#exercise irrationally

[tide-locked]

i feel like people forget that sometimes characters in fic are written like that because it's a reflection of real life.

people have sex without setting boundaries. people have unprotected sex without talking about their sexual histories or producing recent sti tests. people play with kink without discussing it ahead of time or establishing a safeword. they have anal without 'enough' prep or lube—they may even prefer it like that.

and none of this is really a fantasy. it's all pretty normal. you can feel that it's inappropriately normalised, and you'd probably be right! but it is normalised: one study found that 58% of female undergraduate students on the campus studied had been choked during sex. 20% of those students said that they'd never been asked if it was ok; another 30% said they'd only sometimes been asked if they consented. fully half! (non-paywalled journal article on choking during sex here, including these numbers.) despite a rise in stis of all sorts, condom use is declining. (pdf link to the full text of this study about declining condom use in the us; aidsmap article about an australian study with similar results.)

even when people do talk about things—sex or anything else—they communicate imperfectly. 'yeah, but don't go too far' is consenting and setting a boundary, and also relying that the person you're talking to has the same metric for 'too far' that you do. for some people, 'the trash needs to go out' is a neutral, factual observation; for others, it's a request that the person they're speaking to take out the trash.

even when people understand each other perfectly, people react unpredictably to things sometimes! we behave irrationally! people laugh uncontrollably at funerals, or get angry at the straw that broke their back rather than the enormous load they were already carrying. they get scared and lash out at people trying to help them. when hurt, most people do not instinctively reach for therapy-approved grounding exercises and 'i feel' statements.

pretty much any bad choice that characters could conceivably make is a choice that people make in real life, on purpose, all the time. people do things that can have catastrophic, life-changing effects because it felt like a good idea at the time, or they're leaning into the vibe, or they just didn't think about it all that much, or an infinite number of other reasons.

fiction isn't intended as a guide on the best, safest, and most responsible ways to live your life, and fanfic isn't any different. it's not a narrative flaw to let characters do things that are messy or harmful or downright stupid—it's a reflection of what people are actually like, and not something that authors should feel they have to apologise for.

[thydungeongal]

Having thought about it some more, the dissonance between people who are okay with talking in an out-of-fiction register over the table and people who insist on an in-fiction register for even mechanical discussion isn't as simple as the latter group being irrationally demanding of some kind of immersion, but it is definitely an issue of the group not having properly established a tone. Now, this is also not particularly helped by the fact that many games are. Really bad at communicating what kind of tone is to be expected of players over the table. But I feel it's further compounded by the fact that many modern RPGs basically expect players to be able to make mechanically informed decisions, with their characters acting as a group to overcome obstacles together, and with no agreed upon in-fiction definitions for many game mechanics the language of the mechanics remains the best cipher for players to communicate these things about their characters.

Some games do a better job of this than others and are thus more amenable to playing in a way where there is almost zero communication in a meta register. Some games, including most mainstream trad RPGs (your D&Ds 5e and Pathfinders 2e) make it all but impossible because they are so mechanically dense and require players to make mechanically informed cooperative decisions. Trying to play one of these games with zero discussion through the best cypher the players have for making sense of the fiction (the language of the rules) would be an exercise. Imagine a group of aliens, all speaking slightly different dialects of the same language, all trying to explain gleeblor (and all of them have a slightly different definition of gleeblor).

Some crunchy TTRPGs do a better job of bridging this gap between mechanics and fiction which means there is less need for code-switching. World of Darkness games have always had descriptive text indicating what each Dot of an attribute or ability roughly corresponds to in real life. Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy also does this, grounding character skill ratings with actual examples of what kind of person could be expected to have that skill rating (Eureka also has explicit guidance for what kind of discussion should and should not go through the meta channel, which is sort of the thing I was grasping at in the first paragraph: many games do a very poor job of transmitting the desired tone to their players, which means that players are left with an oral tradition of never talking in terms of mechanics even while playing mechanically dense games that make such a playstyle all but impossible).

Anyway so Pathfinder and modern D&D are not exactly amenable to this type of play, which doesn't mean they're bad games, but it should be acknowledged that these games do very little to actually communicate how their numbers would translate into terms in the fiction, meaning that the rules text is often the best cipher players have available to them for communicating changes in the fiction. Because the games themselves don't do a lot to define their mechanics in terms of the fiction, any discussion of "what goes in the meta channel and what doesn't" should ultimately rely on consensus, not a single player trying to enforce their (arbitrary, personal) interpretations of the mechanics on the rest of the group.

Anyway this ties a lot into something that @vixensdungeon is always posting about and what her recent 0D&D posts also touch on: the shape and presentation of modern D&D rules is so that it's really easy for players to just look at them and decide that their character can just "Do an Arcana." She's also talked about how back in 3e days even the skill names had much more of a Verby quality to them. There's less of a need for this code-switching when the Thing in the Fiction matches with the Thing in the Mechanics. Gonad the Barbarian would like to Climb a wall, so in D&D 3e he Climb checks that wall. In D&D 5e to Climb a wall Gonad the Barbarian must Athletics on that thang.

And this relates also to our silly 0D&D posting. A Warrior (level 2 Fighter) fights with the strength of two men. Halflings may never be able to rise above the ranks of Heroes, but Halfling Heroes have Superheroic wherewithal (saving throws of a character four levels higher). Naiviv the Medium may yet one day rise to the rank of Wizard. 0D&D is also, in general, less mechanically dense than modern D&D, so a game of 0D&D where the meta channel is almost never used is entirely possible.

Anyway also shout-out to Apocalypse World as well, because it has a completely different approach to bridging the gap between mechanics and the fiction; a way which might turn off people expecting more crunchy play with less room for language games, but a way nonetheless. These are all examples of effects that can happen when a character does a thing:

Force your hand and suck it up.

Back off calmly, hands where you can see.

You lose your footingm

It's not openly for sale, but you find someone who can lead you to some selling it.

It reaches deep into the world's psychic maelstrom.

You provide covering fire, allowing another character to move or act freely.

Your prey doesn't suspect you. Otherwise, they're wary and alert.

See what I mean? When a lot of the mechanical text is like this there is less need for code-switching. The meta register and the in-fiction register are all but the same. It's not an approach that works for every type of game (a mechanically dense game of tactical combat written in this register wouldn't necessarily be unplayable, but it would leave a lot of things ambiguous that people generally drawn to mechanically dense tactical combat games would rather the game resolve for them), but for the type of game Apocalypse World is it works remarkably well.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Breathing exercises make me so irrationally mad. I’ll inhale when I want to goddamn it

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter two

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions of blood (finger cut), mansplaining 🤢, angst

author's note: second chapter! sort of a filler chapter while we see a glimpse into jj and reader's relationship. the plot picks up the next chapter. also thank you so much to the lovely people who already joined the taglist, i hope i don't disappoint <3

join the taglist | series masterlist

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“Come on, you piece of crap,” Y/N mumbled, falling back on her hands and giving her knees the relief she needed from squatting for the past fifteen minutes. She groaned as she removed the flashlight lodged between her teeth. The generator for the charter shack had shut down in the afternoon but with all the Pogue’s campaigning to get people to show up to the impending courthouse hearing, the shop had been closed and no one bothered fixing it. 

Y/N looked out to the water, staring at the moon as it hung low over the water. She hadn’t wanted to come out here to fix the generator, much preferring the comfort of the hammock she had been lying in, but she doubted anyone else was thinking about it. If she didn’t get this thing working tonight, the lights would be shot for the early-morning charters, and JJ would never let anyone hear the end of just how much business they were losing – even though he could’ve been out here trying to fix the problem.  

As much as Y/N wanted to try to repair the generator with a begrudged attitude, she knew she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit JJ was partly why she was out here so late. She didn’t hate JJ Maybank, not by a long shot. Y/N believed hatred should only be reserved for people with dark hearts, full of evil and malice. JJ was not only far from that level of rotten but also a good guy. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was probably one of the best guys on this island. But knowing someone wasn’t a bad person didn’t mean you had to like them all the time. 

