#it all boils down to: you cannot hold these conversations on the back of one human person

[bybdolan]

"based on things she has said it feels safe to assume taylor swift wants marriage and kids" and "to act like taylor swift potentially not getting these thing is a nightmare scenario is harmful" can coexist

[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

DRABBLES

I'm so sorry I died. I am planning to continue this, I just have to figure out where it's going. In the meantime HAVE SOME DRABBLES! (only the first one is a hybrid drabble) (I was trying not to focus on anyone and it ended up being mainly Ghost related)

I've been reading more hybrid reader fics lately, and I cannot stop thinking about the idea of a bunny hybrid reader who isn't just all timid/shy around everyone like I see in a lot of fics. All of the other bunnies treaded lightly when they got on base to avoid trouble, but not you. When you arrive on base, Ghost ofc tries to intimidate you. You don't stumble or falter, though. You hold his gaze, glaring back at him until Price has to order you both to stop. Within the first week, you're in Price's office for practicing parkour in the halls on your way to the gym. In your defense, no one else was in those hallways, and you didn't notice the cameras until then. The first time you spar with the other bunnies, you lose. They all look at you intently, waiting for some kind of response; however, you getting up with a proud smile doesn't seem to be what they were waiting for. The first time tf 141 realizes you aren't to be fucked with is the only time anyone ever steals your food. Soap jokingly picks some food off of your plate, only to be tackled to the floor and pinned down by you. No one even looks at your plate for the rest of that meal break. Tf 141 really starts to appreciate you after the first mission they bring you on. Your muscular advantage is concentrated in your legs, enabling you to use trees, buildings, and other tall structures to your advantage. You can completely disappear as long as you stay silent, and disappear you do. You and 141 are able to ambush an ambush team and take out multiple enemies before they know you're there. After that, they start taking you with them whenever you're not needed elsewhere and incorporating you into their group more.

I also can't stop thinking about a situation where newbie reader is used to glaring matches and just doesn't tolerate Ghost's bullshit. Like you get there on base and expect to settle in, meet the team, etcetera. You were hand-picked to help out with some critical missions coming up and you're... not excited, but definitely proud to be expanding your experience. You're definitely excited to make more friends to protect. When you land, Price and the team are all waiting for you. They all run through introductions with a name, rank, and some opt to say how long they've been serving. You run through the same information about yourself, making small talk with Gaz, Soap, and Roach when Price walks off. Ghost's silent stare doesn't escape you amidst it all. He barely seems to want to be near you. So, mid-conversation with the boys, you turn to face his direction and stare back at him. You can't tell what expression he has under his mask, but you're sure it's not a welcoming one, so you do your best to mirror it. You even tilt your head in Soap's direction to ask if "the statue" does this a lot. Tension rises instantly. None of you are holding weapons, yet you feel as though all of you have sniper lasers trained on your heads. Soap, probably making the smarter decision, opts not to involve himself. "Yeah, I do this a lot. What's it matter to you?" Ghost finally breaks the quiet. "Well, I just figure a statue is usually made of stone," you start, before dropping your voice to a deadpan, "and can't stare at you like you should be dead just because they did." "I don't have time for this. Soap, Roach, with me in the sparring room. Gaz, show the newbie around. Bring her to us after." You don't stop calling Ghost 'Statue' after that, mostly because you can tell it makes his blood boil as much as he tries hiding it. Price constantly has to tell the two of you to stop bickering before he reports to his own higher-ups about it. Everyone notices how much harsher Ghost Statue is on you when he's left in charge by Price, and how much harsher he tries to be when he's not. Needless to say, the two of you do not get along. It's when you start rubbing off on Soap that Ghost Statue really, really starts hating you. It's an accidental slip of the tongue, the first time Soap calls him Statue directly to his face. The glare isn't given to him though, it's given to you, and ten times worse than you've ever gotten it. Needless to say, you get a lecture in Price's office the next morning, and you stop calling Ghost by the wrong name if he can hear you. You just have to find other ways to irritate him.

This last one is kind of inspired by Riley. Simon can't hate dogs because he would hate Riley if he did. However, I can imagine Simon disliking cats. Generally, he avoids being around them if he can, but he's typically okay being in the same room. Until he meets the cat you and Soap decided to adopt (Soap, of course, knowing Simon doesn't like cats, and you being oblivious to this fact). This cat is still small enough that it sees a big tall thing and thinks climb. Soap constantly has this cat on his shoulder or, for some reason, laying on top of his mohawk. So the first time Simon walks in, this cat jumps down from where he is on Soap to make an approach. First comes the leg rubs, then comes the testing of the pants. When Simon tries to pick this cat off of his pants, the cat instead clings to his sleeve, and climbs up to his shoulder anyway. That day is the most annoyed you've ever seen Simon "Ghost" Riley. But then he turns into one of those cat dad situations. He does his best to avoid this cat when he can, but ends up not succeeding, and the cat slowly grows on him. He still claims to hell and back he would never get a cat of his own, no matter how much time he spends with your furry friend.

[roxiezsxx]

~ hopeless devotion ~

Y/n is DreamXD's hopelessly devoted follower

Y/n was well known around the SMP for their loyalty towards the main God, DreamXD. If not in their house, they were in the temple, praying towards the Deity whether it be for prosperous wealth or a long lasting harvest they were there. Now DreamXD knew exactly who they were and to say the least he was interested with them whether it be infatuation or just a natural curiosity that he had always had towards humans, he himself was unsure and yet- he always made sure your prayers never went unanswered. To Foolish it had began to become bothersome as he was never around to help him in times of crisis and need, he was always beside you, was he happy his brother was off his back, well of course! but he needed help running the SMP. Foolish had nothing against you at all. "Again, Dream? let the mortal live in peace!" Foolish snapped. He had become overtly angry within the last few days, frustration boiling through his teeth and falling out into words. Hoping DreamXD could understand his current dilemma. "Im sorry Foolish, but arent they just captivating! look at them- isnt it just wonderful of mortals can have so little and still feel blessed?"

He smiled softly at your figure which was tending to your small chicken farm- your voice could soothe him to sleep if you talked for all eternity. He found you extravagant no not extravagant, calming and gentle. You treat no other animals different than you treated others. "And how could I stay away? look at them- they're angelic." His voice softened as he spoke of you, never letting you out of his sight. He sighed gently. "What next, your gonna betroth them to you?" DreamXD perked up at Foolishes comment, however foolishes face arose in fear "Oh no! no, no no! we cant be with mortals XD, you know that better than ANYONE else."

