.”

As if on cue, Geralt’s stomach growled causing Lambert to howl with laughter. “Take the contract.” Lambert grinned as he dumped a heavy coin purse on the table. “Ran into Eskel’s bard friend. Turns out he’s quite the investment.”

Geralt frowned at the sight of the gold coins sparkling in the dim light of the tavern. The mysterious bard, the lover of witchers had apparently gotten even Lambert to roll over. Lambert didn’t make friends with anyone outside of the wolf pack and his cat lover.

“You find out his name?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fuck!” Lambert groaned and hid his head in his hands. “It just never came up!”

The mysterious bard went by a few names depending on where you were on the Continent. In Cidaris he was known simply as the Witcher’s Bard. Further south in Metinna the name Dandelion cropped up. In Toussaint he was known as Fleur-de-lis. In Novigrad he was called Jaskier and in Vengerberg he was known as Daffodil.

It infuriated Geralt.

He wanted to know who this man was that had invested so much time and effort into singing their praises, who had befriended both his brothers with ease, who didn’t fear them.

“It never came up.” Geralt growled. “How the fuck didn’t it come up?”

Lambert flipped him off and pulled the mug of ale back across the table. “Look, he just never said, which is unbelievable because fucking hell I’ve never known anyone who can talk so much.”

Geralt hummed in response.

“Sort of like your opposite.” Lambert smirked so Geralt punched him in the arm. Hard. “Fuck off!”

“I’m taking the drowner contract.” Geralt stood up and grabbed his swords. “Some of us still work for a living.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Lambert grinned and took a long draught of his ale and cackled as Geralt stormed out of the tavern to go search for the drowner nest.

It was all this fucking bard’s fault.

Geralt didn’t know why he was angry with the bard. He’d never even met him. He chalked it down to petty jealousy that his fellow witchers seemed to be earning money off the stories they gave to the bard, that they were eating lavish hot meals with decent ale to wash it down with, that they could visit brothels whenever the need arose without having to worry about the next contract.

Of course, if Geralt didn’t give half his coin away to people in need then he’d probably not be having a problem in the first place, but he just couldn’t help it. What good was a trip to the brothel if he knew that he’d taken the last of a villagers coin and they wouldn’t be able to feed their family that week.

The guilt would sour the pleasure before it could begin.

He sighed and pinched his nose.

“Bloody bard.”

He’d heard the bard’s songs a few times in his travels but never from the composer’s lips. He’d asked a few times whether the troubadours had written the songs but none of them had. One snivelling looking pompous bastard had laughed in his face and declared that his own songs were far superior and that they only reason he played the witcher songs were because they drew in a bigger crowd.

Geralt suggested that that meant the songs were better and the bard went blue in the face and then stormed out of the tavern. Geralt had been asked to leave soon after.

One girl, a pretty blonde with cornflower blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind her hair, had giggled and said she was just stealing the songs from a friend of hers but wouldn’t say anymore about the mysterious witcher bard. He’d felt foolish after asking because he knew that Eskel’s bard was a man, it was just the girl’s eyes had drawn him in more than he would like.

It wasn’t that Geralt cared about the bard.

He just wanted to know for himself.

Nothing more.

_______

Next

[nightofthemeteor]

Falconry/Bonsai

(Also here on AO3)

“Tobirama, can you come help me with something?”

“What?” came the disgruntled answer from down the hall.

Hashirama stuck his head out the door. “I need you to take a picture for my Instagram!”

He could hear his little brother stomping down the hallway, so Hashirama returned to his table and picked up a pair of pruning shears, considering the lighting in the room and the best angle to take a photo. A moment later, Tobirama walked into the room, saw Hashirama, and immediately turned around and walked out.

“Hey! Come back!”

“No way,” said Tobirama, without turning around. “I am not taking a picture of you in your underwear.”

“I’m not in only my underwear!” Hashirama protested. “I’m wearing a shirt!” Granted, it was the shortest shirt he owned, and it did leave a substantial strip of skin bare, but still.

“Can I ask,” Tobirama said witheringly, stopped in the doorway but without turning around, “Why you’re posing for a half-naked picture to put on your gardening blog? Don’t tell me you’re that desperate for exposure.” He was forced to turn around for this last part, because he had to raise his eyebrows at Hashirama to make sure he got the double entendre.

“Very funny, Tobirama. No, it’s not for more followers.” Although that could be a nice side effect, come to think of it. “It’s a…” Hashirama knew there was a word for this, if only he could remember – “Thirst trap!” he announced, proud of himself for getting the terminology right.

Tobirama wrinkled his nose. “Please never say that again, Anija. Do I know the person you’re posting this for?”

“Nah – I just met him yesterday! I ran into him on the subway as I was bringing home this very bonsai.” Hashirama affectionately patted the pot containing his newest leafy charge, a lovely boxwood tree rescued from the back shelves of a garden store on the other side of town. “I’m telling you, Tobirama, this tree is good luck!”

“Are you out of your mind, Anija? You gave your Instagram handle to some random stranger on the subway, and now you’re posting – ” Tobirama made a vague, sort of circular gesture to encompass Hashirama’s general state of undress “ – for him to see? I’m begging you to have just a shred of common sense.”

“No, this guy is fine, I promise! I have excellent judgement about this sort of thing.” Tobirama crossed his arms and gave him a flat look that said, Your judgement is terrible and we both know it. Hashirama sighed. “If you help me, I’ll buy you that expensive, iced coffee you like,” he wheedled.

“Two coffees,” Tobirama snapped. “And when you end up with some creepy stalker, I’m not going to help you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Hashirama shoved his phone into Tobirama’s hands before he could change his mind and struck a pose next to the boxwood, shears in hand. He’d just finished pruning the tree, in fact – this picture was to show off his handiwork with the bonsai, too. The guy on the subway - Madara, he'd said his name was - had asked about it, after all. “Is the shape of the tree still good from that angle?”

“It’s fine,” Tobirama sighed in exasperation, and then, apparently resigned to his role, added: “Maybe turn it clockwise a little.”

Hashirama complied, spending a few more seconds arranging the miniature branches. “Did you get your exam marks back yet?” he asked, to keep Tobirama occupied while he fussed with the tree.

“Just got my mark for organic chem,” his brother replied, lips pressed together in an angry pout. “One point away from perfect. I swear, that TA was just trying to find some excuse to take marks away; he was a huge asshole to me all semester, just because I pointed out his synthesis problems had more than one correct solution.”

That explained why Tobirama was even grumpier than usual. “Well, you must have done an excellent job, if this TA could only find one point to take away,” Hashirama tried, in an attempt to mollify him; Tobirama’s stony expression remained unchanged. “Plus, the year is over, so you’ll never have to deal with him again!”

That got a grudging half-smile out of Tobirama. “Yeah – at least there’s that. Are you ready, Anija? I want to get this over with.”

---

The picture was…it was…different from the majority of Hashirama’s posts. Madara had been stalking his Instagram for the past half hour – was it really stalking if the guy had given him his handle and invited him to look for updates on the bonsai he’d been carrying? Probably not, right? – Madara had been looking at his Instagram for the past half hour, and it was all innocent pictures of trees, flowers, and houseplants, meticulously cared for and clearly thriving. Occasionally, Hashirama’s smiling face appeared in the background of a photo, or his hand showed up in a close-up to showcase some clippings, but there was nothing like…that. Broad shoulders in a loosely draped shirt; smooth skin over taut muscle at his stomach; sharp hipbones leading down to –

“What are you looking at, Nii-san?”

Madara jumped, fumbled his phone, and dropped it onto his chest. “Izuna! How many times do I have to tell you to knock?”

“Oh, it was porn? Sorry,” said Izuna, sticking his face obnoxiously through the crack between Madara’s bedroom door and the wall.

“It wasn’t porn,” Madara replied reflexively, before realizing that not only was he now going to have to provide an explanation, but he sort of had been looking at porn. Almost. “It’s this guy I met yesterday,” Madara mumbled at his phone. “I'm on his Instagram.”

“You met someone?!” Izuna exclaimed in delight. Madara sighed – there was no keeping his little brother out of his business now. Sure enough, Izuna threw open his door the rest of the way and bounded over to sit next to Madara on the bed. “How did this miracle occur?”

“It was…kind of accidental.” Madara wasn’t exactly the sociable type, and he certainly didn’t strike up conversations with strangers on public transit – in fact, he usually did his best to maintain a menacing aura so that people didn’t talk to him. But yesterday, after staring for probably a solid five minutes at the impressively muscled forearms of the guy standing in front of him, Madara had realized even those muscles might get tired of holding an entire bonsai tree, and he should probably offer the guy his seat. The man had accepted the offer with a very genuine-sounding thanks, and then had proceeded to flash Madara an implausibly sunny grin, gesture to the bonsai in his lap, and say, “Trees-ed to meet you!”. The line was so terrible Madara hadn't been able to let it go without comment, and before he knew what was happening, he’d been talking to the guy for twenty minutes and had acquired his Instagram handle.