And God had she spent the last few months severely disliking him. She just wasn’t the type of girl who could exercise enough patience when someone like JJ ran amok. John B had told her a few times that JJ had a rough go at life and sometimes that made him act irrationally, impulsively. But hadn’t they all? It wasn’t even a question– she knew they all had been dealt some shitty cards. She never understood the way the Pogues would let him off with an exasperated expression or a few angry words when they’d all seen hard times. They had lost all the money they’d gotten from the El Dorado gold over stupid decisions and she felt like she couldn’t even be mad about it. 

Sure, there was a rare beauty in what they’d created due to the aftermath of those decisions. She hadn’t felt the sense of belonging she got when she was with the Pogues in this eclectic home they’d built since she was thirteen. She’d known other types of love, like the love she received from Terrance, but it wasn’t like this, like the love only a family could give you. Terrance had taken care of her and Cleo in ways a father should have, but that didn’t change the fact that he was their captain. She answered to him and had to follow his every order, no matter how she felt about it. That kind of dynamic couldn’t produce unconditional love, even if she knew a deep kind of love still existed. With the Pogues, she knew it wasn’t like that. She’d gotten through the tests of loyalty they never explicitly told her she was taking and that gave her a permanent spot on their DIY family tree. But why did that love have to mean they stayed broke forever?

So, yeah, she couldn’t always stand JJ and his quirks, sue her. Yet, here she was, on a late night, the only light around her from the moon and the flashlight she held, trying to make sure JJ could do something that made him happy tomorrow. She could admit, probably only to herself, that she cared enough about him to want that. Since she’d stolen Genrette’s letter from JJ, her stomach had twisted every time she thought about it. JJ’s tense family relationships, or lack thereof, weren’t a secret, though Y/N didn’t know the extent of how bad it could get. To think that he now had to deal with the possibility that everything he had known was a lie and that everything he had endured growing up hadn’t been written for him made her feel sick. The one thing she could cling to on nights when her mind seemed to play a constant loop of her worst childhood memories was that she knew where she came from. She knew her name and she knew what that meant, even if her name was all she had left to show for that part of herself. JJ might not even have that. 

At some point, Y/N had found herself closing her eyes as she listened to the distant slap of waves against the pilings and occasional creak of the shack. There wasn’t much Y/N could do for JJ, nor was there much she wanted to do for him, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to repair some dingy generator. It’s not like she didn’t have experience doing these kinds of jobs.

Sighing, Y/N stuck the tiny flashlight she’d brought back between her teeth and resumed her crouching in front of the black and yellow box. The beam of her flashlight shook slightly as she spoke her next steps aloud, trying to find where she kept going wrong. Y/N wasn’t a patient person, though, and as more time went on she felt the same frustration creep up. Her movements began to grow quicker with every passing second, trying anything and everything that could work. In her franticness, her fingers slipped, grazing a sharp edge, and she hissed pulling it back to examine her finger. Sucking in a breath, she rolled her eyes at the cut on her finger. Somehow she’d managed to cut herself deep enough that she’d need to wipe off the blood and find a bandaid. Just as she was going to get up, she heard the sound of familiar footsteps padding against the deck. Y/N could recognize the sound of  JJ’s workboots anywhere. There was a time she used to look forward to that sound, though she’d never let anyone know. That was before the blond-haired boy had shattered her trust. 

“What are you doing out here?” JJ asked, not waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge him. With one last glance at her finger, Y/N moved to look at JJ. From the light of the moon, she could see he was wearing a muscle tank and some shorts, his hair tussled in every which way indicating he’d likely been sleeping before this.

“Fixing the generator,” Y/N said, flicking her flashlight to the box behind her. “It shot out earlier today.” She turned the flashlight back towards JJ, causing him to flinch from her shining the light directly in his eyes.

“Jesus, don’t blind me,” JJ covered his eyes with his forearm, waiting until Y/N moved the light and mumbled a ‘sorry.’ He moved closer to where Y/N was standing to try to get a better look at the generator behind her. “I didn’t realize the generator was acting up.”  

That was odd. JJ always noticed when something was wrong around the store, especially if it could influence his chartering. He must have been really out of it today if he hadn’t noticed something as big as the generator being out. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, deciding against pointing out how worrisome it was that JJ hadn’t noticed. “But it doesn’t look like the piece of shit can be fixed. I’ve checked everything that could be wrong.” 

“Did you check the fuel levels?” JJ asked, sticking his hand out for Y/N to pass him the flashlight. 

“First thing I did.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him have the object. No point in stopping the inevitable.  

“What about the oil levels? Or the air filters. Maybe they’re blocked.”

“Nope, checked both those things.”

“Alright let me just check the wiring. It cou–”

“Already did that,” Y/N’s voice was a bit louder now, forcing JJ to snap his head up. “And I have a cut to prove it. Now is there any more advice you want to mansplain before I leave?” Y/N’s arms crossed across her chest, not trying to hide just how irritated she was with JJ. When did she ever?

JJ blinked, his mouth opening and closing. He shook his head, looking down. The slight tilt of his head was her only indication in the low lighting that he looked ashamed. He kind of looked like a scolded child. She hated that she found it cute. 

“No, ‘m sorry,” JJ muttered, moving away from the generator and stopping directly before Y/N. “Here, let me see.” 

Before she could try to stop him, JJ flashed the light to where Y/N’s hand now rested uncrossed. Comparing both her hands, he reached for the one that was bleeding, before mumbling a curse under his breath. JJ’s touch was gentle as he tilted her hand to assess the damage. JJ’s thumb grazed the back of her hand in a steady pattern. Y/N wasn’t sure if he noticed the way his touch lingered or if it was just an unconscious reflex, but the moment his thumb skimmed across her skin, she felt a rush of warmth spread through her, settling deep in her chest. Her breath caught and she couldn’t figure out why such a simple action was suddenly making her so aware of him. 

“Got yourself bad,” JJ said, his voice coming out in a whisper as if any increase in volume would shatter this moment around them. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to shatter it either.

“I-it’s nothing,” She assured him, the level of her voice matching his. “Just a cut.”

“Yeah, but you’ll still need to clean it.” JJ’s hand lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer, before stepping back and giving the girl some much-needed space. “I’ve got a first aid kit, one sec.” 

“The first aid kits we bought are in the house, not here,” Y/N reminded him, her voice returning to its regular cadence, when he stepped towards the door of the shack. “Remember?”

“I keep one here,” JJ explained, stepping through the doorway that led to the tiny store. A moment later he returned with what looked like a blue and white first aid kit. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the box in JJ’s hands. The Pogues had bought a bundle of two first aid kits when they had opened the store because Pope insisted that it was important to keep one on hand. But those kits had been red and white, so when had JJ bought this? Or why? It seemed kind of a waste.

Without saying a word, JJ sat himself down on the steps that lead up to the deck and motioned for Y/N to join him. 

“JJ, I can clean the cut. You don’t have to worry about it,” Y/N assured him, not moving towards the stairs.

“There ain’t much light, otherwise I wouldn’t insist,” JJ called back, shifting through the supplies in the box. “I know you’re tougher than a little cut. I just want to help.” There was something in his tone that told her it might be more than a want. “I won’t screw it up, don’t worry.”

Y/N suppressed a sigh, letting her head fall while he couldn’t see. Maybe she was too harsh on him. She didn’t want him to feel so dejected around her, she just expected more from him. Hesitating for only a minute longer, she moved to sit next to him on the rickety staircase. Wordlessly, she positioned herself so her knees were turned towards JJ, her bare skin brushing against the fabric of his shorts. She waited as JJ pulled out the necessary materials and took the flashlight from him when he held it out to her.  A moment later, JJ looked up at her, making her breath catch again.

The shadows softened the sharp edges of his face, hiding most of him from her view, but the faint moonlight caught just enough – the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and the faint outline of his lips. The limited light didn’t do much to illuminate his features, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. The way his eyes, even in the dark, seemed to fill the gap of silence between them, was unnerving. The shadows seemed to lean into him, framing his face like a half-finished sketch that was the most captivating piece of art she’d ever seen. JJ was handsome in every light, but there was something enchanting about him in the moonlight.  

“I’m gonna need your hand,” JJ spoke, breaking Y/N out of her trance. 