XD looked away anger chipping away at him "Dont you dare speak of her, you know she was our mother." Foolish scoffed, rolling his eyes as he walked out of the room of which DreamXD was watching you in, sick of it already. "You never listen XD. And one day you shall regret." He spat, the hatred and resentment towards him seeping into his words and body language. With that he left the room- slamming the door behind him a loud thud. "Useless. I don't need you," XD snarled, gripping the gold embezzlements upon the throne of which he sat upon. He pondered for a moment of what he should do, he held his chin within his right hand, soon enough he got an idea. "I shall just visit them, and court them to show him wrong, yes that shall do!" Soon enough the man teleported down to you- well not exactly on you, but near you, near enough so he could see you but you couldn't see him. He wearily walked closer towards you- his soft white wings dragging on the floor beneath him, he let out a cough to signal someone was there not sure on how to start the conversation. Y/N turned around, not fully looking up at him. "Yes, how may I help you-" Y/N'S voice was cut off as they stared at XD in utter shock and disbelief- immediately they fell to their knees and began to pray to him, an awkward yet smug smile. "Come now my follower, no such actions are needed." He spoke, his voice softening- he held his hand out for Y/N to take it . And they did their eyes sparkling in disbelief as they looked at him- he was much taller than them he appeared to be ten foot? maybe more? they were unsure and yet they stared at him with such hope. "My lord, may I ask why are you here?" Y/N inquired curious as to why DreamXD was stood infront of them, holding them with such care as if they were a porcelain doll that had withered with age and was close to shattering. XD did not have an answer to that, he stared down at them unsure of what to say- he tried speaking and yet nothing elicited from his mouth so he just stood in silence hoping you would too. He knows exactly what he came here for but it does not sound the best, he cannot just say "Oh my devoted follower i am here to ask you hand in marriage" he has only just met them. And yet he feels like they have met before like they were destined and designed for the other. -------------------------------------------- Foolish stared down at the interaction, nothing but disdain and disgust was painted upon his face. It would be different if it were him. he knew that because it was once him- once XD found out he forbade him from seeing him. His sam, it was not fair how when it came to DreamXD second standards were held up. "I shall make your life a living hell XD."

Word count-839 time spent on this- 3 hours HI GUYS AUTHOR HERE, I WOULD LIKE TO SAY I AM WORKING ON HATRED PT.2 I JUST HAVE WRITERS BLOCK SO IM TRYING TO HELP THAT WITH THIS!! :^ CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[painted-bees]

Thinking about the depictions of Magritte's neurospiciness vs Raf's and

Magritte's struggles are a lot more easy to depict in small little vignettes. Her impulsive, disorganised, scattered nature erode her relationships and hinder her obligations, all which are long term consequences, but the behaviours themselves are spontaneous and can be often adequately captured with in a single scene.

Raf's however…I  cannot fit so neatly into the same kind of 'single moment' vignettes. I can depict an instance of his overthinking and layered thoughts, and give a quick taste of how it colors his mood and outlook for a flash. Like--his ptsd and general anxiety symptoms, I can capture and depict in this way. But the real insidiousness of his personality disorder in particular is that it's always on, and it heats up slowly over days…weeks…months before it hits a boiling point. And if he's not attentive, it can make him mean--cruel, even. The same intelligence and quickness of mind that lends to his timely, insightful, nurturing sentiments and clever, kindly gentle observations are the very same traits he will wield as a violent weapon when he becomes like a fearful animal backed into a corner. He'll say the meanest fucking shit in the fewest amout of words. A snipey comment that'll cut straight to the core, and even if he, in his right mind, didn't mean it, it doesn't matter because it wouldn't be in his mouth if it hadn't been pulled from a thread of truth. No amount of "sorry" can heal that without a leaving behind a nasty scar.

But I can't just illustrate him aggressively shooting off this kind of commentary in a short comic without including the weeks of small, seemingly unrelated occurrences that built up to it. It would just be a comic of him being brutally mean over something seemingly benign, and then feeling bad about it…which I suppose is true to how it would look from the perspective of most people in his life, but it's not accurate to his experience and it doesn't actually say what needs to be said.

It would take more panels than I can afford–to illustrate the numerous tiny, benign comments and gestures made to and around him that get folded into the slowly-growing malignant mass of misinterpretations, uncertain observations, suspicions, and worries. He's gotten so good at identifying them, dismissing them as irrational, and pushing them to the back of his mind. The idea of overreacting to a 'non-issue' or an imagined slight is mortifying to him and doesn't align with the kind of person he wants to be. But--these things sit hot in his brain regardless of how he reacts to them--and often times, he will hold them there whether he means to or not. The temperature builds up with each new situation, thought, concern…and he may fail to notice when his brain has reached a boiling point--he'll meltdown. 

In fairness, his episodes usually see him shutting down and isolating for a few days…a few weeks…a month.

However, should anyone reach out during that time, it is most certainly because "they can't just leave me alone, people are always, always gonna bother me for shit they want from me. They just can't fuckin' help themselves, they can't let me be." And any attempts to converse with him will be stilted at best, unpleasant more often than not, and relationship-shattering at worst. Again, if he feels backed into a corner, if he can't get far enough away, left alone, given his "space"--he'll say the meanest shit. He'll make you go away.

Unfortunately, ghosting people; cutting them off and going completely awol for weeks at a time can be just as cruel and destructive to a relationship as a sharply pointed, brutally wielded comment or accusation might be. 

He has so many friendly acquaintances, but genuinely no friends. No one who will text him after work or ask to hang out with him on the weekends. Partially, he does not want this kind of relationship, and actively discourages them (as he once had done with Magritte). Largely, he still has not figured out how to maintain or enjoy them. They feel unsafe.

After all, not everyone is as patient, understanding, forgiving, communicative, and accommodating as Magritte has chosen to be. But even Magritte finds herself in the splash zone of his negative, paranoid moods and behaviours. She is quick to point out that, save for one time, Raf has never been mean to her. But the eggshells she has to walk on sometimes are there because she hates to see him upset and hurting--and it can be so difficult to know what will make him clam up or become defensively grumpy. That, and she can't help but feel personally responsible for his worst moods, even though he himself would rather hammer nails into his own palms than accuse her, in earnest, of being a source of misery in his life.

Raf works so hard at keeping a lid on his cruellest personality traits. It's exhausting, but "paranoid, mean, and unreasonable" is so far away from who he wants to be. He hates that it's who he is in his weakest moments. And--especially after reading online about the experiences of other people who've been in relationships or had parents with his particular disorder–the fear of exhausting Magritte's patience and becoming a "traumatic past experience" in her life is an ever present anxiety. 

But at least he can talk about it with her.

And trust her with it.

[jorvikpov]

Time is standing still.

You aren’t sure whether your eyes are open or closed. You do not know why the grass seems to have moved to beneath the palms of your hands. You cannot tell what time of day it is. All you know is the presence of your horse anchoring you to the earth, the bone-chilling horror of having almost lost control of yourself, and the hope that you succeeded.

In the hours leading up to the ritual at the Sunset Islands, you were repeatedly warned that it could bring you to your very limit. You were under no circumstances to keep going if you began to feel like the magic was too much for you to bear, consequences be damned. You do not say it—you never do—but had you ever heeded this advice, you would have stopped using magic long ago. You are a dam of flesh and blood between your powers and the world, and whenever you tap into them for more than a moment, you feel like that dam is about to burst. You know that this is not what the Druids warn you about. The strain they speak of is not from holding together the dam, but from trying desperately to push every last bit of one’s magic through its few small cracks. You doubt that you could ever drain yourself in that way—the powers that course through your blood feel endless, as though it’s not a lake behind the dam, but an ancient, neverending river—and truth be told, the dam feels closer to fragile than to unbreakable. You do not want to know what would happen if you were to let it burst. You aren’t sure you would live to know the answer.

All things considered, perhaps the Druids’ warnings are not unreasonable. Still, you cannot live by them. You would be next to nothing if you did.

They have changed the way they talk about you, as of late. Between every word of every sentence spoken on the long ride from Valedale to southern Epona they hid secrets and cryptic messages clearly not meant for you. You understood them anyway, of course, and between the brief conversations you and the Moon Rider shared the occasional, silent look, almost as if to confirm that you had both heard and understood the same things.