“Well, can I see a picture?” Izuna demanded.

Madara winced, rapidly weighed his options, and reluctantly unlocked his phone to show Izuna the picture he’d been looking at. Izuna, shockingly, didn’t comment on the nature of the photo, but squinted down at it and said, “Hm…I think I know that guy.”

“You do?”

“I’m pretty sure I met him on campus one time, when I was waiting for your lab to finish. He was waiting for someone too, so we chatted for a few minutes. Nice guy.”

With sudden, dawning horror, Madara asked, “Was he hitting on you?”

“No, no! Nothing like that. I think he’s just a friendly type of person.”

Well, a man who flirted with anything that moved – or worse, Izuna – would have been a crushing disappointment, but a ‘friendly type of person’ was nearly as bad. Hashirama had given him his Instagram handle and told him to watch for a post with an update on ‘his’ bonsai, and said bonsai update had included a half-naked Hashirama. Madara had nearly dared to interpret that as interest…but if Hashirama was just a ‘friendly type of person,’ Madara could have been reading the cues entirely wrong. Perhaps their conversation yesterday had just been a fun way to pass the time, and the photo was intended for somebody else.

As if reading his mind, Izuna said, “You should ask him out for drinks or something.”

“I followed his Instagram,” Madara announced, “And that is exactly the number of moves I am willing to make. I’m busy, you know – I can’t go chasing all the time like you.” Just one of many excellent reasons to save that picture for his fantasies and never meet the real person ever again.

“You just finished marking all your exams,” Izuna countered. “I know you’re not that busy. Come on, Nii-san, be reasonable: when are you ever going to get another chance like this again?”

“Thanks for that, Izuna,” Madara muttered. Who said he was even interested in dating, anyways? Relationships were messy, confusing, and time-consuming; not at all worth the hassle –

Madara’s phone buzzed. Instagram message from Hashirama: Hey, sorry if this is presumptuous, but do you want to meet up for drinks sometime?

Madara stared at his screen. Then, disbelieving, he held out the phone for Izuna to read. A stunned moment of silence, and then Izuna shrieked, “You have to go!”

Well, maybe this wasn’t quite as complicated as Madara had feared. Izuna was right; he wasn’t that busy. Pursing his lips in concentration, Madara typed out a reply.

---

Tobirama had been completely wrong, as it turned out: Madara was neither a creep nor a stalker. He was a grad student with an acerbic tongue, passionate opinions, and a lovely embarrassed blush. Hashirama had become so absorbed in the conversation he’d completely forgotten to order more drinks, which was seriously unlike him – although, since he’d made up his mind to pay for the date, it was probably for the best.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Madara remarked abruptly, somewhere around hour three or four.

“You mean existentially?”

“Literally here, in a bar, having drinks with you,” Madara clarified. “I mean – my younger brother is convinced I’m incapable of socializing. He was probably planning to set me up with one of his friends from…art school…” He leveled a suspicious glare at Hashirama as he said these last few words. “He didn’t put you up to this, did he? What’s he paying you?”

“It wasn’t your brother,” said Hashirama seriously. “It was the bonsai.”

“The bonsai paid you to take me out for drinks?”

“The bonsai brought us together.” Hashirama raised his glass; Madara followed suit, looking a little bemused but playing along, nonetheless. “To the bonsai!” Hashirama announced. He drained his glass, surreptitiously watched the way Madara’s throat moved as he drank, and thought. Tobirama would definitely judge him for thinking it, but though Hashirama barely knew Madara, he felt an immediate connection to him. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

“Madara,” he said. Madara looked at him with his dark, expressive eyes, shadows from his hair falling across his face, and Hashirama bit his lip. Careful, he thought. “I really am glad you’re here, in this bar, having drinks with me.”

Madara flushed again, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red; Hashirama wondered if he could make Madara flush anywhere else. “I’m glad, too,” he said, low and a little shaky, as though he was unused to saying things like that.

Hashirama immediately abandoned his caution of just a moment before and said, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go to my place – my brother won’t be home.”

“Yes,” said Madara. “Yes, definitely.”

---

Hashirama had the bonsai – Madara’s bonsai, the one he’d toasted that evening – set up in pride of place in his bedroom. That should have prompted Madara to suspect Hashirama had planned for this to happen, and make him annoyed at Hashirama’s confidence. He should also have been a lot more panicked when he looked at Hashirama’s face, sleepy and content, with his previously immaculate hair tangled on the pillow, and felt a tug somewhere under his sternum. Instead, he looked at that bonsai on his way out of the room and thought, Thanks.

Hashirama’s apartment wasn’t very large, considering it housed two people, but it was still annoying to search for the bathroom in an unfamiliar place. Madara had been sure Hashirama had told him it was down the hall on the left, but now he was in the entranceway. He was about to retrace his steps and try again when he heard a key jingling in the door.

“Hey, Anija, I just came back for – ” The man in the doorway spotted Madara and froze. Madara, too, had frozen in horror, because even in the dim light he’d immediately recognized Hashirama’s brother.

“You!” yelped Senju Tobirama.

“No,” Madara said, backing up a step. “Absolutely not.”

Tobirama pointed an accusing finger at him. “I was supposed to be done with you!” he hissed. “You took off that one mark on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Oh, because you think all your solutions are perfect, do you?” He’d certainly acted that way all through that torturous organic chemistry class.

“Tobirama?” came Hashirama’s concerned voice from the hallway.

“Tell me you’re not sleeping with my TA, Anija!” Tobirama practically wailed, and suddenly, Madara’s annoyance at the appearance of his least favourite student was replaced with pure schadenfreude.

“I’m afraid he very much is,” he said, before Hashirama could reply. “So you’d better get used to seeing a lot of me.” And to his great satisfaction, he watched Hashirama’s face brighten in delight, and Tobirama’s drop in utter horror.

[didanawisgi]

Anatomy of a Sheepdog

Book Excerpt; Grossman, D., with Christensen, L., On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace, WSG Research Publications, 2004.

​Reprinted countless times. Feel free to distribute as long as you attribute Lt. Col. Dave Grossman as the author and that it is an excerpt from his book, On Combat.

On Sheep, Wolves and Sheepdogs (From the book, On Combat, by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman)

“Honor never grows old, and honor rejoices the heart of age. It does so because honor is, finally, about defending those noble and worthy things that deserve defending, even if it comes at a high cost. In our time, that may mean social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or as always, even death itself. The question remains: What is worth defending? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for?” - William J. Bennett In a lecture to the United States Naval Academy November 24, 1997

“One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: “Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident.” This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another. Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million. Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep. I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin’s egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators. “Then there are the wolves,” the old war veteran said, “and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy.” Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial. “Then there are sheepdogs,” he went on, “and I’m a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf.” Or, as a sign in one California law enforcement agency put it, “We intimidate those who intimidate others.” If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen: a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath–a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? Then you are a sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero’s path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed. The gift of aggression

“What goes on around you… compares little with what goes on inside you.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everyone has been given a gift in life. Some people have a gift for science and some have a flair for art. And warriors have been given the gift of aggression. They would no more misuse this gift than a doctor would misuse his healing arts, but they yearn for the opportunity to use their gift to help others. These people, the ones who have been blessed with the gift of aggression and a love for others, are our sheepdogs. These are our warriors. One career police officer wrote to me about this after attending one of my Bulletproof Mind training sessions: “I want to say thank you for finally shedding some light on why it is that I can do what I do. I always knew why I did it. I love my [citizens], even the bad ones, and had a talent that I could return to my community. I just couldn’t put my finger on why I could wade through the chaos, the gore, the sadness, if given a chance try to make it all better, and walk right out the other side.” Let me expand on this old soldier’s excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids’ schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid’s school. Our children are dozens of times more likely to be killed, and thousands of times more likely to be seriously injured, by school violence than by school fires, but the sheep’s only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their children is just too hard, so they choose the path of denial. The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours. Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn’t tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, “Baa.” Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog. As Kipling said in his poem about “Tommy” the British soldier:

While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be'ind,” But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind, There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind, O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.

The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door. Look at what happened after September 11, 2001, when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero? Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones. Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, “Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes.” The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, “Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference.” When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference. While there is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, he does have one real advantage. Only one. He is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory acts of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself. However, when there were cues given by potential victims that indicated they would not go easily, the cons said that they would walk away. If the cons sensed that the target was a “counter-predator,” that is, a sheepdog, they would leave him alone unless there was no other choice but to engage. One police officer told me that he rode a commuter train to work each day. One day, as was his usual, he was standing in the crowded car, dressed in blue jeans, T-shirt and jacket, holding onto a pole and reading a paperback. At one of the stops, two street toughs boarded, shouting and cursing and doing every obnoxious thing possible to intimidate the other riders. The officer continued to read his book, though he kept a watchful eye on the two punks as they strolled along the aisle making comments to female passengers, and banging shoulders with men as they passed. As they approached the officer, he lowered his novel and made eye contact with them. “You got a problem, man?” one of the IQ-challenged punks asked. “You think you’re tough, or somethin’?” the other asked, obviously offended that this one was not shirking away from them. “As a matter of fact, I am tough,” the officer said, calmly and with a steady gaze. The two looked at him for a long moment, and then without saying a word, turned and moved back down the aisle to continue their taunting of the other passengers, the sheep. Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I’m proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs. Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, “Let’s roll,” which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers–athletes, business people and parents–from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground. “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?”