“What?” Y/N asked, too dazed to cringe at how dense she must’ve sounded. She watched JJ’s lips stretch into a smirk and again, even in the dark she could see that teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Your hand? You know, to clean the cut?” JJ broke eye contact with Y/N to look at her hand, which was tucked away at her side. With JJ’s eyes concealed from her, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and looked down at her hand too. 

“Oh, right.” Y/N extended her arm, so her hand hovered above the first aid kit in JJ’s lap, silently berating herself for her lapse in focus. She thought JJ would definitely be letting that go to his head, but instead of taking this moment to embarrass Y/N, JJ simply took her hand in his grasp.

“Flash the light this way,” He said, his voice only slightly teasing. “Perfect.” He worked in silence, letting go of her hand to open an individually wrapped alcohol wipe before his warm fingertips wrapped back around her palm. The silence would have been a nice change of pace from JJ’s incessant need to fill any quiet moments, but right now Y/N didn’t trust herself. The less they talked the more she’d stare.

“Thanks,” Y/N controlled her voice so that it didn’t betray any discomfort as she spoke. “So um… how are you doing?”

“Hm?” JJ asked, the small sound endued with confusion.

“About the letter,” She clarified. “That news is a lot to handle.” She felt JJ’s hand tighten for a moment before loosening up. He chuckled, not stilling his movements as he placed the bloodied wipe next to him.

“You could say that,” JJ’s tone carried a sense of amusement, but she knew it was just a front. He let her hand go again, to unscrew the cap of the generic Neosporin. When he began applying the ointment to the cut, he didn’t take her hand in his again, instead letting it hang in the air. “I’m fine. Don’t really believe any of it anyway.”

“You don’t?” 

“You do?” JJ said, looking up at her. Y/N turned the flashlight in her hand to get a better read on his expression, causing JJ to flinch back like before. Shielding his eyes, he shouted, “Stop doing that!” 

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Y/N said frantically, but her apology was overpowered by a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously! You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna need a seeing-eye dog, woman.” JJ quipped, causing her to laugh even harder.

It took her a moment to calm down from her laughter and when she looked at JJ he had a small smile on his face. Simply chuckling, he shook his head and started to apply the ointment. Not wanting this conversation to pass them, Y/N continued with her earlier thought. “It’s not that I do believe it, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. It could be real.” JJ’s smile disappeared, but she could tell from the position of his shoulders he wasn’t upset. 

“It feels like it is…. Impossible, I mean.” Y/N nodded as he spoke waiting to see if he’d elaborate. When he remained silent, she didn’t push. JJ needed to talk to someone because she had seen how everything played out disastrously when he didn't. But she wouldn’t push him to talk to her. They’d been better friends at one point. JJ had been one of the first people she bonded with when she’d joined the Pogues, aside from Sarah who she had felt an immediate inclination towards on Terrance’s ship. It didn’t matter though, that she’d once considered him her (second) closest friend in the group because she definitely wasn’t that person for him. She probably had a large part to play in that, but acknowledging that didn’t change how things were. She knew she had no right to force him to talk, so she shifted her attention to something else to fill the space between them. As she searched for another topic, she noticed JJ was already wrapping the bandaid around her finger, meaning he was almost done. 

“So, since when do you keep a first aid kit here?” Y/N asked, not wanting him to leave just yet– not after their first good moment in a long time. “This one’s different from the ones we got with Pope.”

“I’ve had it for a while,” JJ shrugged, throwing the bandaid wrapper to the growing pile of trash next to him. Y/N aimed the flashlight at the box of medical supplies, taking a proper look at it for the first time. It was a total wreck: silver wrappers spilling out, oversized bandage wrappers crumpled haphazardly, and a few tools resting on the rubbish she couldn’t properly identify. She’s not sure why the mess surprised her considering the kit belonged to JJ and he could be a bit clumsy, but how had he used so much already? 

“How long is ‘a while’?” Y/N pressed, leaning forward to shuffle through the mess. She shifted through the mess, tugging out a half-crumpled roll of gauze. “This thing’s been through the wringer. No wonder it took you so long to find the stuff.” She tossed the gauze back up in the box, noting the moment his expression changed. 

“Yeah,” JJ said before his jaw tightened and he stood up abruptly with the box in his hands. “It works fine.” JJ roughly set the first aid kit on the ledge of the shack, turning to face away from Y/N. 

Y/N frowned, not intending to have stuck a nerve with him. “Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You know what?” JJ interrupted, spinning completely to face the generator. His movements were sharper now, less fluid. “I’m just gonna check one more time. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.”

Y/N rose to her feet, her stomach already clenching with the fear of an impending mishap. “JJ, stop. Leave it. I already–”

“I’m sure you checked it properly,” JJ cut her off as he crouched beside the generator. JJ’s hands moved frantically, tugging wires, and removing lids. “You probably just missed something, that’s all.” 

“JJ, hold on,” Y/N urged, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and shining her flashlight where JJ was still working. “Let’s just—”

JJ shrugged her hand off, his movements growing more erratic.“No– relax…just relax. It’s fine, see? I’m just gonna–” JJ kept twisting wires and prying things that didn’t need prying, parts that even Y/N hadn’t dared to touch despite spending the better half of her life on various ships.

“Please. Stop,” Y/N insisted. She knew this JJ, she’d seen him too much recently. “You’re making it worse.” JJ visibly flinched at her words but didn’t slow his movements.

“I’ve got it!” JJ snapped, his voice loud in the silent night. “I can fix this. Just let me fix it.” Y/N heard the way JJ’s voice waivered at the end, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it meant. Suddenly, JJ began to hit his hand against the side of the generator mumbling, “It just needs a little push.” 

Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as JJ continued his harsh beating of the generator, his movements extreme as if the generator had personally insulted him. JJ’s didn’t stop, until finally, miraculously, the entire deck lit up. Y/N looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. There was no way…

“See?” JJ got up from the floor, his arms spread out on either side of him as his breath began to slow down. “Just needed a magic touch.” As he walked closer to Y/N, JJ gave her a pointed look that was no doubt meant to say ‘I told you so.’ Y/N pursed her lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’d fixed the problem. It wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. It was because once again JJ had let his impulsive behavior take the wheel and this time he just got lucky. Pushing past her ego, Y/N was about to say thank you when –

A loud SNAP interrupted her, followed by a mechanical whine before she was met with complete silence. And darkness. Save for the orange sparks flying out from somewhere in the generator. JJ cursed under his breath, as he and Y/N ran down the stairs and off the deck. It was silent as they watched to make sure nothing else happened and the sparks didn’t lead to a fire. When she was sure there wouldn’t be anything else, she turned to JJ, her jaw set in annoyance. 

“You’ve got it?” Y/N repeated his words back to him, dripping in sarcasm. “You broke it, JJ.” 

JJ didn’t take even a second before defensively responding, “Well, it was already mostly broken.” 

Scoffing, Y/N looked to the sky, praying to anyone who’d listen to give her patience. “Mostly broken? It was off, JJ. Off and fixable. Now it’s dead. You just killed it.” 

JJ’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as he muttered something under his breath. He tilted his body away from Y/N which made her furious. Stepping to the side, she faced him head-on. 

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, huh? Why do you always have to–” 

“I was trying to help!” JJ argued and she couldn’t miss the unguarded, almost raw way he sounded, but she had to ignore it. Because no one else would tell him how bad this really was. “It wasn’t working before either, what’s the difference?”

“The difference, JJ,” Y/N said, her teeth grinding against each other. “Is that before we could have called a mechanic to fix it. Now, we need to buy a brand new generator. With money, that I don’t need to remind you, we don’t have! And we’ll be cut off from any profit we get from everything in here.”

They stared at each other, the flashlight beam caught awkwardly between them. JJ’s face was once again shrouded by darkness, but she could see the pout of his lips. 

“I’ll figure something out,” JJ’s voice was quieter now. “It’ll only cut into the early morning charters. We can keep track of profit the old school way– pen and paper.” 

“The early morning charters are half our business,” Y/N shook her head. “Just– stop making excuses, alright?”