You cannot live by the Druids’ constant warnings, because you would be next to nothing if you did, and you are not meant to be nothing. You are meant to be what she who you should not know of never became. You are meant to be the fifth to lead the way, as she could not. You are meant to stay true to your task, as she failed to. You cannot live by the Druids’ warnings, because you must succeed at any cost, and yet so much of what they lay on you rings false these days. It is no easy task to believe in their emphasis on you as one of a kind when the feeling that you are little more than a replacement of the girl who should’ve completed your mission two decades ago lies heavy on your shoulders through every second of every day.

In the end, you hardly experienced the ritual, as tends to be the case in situations where magic is involved. Every second of the process was spent desperately trying to control yourself, and when it is over, you spend minutes that feel like hours leaned against your horse, head still spinning from the forces that made your body their home only minutes ago.

You are beginning to think that something deep within you substantially sets you apart from the other four.

You are beginning to think that Catherine was wrong.

You are beginning to think that your fate is not an offer you can decline.

I am sorry, your horse whispers to you, and softly nudges your shoulder. It helps, if only a little bit.

You come back to the world when you realise that somebody is talking to you. The realisation that the sentences are filled with anger hits you before the words making them up do, and it almost makes you retreat into your head again. You force yourself to stay and take in the moment.

It boils down to this: you succeeded in bringing Fripp back, and now he is angry.

He is angry that you have involved a witch in the Druids’ business. He is angry that the Sun Rider is missing. He is angry that the Lightning Rider has gone after her. (You could have sworn that she was here mere minutes ago. Did she slip away during the ritual? Right after?) He is angry that you did not go after her together, and much, much earlier. You should have done so while there was still time and hope to stop her foolish decision. You should have realised what she was considering the second she asked where the foal had come from. For the short time before Linda intervenes, it is as if none of you have done so much as one thing right while you were left to your own devices.

By then, you are just aware enough of the world around you to share a cautious look with Linda, and it confirms what you already knew: you must keep finding your own answers. None will be given to you.

You lock away what little hope you had of perhaps, once Fripp came back, finally having somebody to ask about why the dam feels like it is about to burst, and then you throw away the key.

It will be fine. It has to be. You have made it this far on your own, after all. Going just a little further will not be the end of you.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 44 - Dance With the Devil in the Pale Moonlight

Rated changed to E (just in case). Potential trigger warnings on the chapter in AO3. The sadness arc is here.

On AO3.

***

You find some stuff. You leave. Gale blows down the roof. You rejoin the others and wander out of the stink cloud of rot and set up camp. Gale makes food. You eat it mechanically.

Notice Astarion watching you.

Try to focus on the conversation but you can’t. Everyone is talking and their faces move and their limbs gesture. It’s like watching wooden puppets dancing around to an alien performance. Their words make no sense. Their expressions make no sense. You sit there and float on a cloud and do not taste your food.

The sun sinks into the treetops. Dread rises cold and leaden in you.

You can say no. Should say no. You can do it in front of all the others in case it turns out you’re wrong and he doesn’t take it well.

But.

You’ve dated before. Just the once. Ryan Meadows. Nice dude, one of Sasha’s friends. Never raised a voice or a hand against you. Said he wanted to take things slow. A real history buff and he was teaching you to cook more than boiled eggs.

Until he wanted to take it further. And you said no. Because the secular world said you could (no heavenly father or The Pastor to disapprove of you not satisfying a husband, no congregation to hold you responsible for failing your wifely duties). And Ryan had accepted that. He’d been gracious. He’d been kind. He’d smiled at you and hugged you (you hadn’t got to kissing, yet) and told you you never had to force yourself.

Then he ghosted you.

And you realized the secular world was just as much a piece of shit liar as your mother’s. You could, indeed, say no. And the world and the people in it would hold up a mirror so you could see exactly what you were worth if you didn’t open your legs.

Which was nothing.

No call, no text. He even ghosted Sasha (and she’d raged on your behalf for days, which…she meant well. But in all honestly it made you feel worse, taking up her time and attention like that).

You could and did build you some worth on your brains and your learned typing and filing skills. You got your apartment and a credit score. But you saw it in their eyes when you refused coworkers and strangers alike. How you got passed over, left out. How you’d started catching murmurs (never to your face, that would be rude). Ice queen and frigid, nun and sad and what’s her deal, is she gay—shh!

You can say no. And lose every single chance at friendship. If you refuse Astarion, he will drop you quicker than a sack of rotten potatoes, and the others will catch on. Broken goods. Legs padlocked shut. And once they realize you don’t want to fuck any of them, either? Once that option is closed and you make a bad call, ever?

You cannot survive on your own, here. You can’t.

Astarion glances to you again. You’re pretty sure those are what they call bedroom eyes—the half-lidded thing. Shadowheart catches him doing it and it looks like she stepped on a slug with her bare feet.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. A bit of exercise, once and done, and this time tomorrow, you’ll have had sex, oh goodie.

But what if he wants to again.

Gale looks at you. Frowns, actually. “Are you alright?”

You sit against a tree in the clearing. Your plate is empty (you have no idea what he cooked). You hold a slice of bread in your hand. What remains of one, anyway; you done squeezed it into a hardened ball of dough.

You can’t breathe.

“It’s been a day,” you say and smile. You make sure to keep the edges of your mouth soft, keep your lips from being too rigid. “I think I’m gonna wash up. Thank you for dinner; it was delicious.”

“My pleasure,” Gale says, and he ain’t as good as you at making his smile look genuine.

Karlach ducks to whisper something to Lae’zel. Who gives you a cool once-over. The giant tiefling looks back at you, eyes sparkling. She looks so happy for you.

You force yourself to give her a thumbs up. You feel Astarion’s stare on the back of your neck as you turn and head down to the river.

It’s just sex. A bit of touching, he’ll probably use fingers at first, if he’s courteous. All you have to do is not scream or flinch. Don’t lie there like a doll. Maybe touch him back (oh god) and participate or something.

Maybe you can make it bad? A bad lay is still more valuable than an ice queen.

You take a sharp breath. Flap your hands to try to dissipate the tingles.

It’s just sex. You’ll be fine. It’ll probably feel nice and there’s no need whatsoever to get so worked up about it, stop being stupid.

Your head gets that memo, reads it over, and nods. Your body launches itself into a tantrum you cannot control.

You undress. Try not to feel so exposed as the wind brushes your breasts and between your legs. There will be hands there, soon.

It is literally just sex. It’s fine. You’re fine. This is nerves, is what it is. You said yes. It’s still happening on your terms, even if you didn’t initiate it. Astarion is, well…he’s not actually a good man, is he? He’s an outright bastard. But he’s funny? And there’s something about him you recognize, some connection you can’t name. He’s seen you at your worst, and he’s fine with it.

He jokes about it.

And he wants you. At least for this, at least for right now (lamed gazelle, the most vulnerable prey and what is a vampire if not a predator—)

But that just means you’re going into this eyes wide open. You know he’s not like, marriage material or anything, and he doesn’t see you as such either. You ain’t even sure he’s capable of that kind of attachment (he might be?? You just do not know). He wants sex, just sex, and you can handle that and it’ll secure him to the group and better secure you to the group. That’s what European marriages were: a political alliance forged through genital contact.

A snort breaks free. And it’s the first pebble in a whole ass landslide. You end up crouching in the river, butt-naked, laughing your ass off.