“There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men.” - Edmund Burke Reflections on the Revolution in France

Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn’t have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior’s path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door. For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to slaughter you and your loved ones. I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, “I will never be caught without my gun in church.” I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a police officer he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas, in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down 14 people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy’s body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?” Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for “heads to roll” if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids’ school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them. Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?” The warrior must cleanse denial from his thinking. Coach Bob Lindsey, a renowned law enforcement trainer, says that warriors must practice “when/then” thinking, not “if/when.” Instead of saying,“If it happens then I will take action,” the warrior says, “When it happens then I will be ready.” It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up. Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: You didn’t bring your gun; you didn’t train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by fear, helplessness, horror and shame at your moment of truth. Chuck Yeager, the famous test pilot and first man to fly faster than the speed of sound, says that he knew he could die. There was no denial for him. He did not allow himself the luxury of denial. This acceptance of reality can cause fear, but it is a healthy, controlled fear that will keep you alive:

“I was always afraid of dying. Always. It was my fear that made me learn everything I could about my airplane and my emergency equipment, and kept me flying respectful of my machine and always alert in the cockpit.” - Brigadier General Chuck Yeager Yeager, An Autobiography

Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation:

“..denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn’t so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling. Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.”

And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. If you are a warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be “on” 24/7 for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself… “Baa.” This business of being a sheep or a sheepdog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-grass sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.”

[cowtale-utau]

Sans/Ace INTJ vs ENTP

Welp this is not the full breakdown I’m working on but. This is contributing to that? I was asked about my type choice (which I super don’t mind! I love a good debate) and this will help in breaking down that part of the full work up. It’s super friggin long. I’d apologize, but I wouldn’t really mean it. Anyway, here we go.

First lets look at the functional stacks

INTJ / NiFeTiSe (NiTe) vs ENTP / NeTiFeSi (NeTi)

Ni – Internal intuition vs Ne – Extroverted intuition

Sans is suspiciously intuitive. There was no argument that Intuitive was going to be part of his typing. How the intuition functions and is used is where we have some point of potential debate. This comes down in many ways to how Jung viewed extroversion vs introversion. Extroverts are characterized as expansive and expressive, with short attention spans and rapidly shifting focus. They also tend to have relationships characterized by breath as opposed to depth. That is, many, more “shallow” relationships, rather than fewer, “deeper” connections. Conversely introverts are more focused and narrow, spending more time and energy on fewer things they give more value. Ne tends to have a wider range of hobbies and skills, while never focusing enough to master any, while Ni tends to develop mastery in fewer, selected areas. Ne also tends to want to bounce topics and visit many areas of conversation, while Ni wants to focus in on a singular topic to explore as deeply as possible. Ne wants to have many options while Ni wants to zero in on one singular answer.

Honestly, you can see traces of both Ne and Ni in Sans personality. He has a broad range of skills, and a pretty large number of arguably shallow “friendships”. He also keeps a very small number of deeper, more developed relationships, and there is evidence of him having a few areas he has a much deeper knowledge of.

Getting into the real differences is easier when you pair Ni/Ne with their respective sidekicks. Thus we have NiSe and NeSi. If we go by type theory Ni uses information Se has subconsciously gathered to find patterns and themes in their environment. They cast a wide sensory net to take clues from all possible inputs, visual, auditory, etc. They then use this data to compile a narrow underlying pattern. Conversely NeSi, draws on repeated snapshots of experiences to compile an established pattern to put forth a range of possible “what ifs”.

A simplification of what separates Ni from Ne can be put as such; Ni  is insight, Ne is ingenuity. Both E and I express intuition in their focus on the metaphysical and theoretical. NJ's can be seen as less creative while NP's are less able to come up with convergent ideas. ENPs see several potentials in everything, they struggle to trace back to a single causality. ENPs often take a “spray and pray” method, and are surprised should they hit upon the correct answer. They won't likely trust this as the true answer until they've tested and exhausted all possibilities.

INTJ and ENTP functions are perfect flips of one another and are often mis-typed. 

INTJ: Dominant: Introverted Intuition Auxilliary: Extraverted Thinking Tertiary: Introverted Feeling Inferior: Extraverted Sensing ENTP: Dominant: Extraverted Intuition Auxiliary: Introverted Thinking Tertiary: Extraverted Feeling Inferior: Introverted Sensing

Personally I'm inclined to lean towards Ni for Sans, but both are viable options. In fact both are so viable, that this breakdown wasn't particularly helpful. But it was interesting, and fun so I'm not mad I did it. So lets try this from a different angle. This time I'm going to ignore “stacks” and look at the purely E vs I, T vs P, etc break downs, and include my personal opinions on them, and how I got to the choice I did for Sans.

Introversion vs Extroversion

E – Energy is outward, towards people and things. Gains energy by being with people, batteries drain when alone. Need stimulation and are expressive. Like variety, action, and achievement. Communicate openly without censure. Allow conversation without conclusion. Take words at face value.

I – Energy focused inwards, towards ideas and concepts. Recharge with “me time”, drained by crowds and company. Tend to be reserved, and can seem subtle or “impenetrable”. Think before they act, often taking time to make a decision.

When I first typed Sans I had to ask, is he an introvert, or just depressed. I think it cannot be argued whether or not Sans suffers from depression. The indicators are there. It is a widely accepted view. However, I do not believe this excludes him from being an introvert. I see Sans as a social introvert. He likes people in general, enjoys crowds, from a comfortable distance. He keeps most relationships at arms length, and needs time alone to recoup. Sans is a very guarded and reserved individual, who can play at being an open book. He deflects with jokes and entertainment, but how many can say they are genuinely close to Sans. Even Papyrus is kept at a certain distance despite Sans clear love for his brother. I think Sans is kinda the poster child for the misconception that introverts are isolationists that hate people. They (cough we cough) aren't. They just need time to themselves to reorient, and re-energize. And that doesn't necessarily mean complete isolation either. This can often be achieved in the company of those held especially dear, or by simply withdrawing, even around company. This can be seen in Sans choosing to be at Grillby's but choosing a somewhat “closed” location. Yes he's towards the center of the room, but he's at the corner of the bar. He directly faces only Grillby. Or a common fanon example, Sans shutting down and allowing himself to be lugged around by Papyrus. He stays physically present, and is likely taking in the going ons, but has disengaged on a personal/social level.

Intuiting vs Sensing

S – Focus on immediate thought and sensory input. Trust conscious, limiting to facts and solid data. Pay attention to immediate, material, practical and “real”.  Work on a clear schedule and use logic to work in a direct sequence. Practical, realistic, grounded, direct.

N – Process data on a deep, subconscious level, trusting “gut feelings”. Spot patterns and take broad high level “big picture” views. Enjoy ideas and theories, are willing to work with factual evidence on a “instinct”. Change and adapt plans as information changes.

While I suppose an argument could be made for either I'm inclined to pin Sans as an N. Especially if one dismisses the “Sans remembers resets” theory. One cannot deny he uses facial cues and behaviors to make “gut” predictions about the player character/Frisk. Sans does not strike me as one to stick to any schedule not externally enforced by others (Papyrus). He doesn't need solid proof to make an accurate assessment, and trusts his own instincts. Somewhat unrelated to current discussion but one could argue a case for Sans having some almost... Arrogance in this regard. He is so confident in his assessment that he calls you on it, despite having no solid, in hand, proof of any of his accusations. This is a man who trusts his own mind.

Thinking vs Feeling

T – Thing logically and with reason. Desire fairness and objectivity. Black/White mentality. Seek truth and clear use of the rules. Sometimes forget or dismiss the “person” variable. Prefer truth over tact. Analyze pros and cons, and when a decision is made, consider it done.

F – Make decisions based on the feelings and considerations of others. The 'person' element is the first and primary considered. Value harmony, and try to be tactful even at the cost of some truth. Some times overlook the “hard” facts and can come off idealistic.