JJ’s shoulders fell as he nodded, “Okay…” 

Y/N stared at JJ, not responding or furthering her chastising. JJ wouldn’t meet her eyes and she was glad. His usual bravado was missing as he tugged at what she presumed were loose threads on his shorts. If he had the gall to keep arguing right now, she would’ve lost it even more than she already did. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, so she just shook her head and left back towards the house.

“Y/N,” JJ called, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible over the waves. Y/N just ignored it and continued on her path. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to tell him they’d figure it out. But she didn’t know that they would and she hated to lie. With that explanation to herself, she kept walking away from JJ, not knowing she was delivering the final blow to his heart.

taglist: @tpwkyarely @ayy1234567 @theater-bitch

[jasper-tarot-reader]

Pick-A-Card: June 14, 2025

I’m using the Story Oracle by Katherine Furman and Laia Albaladejo to provide three batches of plot beats for those of you who are writing and need something fun to happen next. Take it or leave it as you want with your writing, it’s just ideas and inspiration.

So, pick a number between one and three, and let's go.

Pile 1: Rescue reversed, Stay On Target reversed, Fury reversed

Deserted. Abandoned to one’s fate. Left behind. Left for dead. Put or left in harm’s way. It’s not looking good. A poor choice unalleviated. Someone unworthy of trust.

Way off base. Wandering off. Losing the thread. Blown off course. Following one’s fancy. On a tangent. Out of hand. Meandering. Drifting away. Digressing. A stray from the herd.

A great stillness. A deep, imperturbable peace. Taking a deep breath. Exercising control. Benevolent understanding. Calm. One who is at peace.

Pile 2: Fear upright, It’s A Trap reversed, The Key reversed

Dread of what may come. The unknown. One’s wort nightmare. The monster made real. Scared out of one’s wits. Irrationality. Desperation. The promise of dire consequences. Hard lessons learned. That which must be faced. A shrinking violet. A coward.

The coast is clear. No ulterior motives at play. Plain as day. Straightforward, honest. Acting in good faith. Offering a hand. No bumps in the road. Set free. A trustworthy figure.

A red herring. Superfluous. Unnecessary. Questions of what and why. A hidden truth. Behind closed doors. Locked out. Locked in. A distractor.

Pile 3: Storm reversed, Mastermind upright, Moving On Up reversed

Clear skies and smooth sailing. A break in the clouds. Favorable conditions. Calm before or in the eye of the storm. A placid person.

The one pulling the strings. The power behind the curtain. The great architect. All-knowing. The brains of the operation. The designer of intricate plans. Having a finger in all the pies. A visionary. A manipulator.

On the decline. Getting knocked down a peg. Demotion. Down on one’s luck. Squandering one’s fortune. Losing one’s shirt. Backsliding. Back to square one. Privation. A social or material setback. The downwardly mobile.

[speakofthedebbie]

@manicali still inspiring me to chase my dreams so have some hazbin hotel incorrect quotes i made a while ago + four actually new ones (dividers cuz the last one hurt my eyes lol)

---

alastor: overall, id say that experience was a net positive! vaggie: YOU KILLED AN ENTIRE BLOODLINE! alastor: net positive

kill em with kindness saga

charlie: if you kill someone with anything, kill em with kindness! angel: instructions unclear, i killed them with a tommy gun named kindness

---

vaggie: alastor, why the fuck is there a dead sinner at our dining table?!? alastor: first of all, how dare you assume it was me- vaggie: literally who else would it be. alastor: -second of all, charlie told us the other day to "kill em with kindness" so i baked them a pie alastor: it was poisoned

---

alastor: i toe the line between confidence and arrogance every day lucifer: i thought we all agreed that you are like. firmly on the arrogance side

--- (i altered the next one but you wouldnt know that)

alastor: you roughhouse with a guy one time and suddenly youre in timeout vaggie: alastor, you tried to kill him. and he was a guest alastor: key word being tried. hes still kicking, so i think i shouldnt be in trouble vaggie: do you know how many fucked up people would be walking the streets if that was how the world worked? alastor: i know. im one of them

---

alastor: i only kill people who kinda deserved it vaggie: then whats with the dead sinner at your feet? alastor: he was saying something about women belonging in the kitchen vaggie: vaggie: ...fair

---

charlie: al, what are you doing? alastor: stress release! charlie: ...youre stabbing a very life-like doll of my dad alastor: as i said, stress release!

---(the hotel needs a therapist frfr)

lucifer: who doesnt have a bit of existential dread in the morning? charlie: ...everyone??? husk: thats not normal? alastor: damn it angel: fuck! vaggie: oof niffty: *maniacal laughter in the corner* charlie: should i call someone???

---(charlie please get everyone a therapist trust exercises arent enough)

charlie: and what do we do when we feel overwhelmed? angel: drugs! alastor: go on a murder spree! niffty: a roach murder spree! lucifer: self-isolate for millennia! husk: drink until i forget what feelings are vaggie: irrationally hate on everyone! charlie: no!

---(luci the typa guy to talk to his cat frfr. maybe he actually understands her idk) [these next ones are actually new. yeah i had a bit of a backlog]

lucifer: hmm.. what about you, keekee? keekee: meow lucifer: my thoughts exactly

---

lucifer: pancakes are the best breakfast food! alastor: id beg to differ lucifer: Then beg.

---

lucifer: shower thoughts in the rain are still shower thoughts. if you think about it alastor: why am i in love with you again lucifer: i ask myself that question everyday :)

---

alastor: what can i say, i aim to please lucifer: you have never said a nice thing to me in your life alastor: i love you :) lucifer: you have said one nice thing to me in your life

oki bye

[hometownrockstar]

idk if I would say I have anger issues per say, but I have a lot of deeply repressed anger from most of my life, and I dont know how to categorize it cus anger issues means you dont regulate it properly and I do, as in I am mindful and do breathing exercises and take myself out of situations to calm down and etcetera so I dont take it out on people, but that never really stopped me from having all this deep anger and urge to let it out? So I feel like I'm doing something wrong. I dont like admitting it cus it makes me feel like a Bad Person but I frequently have dreams about attacking people who are mean and rude to me, and lately I keep getting irrationally irritated and mad at small things which makes me slam drawers but I feel bad about it after. I guess it's kinda confusing when youre doing the "correct" thing in response to your issues but those issues dont change or just get worse

[flowersforchoso]

☆ drabble summary: just bi-han being irrationally jealous and petty.

"so may i have an explanation as to why you were with him?" he suddenly demands, leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes fixed on you.

you were sorting laundry when he haughtily sauntered into the room, slamming the door shut, which startled you. ever since he saw you talking to johnny, his attitude took a turn for the worse.

in your defense, the said man was only being courteous; there was nothing more, but now you were being interrogated like a detained criminal

"we barely conversed, why is this an issue?" you sigh, aware of where this was going. avoiding his icy glare by focusing on the task at hand instead. the switch in his behaviour was frightening, and all because of a mere interaction that happened days ago.

he perceives your behaviour as nonchalant which does nothing to pacify him, leading him to jab at you

"you shouldn't act shamelessly." he venomously spat, the words ringing in your ears as you deciphered the implications. you had no desire to engage in a verbal exchange that was imminent; wanted no part of it. arguing with him was a dreadful exercise that you avoided at all costs, because there was no winning with him. you abandon the chore and exhale, "i can't deal with this" while heading for the door, depriving conflict of the oxygen it needed.

"don't walk out on me" he barks, immediately trailing behind you, feeling slighted by your actions. stretching his arm to grab yours, effectively stopping you in your tracks. "look at me." his voice halfway a command and a plea but you refuse to budge, denying him that satisfaction altogether, fueling his frustration

"why are you being so difficult?" he groans, closing the distance between the both of you. "you're mine, and i expect that you behave accordingly"

"since i'm shameless, why don't you leave me be or better still, go find someone who isn't." you blurt out, struggling to maintain composure. your words paralyze him with hurt, and he doesn't want to dwell on it allowing his disdain for johnny to becloud his senses

"i'm not going anywhere, and neither will you." he firmly states, then continues, "you shouldn't speak to him. he is lousy and most importantly, an irredeemable fool."