Honestly, you’re probably about to have a better first time than a lot of people—especially the ones with vaginas. Might as well enjoy what you can. You can even make it a funny story, later. “Oh, my first? Got railed by a vampire bareback out in the woods.”

It’s already hilarious.

You get to washing. Well, washing as best you can without soap. Or a razor; you don’t normally shave your legs (wasn’t a thing, growing up) and you never had the time or the spoons for the armpits. Plus, you weren’t looking to impress nobody.

You splash between your legs. If somebody is gonna be all up in there, it only seems polite.

And somebody is gonna be all up in there. Jesus lord, there’s going to be a cock inside you—

The flush is part fluster and part nerves. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s normal. This is normal. You’re lucky, really.

Really.

Absolutely.

Your hands still shake as you pull your trousers on for the walk back to your tent. You got the one clean pair; you’ll change into those.

The rest is on AO3 just in case, and also because it's long.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[chenfordspiral]

I don’t get heartbroken over storylines on a TV show very often, but I do over this one.

Because I don’t understand how someone like Lucy can truly love UC (and say it with a smile on her face). Short term, fine. I might be able to get on board with that. But she doesn’t know what it’s like to be gone for months (she said it herself), and how that would impact her and all the people around her. I cannot see a world in which Lucy Chen, the most kindhearted, empathetic, likes-to-take-care-of-the-people-she-loves person ever, would actually love being separated from her family for months (while knowing that at least one person would be hurting the whole time, no matter what he says).

All we’ve seen of her since the season 3 finale makes me believe that she doesn’t actually love UC as much as she says she does. That might just all be wishful thinking on my part, but that’s the vibe I’ve gotten from her for the last two seasons. Did she even talk about UC at all in season 4? But now she’s suddenly so interested in becoming an undercover cop? Does she think she has to do UC and is still pursuing it because of that?

Either way, I don’t get it. Make it make sense, please.

I don’t want to be that person and ask someone, especially a woman, to walk away from a career path for a relationship, but that’s the thing. It’s a path, not the ultimate path to being a successful officer and have a great career in the LAPD. Look at almost everyone around her. Only Nyla and Isabel have gone that route. And we all know what it cost them.

Yes, Tim said Lucy is different. And she is. She wouldn’t bottle it all up the way Isabel apparently did. But that’s not all it is about. No one can guarantee her safety while she’s under. And I think that’s part of why Tim is so scared. He knows she likes UC, knows she’s good at it. Knows she would most likely want to talk things out with him, at least as long as it doesn't reveal too much about the op. But everything has to work out perfectly for her to come back in the first place.

I guess it all boils down to this: they need to have an honest conversation about it. Really honest, no holding back for the other’s sake. And for Lucy to really make an informed decision about UC, she needs to experience a long-term op (and I’m talking months here, not weeks) to know what it’s like. Right now, she’s basing her opinion on all the short-term assignments she’s done and what she thinks she needs to do. She should know whether she really likes long-term or not before fully committing to being an undercover detective. Once she’s a UC, I’m not sure how easy it would be to walk away from it if she only has her first long term op then and realizes it’s not for her.

And let’s not even begin to talk about the other two things. I just don’t understand how she can still do UC with those doc eps. Or how they would make it work for the show in general. They’re already juggling Patrol, Detectives and Metro. How would UC fit in on a weekly basis?!

Anyway. As I said, I don’t get heartbroken over storylines too easily or too often. But this one does things to my heart that I don’t like. Because neither one of them is happy, but they don't talk about it (yet). They're both not being completely honest with themselves, so how are they supposed to be honest with each other?

I don’t want Lucy to compromise something she apparently loves so much. But I also don’t want Tim to compromise himself and go against every single one of his instincts to make her happy. They need to find a balance.

And at the end of the day, he’s her priority, right? When it comes down to it, she would choose him over UC, right? Because he's the most important relationship, and thus most important thing in her life. I'd like to believe she'd make that choice.

Yes. She should do what she loves and is passionate about, but is it worth it if all it does is hurt the person you love the most?

Also, Tim is the most selfless human being ever. We do not deserve this absolute gem of a character. I love how much he loves Lucy. I know I'm kind of contradicting what I said two paragraphs above, but I love his willingness to try and soldier through (no matter how much it hurts him).

I know I'm very emotional right now and it's showing. I just absolutely hate angst and seeing these two hurting because they're not totally honest with each other or pressing the other to be honest is making my heart physically hurt. I know that, with a little distance, I might see things a bit differently. But right now, I'm sad that they're sad and haven't fully talked about the obvious elephant in the room yet.

[cloudlessly-light]

Let it be all night 2/6

A/N: Part two of Hothcniss getting caught. Chapter one can be read here: Penelope

Title: Let it be all night Summary: Aaron and Emily gets caught… and not only once. Word Count: 2,8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, fingering, choking, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol

 Dave

“Are you almost ready?” Aaron asks as he finished buttoning up the shirt he had decided to wear. He was looking at himself in the mirror, brushing his fingers through his hair when Emily walked out from the bathroom behind him. He caught sight of her in the mirror, felt his jaw drop slightly at the sight of her.

“Give me another five minutes?” She asked as she put an earring in her ear but stopped when he turned to face her. He was looking at her up and down and she felt the heat of his stare on her body. “Do not look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He smirked as he got closer to her, his warm body pushing against hers as he trapped her between the wall and him.

“You know like what.” She didn’t even try to hold back the flush that crept up her cheeks as his hands moved to hold her waist. “We’re going to be late, we cannot be late for this.” She mumbled but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as Aaron only pressed further into her, his lips gentle and teasing before kissing along her jaw as she spoke.

“We won’t be late.” He felt intoxicated by her, an addiction that had he had no reason to quit and when she breathed his name against his lips, soft and low he kissed her. He felt her respond immediately, her lips opening for him as he pressed his tongue between them.

“Aaron, honey…” She whimpered when he pulled back a few moments later and he sighed heavily as his forehead pressed gently against hers.

“I know, I know.” He conceded, his voice rough from desire and he could see that same want in her dark orbs when he pulled back. “You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you tonight.”

“Is that a promise?” She smirked when he moved away from her. She felt the loss of his body against her instantly, the want that always simmered right at the surface close to boiling over when he looked at her the way he did.

“It’s more than a promise.”

 *

 They got to Dave’s house only a few minutes after the rest had already arrived. Aaron held the door open for her and easily wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked inside, immediately greeted by their friends.

“Congratulations to another book.” Emily greeted Dave who handed them both a glass of champagne.

“Thank you Bella.” He kissed her on each cheek before moving to greet Aaron. “Now, we have a night off, we have bottles of champagne and good food and friends, this will be a perfect night.”

 Dave hadn’t been wrong, the drinks and laughs were flowing, conversation loud as they got to relax in a way they usually never did. Emily was standing with Penelope and JJ across the patio, laughing at something Penelope said and Aaron couldn’t tear his eyes off her. He had barely been able to keep his eyes off her since she walked out of the bathroom. Because she was wearing that dress.

It was his favorite, something she knew and she only put it on when she wanted to drive him absolutely insane. It was the color of fine wine, dark and tight, a slit going up her thigh, the neckline showing off her collarbones. It was the dress she had worn the first night they slept together, the dress that made his blood boil and brain to go numb. And she knew it.