Here's another area where both typings agree. Sans is very much to me a T. Despite his apparent “easy to get along with” nature he can clearly lack tact (as seen in his 'you'd be dead where you stand' line). It's clear he is capable of dismissing the “people” component as seen in a neutral run. Even if you are to kill his brother there is little reaction beyond a few (or single, I'm slightly tipsy and my memory sucks) lines about his upset. This could theoretically be blamed on the nihilism/depression we see present, but could also be tied into his objective way of thinking (and if one considers that he's at least distantly aware that the outcome isn't permanent than this way further leans into T type. He knows it isn't the end, and so can accept that even if his brother is dead now, he won't be later, allowing him to remove emotion from the equation). If his magic coloring is tied into the presented soul traits the desire for fairness and objectivity is clearly seen in his secondary (?) Justice trait. I also believe Sans very much has a Black/White view of morality/the world. You can see this in the neutral run. While he may not attack you in anything less than No Mercy/Genocide, he definitely calls you out. Even just reaching LV of 2 is enough for Sans to express disgust in both you and your actions. This suggests he has absolutely no leniency in his views.

Judging vs Perceiving

J – Decisive and controlled. Are rigid and take charge of their environments, making choices early. Specific in what they ask, and expect others to do as told. Seek order and closure. Like to have time for preparation. Enjoy being experts.

P – Feel limited by structure. Feel more in control when options are left open. Thrive with the unexpected and are open to change. Tend to be loose and casual. Work in bursts. Are tolerant of people differences and will adapt to fit a situation.

And here's the other where the two potential types vary. And I can see a case for either. Its when all the parts are taken in together that I lean towards J over P. (although if we went with the percentages system I could see him as being fairly close, and sometimes slipping one way or the other over the line. I've know a couple of people personally who do so every now and then. A close friend of mine regularly tests at 51/49 in their J/P alternating between INFJ and INFP) I think when balancing Sans' N and T it comes together more comfortably in J. His rigid morality suggests a lack of tolerance and adaptability. Once he starts something, he sees it through to completion. His desire for the cycle of resets to be stopped can be seen as a need for closure, but I think we can dismiss it as extenuating circumstances. Anyone would want it to stop after a fashion, even if they are only distantly aware of the occurrence.  I think Sans straddles the J/P line leaning slightly more into J. He needs order and routine, but is stiffed by too rigid of a structure. I think for me this ultimately came down to me viewing Sans (or perhaps Ace in this case) as an ultimately science leaning mind. He needs answers. He needs clear, clean answers, and not getting them is distressing. While he may like to keep his options open in some areas of his life, overall he prefers to know what he's getting into, and how he's going to handle it. He's a free personality, that dislikes an unpredictable world. He wants to know where the end is, and have several methods of getting there. Not knowing the answers is scary, and Sans/Ace hates being scared.

So there's that. I don't know if any of it made any sense, but there you have it. How I typed Sans and why. Bare in mind, that this is also a half fanon typing. This is at least in part, based on occurrences after the events of canon Undertale, and how Sans/Ace behaved then. (you’ll see more of that in his full workup) As well as being based on some headcanons, though I tried to be fairly sparing with them. I also find myself frustrated as to the lack of information on Sans behavior/personality prior to the events of the game. What was Sans like, before the resets, before the depression. I would love to see what Sans had been like when he was younger. Alas, this is unlikely to ever happen. But anywho, this got way long, and if you manage to actually get through the whole thing I would love to hear your opinions. How do you type Sans, and why? Is there some glaring in game clue I missed? I'm totally open to friendly discussion on the topic, if you want. I included a couple links that give a pretty good rundown of the different functions and how they come together.

https://www.typeinmind.com/nite

https://www.typeinmind.com/neti

[armsdealing]

@neotropical​ sent: 10, 12, 15, 18, 26, 26 for Shiro | 28, 31, 36, 40 for Fenrir character development questions / inbox cleaning.

SHIRO.

10. what energizes and drains them most? shiro is introverted. heavy social interaction can drain him really fast, especially inane social interaction like small talk. paradoxically, being idle can also drain him. if he's not sleeping or eating, or reading or using his mind in some fashion, he'd rather be out there in the field, investigating cases and trying to solve them. he's a bit workaholic, and feeling like he's doing nothing worthwhile can affect his mood.

12. how are they bodily expressive? how do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands? he's more expressive than he gives himself credit for, though most emotions tend to be negative, like annoyance or irritation or suspicion, if not outright anger cuz he's grumpy as fuck. he has expressive eyes even in wolf form, and since they are devoid of color the dilatation of the pupils is very clearly visible when he's agitated. body wise, he also goes tense, hackles proverbially raised, fists balled up, mouth pinched into a frown (or flashing fangs), standing tall or slightly crouched as if to lunge. his body language is pretty authoritative, typical of his species. and though like i said most of the emotions can be negative, he's not above showing emotional vulnerability. if he feels moved, he can truly start to cry right then and there (albeit stoically) without carinh, and if he's content/pleased/happy he's not above smiles -- though they are rare.

he's also easy to make blush if flirted with too heavily.  :/

15. what kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? calculating and practical? full of doubts and fears? does it find any sort of outlet in their lives? mostly on the practical side, that's for sure. he tends to be motivated toward concrete goals, and is very good at staying focused. of course, he is not above occasionally daydreaming and losing track of things. this happens especially when not engrossed by something; his mind is full with grief regarding his past, as well as wariness toward the future, and that can lead him into brooding. his main outlet for his thoughts is his job as a social worker and private investigator. he finds it very rewarding that he can put his skillset to good use for the benefit of the community.

18. what kind of person could they become in the future? what are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? what paths would you especially like to see, and why? best case scenario shiro becomes a more tolerant person of humans, learning to understand and accept the gradations to their morality and that some humans are okay, while also learning to cope with his trauma in a healthy fashion, growing all around more emotionally open. along those lines he also accepts that he can have romantic feelings for someone without negating his sense of purpose and identity as a vigilante slash undercover god dlfkjdkf.

worst case scenario he distances himself more from the warmer side of him and opts to become a cruel and punitive deity that sees things mostly in black and white terms (something he already does to an extent) and doesn't form actual relationships with anybody, opting instead to dedicate himself to slaughtering humans he deems evil. basically it's a regression: going back to the same place where he was before making it to anima city and turning his life around.

both are likely, but of course the most likely is the former one if things go ideally -- like if he has more positive contacts with humans, and if others manage to get through to him emotionally. basically friendship and love will save him.

i'm good with either path tho of course i want to see him become healthier. i'm not opposed to him getting worse before he gets better, because i do love myself some drama.

26. how do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them, if it does? he doesnt have many of them. most are purely incidental and tho they are positive they're not very deep. it's mostly work related or people that leave in his apartment building that he chats with from time to time or like, the owner of the coffee shop he frequents ddfjh. he thinks they are okay but at the same time he feels awkward and doesn't know how to go about them. he feels distant (his past and status as a god play a role no doubt) and even tho occasionally he wants to be closer to people he doesn't know how to even start. he's also a bit of a jerk and that doesn't help.

27. what do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? why? shiro greatly dislikes humans as a result of his past, being a victim of a massacre where all but himself died (purely on incident, since he was beheaded). he thinks they are all an irredeemable and violent bunch who sees his people as lesser. he also doesn't like beastmen that work with humans, seeing them as just as bad as humans too. in a more casual note he does not like the cult that has formed around his person, he thinks it's all a bunch of scammers trying to make money off his image. he wants to do something about it but isn't yet sure what.

he likes seeing anima city prosper and thrive and see beastmen happy; it genuinely warms his heart. and he likes children a lot. he has worked with the city to find many orphaned children better homes. he also has an affinity for boots and sweaters. 😌

FENRIR.

28. what are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? why? i mean if he had the opportunity resources and time odin would be DEAD already dfjgdhjfg prophecy be damned. he would've already put down a lot of asgardians, if not asgard itself. other than that... he's off and on about the idea of forming a legitimate pack. he could do it but it's a risky move considering gods are always cutting him short whenever they think he's getting 'too powerful'. but those things aside he doesn't want for much and he DOES already have the resources and time to do whatever he wants... to an extent.

31. is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? what makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? why? fenrir has a short fuse and on bad days if you get on his nerves he will kill you. i mean he will really just shoot you dead for annoying him if he doesn't feel like acting civil. disrespecting him is a big no-no, he has a low tolerance for idiocy and people who think they can act all insolent around him. if you think you're close enough to get away with that you need to give yourself and ur relationship with him a long hard look because chances are you're wrong. acting like you're better than him/superior to him? dealbreaker. pitying him in any way? also a big dealbreaker. it truly annoys him. he will sooner stop talking to you than entertain your sympathy, even if what he's going through is worthy of it. he doesn't want anything to do with it. other things that can ruin his day is pain flares due to his bound status -- he deals with chronic pain 24/7, and it's the source of most of his bad moods.

as for things that makes situations go smoothly -- if the pain is unusually mild that given day. nice food or drink, or completed jobs, and presence of people he likes (family, or lovers)

36. how much do they rely on their minds and intellect, versus other approaches like relying on instinct, intuition, faith and spirituality, or emotions? what is their opinion on this? fenrir is more instinct and intuition than intellect, but he is by no means dumb. he is hypersensitive and hyperaware of things and is constantly processing amounts of information that would knock out the average human, and acting accordingly to it all. his hunches are usually correct and he's quite capable of analysis and deductive reasoning when necessary -- take for example when he quite correctly guessed that asgardians where trying to trick him with gleipnir. emotions play less of a role when it comes to serious decision making, tho yeah like anybody sometimes he will act purely on passion if its something that affects him to such a degree. he doesn't feel any particular way about it, and is confident in his decision making (perhaps sometimes overconfident but yh y'know, that happens), since it tends to work for him.