"stay away from him," he instructs before silently confessing in a low tone, encircling his arms around your waist while he nestles his head in the crook of your neck, "i don't want any quarrels between us."

you mull over his words, heeding them, unbeknownst to you that he simply despised johnny, and the bad blood between them was the culprit behind the lover's spat. as well as bi-han's ravenous possessiveness over you.

johnny now wonders why you avoid him. it takes a while for him to connect the dots: you and bi-han were together and this was all his doing.

[arotechno]

when i was in school, we read an essay written by a woman detailing the series of destructive spirals that resulted from grief over her mother's passing. many of the things she said did not sit right with me, but by far the most disquieting moment was when she posited this: if given the choice to select five people in our lives to rescue in a lifeboat, each of us, though we might pretend otherwise, would choose quickly and easily.

i don't think this is true at all, and it is, of course, a meaningless thought exercise. a life-or-death scenario in which we are given that kind of control is entirely out of the question, and asking others to engage with such an idea is a cruel endeavor.

that has not, however—and i am deeply ashamed of this—stopped me from longing, desperately and irrationally in the years since, to ask my friends to do just that.

you see, it's not the callousness of her proposal that struck me, nor the fact that it isn't true. what was most disquieting to me was the deeply felt sense it gave me that i was not going to be put in someone else's lifeboat—or at the very least, no one was ever going to put me in their lifeboat first.

it's a profoundly cruel and irrational thought to have, and i'm not proud if it, this urge to make my loved ones promise me they'd choose me, that they wouldn't happily and easily leave me to die, a promise i wouldn't believe anyway. i have enough control over my own tongue not to ask, but still the thought nags, from time to time.

one of the many pitfalls of amatonormativity is this: due to the way society prioritizes romance and monogamous romantic partnerships above all else, it is very easy for your friends and loved ones to set you adrift, to jettison you as dead weight—and oftentimes, they will be seen as justified for doing so.

but my dear friends, i can't swim. and when i think about that boat, pulling away from me through the dark and swirling sea, i think of the waves. i imagine myself slipping under the surface, calling out to that distant boat as it drifts further and further away, and no one hears me. thank god, they'll say. that was easy.

[komsomolka]

The principle of “indivisible security”, not to expand security at the expense of the security of the other, is repeated in existing pan-European security agreements from 1990, 1994 and 1999. NATO attempts to circumvent this principle by merely suggesting that NATO is not a threat but merely a “defensive alliance”, irrespective of the illegal war against Yugoslavia in 1999 and Libya in 2011. [...] Even if Moscow believed that NATO have no plans of attacking Russia, it must deal with the reality of international relations that intentions change over time and often reflect the international distribution of power. During the Trump presidency, it was commonplace in the US to suggest the president could act irrationally by starting devastating wars. [...]

Even if Washington rejects the possibility of a direct war with Russia, the growing US military presence along Russian borders can give the US escalation dominance. The concept of escalation dominance refers to the ability to increase military pressure and possibly resort to limited use of force, based on the logic that the stakes can be continuously increased until the other side is compelled to capitulate (Snyder, 1961). With the knowledge that the US could defeat Russia in a war, the US can use its ability to escalate tensions to compel Russia to capitulate on strategically important issues. [...]

Washington did not champion the principle of sovereign right to choose military partnerships when Cuba hosted nuclear missiles from the Soviet Union. On the contrary, the US was prepared to start a nuclear war to prevent Cuba from exercising this sovereign right. In January 2022, Moscow suggested it could respond to the US militarisation of Ukraine by sending Russian troops and weapon systems to Cuba and Venezuela. The US National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan responded: “If Russia were to move in that direction, we would deal with it decisively” (White House, 2022), which affirms that the US would act similarly as Russia does to the growing US presence along its borders.

Russophobia: Propaganda in International Politics by Glenn Diesen.

[skyethel]

What does Judith Butler know about loading her son’s corpse in a cab? What does she know about the horror of turning a taxi into a hearse?

im so mad. i've been in mourning and a state of constant rage for palestine for the past few years, and these past weeks have been especially devastating. while im not palestinian myself, i have friends and family that are, and i cant help but be on edge about the things they cant afford to think about right now.

i read their 'thought piece'. its nothing new on that front, and thats why it makes me so mad. im really struggling to connect with the blind, white-american privilege of calling for non-violence in the face of a genocidal apartheid regime. the fucking gall of these so-called western intellectuals to preach how rampant anti-intellectualism has become just to turn around and buy into some colonial playbook of peace shit is hilarious. people i thought were with me on this, not only on palestinian liberation but on liberation full stop, have been a constant disappointment. i cut off so many ppl i called friends over the absolute lack of grace and empathy they handled this with. when are white western 'activists' going to stop treating us like timed bombs of irrationality?

this part in particular kept coming up and made me feel like i was going insane:

"When, however, the Harvard Palestine Solidarity Committee issues a statement claiming that ‘the apartheid regime is the only one to blame’ for the deadly attacks by Hamas on Israeli targets, it makes an error. It is wrong to apportion responsibility in that way, and nothing should exonerate Hamas from responsibility for the hideous killings they have perpetrated...The necessity of separating an understanding of the pervasive and relentless violence of the Israeli state from any justification of violence is crucial if we are to consider what other ways there are to throw off colonial rule"

literally nobody is asking anyone to 'exonerate' hamas. hamas is a military organization fighting the US-backed israeli occupation with smuggled weapons that is active in 365 km² at best. hamas is not even in the orbit when it comes to comparisons to israel.

israel said it with its own mouth that hamas is a product of israeli occupation. this isnt a matter of opinion, right? or am i too far left to think that a brutal occupation will radicalize its victims? and they gave them the means to become a 'terrorist organization'? how are you claiming to care about palestinians if you don't bother unsubscribing from the very schools of thought that constructed the occupation in the first place?

some of you 'leftists' have been lying about what you've been reading because where are the frantz fanon quotes you like to throw around, huh? where's the malcolm x, the angela davis? where are your insta posts with chomsky's books?

holy shit WHAT OTHER WAYS?

keep our communities out of your mouth. we are not some thought experiment you can exercise your conscience on. we're watching an ethnic cleansing unfold, and instead of supporting palestinians so many of you are playing out your own little fantasies of the 'progressive' solidarity you fail to show. sometimes, you need to fucking stop and listen instead of consulting the higher morality police on whether you need to 'contextualize' your incompetence.

[tomtomsaywer]

Just the beginning of a cardiophile short story I'm writing. Let me know what you think. I am still working on the technicals as well (syntax editing etc etc.)

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in the stiff vinyl chair, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep. A four-hour cardiac exam—what a waste of time. His schedule was already tight with the new job, and now he had to sit in this sterile clinic, dressed in a crisp oxford shirt, fitted trousers, and polished leather shoes, waiting for a test he didn’t even believe he needed.

The air smelled like disinfectant and aging paper. A television murmured in the corner, playing some medical news segment he ignored. His gaze flicked to the clock. **Twenty minutes** already. Too long.

His fingers twitched toward the gym bag at his feet. *"Bring your workout gear—you'll be working up quite a sweat,"* the nurse had said when scheduling the appointment. The warning had irritated him then, and it irritated him now. His heart was fine. He exercised. He didn’t smoke. He could take the stairs without feeling winded. His chest had never given him a reason to worry. But that dumb DNA test flagged him for a "routine cardiac screening"—some nonsense about genetic predisposition, a weak correlation between his Northern European ancestry and heart disease.

If he hadn't taken that test, he wouldn't be here. He'd expected something interesting from the results, something that could make for a good anecdote at parties. Maybe a surprise lineage. Instead, the test had confirmed exactly what he already knew: just white, just plain. And now, thanks to that, some doctor was about to strap electrodes to his chest and make him run on a treadmill like a lab rat, and whatever else.

He exhaled sharply and shifted in his seat, feeling the quiet, rhythmic thud of his heart against his ribs. It was steady, slow. The thought of someone listening to it, pressing a cold stethoscope against his chest, feeling his body, made him oddly self-conscious. His heart was just... *there*, beating away, keeping him alive. But now, under scrutiny, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He ran a hand absently over his chest, fingertips pressing into the firm muscle just above his heart, feeling the pulse beneath. The process made him feel uneasy, almost vulnerable. He worried—irrationally—that somehow, his nerves would show up in the results, that his slightly elevated heart rate would be misinterpreted as a sign of something wrong.