She met his heated stare from across the patio and she winked at him quickly, always subtle in the way she would drive him crazy. She turned her attention back to Penelope and he took a sip of the scotch in his hand just as Derek and Spence came to stand beside him.

“Is everything alright between you two?” Derek asked as he looked between Aaron and Emily. “I’ve noticed some… tension.”

“What? No everything is fine.” He smiled, he knew that besides himself, Derek was Emily’s most loyal defender, always looking out for her. “How are you guys doing?”

“Would be better of there were more women here, I mean wasn’t Rossi the original playa?”

“This is his book release party; I hardly think he would be looking for women.” Spencer said and Aaron chuckled.

“Not for him, for me. For you. You need to get some.” He rolled his eyes at the younger man and took a swing of the beer in his hand.

“I think I’ll leave you two to discuss.” Aaron excused himself and made his way towards his girlfriend. He let his hand stroke over her lower back and smiled when she turned to look at him, her body leaning into his as he came to stand beside her. “Am I interrupting girl time?”

“Actually, yes.” Emily teased with a knowing grin. “We’re discussing last night.”

“Last night? What about last night…?” Then he saw the matching smirks on JJ and Penelope’s faces and he realized that she was talking about how she had sucked him off in the SUVs in the garage at Quantico. “Emily!”

“Hey, I’ve seen you naked Boss man, did you really think she wouldn’t give us the play by play of everything else?” Penelope grinned and like always whenever she teased them about that night, Aaron flushed red, his cheeks burning with it.

“You’re more than welcome to stay, but it’s Will’s turn now.” JJ winked at him, a smirk that was familiar to him whenever he overheard girl talk at home and he quickly shook his head.

“I think I’ll check if Dave needs help with anything.”

“Wise decision, honey.” Emily kissed him, lingered a little longer than she normally would around their friends and then laughed as he hurried away from them, Penelope and JJ both joining her.

 It wasn’t until much later that Emily sneaked up on him in the kitchen, her arms wrapping around him from behind and her lips at his ear.

“You’ve been staring at me all night. Something bothering you?” Her lips curl against his skin when he groans lowly.

“You know what that dress does to me.” He turns to face her and is greeted by a dark stare and filthy smirk.

“Want to show me?” She takes his hand and tugs him with her before he’s even registered her words.

“We can’t leave yet, it’s too early.” He looks around the empty kitchen, the rest of the team all still outside enjoying the summer warmth.

“Who said anything about leaving?” She continues to walk through Dave’s house and it dawns on him that she had already figured out where to go. She turned to face him once they were on the second floor, her lips on his and her hand between his legs. She arched an eyebrow when she felt him already half-hard. “You weren’t kidding.”

Aaron wanted to argue, wanted to tell her that it was a bad idea and that everybody they knew were downstairs but he couldn’t, not when Emily kissed over his neck and her hand squeezed him carefully. Instead he kissed her with a growl and pushed the door they had stopped in front of open roughly, the slam of wood against the wall getting her attention.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you want us to get caught.” She closes the door behind them and pushes him towards the plush chair inside of Dave’s office. He fell against it and she quickly straddled his hips, her lips not leaving his for any longer than she had to.

Aaron stroked his hands over her body, one hand holding onto her neck to keep her against him as the other moved from her waist and down her hip until he was met with her warm skin. He felt her sigh into his mouth as he gently rubbed the inside of her thigh, moved his hand higher until he was met by wet folds.

“No underwear?” He mumbled against her lips and she chuckled.

“Didn’t seem necessary when I know I’d just ruin them.”

“My dirty girl.” He said, affection oozing out of him before he claimed her mouth with his again. He moved his fingers through her, swallowed her gasp when he pushed two fingers inside of her and curled them.

“Aaron.” She moaned as his palm rubbed against her clit, his fingers twisting and moving inside of her roughly. For a moment she worried that she’d stain his pants with her own arousal, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came when Aaron’s other hand moved from the back of her neck to the front of it.

“Look at me.” He whispered as his fingers curled harder, a smirk on his lips when her hips stuttered against his hand. He waited until her eyes were on his before he gently pressed against her throat and she whimpered. “You’re so fucking pretty baby.”

She whimpered at his words, her body moving against his hand in chase of release as he continued to rub against her clit and press his fingers against her spot. She was gripping his shoulder with one hand, the other one wrapping around his wrist as he tightened his hold on her. She felt lightheaded, if it was from his hand against her throat or arousal she wasn’t sure, knew that it was probably a mixture of both.

He let go of her neck and she fell against his chest, her lips close to his ear. The sounds coming from her parted lips made his already hard cock ache. He groaned as she clenched harder around his fingers and he forced her up again. He loved watching her face when she came, the pure bliss that he was a part of causing always driving him crazy.

“Not yet baby.” He told her and she whined in response as her hips continued to roll into his hand. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants and boxers down enough to free his straining cock.

Emily’s eyes zeroed in on it, her hand moving from his shoulder to wrap around him. She pumped him, twisted her wrist and his fingers curled harder inside of her in response. She watched as Aaron’s head fell back against the chair, his eyes never straying of her as he watched her get closer and closer.

“Can I come?” She breathed, the worlds barely audible as her body tensed on top of his. She saw him nod, a new kind of darkness in his eyes at her asking for permission, but she didn’t have time to think about it. He pressed against her clit harder, moved his fingers faster and then she was coming with a breathless moan.

Aaron felt her clench around him as her head fell forward, forehead pressing against his as her dark hair curtained around him. She mumbled his name as she continued to tremble through her pleasure. He kept moving his fingers inside of her until she slumped in his lap.

“Fuck that was good.” She smiled once she had caught her breath, another whimper leaving her when he pulled his fingers out of her. She willingly opened her mouth when he pressed his fingers against her lips, eagerly sucking herself off them as he watched her with dark eyes.

“Dirty thing.” He muttered, still looking at her as he grabbed his cock and rubbed it over her swollen folds.

Emily kept his fingers in her mouth when she sunk down on him, taking all of him in one slow stroke. She moaned around his fingers as she started to grind on top of him. She knew that they were running out of time, knew that people would come looking for them. She kissed him when he removed his fingers from her and kissed him, pushing the taste of herself onto his tongue.

 Dave heard a sound as he was walking back from his bedroom, something muffled but definitely female coming from his study. He slowly and carefully opened the door, not knowing what to expect inside. What he was greeted with shouldn’t surprise him but somehow it does. Emily was riding Aaron, her hips moving fast up and down as they kissed, tongues battling furiously. Dave looked at them for a couple of seconds, wondering if he should break it up but he had seen the way Aaron had looked at her all night and stopping them now when they obviously were nearing the end, felt mean.

He closed the door just as slowly as he had opened it and shook his head.

“Dirty bastards.” He muttered; they would never hear the end of this.

 Aaron grabbed her ass as she rode him hard and fast, her body chasing her second release and his nearing with every second. He grunted against her collarbone as she threw her head back, his hands tightening on her as he helped her move.

“You feel so good.” He muttered and she moaned in response. Her hands were gripping his shoulders hard enough to hurt, but he barely felt it as she clenched around him again.

“Honey… please.” She wasn’t sure what she was begging for, just knew that the impending orgasm was coming too slow. But Aaron knew her body better than anybody ever had and when one of his hands let go off her ass only to come around her body to rub at her clit she felt her body jerk.

“You’re drenching me, you want everybody to know just how good I make you feel, don’t you?” He grunted against her skin and she could only nod.