40. what do they wonder about? what sparks their curiosity and imagination, and why? how is this expressed, if it is? for a long long time(pre-binding) midgardian culture truly sparked his curiosity. he wanted to learn about humans and how they operated and the things they liked to do. after this curiosity was satiated he doesn't express wonder over many things. he has unanswered questions about the fate of the world and how fate will play out but virtually everyone does. he would rather spend his time in the present than invest a lot of time simply thinking about the future. simply put, he is not an imaginative person. 

[shimikonde]

Romeo and Juliet and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Return of the King pt. 1/5 (4th light novel, pg 76-85)

Finally finished with the first part of the translation :) I hope everyone has as much fun reading it as I did. I’ll try to get the next part up in around a week but i’m also v busy this weekend so we’ll see lmao

Be sure to thank @imitationpersonne for proofreading!!

“We will now begin Class 1-B’s spectacular Grand Fantasy, ‘Romeo and Juliet and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Return of the King.’”

The announcement and the reverberating buzz from the crowd quieted at once, as if the noise had been sucked from the assembly hall. The lights quickly dimmed, cloaking the stage in darkness as the curtain rose without a sound. After a dramatic pause, filling the venue with anticipatory silence, there was a clicking sound, and the stage filled with light.

Thus began Class B’s opening act.

“Ahh, what a refreshing morning! Can words describe the beauty of the slumbering sun finally waking to shine down over mine Gondor?”

Monoma, dressed in a prince’s costume, stood upon a set modeled after a castle terrace, looking dazzling as he cast his gaze from one side of the hall to the other. Shoda Nirengeki and Awase, who had been on standby behind the backdrop door, entered the stage.

“Romeo, my prince, you’ll catch your death if you go out onto the terrace in those thin clothes.”

“If something happens to you, it’s us, your retainers, who will hear it from the king.”

Nirengeki and Awase’s outfits were simple, befitting of retainers: medieval-looking shirts and trousers.

Monoma turned over his shoulder slightly at the two of them. “Frodo. Sam. Hahaha, if my king father scolds you, then I, his prince son, shall cover for you. So stop with the stiff speech! Our friendship goes deeper than our social status, doesn’t it? Why, just last night you were my accomplices when I snuck out of the castle for a night of drunken merriment in town!”

“Prince Romeo! Should the king find out about that, our necks won’t be enough to calm his wrath!”

“You practically forced us to guide you, insisting you wanted to get to know the lifestyles of the common people!”

“Even so, we’re accomplices. Whatever happens, we three share the same fate. Rather than friends, perhaps we are better stated partners in crime? Hahahaha!”

Here and there in the audience, people began to smile in response to Monoma’s resounding laughter.

Watching from the left wing, Honenuki Juzo, the stage director, breathed a sigh of relief. “Nice. Keep it up…”

The stage director was the person responsible not just for setting the stage, but for all things related to the play. Behind the scenes, he had to perfectly grasp the situation on the stage and use it to send the actors their cues, so it was a position that demanded both a broad perspective and level headedness. The script and direction of “Romeo and Juliet and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Return of the King” was primarily written and directed by Monoma. In theater, a performance couldn’t come to life without both the people standing on the stage and the people supporting them behind the scenes.

Backdrops and props for different sets were tucked away in the wings along with the costumes. The actors waiting for their cues and the scene shifters alike peeked out from their spots on the wings, covertly watching over the stage.

From beside Honenuki, his assistant, Kaibara Sen, said, “But, you know. Even though I know that the prince is supposed to be a friendly guy, even though Monoma’s acting is totally on point, knowing his personality I can’t help seeing him as an evil prince.”

“Same,” agreed the stagehand, Tsuburaba Kosei.

“Isn’t it fine? He’s magnificent all the same!”

Having been watching excitedly,Tetsutetsu spoke at his normal volume, and everyone simultaneously warned him, “Tetsutetsu, whisper…!”

“Ah, sorry!” Tetsutetsu replied, flustered and just as loud, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Before the play began, they’d all had a talk with him about speaking in whisper while in the wings.

“You wanna put on a mask until it’s your turn to go on?”

Tetsutetsu’s role was that of Count Paris, Romeo’s fated archenemy, and it was still some time before he would be introduced. Honenuki had given the suggestion thinking that perhaps wearing a mask might help Tetsutetsu be more aware of his mouth, and thus his volume, but Tetsutetsu shook his head.

Concentrating as hard as he could, he whispered, “That’s not necessary… I can do anything if I put my mind to it…”

“We’re counting on you.”

Not far from Honenuki was the hair and makeup person, Komori Kinoko, dressed in frilly clothes and looking as if she might step onto the stage herself. She laughed innocently. “But Monoma looks great! He really turns into a fun guy when you put him in the spotlight!”

“……”

Staring intently at Komori from the darkness, Kuroiro Shihai seemed as if he wanted to say something to her, but instead muttered softly to himself, “The eternal void of darkness is my stage…” He returned to his job taking care of the props, picking up an old-looking piece of paper that they would use later.

If ever there was a person who could be said to thrive on attention, it would be Monoma. That’s why, whenever Class A stole the spotlight, he always found some way to get back at them. Of course, it was also true that, because of his great love for Class B, he couldn’t accept them being overshadowed by Class A.

People who revelled in the spotlight always postured themselves immaculately, heads held high. They were grandiose, naturally calculating their words, their actions, their timbre, so that they could get the reactions they wanted from people. It was natural that Monoma looked great on stage.

On stage, Monoma said, “Then, I’ll be off to greet my father good morning.”

Exiting, he came into the wing, where Honenuki told him, “You’re doing great.”

“Well, yeah.” Monoma smiled, and then turned back to the stage. In no time, he’d need to go back on.

Nirengeki and Awase were speaking about Romeo on stage.

“Honestly, that prince! He knows he’s about to be announced as the official heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Gondor, and still he acts like this.”

“That amiability makes him well-liked by his subjects, but as a ruler of a country it comes across as immature…”

“That said, our king is still in good health. For the time being, we must ensure that Prince Romeo grows into a man befitting of the throne…”

In the wings, Monoma watched the pair’s acting with the eyes of a director and nodded, satisfied.

“Mhmm, Nirengeki’s polished his worrywart performance to perfection. Awase looks fed up, too. They’re totally in the zone today, huh?”

It occurred to Honenuki that they were both letting their real feelings for the overly-aggressive Monoma shine through, but he decided to keep it to himself. According to the scenario, Monoma-as-Romeo would just be finding out about the king’s disappearance and letting out a shocked outburst. Kuroiro handed him the paper he’d been holding.

“Hehihi, the king’s letter.”

“Thanks.”

Confirming that Monoma had taken the paper out of the corner of his eyes, Honenuki watched the timing of Nirengeki and Awase’s performance carefully and gave him the signal to go.

At Honenuki’s cue, Monoma screamed, “Father?! Father…?!” He waited for a moment before dashing onto the stage in a flurry.

“It’s a disaster… Father has… The king has disappeared…!”

Then, as Fukidashi Manga, in charge of audio, let out a startling BAM sound from stage right, the three actors froze in place.

The person in charge of audio was responsible for atmospheric sound effects, as well as playing and stopping the background music at the right places. Honenuki signaled his timing to him using a wireless radio. “Perfect,” Honenuki told him, and Fukidashi responded calmly, “Well, it’d have been faster if I’d have just said it instead.” His quirk was Comic. He could materialize any onomatopoeia he made. However, if he materialized all of the sound effects, the stage would be soon become buried in onomatopoeias.

With a soft, wry laugh at his words, Honenuki gave Fukidashi his timing. “…Narration.”

“Okaay,” Fukidashi said as he played Monoma’s narration, which had been recorded prior.

“The sudden disappearance of Gondor’s king… It was a bolt out of the blue.”

“Kamakiri.”

“Rodger.”

Standing beside Fukidashi and listening to Honenuki’s cues through the radio, the lights man, Kamakiri Togaru, dimmed the lights on the stage. Monoma’s narration played alongside the unsettling background music in the darkness.

“Learning of their king’s absence, the citizens were overcome with unease, and the capital…”

“Everyone, forty more seconds.”

During the blackout, Monoma and the rest on stage had to quickly exit via the left wing and switch into their travelling costumes.

“This one’s for Monoma!”

“Got it!”

With Komori directing, everyone free swarmed around the three and helped them change. In the meantime, Tsuburaba led the set change, setting up for the new scene which would take place in a forest. Still yet to debut on stage, Yui Kodai, Shiozaki Ibara, and Tsunotori helped with setting placement, using their respective quirks: Size, Vines, and Horn Cannon. Stopwatch in hand, Honenuki continued to give them the time, watching everyone’s progress intently. Without teamwork, the play could not go on.