His heart gave a quick, irritated kick at the thought.

*"Mr. Cromwell? Mr. Ryan Cromwell?"*

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A nurse stood in the doorway, flipping through a chart.

He stood, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe evenly as he followed her into the exam room. The walls were painted a dull beige, and a large medical poster of the cardiovascular system hung beside the examination table. It was an intricate illustration—arteries and veins, thick and branching, pumping life into the muscular chambers of the heart. Across the room stood an elliptical, a treadmill, a weight scale, and a height measure.

*"Alright, Ryan,"* the nurse said, scanning his file. *"Dr. Connor will be in shortly."*, she said, her eyes connecting with ryans only briefly before she made her way toward the door.

*"Thanks,"* Ryan muttered, his voice coming out tighter than he intended.

He set his bag down beside the workout equipment and took a seat on the exam table, his heart continuing its steady, expectant rhythm.

Ryan sat on the examination table, shifting slightly as the paper crinkled beneath him. The air was crisp with the scent of antiseptic, the faint hum of medical equipment filling the silence. His pulse beat a quiet, steady rhythm in his chest, but now that he was thinking about it, he could feel it more than before—pressing against his ribs, throbbing beneath his sternum.

The cardiovascular poster beside him caught his eye again. The heart, large and anatomically precise, sat at the center, its chambers vividly labeled, red and blue blood vessels sprawling outward. His gaze trailed down the superior vena cava, following the pathway of blood into the right atrium, then through the tricuspid valve, down into the right ventricle. His own heart mirrored those motions, a constant cycle of contraction and release, a mechanical efficiency he’d never really considered before. Again, his hand absent mindedly felt around his own chest. "Here" he thought, the atrium, just here, and here, the left ventricle, feeling the thumping inside, He looked down almost expecting to see the anatomical drawing within his chest.

The door clicked open.

Ryan sat up straighter as a man stepped inside, he felt as though he had been caught, his hand feeling the pumping of his beating heart. What a bizzare thought, and yet, his pulse quickened

The man, clearly his doctor, mid thirties, wavy blond hair, scruffy dark beard, and chestnut eyes, smiled, seeing Ryan quickly shuffle his had away from his heart. "Beginning the heart exam without me, are you?"

"Uh, no I-I" Stammered Ryan, immediately feeling his face turn bright red.

"Hahaha, great to meet you Ryan, my name is Doctor Connor.

Dressed in a white coat over dark scrubs with a name badge read **Dr. Connor, Cardiology.** The two Ns, stylized to look like an ECG reading.

He was a very handsome man, tall, broad shouldered wavy blond hair, and a dark stubble beard across his face. Clearly he was someone who hit the gym.

Probably a runner, thought Ryan, which, given his medical focus, a high intensity cardio workout, seemed just right for the doctor.

Ryan noted the way the coat fit tight across his chest, and the deep V in his scrubs, giving almost too much visibility to the doctors collar bones and neck. Finally The doctor spoke again his throat flexing as he spoke.

"you are Ryan Cromwell, yes?" he said, looking with a furrowed brow, at a clipboard Ryan didn't even notice he was carrying.

"Yes, sorry, you just surprised me" A garbage excuse Ryan thought, for being so enamoured by the doctors good looks he nearly forgot how to speak.

"Ah great then sorry to have spooked you", shutting the door behind him, his voice a calm baritone. He flipped open the chart, on his clipboard. *"Four-hour cardiac exam today. Routine screening flagged by genetic testing, correct?"*

Ryan nodded. *"Yeah, I guess so."*

Dr. Connor pulled up a stool, sitting just in front of him. *"Do you have any symptoms? Chest pain? Shortness of breath? Dizziness?"*

*"Nope. Feel fine."*

Doctor Connor, looked directly into ryans eyes.

*"Good,"* Dr. Connor murmured, writing something down.

"Ryan, are you nervous?" Asked Dr Connor, his eyes darting up and down ryans body, clearly noting the physical indications.

"Uh to be honest, I do have a bit of white coat nervousness", Ryan admitted.

"Oh, no worries, we can solve that" Dr. Connor announced standing up, and removing the doctor coat, and hanging it on the wall.

He turned to back to ryan, and asked "Better?"

The doctor now stood in tight scrubs, hugging the curve of his pecs, biceps, and abs. The pants, held tight to the doctors tight ass. Ryans jaw nearly dropped to the floor, but he managed to slow the racing of his heart, just slightly, and compose himself long enough to say "Uh, thank you, but, that's just slang for medical procedures make me nervous"

"Hahaha, I know, sometimes humour helps people calm down" Dr. Connor said, as he strode back to the table, taking a seat, extremely close to Ryan, rubbing shoulders, as it were. "Don't worry, I wont let anything happen to you, I promise" He said, and he put his right hand on Ryans knee, stroking it gently with his index finger.

Ryans cock, gave an immediate twinge, Ryans heart skipped a beat in his chest, Ryans face flushed even more red, and Ryans throat tightened to the point he could hardly speak. "Thank you" he whispered.

"Excellent, Now, we need to get at your heart" Doctor Connor shifted his hand from Ryans knee, to the small of his back, while his left hand moved to touch ryans pec. The fingertips pressed lightly against the crisp fabric of ryans shirt, and pressed ever so slightly into Ryan’s pec, just over the exact spot where his heart struck against his ribs. Through the thin barrier of his shirt, the doctor could feel it, steady and insistent beneath his index finger. Ryan’s breath shuddered.

"Good rhythm," Dr. Connor grinned.

The doctor was becoming increasingly unprofessional, Ryan thought, but he wasn't about to complain. This pivot definitely made him forget about his nervousness.

Doctor Connors finger touched the fabric just above ryans nipple, as he stood letting his hand slide away from ryans chest.

"Ok well, I'll give you some privacy, and you can change into your workout gear, and then we will start" Dr Connor said moving for the door.

As he opened it, Ryan realized just how quiet it was in this little exam room, the barely noticeable noise from the waiting room, seeming deafening as it poured in the open door.

"I'll wait outside the door, just give a firm knock, when you're ready and I'll come back in." He said as he left

Just before closing the door he turned his head back in to say "See this room is extremely private, we can get up to anything we need to, and have no interruptions" and the door closed.

Ryan sighed, shaking off the lingering tension as he pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them carefully. He folded them neatly—more out of habit than any real concern for wrinkles—then reached for his athletic shorts. The material was cool against his skin as he pulled them up, adjusting them around his waist.

The room was still and quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lighting. He bent down, grabbing his left sneaker and sliding his foot in, tightening the laces with practiced ease. He moved to the other, balancing on one foot as he tugged the shoe over his heel.

As he shifted, his elbow accidentally knocked the aluminum height ruler against the wall. Clap! The sharp noise cracked through the stillness like a gunshot.

Ryan flinched, jerking upright—just as the door swung open.

Dr. Connor stepped inside.

Ryan was not ready.

He stood there, half-dressed—his pants gone, replaced with gym shorts, but his shirt was still fully buttoned, crisp oxford fabric hanging over his waistline.

The doctor’s eyes flicked over him, brows raising slightly in surprise before his lips curled into an amused smirk.

"Didn’t mean to rush you," Dr. Connor said smoothly, stepping inside as if this was completely normal. "Heard the knock—thought you were ready."

Ryan’s face burned. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering too fast, the sound suddenly deafening in his own ears.

"Uh—yeah, just finishing up," Ryan muttered, his voice tight. He should have reached for his buttons, started undoing them, but somehow his hands refused to move.

Dr. Connor shut the door behind him, his expression still amused, but there was something else in his gaze—something unreadable as he took a slow step closer.

"You don’t have to be shy, or nervous Ryan. " the doctor said, his voice dipping just slightly. "I’m going to see your chest in a few minutes anyway. Here let me just help."

Ryan really wished his heart wouldn’t react to that statement the way it did.

He felt as though Dr. Connor could already hear it—the quickened rhythm, the sudden change in cadence. The way it wasn’t the smooth, controlled pulse it had been just minutes ago.