“I need more stories for the girls.” She smirked through harsh breaths and if she hadn’t been so maddening close she would have laughed at the way his eyebrow knitted together. Instead though, he pinched her clit and thrusted up hard against her and she was sent flying over the edge with a cry far too loud.

If Aaron had the brain capacity he would have covered her mouth but as his own orgasm ripped through him all he could focus on was the pleasure rushing through him in white hot streaks. He groaned into her chest, hips jerking as she continued to twitch on his lap until everything was still.

Emily gently stroked over his cheek, let her have a moment of post orgasm calm before kissing him softly.

“We need to go downstairs, I didn’t think we’d be gone this long.” She climbed off him and shuddered when his cum started to leak down the inside of her thigh. She quickly brushed her fingers through her hair and smoothed out her dress.

“What did you think we would do?” He stood up as well and buttoned his pants before taking her hand and leading her down to where the party was still in full swing.

“I thought I’d suck you off and then you’d fuck me senseless when we get home.” She smirked at him and he pulled her closer to whisper in her ear.

“I’m still fucking you senseless when we get home, sweetheart.”

“Well, well, well, look who decided to join us.” Derek greeted them with a knowing grin as they walked outside. The rest of the team were all staring at them with various facial expressions.

“What’s going on?” Emily asked as Penelope burst out laughing, soon followed by the rest of the team.

“Let’s just say, Rossi is part of my club now.” She laughed and it took a moment for them to understand what she meant. The moment Aaron did his eyes bulged as he looked to the other man.

“That chair is an antique. You’re paying for any cleaning that needs to be done.” Dave raised his glass in a silent cheer.

Emily turned away from them, her face buried in his chest in embarrassment as they continued to laugh at the couple obviously at a loss for words.

“You really should learn to keep it in your pants.” Derek poked her as he passed them and she swatted his hand away.

“Exhibionism is a kink, maybe they can’t help it.” Spencer added and at that Emily turned back to face him.

“We are not exhibionists!”

JJ who had kept quiet grinned at her, something evil lurking in her blue eyes as she stared Emily down.

“Aren’t you?”

Emily swallowed hard, another flush creeping up her chest as she looked at the blonde.

“Do you really want to start spilling secrets JJ? What if I said, the muffin man?”

It was JJ’s turn to blush, her cheeks red in moments as the team looked between the two women with grins on their faces.

“The muffin man?!”

[pleasantpirateturtle]

Blood Lust of Beasts Chapter 2

Fandom: Vampire Knight

Pairing: Kaname Kuran/Zero Kiriyu

Characters: Kiryu Zero, Kuran Kaname, Cross Yuki, Aido Hanabusa, Cross Kaien, Wakaba Sayori, Yagari Toga

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 1

The days passed much as they did in the Academy, mindlessly boring and awfully long. The weather had taken one look at Zero’s inner turmoil and said fuck you to you too; endless days of humid sunshine followed that terrible night, the accompanying breeze pitifully weak, and Zero felt the murderous rage within him boil over.

He made a habit of snarling at any unsuspecting victims who erred even slightly in his presence. It felt as if someone had pressed the on button for the jittery tenseness that followed him around like his own personal storming cloud and forgot to switch it off.

Yuki had done a blatant 180 degrees spin the second she spied him stomping in her general direction. In her defence, Zero had been particularly harsh when she’d dared take over his breakfast duties and nearly burned the whole kitchen down. It was a reoccurring happenstance, Zero learned to deal with it during that awful time when he’d had no other choice but to cohabit with two deranged humans. Dealing with it meant a disappointed sigh and an impromptu cleaning spree, not the screaming match that awoke Cross’ serious side – he had swept into the room decked out for a fight in an all-black outfit, long hair falling loosely over his shoulders only to pause in the doorway and stare at the pans raised high above their heads clutched like weapons. Cross rubbed his eyes, muttered something about never drinking with Yagari, and trotted back to his room.

It worked in his favour in a way because Yuki did not have the courage to bemoan his avoidance tactics; he skipped changeover duties enough times that Cross felt compelled to appoint Sayori as an honorary prefect. Sayori, a perfectly lovely girl by his standards, against a throng of crazy fan girls? She would turn into a wind chime, blown this and that way.

However, it seemed Yuki had had enough.

His duty, his little sister, the person he would not fail, not this time around, not like he had failed Ichiru. She stood over him, hands on her hips, a mighty scowl in place (she learned that from him, goddammit.)

“Zero Kiryu, you will get your lazy butt up this second or so help me I will find that secret stash of manga you think I don’t know about, and I will distribute it. Then I will insert a note in each book that will give up your identity and you will have no choice but to suffer the admiration of – “

Zero was up within seconds. He pressed his hand to her mouth to prevent other rubbish from escaping the airheaded mess. Honestly, she should have been born blonde, then Zero could have teased her with so many horrible references, just as he had teased Ichiru (never mind they were identical twins).

“Fine, but if I hear even a word – “

“Yes, yes, you will end me and all I hold dearest. But Zero, you cannot harm Mr Cat.”

She clasped her hand around his wrist, dragging him. Zero deliberately slowed down, Yuki grunted at the increased weight. She soldiered on, placing his arm over her shoulder for a better grip. Zero admired her grit, he really did, if only it had been directed at a more productive endeavour.

“He’s a cactus.”

Oh, almighty god, what terrible sin did he commit to have this nonsense in his life? He just wanted to kill vampires, was that too much? Perhaps taking on the duty of protecting one Yuki Cross had been his misstep.

“Zero you mustn’t judge.”

He sighed, long suffering. Somewhat done with this nonsense he slapped a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the world; if he can’t see it, it cannot see him either. Although, Zero still heard the buzzing conversations of the honeybees loitering outside the gates. If he had to rate the things he hated in life, then this aspect of his duties had to be at least third on the list. Above it, the second and first place would be staunchly taken over by Shizuka and Kuran. Maybe he should reserve a special place for Ichiru too – the backstabbing little bitch, he could have at least warned Zero he was going to let a bloodthirsty, crazy ass vampire into their home. If Yuki turned out anything like him, Zero would just say a giant fuck you to the world and hide his sorry ass in a hut in the middle of the woods.

Yuki patted his head, but Zero ignored the pinched mouth and creased eyes silently asking for his wellbeing. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t subject Zero to this hell.

The volume of the shrieks increased tenfold as they noticed not only his presence but the dramatic procession of vampires strolling out of the Moon dorms. Zero glared at his side made up of screaming, overly excited, sexually frustrated girls; blissful silence fell over them.

“If I hear as much as a peep from any of you, I will gladly inform you that I’m hosting school wide detention camps.”

Not even the day students have been spared from Zero’s ire. They looked down or over his shoulder nervously, shuffling in place but not daring anything that could enrage Zero. He smiled. Tilting his head to indicate the other side of the path, where Yuki’s charges were making nuisances of themselves, the girls quickly caught his meaning and laboured to shush their counterparts.

The vampires glanced around either side at the morose girls but did not comment. Hanabusa Aidou couldn’t count, he was a waste of brain cells.

Zero hoped against all odds that Kuran would be absent. He was not. In fact, to his growing horror, he had stopped to chat with Yuki, who blushed bashfully (what the fuck). Sometimes, when he really looked, Yuki transformed from the cute little sister he had raised with an iron fist to one of the many girls idolizing Kuran. She lost herself in him in a way that terrified Zero and he was helpless to it.