“Ten more seconds… eight, seven, six, five, four, three…  Clear.”

The lights came back on, and the stage had transformed into a forest. Having successfully pulled off the scene change like they’d practiced, everyone exchanged a silent thumbs-up, extolling each other’s hard work. Having received Honenuki’s cue, Monoma staggered onto stage.

“Having lost its king, Gondor was falling into ruin… Despairing the destruction of his beautiful country should things be allowed to continue as they were, Prince Romeo set out on a journey to find his king father.”

As the recorded narration came to an end, Monoma collapsed in the center of the stage with a moan.

“Ahh! Where on earth has father gone to…? The father I know would never throw away his people, throw away me, throw away his country…! Am I to believe he’s been possessed by some kind of demon? If that’s the case, then I have no choice but to defeat that demon and bring back my father… bring back this country’s king!

“Ahh, what a tragedy. No, comedy is more apt! To think me, who has hardly set foot outside of his own country, who did nothing but try to escape from sword and Force lessons, would be on a quest to exterminate a demon….! If I had known something like this would happen, I would have had our country’s best Force user, Master Obi-wan, to oversee my training…. Ahh, rather than cursing my fate, I’d prefer to punch my past self!”

Monoma’s performance drew all eyes to him, and as he grew more heated, it rapidly enraptured the audience.

The story was that Romeo, going on a journey to find the king, meets his true love, Juliet, grows as a person, battles his arch nemesis, Count Paris, and learns the shocking truth, ultimately leaving him a splendid king by the end. A lot of the proper nouns in the story sounded suspiciously familiar, but it was all just an unbelievable coincidence… Or, that was what they were going with if anyone asked, Monoma insisted. It was a hodgepodge that took all the best parts of the heroic journey, slice of life, romance, and revenge genres and put them into a single story.

Neither Kendo Itsuka nor her attendant, Yanagi Reiko, could be there on account of the beauty pageant, but when they’d watched during the dress rehearsal, they’d both been surprisingly moved. To be able to move people who knew Monoma’s personality that deeply, it went without saying that the audience, who didn’t, would be more than just touched. They might even get a standing ovation. Everyone had been working hard towards that goal.

“In that case, might you prefer a return to Gondor?”

“Frodo! Sam! But why?”

Frodo and Sam had just appeared on the stage, having followed Romeo.

“Master Obi-wan is also searching for the king. When we happened to meet, he requested we convey a message to the prince.”

“He said to be careful of Count Paris. Who is this Count Paris, my prince?”

“…Count Paris… Once, I was introduced to a man by that name at a ball, but… Why would Obi-wan tell me to be careful of him…?”

Monoma-as-Romeo mulled it over, unsatisfied, as Nirengeki-as-Frodo reached into his pocket. “Also,” he said, softly pulling out a golden ring and offering it to Monoma.

“We were also entrusted with this: this legendary ring, which has been handed down the royal family for generations…”

“Apparently it protects the royal family, no matter who… I guess it’s like a good luck charm.”

In response to Awase-as-Sam’s line, Monoma shook his head as if bewildered. “I’ve never… heard of such a ring.”

“It seems that the ring is only passed down when a new prince takes the throne.”

“But, what a beautiful ring… It’s bewitching, as if it might steal your heart away.” Taking the ring from Nirengeki, Monoma faced the audience and held it up above his head. The ring would become a very important item in the future.

Part 2

[usemeasabadexample]

Merry Pitchmas!

Merry Pitchmas @acabloe 

I’m your secret santa! I hope you had a great holiday and I really hope you enjoy the story! (Sorry I’m a little late. Holidays...ugh *insert dramatic eye roll*)

Bechloe Fanfic: Fine

Summary: AU where Beca is a music producer and Chloe is a teacher. Beca needs community service hours and gets hooked up with Chloe but they really don’t hit it off right away. 

“A club seems like a really unprofessional way to meet someone I'm going to be working with Amy.” Beca shoots a dirty look to someone who brushes past her a little too aggressively.

“Unprofessional?” Amy pauses as the bouncer waves them through the door. “Seems a bit unprofessional that you punched a guy in the face because of creative differences.” She issues air quotes to the last two words and gives Beca a pointed look before turning back around to make her way to the VIP area.

“Dude.” Beca puts a spring in her step to catch up to the blonde. “That guy was a dick. He had no idea-”

Amy's hand in her face cuts Beca off mid-sentence and mid-step. “Beca, please.” She doesn't finish her thought. Instead, Amy plops down onto the sofa inside of the roped off area.

Beca doesn't understand what that's supposed to mean and shrugs her shoulders as she sits in a chair next to Amy. “What?”

Amy glares. “No dick talk. I'm having a dry spell worse than an Australian desert in the middle of summer.”

Beca immediately regrets asking for clarification. She grimaces. “Wait, is that why you picked a club for this meeting tonight?”  

Amy is still glaring at her and Beca wants to sink back into the chair and disappear because she knows she isn't prepared for whatever Amy is going to say.

She needs a drink before she can participate in this type of conversation.

“I chose this place because I know the only way to get you to socialize like a normal human being is to get a few drinks in you.”

Beca starts to object but almost on cue, the waitress drops by and places a tray of bottles down onto the table in front of them. She mentions that the owner will be by shortly and Amy starts pouring drinks before the girl is even gone.

“Amy-” Beca tries again but it's to no avail. Amy clearly isn't having it tonight.

“No. You're lucky you got off with community service and a payout after fisting that guy in the face. These people need to like you so that your service goes well and they give good reports to the judge.” Amy passes her a drink. “Now shut up. Drink. And act like a person. I know it's hard but do it.”

Beca rolls her eyes because she knows Amy’s right but that doesn't mean she has to like it. 

She is thankful though.

For all of her quirks, Amy has always been a kind and loyal friend. She tells it like it is and she always has Beca's back. No matter what. No questions asked. It's been that way since college and when Beca moved to L.A. to work for the record label, she knew she wanted her best friend with her. The blonde didn't hesitate to take a position as Beca's assistant and they left Georgia to start a new phase of life together. That was five years ago and they've been thriving ever since. Beca considers herself a pretty successful music producer. She's worked with everyone from Katy Perry to Lil’ Wayne to Michael Buble. It's been wild but it's everything she's always dreamed about.

Until she punched that piece of shit a few weeks ago everything was perfect.

She thinks about it for the millionth time as she sips her drink. His music sucked and he was a complete dick to every woman in the studio.

A dirty comment about an intern finally forced her off the deep end and nothing in the world could have stopped her fist from connecting with his worm-looking face. Community service be damned. Fuck that dude.

She's glad she socked him.

“What's up bitches?!” Her thoughts are put on hold as the owner of the club, who is also one of their best friends, appears. Beca hops up to give the woman a hug but she gets side-swiped by Amy and almost topples over.

“Amy!” Beca winces as she regains her balance.

“What?” Amy looks like she doesn't understand what the problem is and Beca isn't surprised.

Cynthia Rose laughs loudly and peels herself from Amy to pat Beca on the back. “Hey girl. You meeting your new work buddy tonight?”

Beca nods.

“I'll get shots.”

“No.” Beca grabs her shoulder. “That's okay CR. I'll get them. You keep an eye on Amy.”

Cynthia Rose laughs and Amy furrows her eyebrows but then grins almost immediately. “That's fine. Look at my sexy fat ass all you like but don't touch.” She winks and Beca rolls her eyes before she heads to the bar.

Leaving the two of them alone together is never a good idea but what can she do?

Thankfully, the bar isn't overwhelmingly crowded yet so she slips between two people and orders a round of shots. She has a feeling she's going to need more than one to get through the night but this is a good place to start.

The bartender drops the shots down and winks at Beca as she pays. She smiles back because, why not? The girl is pretty enough and she hasn't dated anyone in a while. Harmless flirting could be fun. She picks up a shot and just as she opens her mouth to say something she's sure will be witty, someone bumps her from behind.

Her shot goes flying, spilling down the front of her shirt, and she feels something wet dripping down her back as well. She immediately spins around to give whoever it is a piece of her mind. “Dude! What the fuck?”

The mystery woman giggles in response and Beca bristles because seriously. What. The. Fuck? This isn't funny.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?”

The woman rolls her lips together. Presumably to stop herself from laughing but she's still grinning. “Sorry!” She reaches out and lays a hand on Beca's shoulder. “I wasn't paying attention.”

Beca glares at the hand resting on her arm then looks back to the stranger and a few things catch her eye.

The first being the most insane set of blue eyes that she's ever seen. Even in the darkness of the club, they're practically glowing.

The second thing she notices is the woman's flaming red hair. It's so vivid and it looks so soft that Beca almost reaches out and touches it without thinking. Stopping herself only when the redhead squeezes her shoulder. A brilliant smile forms on the woman's face and Beca closes her gaping mouth. She lets her anger take over again because how dare this gorgeous woman try and charm her.