Dr. Connor’s gaze flicked down, just for a second, to the spot over Ryan’s left pec—exactly where his heart pounded the hardest. Ryan wondered if somehow doctor connor had xray vision and was looking directly at his heart now.

Ryan swallowed.

Dr. Connor’s voice was softer when he spoke next.

"Let’s make this easier. Here—" He took a step closer, lifting his hands toward Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan’s breath caught.

The doctor’s fingers brushed against the first button, just beneath his collar. His touch was slow—deliberate—as he popped it open.

One.

Then the next.

Two.

Ryan couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He stood there, the hammering of his heart, pounding in his ears and neck.

Dr. Connor continued, unbuttoning with methodical, no medical precision, revealing inch by inch of smooth, warm skin, until—

Ryan’s heart gave a violent thud as the final button slipped free, the fabric parting fully.

Dr. Connor exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the shirt aside, and skimming lightly over Ryan’s now-bare sternum, pressing just enough to feel the movement underneath.

"There it is," he said, gently tappying ryans pec. "Your heart, it's beating so, so fast, Ryan".

His palm settled flat against Ryan’s chest, directly over his heart. His thumb brushed absently over the curve of his pec, rubbing ryans nipple, before moving underneath his pec, as if feeling for something specific.

Ryan’s pulse slammed against his ribs, hammering into Dr. Connor’s palm. The sensation was intimate, too much, too close.

Dr. Connor smiled, just barely.

"Yes, very fast, dont tell me you're still nervous?," he murmured.

His fingers pressed deeper, feeling the thick pectoral muscle beneath, and the steady contraction and release of the hard-working organ deeper still. Ryan could practically feel the blood being pushed through the chambers, the power behind every beat, and the pressure of doctor connors hand.

"Uh yeah, a little, sorry.." murmured ryan.

Dr. Connor’s fingers lingered for a moment longer, pressing gently into the firm muscle of Ryan’s pec, feeling the strong, rhythmic thudding of his heart against his palm. The sound of their breathing filled the quiet space between them.

Then, slowly, he pulled back.

Ryan exhaled sharply, the absence of contact leaving his skin tingling. He swallowed, unsure if his heart was racing from nerves or something else entirely.

Dr. Connor smiled, just slightly. He reached for the stethoscope draped around his neck, the black tubing shifting as he lifted it with practiced ease.

"Let’s get a proper listen," he said.

Ryan nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak.

Doctor Connor motioned with his stethoscope, for Ryan to remove his shirt entirely.

Ryan dutifully obeyed. Shrugging his opened shirt off, and setting it on the exam table before turning once more back to dr Connor.

Doctor connor placed the earpieces of the stethoscope in his ears, and rolling his shoulders slightly as he adjusted the diaphragm between his fingers. Then, with a quiet, deliberate motion, he reached out, pressing the cold metal of the stethoscope against Ryan’s bare chest.

Doctor Connor had a renewed focus on his face, and a deliberate target within ryans chest.

"Ryan I'm going to check the valves of your heart, 1 by 1" Doctor Connor said.

"I'm going to start with the aortic valve"

just to doc connors left of ryans sternum.

Ryan inhaled sharply at the sudden chill, his pec twitching involuntarily.

"Deep breath," Dr. Connor instructed, his voice a low hum.

Ryan obeyed, sucking in a slow lungful of air, his chest expanding against the pressure of the diaphragm.

The doctor’s expression shifted slightly as he listened—focused, intent. His fingers curled lightly around the stethoscope, keeping it firmly in place over ryans chest.

"Good," he murmured. "Steady. Strong. Your aortic valve sounds excellent."

He moved the diaphragm slightly, sliding it just to the right, and the other side of ryans sternum. Again, listening intently with a slightly furrowed brow. "I'm going to listen to your pulmonic valve now".

Ryans eyes glanced over to the poster of the heart, and could clearly see "pulmonic Valve" labeled. Ryans eyes darted back to dr connors intense look as he was listening.

"Okay", dr Connor said and now tricuspid.

He moved the stethoscope down further, closer to the bottom of Ryans pec. Ryan could feel his heart pumping hard deep inside his chest. The pressure of the stethoscope against his chest only made him feel more pressure pushing out against the doctors hand.

"Great, and now for the apex, or mitral valve" said Dr Connor. As he removed the stethoscope from ryans chest, and was about to place it back, just below ryans left nipple he paused. Ryans heart was beating so hard in his ears, he thought he might pass out, but he persevered.

The doctor placed the stethoscope right under ryans nipple. The now warm metal, making contact, Ryan felt a rush. His heart was literally centimeters from the handsome doctors hand, and the intensity which Dr Connor was looking at his chest made Ryan nearly dizzy. Ryan could feel his heart hammering against doctor connors hand. The beating being measured, carefully by Dr Connor.

"Ok ryan" dr connor said breaking ryan from his though. "Your heart, at least while resting sounds excellent." Dr connor said.

"Your heart is still beating quite hard, and fast, for being at rest, Ryan. But you did say you were nervous." Dr. Connor said, as he shifted away from Ryan, and took a step into the middle of the room.

Turning back to ryan, dr Connor said "I think we will move on, and move to exercise", he said while extending a finger and prodding ryans left pec. "Yes, let's get this really hammering, shall we?".

Ryan felt a twinge happen again in his pants. The way the doctor kept touching his chest, and feeling his heart, was a totally different feeling for Ryan. And, now, the thought of his heart, racing while Dr. Connor felt and listened to was beginning to feel, exciting.

Ryan feeling excited by the prospect thought, what an odd feeling. Then he wondered if the nurse might walk in and see Dr connor, holding his pecs and feeling his pumping, pounding heart, and that might be embarrassing, somehow. Looking at the poster of the heart on the wall, Ryan began to wonder what his heart even sounded like.

"Uh, of course yes, let's move on to exercise..."Ryan managed to say. "It is private in here, right? Like nobody is going to come in?" He followed up. "Lub-dub, Lub-dub, lub-dub." He thought to himself, that's what it always sounds like in movies and games. Certainly that's it?

"Of course. The door is locked, and the room soundproofed, so nobody can hear. The treadmill and other equipment can get quite loud, so this room was soundproofed to make sure that the other examinations going on are not disrupted." Dr. Connor said calmly. "Why, are you worried someone will barge in, or...?" He trailed off unsure of what else to say.

"No, no not at all". Ryan said, glancing at the labeled anatomical poster of the heart.

"I was just thinking about the exam, and all the different parts of my heart" Ryan said absently raising his left arm to his chest again. Feeling the thrusting of his heart, deep in his chest behind his pec. "And i was thinking about the sound the heart makes, and I just, I don't know was worried someone might walk in".

"Well, it's perfectly private! So no worries there."

"Ryan, have you ever heard a heartbeat in person?" Dr connor asked.

The question took Ryan by surprise. He tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. "Only on TV, or video games or whatever, so I guess, No?"

"Well it's something really special. I do it for a living, so I forget that most people haven't heard a heart, beating, in real life."

"As you can see on the poster there, there are four chambers to the heart, and we listen to the valves that let the blood flow out, but not back." Dr connor continued, "the apical, pulmonic, tricuspid, and mitral valve all serve to let blood flow one way. During an exam doctors listen to make sure the valve sounds strong, and that there isn't any backward blood flow."

"If you've never heard a heartbeat before you might not know the sounds." "You know what Ryan, i think you should use my stethoscope, and try it out for yourself!, what do you think?"

Dr. Connor removed the stethoscope from around his neck and handed to ryan.

"Oh, ok, yeah, that would be really cool!" Ryan said. He felt some calm come over himself, but that washed away at the prospect of feeling Dr. Connors chest. Ryan inserted the ear pieces into his ears, and the room went totally silent, except the distorted noises funneled through the stethoscope head.

"Exaclty Ryan, try it out!". Dr connor said. His voice slightly muffled by the stethoscope.

Ryan reached out, and placed the head of the stethoscope, on the doctors chest, just under his monogrammed "Dr. Connor".

The crinkling of his scrubs, made a lot of racket in ryans ears but he could hear the faintest lub-dub sound behind the crinkling.

"Ryan, I meant for you to use the stethoscope on yourself..." Dr connor said interrupting ryans thoughts.