The girls were filtering out, most of the night class had gone too. Zero could not use them as a shield! If he were to leave now, it would be too obvious that he had in a way been evading the pureblood. Avoiding his gaze would do - Zero wouldn’t have to acknowledge him, Yuki’s admonishments be dammed.

He turned his head, using his hair to cover his eyes. Kuran’s light footsteps were too close for comfort – Zero had the sinking feeling that he was heading for him. But he only passed by, closer than expected, yes, still he kept walking. Zero could practically feel his eyes burn a hole into him. He dared a peek, the vampire’s head was turned, his brandy brown eyes dissecting Zero with the careful inspection of a serial killer. Zero blanched.

His pride can eat shit!

Zero power walked, the quicker the better.

“Kiryu.”

Zero sped up.

“Kiryu,” his tone hardened.

Zero was close to sprinting. Just give him another damn minute.

“Kiryu, if you do not stop – “

He’ll start at the border to patrol the perimeter of the academy, better there where the chances of bumping into nefarious vampires – oh look a lovely vampire! Kuran had followed him. Zero glared at the hand wrapped around his wrist pointedly. Kuran did not get the hint. He used the sudden momentum of swinging Zero around to pull him in, too close for a public venue.

“For once in your life Kuran, leave me alone.”

“People are watching,” Kuran hissed.

He pushed past Zero’s boundaries, within his very actions a mask to hide as much of their conflict as possible. His nose almost brushed Zero’s cheek.

“Just fuck off,” Zero snarled.

Kuran seemed to take that as an invitation to further invade his space, his cold breath caressing the skin under his jaw. Zero turned his head to the side, hoping to increase the distance but the vampire just slotted into the empty space, his breathing a heady thing in his ear. Zero pushed at Kuran’s chest.

“Like you said, people are watching. Let me go.”

This day was becoming a surreal nightmare, or a practice in patience. Whichever it was Zero was so done with it. He was tired of Kuran and his bullshit.

Zero jerked his arm, Kuran strengthened his grip; like a tango, one written by a fucking teenager. He took a step back, opening his stance, it gave the impression of a wider space between them. In a way it worked to avoid the suspicious eyes following their movements. This was a terrible place to have this sort of confrontation. Even Yuki was watching them intently.

“You are avoiding me.”

Zero whipped his head around, brows furrowing, he could feel a headache building underneath the bridge of his nose. He scowled. Fucking Kuran.

“Given the situation last time, yes I thought that was a normal reaction,” Zero said, voice lowered but still loud enough that at least a couple of his inner circle did a double take.

“Do not make a repeat of it, you have a duty to fulfil.”

Kuran’s thumb rubbed gently over the blue veins showing on his pale wrist. Zero startled, a curse dying swiftly as the pureblood crushed it until bones creaked and the skin turned a deathly pale. Before he could find the right words to hurl at him, Kuran swiveled away, his inner circle trailing after him like puppies. He ignored the obvious stares they kept throwing over their shoulders; if they had questions they could very well ask their lord.

Fucking Kuran.

[press-f-to-rat]

So. I might have done a thing. A friend (LOOKING AT YOU @kingassblast ) got me into Darkest Dungeon. And I got attached to Bigby and now I've been writing about my new favorite little scrungly pretty much non-stop.

We were just rambling to each other in DMs when suddenly, I had an idea for a prompt: "Paracelsus' research of the Beast finally amounts to something."

And so, I got to writing a little bit :))) Naturally, this isn't canon compliant, but simply a little what if. I know a lot of people (Myself included) really like to make Para and Bigby friends, so. I wanted to write a little something that perhaps would create a rift between them :) a little angst, as a treat :))

Anyway, that's enough rambling from me. Hope you enjoy!! It's below the "read more" :)

'Y-you created your own?!" Bigby's voice thundered through the air, shaking all the delicate glassware Paracelsus kept in her laboratory. "A-and not just that, but—You...you inflicted it upon yourself? V-Voluntarily?!" His voice trembled with some form of horrified rage, that anyone would willingly bring his own wretched curse upon themself.

Paracelsus, on the other hand, spoke with her typical level-headedness, though she could not stop the flow of cool indignation bubbling up from deep within her. “But think of the progress that will come of this! Should you not be glad that perhaps your curse might bring about some good?"

“What g-good could outweigh the d-damage done by bringing another m-m-monster into the world?!"

She could see the green ichor bulging in his veins with every word, the outlines only growing more apparent with his rage.

“Bigby," the Plague Doctor countered, "I have it entirely under my control. My experiments have made sure of that. It cannot harm anyone unless I will it.”

“Th-That is what it wants you to think! And then—wh-when your guard is down—it will exact i-its vengeance!" His voice felt edged with the bile of his blood, seeping from the dark recesses of his mind, where the Beast lurked. Betrayal—That was what this was! She had betrayed his trust! He had thought she would help him—Use the Eldritch poison in his veins to ease the curse. But this! No, no good could come of this. This was madness.

“If I knew that th-this is what y-you were going to use m-m-my blood for, then—I n-never would have let you h-have it.” The words burned in the air where they hung, hot with fury and pain.

There was a pang in Paracelsus’ chest—Was that guilt? Oh, but she knew guilt, and she knew how to bottle it away in her mind like any other poison she’d dealt with. “Then you’re simply ignorant to the potential it holds.” She hissed.

Bigby said nothing. Instead, his blood boiling with rage, he stretched his lips into a snarl, showcasing row after row of sharp, animalistic fangs. A roar erupted from his throat as he tore out of her laboratory, nearly ripping the door off its hinges and slamming it behind him so hard the building shook.

The Plague Doctor sighed wearily, removing the thick, leather gloves she wore to reveal her own hands, unexpectedly transfigured into scaly claws. She flexed her fingers and clicked her ebony talons against one another, feeling her brows furrow beneath her mask. Perhaps that conversation had affected her more than she thought.

Perhaps… perhaps this was a mistake.

But there was no going back from here. Her choice was made, and no matter what happened, she would have to live with it.

It was only now that she took the time to question… What had she done?

[heygutlcssa]

friendly reminder that tumblr savior and other blacklisting extensions exist. also the block button exists. its a shame that the dashboard is in an upstart tonight over something really stupid.

You know what it boils down to? CONSENT.

Here’s the thing my guys-- YOU DO NOT HAVE TO MAKE AN EXCUSE FOR A SINGLE THING YOU WRITE. JUST TAG YOUR SHIT ACCORDINGLY.

This gives everyone else the chance to give informed consent as to whether or not they want to read the shit you write. Because again that’s what all this drama boils down to: CONSENT.

And here’s the thing about fictional characters my loves. THEY CANNOT GIVE CONSENT BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT REAL. 

YOU THE READER ARE REAL. YOU HOLD ALL THE CONSENT TO READ OR NOT TO READ. IF YOU DO NOT CONSENT THEN DON’T READ IT AND MOVE THE FUCK ON. the block button is there for a reason. Blacklisting tools to block those tags exist for a reason.

the whole purity thing and policing what people should and should not write is pretty 2008 and no one likes a pearl clutcher. This pearl clutching and purity policing really comes down to readers denying or disguising (and sometimes even both) their own agency and consent to promote their own agenda.