Reasonably, Beca knows the woman hasn't done anything to be purposefully charming but that's neither here nor there. The point is, she's all wet and she doesn't like it.

“Well, maybe you should start like, paying attention or something.” The words don't come out as venomous as she'd planned and it only serves to further annoy her.

The redhead's eyes widen and Beca can admit that she actually looks a little scary. A little crazy. Intimidating almost.

“I can replace your drink.” The woman runs her hand from Beca's shoulder down across her back. “And your shirt is hardly wet.” She winks. “I think you'll survive.”

Beca shivers but recovers quickly and tries move out of reach. It's difficult though because the crowd at the bar is growing by the minute. “Yeah, no. I think you've done enough already. Just-” she tries to duck away from the redhead again but they just keep bumping into each other, “can you just move out of the way? For fucks sake!” She blows out a frustrated breath and glares at the infuriating stranger.

The woman doesn't smile back this time. She looks just as irritated and has the nerve to roll her eyes before stepping to the side to allow Beca through. “Gladly.”

Beca gives one last dirty look before bursting through, almost shoulder checking the woman in the process, and making her way back to her friends.

-----

“Shortstack! Where have you been?!” Amy already seems tipsy. “Where are the shots? We have company!”

Beca huffs because in her haste to get away from the redhead, she forgot to grab their shots. She shakes her head. Frustrated. And gives Amy a look that says “don't ask.”

She looks around and notices her best friend, Stacie as well as her co-worker, Lilly have arrived. Her lawyer, Aubrey, is also there with a few people she doesn't recognize. She assumes one of them will be her new work partner at the community center where she'll be completing her service hours. Aubrey's the one who set the whole thing up. Said she had a friend who was a teacher and also worked with kids at an after school music program. Beca seethed at the thought of having to work with a bunch of kids but whatever. She had to do something.  

She takes a deep breath and walks over to Stacie. “What's up Stace?”

“Hey Shorty!” Stacie flings her arms around Beca and plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek from which Beca immediately recoils.

“Gross.” She wipes her cheek and Stacie winks.

“Beca!” Amy is literally screaming at this point. “Where are the shots?!”

“Oh my god! Amy!” Beca whips around to face the blonde. “Chill the fuck out.”

“Well, where are they?!” Amy taps her foot. “And why is your shirt a mess?” Amy leans in and talks out of the side of her mouth. “Bathroom quickie?”  

Beca feels her blood pressure rising.

Why did she agree to this? Why does she agree to anything ever? “Amy no. Just...shut up. Some klutz ran up behind me and spilled my shot.” She gestures to her back. “She spilled her drink down my back too. Fucking clumsy ass redhead.”

She starts shaking her shirt out for dramatic effect when she hears someone clearing their throat behind her.

Amy pulls a face, baring all of her teeth and looking extremely uncomfortable and Beca doesn't understand what's happening until she turns around to address the continued throat clearing and sees that it's the redhead from the bar standing behind her. She's carrying a tray of shots and looks far too smug for Beca's liking.

“You were saying?” The woman brushes past Beca and drops the tray onto the table.

She thinks she sees Aubrey give the redhead some kind of look but she doesn't dwell on it. She's too stunned for the moment. And certainly not by this woman's beauty, she assures herself.

No way.

She convinces herself it's because of her unexpected and abrupt appearance.

She snaps herself out of it.

“I said,” she steps closer, “you're clumsy.”

“Mmm nope.” The redhead smiles and shakes her head. Unaffected by the insult apparently. “I'm Chloe.”

And Beca sees stars she's so perturbed. She opens her mouth to lay into this girl but Aubrey steps in. “Beca.” Her tone a warning. “This is Chloe. She runs the after school program where you'll be working for the next few weeks.”

Well, fuck.

Of course.

Beca grits her teeth and fakes a smile. “Fucking great.” She mumbles.

“I'm sorry.” Chloe steps closer. “What was that?”

And Beca doesn't back down. “I said,” she steps closer too, “fucking,” closer again, “great.”

Everyone else looks around at each other with worried expressions.

This is going well so far.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Mhmm. I thought that's what you said.” She turns around and grabs two shots from the tray, handing one to Beca, who takes it unwillingly. Skeptically.

“Cheers. Try to stay out of my way this time.” Chloe clinks their glasses and downs her shot. Then she winks and walks away before Beca can formulate any type of response and jesus christ.

“Fine!” Beca tries to yell but it doesn't come out nearly as loud as she'd like. She feels rage boiling up inside of her but she can't bring herself to act on it because there's something stopping her. She doesn't understand what's happening so she takes her shot and avoids Chloe for the rest of the night.

-----

“What was with you and Red last night?” Amy parks herself at the counter in Beca's kitchen.

“I think it's called sexual tension.” Stacie hollers from her place on the sofa and they can all hear Cynthia Rose laughing from the bathroom.

Beca slams the refrigerator shut and spins on her heels. “Shut the fuck up. There's no tension. She's just,” Beca huffs, “I can't believe I have to work with her.”

“Because you're afraid you'll attack her?” Amy prods. “Sexually?”

Beca responds by tossing a towel at the blonde and stomping off to her room as everyone else has a good laugh.

-----

Day 1 - Community Center

“What do you mean this is the equipment we'll be using? This is a boom box that uses cassette tapes Chloe.” Beca gestures to the offensive item. “And your instruments might as well be upside-down buckets with sticks and tissue boxes with rubber bands. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “First of all, language. There will be children here soon. You can't talk like that in front of them.” The redhead stops and glares and Beca shrugs. “Beca.”

“Language. Yeah. I got it.”

“And second, aren't you the self-proclaimed  music production expert?” Chloe hands her a cassette tape. “Figure it out.”

Beca grabs the tape but Chloe doesn't let go. “What's your problem?”

Chloe uses the tape to pull Beca closer until they're only inches apart and Beca holds her breath because the redhead’s gaze is piercing. “You.”

Beca feels a fire ignite somewhere inside of her and she holds the gaze. Determined not to break first. She feels Chloe tighten her grip where their hands are touching and Beca gives the tape a tug.

Chloe still doesn't let go and their faces are so close that Beca can almost feel the other woman's breath on her face. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Chloe shrugs and Beca wants to smack her for acting like she isn't bothered.  

“Hey Ms. Beale!”

Chloe diverts her eyes to the interruption and Beca uses the opportunity to yank the tape away. She gets a sideways glance from Chloe that says “this isn't over” but ignores it. Silently congratulating herself for holding strong.

“Hey guys!” Chloe enthusiastically greets the students filing in and Beca plasters on a fake smile for the rest of the afternoon.

-----

Day 14 - Community Center

“I don't understand why you won't let me bring my equipment here.” Beca rubs her temples as her and Chloe sit at a tiny table in the back of the community center.

“How many times do I have to tell you? That's not what this is about.” Chloe pushes her chair back and it screeches against the floor.

Beca cringes at the sound. She's pretty sure Chloe does it on purpose because she knows it annoys her. “I'm not saying bring in a whole studio. Just a few things so the kids can create and record on something that doesn't sound like it's from the 30’s.”

“Beca…”

“Chloe…” Beca's tone is purposefully mocking.

Chloe stands and plants her hands on her hips. “I said what I said and the answer is still no.”

Beca stands too, making sure to scrape her chair across the floor as she does. She sees Chloe flinch briefly but she's clearly determined not to let Beca get to her. “And I said what I said and I stand by it. This would be better with more modern technology.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side and Beca watches her hair tumble down around her shoulder. The light bounces off of it and she momentarily feels blinded. She crosses her arms over her chest protectively. Like she's afraid Chloe can read her mind in the moment even though she knows that’s silly.

“No.” Chloe deadpans and starts to walk past her with purpose, not stopping until she's well out of Beca's view. “And stop staring at my hair creep.”

Beca chokes on air and sputters for a good five minutes after Chloe's gone, wondering if Chloe actually can read her mind.

“Fine.” She whispers to herself.

-----

Day 28 - A Park Near the Community Center

“For fucks sake! I thought a little fresh air would clear up your attitude.” Chloe stands up from the bench they're sharing. “Clearly I was wrong.”

“It hasn't worked for you either!” Beca shouts. Not caring that people are starting to stare.

Chloe glares. “I'm done for today.”

Beca throws her hands up. “Fine. Me too.”

“Fine!” Chloe yells before stomping away.

-----

Day 35 - Beca's House

They've been sitting in her studio for the better part of the afternoon bickering about how to arrange the tracks that the kids at the center have been working on.

Chloe finally agreed, after a particularly heated argument one day which ended with Chloe basically pinning Beca to a wall, to let Beca make minor tweaks on her equipment at home. Chloe, of course, only agreed on the grounds that she be present for such tasks and Beca agreed. Almost eagerly.

She's still scratching her head over that reaction but whatever. Here they are.