"Ohhhh" said Ryan immediately growing red, and pulling his hand away from the doctors body. "I am so, sorry, of course that's what you meant...".

"Hahaha it's ok, you know what, you should listen to my heart, maybe that white coat nervousness will go away, if you know I'm human too". Dr connor knealt down, in front of ryan on the exam table. He looked up, and guided ryans hand down, through the V neck of his scrubs and onto his firm left pec. Ryan could immediately feeling the throbbing of Dr Connors heart, pushing hard against his hand. It was so very slow. Dr Connor guided ryans hand just below his pec. The entire firm, and taught pec was moving with every beat of the doctors heart. Dr. Connor guided the stethoscope head, and ryans hand just below his left nipple. It was an odd sensation, Ryan thought he could literally feel Dr. Connors heart poking through the ribs at this point. Dr connor removed his own hand and let Ryan hold on by himself.

Ryan shifted his grip on the stethoscope holding the head with his index and middle finger, while his palm cradled the doctors pec, ryans thumb, delicately touching his nipple. "Wow". Ryan said softly. He could feel the doctors heart, the atrium, pumping in his palm. He could feel the left ventricle literally tapping his fingers. And all the while the sound of the doctors heart was filling his head. Lub, ryans palm filled with pec muscle as the throbbing heart pushed up. Dub, the ventricle tapping ryans fingers. Whoosh, the sound of the blood moving out, and ryans hand sinking back into pec, as the heart surged blood outward.

Lub, dub, lub, dub, lub, dub. "So slow, so strong" Ryan thought to himself. "The heart of a runner?" Ryan whispered.

Ryan could feel his own heart rate surging. He could feel himself, now fully erect, against his abdomen. "I really hope the doctor doesn't notice how hard I am" he thought to himself. He looked up from the doctors chest, and saw Dr Connor smiling, faintly with an odd smirk. "Oh god, did I say that out loud?" He again thought to himself.

Lub, dub, lub, dub. Time seemed to slow down, had he been here for hours?

"Well then" Dr connor said breaking the silence of the room "are you feeling less nervous? You look, less nervous."

"Yeah I'm feeling -something- less nervous" Ryan struggled to maintain composure, as he pulled his hand away from the Dr's chest,his thumb, drawing along the Dr's nipple as he spoke the words.

"Great, did you enjoy that?" Dr. Connor said with a coy smile.

"Honestly, yes. Yes I really enjoyed that" the reply came out before he could even think. "I mean, wow", --"stop, just stop speaking!!"-- Ryans mind went, but his mouth wasn't listening. "Like, your heart was incredible sounding, and your chest, was just amazing, hahahahah" a nervous laughter erupting from his mouth. "I really liked how i could feel your heart, and listen at the same time"

--"stop it stop it stop it"-- ryans mind pleased to his mouth.

"And like, i just want to say, you're really fit, and I liked that, so thank you".

--"what the fuck"--

Dr. Connor maintained his smile.

"Well thank you for the compliment. Usually these cardiac exams, aren't a 2 way thing, but, I have to say it was kind of fun. And I'm very happy you enjoyed it too" giving a slight nod, down toward ryans shorts. Ryans hard cock gave a quick little thrust, shifting in his shorts, as the doctor looked.

"fuck he knows"ryan thought. "Wait, is he into it?" He noticed the slightest hold in the gaze Dr. Connor had toward his cock. Ryans balls pulled tight to him, at the thought, and his cock gave another little thrust, shifting his shorts as he sat.

"Ok, right then, it's time to move on the more physically taxxing part of the exam." Dr. Connor said, again breaking another long silence. "Ryan, my expectation for this part of the exam, is that you get your heart beating as fast, and as hard as possible."

"For the exam, we want to put stress on your heart, and see how the valves perform at high rate, but also, I would like to know the volume and size of your heart. Once you complete your exercises, I'll take a listen, and feel your chest, to measure the amount of expansion."

"I'd like to get a good feel of your apex, right after the exercise as well" Dr connor reached out and proded ryans chest, just under his pec. "Ideally, we would get this really thrusting hard"

[moiraimyths]

Flannan what's something nice you admire about the Seelie Court?

I imagine the purpose of this exercise is to determine whether I am capable of viewing a political rival sympathetically, yes?

There is a difficulty here. The Seelie Court has not once treated those who stand in opposition of them with compassion, dignity, or respect, so there is nothing for me to admire. I could lie to you, of course. Perhaps that would impress a sense that I am measured, and do not hate the Seelie irrationally. However, this is not a charade I would be willing to upkeep, so for the sake of my dignity and respect for your intelligence, I will simply explain myself instead.

The Seelie Court — not its subjects, mind you, who are little different from mine — consists of the utmost wealthy and powerful individuals in Tír na nÓg, and their primary goal is ensuring that this remains so. Whatever niceties it is capable of is entirely insular, and even then, I imagine such an apparatus is rife with backstabbing and internal power struggles. Greed has a habit of devouring itself, in the end, so with this in mind, I admire nothing about the Seelie Court.

[tea-and-secrets]

meditation and breathing exercises and stuff like that make me irrationally angry for some reason

.

[shinx-stardust]

FUCK YEAH I FOUND A POST I WAS LOOKING FOR

THIS ONE RIGHT HERE https://www.tumblr.com/abyssal-author-and-artist/763659972027514880/my-objection-to-people-who-say-they-never-would?source=share

CRAB YEAH I WAS LOOKING FOR THIS ONE FOR SO LONG AND I FOUND IT

I was looking for it bc my opinion on what I wrote here doesn't completely translate to isat but some of these thoughts I was remembering and I was like "I should find that timeloop post and relate it to Siffrin because I totally can)

"No one but you remembers the previous iterations of the day. On that note, every single person other than you will take the same actions every single day unless affected by your actions somehow. So here we have our time loop. You, in this scenario at least, are a rational person - a person who has a full grasp of logic and human emotions. You act based on a healthy mix of logical reasoning and emotional impulses. I'm aware this isn't going to be true for everyone, but it's easiest to define "you" as a rational person whose behavioral patterns we can predict. For this exercise, an irrational person is a person who is unable to make decisions based on logic - as opposed to a person who simply doesn't choose to make decisions based on logic. If you are unable to look at a decision logically and take in all information before making a decision, you are an irrational person. If you can but choose not to, you are a rational person choosing to act irrationally."

Those are the rules I set out. One of the rules is missing but that's because I defined the day as being "as normal a day as you can imagine" and that doesn't fit. But other than that, that's In Stars and Time. Like that's the timeloop. That's Sif. Sif is, by this definition, a rational person.

"Let's go hang out with your friends. That should work, right? Well, it does until it doesn't. You get into a fight with your best friend that you're seething about 20 resets later. You meet a new person and hit it off amazingly but can't replicate that energy any other time you meet them (they think you're creepy because you act like you already know them). You can't make or further any meaningful relationship."

Hmm, you can't make or further any meaningful relationship? Using a callback to the rules I laid out "On that note, every single person other than you will take the same actions every single day unless affected by your actions somehow", that sounds like everyone's following a script and you can't change anything about your relationships, and if you do you'd just manipulate them into "changing". Now, where have we heard that before? Oh, what, Act 5? Mal du Pays? Everything Siffrin says to himself?

"You are now an irrational person. ... every single interaction is pointless, so you've lost the ability to engage with the world around you rationally. If this seems fast, keep in mind two things. Two hundred is a lot and this isn't 200 days, this is the same day 200 times. You've lived this one day 200 times. You can't change anything."

Double that so it's the same two days 200 times and that's just called Act 5. Siffrin has lost the ability to be a rational person. They're just a mess. A disaster. Too emotionally destroyed to use logic. Think that's an insane conjecture? Might I direct your attention to Sif's act 5 meltdown again? Where they decide, against all logic, that the only way to break the loop is if he's the one to land the hit on the king. Yeah, that's not a thing a rational person would do.

"In fact, you're likely to kill yourself before anyone else. And you do. Multiple times. Often on a whim - again, you're now an irrational person. You just went "that sounds fun right now" and did it."

"You can now loop back using your dagger." Do I need to explain this citation more.

And look at that! I linked a thing I wrote a while ago to In Stars and Time! Whoo!