“If I have to say this one more time, I swear I'll tell that judge to lock you up!” Chloe jumps up and Beca reaches out and grabs her wrist as she tries to walk away. The redhead spins around and throws down an intense stare.

She doesn't pull away though.

“Chloe!” Beca puts her free hand to her forehead and rubs. “Just fucking hear me out!”

The redhead holds steady for a moment but Beca sees her stern look beginning to fade. She gives Beca an expectant look which she assumes means that she can continue. “Just...let me bring in a few things. It'll give the the kids some experience working with the equipment and everything will sound so much better.”

Chloe takes a deep breath and averts her eyes.

“I promise the technology won't ruin the experience.”

Beca watches Chloe's resolve begin to fade. She's gotten pretty good at reading the redhead after working together so closely for the past few weeks.

She reluctantly admits to herself that Chloe has gotten pretty good at reading her too.

“Fine.”

Beca smirks. “Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Okay fine!”

They stand there staring at one another, neither one daring to look away (why do they always do this?!) and Beca feels an energy flowing through her that makes her want to do something reckless and wild. Like she's unhinged. She wants to scream or tear something apart or combust.

And she's still holding onto Chloe.

And Chloe still isn't moving away.

And she can see Chloe's chest heaving with every breath she takes and Beca finally snaps.

She yanks Chloe to her and they collide with enough force to send them toppling backwards into the wall. Beca's head smacks into it but she doesn't care because Chloe's mouth clashes with hers and it's a mess of teeth and tongues and enough pent up tension to sink a fleet of ships.

Strong hands grip Beca's sides and breeze underneath her shirt without hesitation. She feels the distinct press of nails sinking into her skin and she can't help the sound that escapes her throat. Her hands thread through Chloe's hair and fist as their tongues meet again and again. Finding a rhythm that is steadily scorching Beca from the inside out.

“Beca.” Chloe whispers her name and Beca feels everything inside of her crumble because she's never heard the redhead say her name like that before.

“Fuck.” She speaks directly into Chloe's mouth and they hover for only a moment longer before crashing back together.

Beca pushes Chloe backwards towards the small sofa and spins them around when she hears Chloe's legs hit the front of it. She sits and pulls Chloe down with her until the redhead is straddling her lap. Their mouths never part and Beca sinks her hands into the back pockets of Chloe's jeans and squeezes.

Chloe moans and pushes further into Beca, her hands gripping the brunette's shirt so tightly that Beca's afraid it might rip.

Hopes it does.

Chloe nips at her lower lip, drawing it out before letting it go and Beca wants to scream it feels so good. “Chloe, fuck.”

“Yeah.” Chloe breathes out, grinding down into Beca's lap. “I'm trying.”

Beca's entire body clenches and she bites down on Chloe's collarbone. “Bed. Now.” She pants the demand into Chloe's chest. Licking and biting as Chloe continues to move against her.

“Don't...fuck...don't tell me what to do.”

Beca pulls back. Eyes sparkling with mischief as she looks up at a disheveled Chloe. She looks devastatingly beautiful.

“Are you still being difficult? Really?” She can't help the smile that takes over her face as Chloe smirks back down at her.

“Yes.” She leans down and presses her lips to Beca's. Once. Twice. Three times. “But let's go to bed anyway.” The words are spoken against Beca's lips.

Beca finds the strength to roll her eyes. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Chloe's eyes light up and she leans in for more. And Beca’s more than fine with that.

[susangalvez10-blog]

What’s The Distinction Between An Opera And A Musical?

As hip-hop continues to evolve as a genre, categorizing sub genres by sound or location is becoming a an increasing number of difficult activity. Beginner musicians can compose or perform music for their own pleasure, http://www.audio-transcoder.com and derive their income elsewhere. Skilled musicians are employed by a variety of institutions and organisations, together with armed forces (in marching bands , concert bands and standard music teams), church buildings and synagogues, symphony orchestras, beckyskidmore86.wikidot.com broadcasting or movie production corporations, and music faculties Professional musicians typically work as freelancers or session musicians , seeking contracts and engagements in a wide range of settings. There are sometimes many links between newbie and professional musicians. Beginning newbie musicians take lessons with professional musicians. In group settings, advanced amateur musicians perform with professional musicians in a variety of ensembles resembling group live performance bands and group orchestras.

But like all musical kinds, emo is due for a 20-year resurrection this decade. Proper on cue, a new wave of bands has emerged to let their meek flags fly in the age of the selfie. The movement is not precisely nascent; key gamers like Algernon Cadwallader and My Coronary heart To Joy have already come and gone, and a dense network of groups thrives on Bandcamp, replete with its own emasculating lexicon ( Twinkle Daddies ???). It is nonetheless a distinctly underground phenomenon too. None of these bands seemed primed to cross over in this pop local weather without a Fall Out Boy-model digital makeover, and the bands that influenced them within the first place were by no means more than cult favorites anyhow. Electronic music legend Isao Tomita's debut album "Snowflakes are Dancing" reaches the top 50 of the pop charts and receives 4 Grammy nominations. Tomita is called the Wendy Carlos of Japan, famous for synthesizing classical works. Some easy insights can nonetheless be taken. Hip-Hop is approach ahead of the other genres (d'oh). People is available in second however since there is only one people artist (Bob Dylan) within the analysis it's not consultant at all. Pop is the genre with the most number of musicians and robynreimann34639.wikidot.com its average vocabulary size (2464 words) is near the average vocabulary size across all artists (2677 words). Same factor applies to the Rock style as nicely. Reggaeton is normally straight-up celebration and dance music, which makes it perfect to blast loudly, dance to and sing along with. In my guide, it is maybe the perfect genre for Spanish students just due to the fun factor. That said, some regional varieties of Spanish combine in indigenous words. For instance, Ecuadorian Spanish speakers often mix a number of alternative Kichwa words into their speech It might be valuable so that you can hearken to music in indigenous languages, simply to get a feel for the way these sound.

Perhaps enjoyable rock music continues to be being made but it isn't being performed on my native different station, so I am not aware of it. It looks like pretentiousness has taken over rock music. If a music would not have a severe which means, it has no proper to exist. Rock followers decry the demise of "real music." This is a flip off to many people who want music to serve completely different functions. Typically, it should be enjoyable. Generally, it needs to be severe. Sometimes it should be about things we are able to relate as to if that is falling in love or a painful breakup. Typically it may well cope with social issues. Germany will not be identified overseas for its music, however take a closer look and you can find quite a few international hit songs which originate within the country. A few songs even handle to become hits regardless of being music in the German language which must be thought of quite an accomplishment. The 1980s proved a moribund decade for pop. Styles got here and went, but it surely was an era quick on memorable music. Only Wham! (and later George Michael) emerged as true pop stars. This Tune Dynasty (960-1279) painting, entitled the "Evening Revels of Han Xizai," exhibits Chinese language musicians entertaining guests at a party in a 10th-century family. Neil Younger once sang Rock n' roll can by no means die," but based on Gene Simmons , it's already dead. The Kiss bassist recently made controversial remarks about Donald Sterling , immigration and depression (which he eventually backed off from), and now the Kiss bassist has one other huge statement to make: Rock is lastly dead," Simmons declared in an interview with Esquire The loss of life of rock was not a natural death. Rock didn't die of outdated age. It was murdered," he added. However rock's killer wasn't the blurring of musical genres or lack of craftsmanship. As a substitute, Simmons blames file sharing and the truth that nobody values music sufficient to pay you for it" for murdering rock n' roll.

6. Shared References. The other thing that's palpably totally different between jazz and classical musicians has to do with specific musical references. What did you play 1000 times in high school to the point that you simply now roll your eyes each time you hear it—Beethoven's 1st Symphony or Blue Bossa"? These shared references, at the same time as we might mock them, kind a cultural substrate that actually plays a surprisingly large role in how we interact on a day-to-day basis. Deep home is best described as music that you'd hear in a lounge. It's usually far slower and more laid again than other genres and options very deep bass. Of the entire genres in EDM deep home is among the least energetic.

Music Style Classification is among the many branches of Music Info Retrieval From right here you'll be able to carry out other duties on musical information like beat monitoring, music era, recommender programs, track separation and instrument recognition and many others. Music analysis is a various area and also an fascinating one. A music session someway represents a second for the user. Discovering these moments and describing them is an attention-grabbing problem in the area of Knowledge Science.Classical Music: Classical music lovers are usually extra introverted but are also relaxed with themselves and the world around them. They're creative and have a very good sense of shallowness. The style has seen a slow but noticeable revival in recent times, with many electronic musicians, DJs and remix musicians experimenting with it once once more, partly as a result of a renewed reputation in lots of circles (primarily due to Memetic Mutation , Speedy Techno Remixes and Japanese Pop Music ). Its renewed influence may be seen in varied types of laborious Techno and Trance music, with Pleased Hardcore (and to a lesser extent, Arduous Trance) being heavily influenced by it.