“writing smut or sex with underage characters and aging them up is wrong because they can’t give consent” THEY CAN’T GIVE CONSENT BECAUSE THEY AREN’T REAL. THEY ARE FICTIONAL. Even if they are 18+ ( a consenting adult across the US federal law) THEY CANNOT CONSENT BECAUSE THEY ARE FICTIONAL. they do not exist. They are not real.

an ant’s left butt cheek can give more consent than a fictional character because IT EXISTS.

the ongoing argument that stemmed tonight’s drama isn’t about defending the rights and consent of the fictional characters mentioned, its about “ this sort of writing shouldn’t be allowed”.

And this argument is shit. Take away the camouflage and the coverup and the victim blaming and what you really have is a real living person behind a computer screen saying “ I do not consent to this and i am not comfortable with my own personal agency”.

a person who has the critical  and comprehensive thinking skills can look at writing or an rp blog and say “ huh, this is something that i do not consent to. This makes me uncomfortable. this doesn’t seem like my kind of thing” and can just keep on scrolling.

A person who is not comfortable  or confident with their own personal agency goes through this in-depth thought process in response to what they have read:

-I do not consent to read this. - I do not feel that I am in a safe enough space to withhold my consent. - i feel unsafe. - i need to be protected. - i can’t make it about my feelings, because i am not allowed to. - a sense of displacement takes place --> Others need to be protected. --This should not be allowed.

Take for example, someone walking into a movie theater and saying “ i don’t like horror movies.” and walks into a showing of a horror movie and says “ This is so harmful to viewers why are they showing this!”

There’s a rating system for a reason. You don’t have to go into that movie. Just keep walking.

Lastly my guys... PEOPLE ARE INTO WEIRD SHIT. In real life, with real people, consent is a super huge deal. and guess what, that’s why people have active and open conversations about consent, boundaries, empathy, and an understanding  towards power differentials. Its in the news. its in school. We are in an era where these kinds of conversations are socially expectable. Pearl clutching recedes this.

In fiction you can do whatever the hell you want. Some people actually like how it makes them feel because it is not real. it can be experienced within the safety of fiction.

going back to the horror movie analogy who am i to tell Stephen King to not write horror because it could make me uncomfortable? Lots of people like it. He’s won awards for is writing.

 and people still pearl clutch saying things about  weird fiction in general  like “ but it will normalize rape and pedophilia!! people will think its okay!”

do you think seeing a sewer clown murdering children is going to make a fan go out and do that? unless there’s some severe mental health issue, i think not.

Now for the pearl clutcher who decided to start all this shit...

YOU’RE CONSENT DOES MATTER. YOU ARE ALLOW TO NOT LIKE WHAT PEOPLE WRITE. JUST DON’T MAKE IT ABOUT SOME GRAND MORAL JUSTICE OF THE UNIVERSE. YOU CAN SAY “ UM YEAH NO THANKS NOT FOR ME” AND KEEP ON SCROLLING. Worry about your own shit my guy.

That’s why Rpers stress to tag their shit. and I can say hands down that the things you clutch your pearls about were 100% tagged. just keep moving. use tumblr savior. use that block button.

but don’t start shit. it ain’t fun. it ain’t nice.  There’s that one quote by oscar wilde “ give a man a mask and he’ll show you his true self.” the internet is one hell of a mask and you are exposing yourself.

and I’m gonna scroll on by. i do not consent to participating any further in your mess. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

[theythedisaster]

See me with your hands Pt.1

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku

Content: Medusa! Katsuki x Blind! Izuku

Pt.1 Words: 1,667

Summary: After being cursed by his goddess, Katsuki turns his back against the world and seccludes himself with the nymphs and his garden. He lives lonely, until a dumb, young demigod comes to try and take his head away and only ends up bringing more trouble to his life. 

Though Katsuki cannot really complain about it.

“Eyes are the windows of the soul,” Katsuki reads from that beat up book he used to love so much almost twenty years ago, the same one his goddess had gifted him the day he became the head-priest of her Temple. 

He feels his heart squeeze inside his chest. It’s been a long time since he last set his eyes on its cover; a book woven with goddess power, shining gold details in the form of embedded vines. It is a beautiful book, even as beat up as it is. But it brings very painful memories. 

Katsuki sits passively in front of the tall fountain he had constructed himself, the book resting on his thighs as he reads quietly. 

That sentence has always stuck with him. Haunted him, really.

It is something he heard often, everyone said so. His mother, especially, liked the saying. Whenever the topic of love came to conversation, she would throw the saying to the air for the winds to carry into Katsuki’s heart. And he believed it. His goddess believed it too. 

All of them said eyes could tell the truths of the soul, show you how pure someone’s heart is, but it seems like it never worked with him. It didn’t matter how many tears gathered and fell from his eyes back then when he looked up at his goddess, his robes turn to pisses and still clinging loosely to his body; it didn’t matter how hard he tried to show her his soul through his eyes, she looked at him in disgust. 

“Don’t ever dare to show your eyes to me again.”  She had hissed at him with so much hate (her love for him completely erased from her eyes), ripping her dress from his pleading hands as he cried for her forgiveness. Though he had absolutely no fault as to what had happened to him.

He had babbled then, taking his eyes away from her, following her demand. He begged for her to not throw him away. He was her loyal servant after all, he had dedicated his life to serving her deed. 

She did not care for him. Not anymore.

“I curse you, Bakugou Katsuki. You will become a monster of lively hair and fearsome eyes. Anybody who ever looks at your eyes will turn to stone and you’ll be miserable. Until the day of your death and beyond, people will know of your transgression against me.” There was so much anger and hatred in her voice, it pierced clean through Katsuki’s heart. 

His goddess was taking away her blessing, cursing him even. Everything hurt then, as if his soul was being ripped out of his body. She was no longer a part of him. She was leaving him alone.

Katsuki sobbed in agony, his screams of pain echoing through the walls of her Temple. His fellow priestesses looked away, unable to do anything to stop his pain or their goddess’ anger. They were powerless, just as him.

He felt how his hair came to something akin to alive and his eyes burned as if being branded with boiling iron. 

It hurt so much. So much that he passed out.

When he woke up, his eyes were hidden behind a thick cloth and there was no more pain. There were new robes folded around him. 

“You’re awake.” 

Katsuki startled towards the sound of her voice, Athena. He couldn’t see her, but he could have recognized the thrum of her power anywhere. He had been part of that power once. Now that it was not there in him anymore, he felt empty. 

“Get out of my Temple and don’t ever come back.” 

Her voice sent chills down his body, freezing him in place until warm hands took a hold of his arm.

With sorrow, he let his fellow servants guide him to what he assumed was the back door of the Temple, the door facing the vast forest that no one ever dared enter. Once alone, he took away the blindfold and ran. He ran through the darkness, past trees, among branches and leaves. He stumbled and fell and scraped his arms and legs, gashed his face somewhere along the way. And he cried until he couldn’t anymore, until the nymphs took pity on him and helped him get a new place to live; somewhere far away from gods and people. A place controlled by them, somewhere he would be safe from those who hurt him. 

Athena had cursed his eyes, made sure he couldn’t show his soul to anybody else. She made sure that if he showed his eyes to anybody else, they would cease to exist. 

She had cursed him to an existence in solitude. 

He was alone. 

 A twig snapping behind him brings him back to the present and, through the reflection of the falling water in his fountain, he sees the silhouette of a boy. 

Katsuki puts his book down and frowns, making sure to mark the page before closing it. He waits for a few seconds, sitting straighter in his seat, but nothing happens. 

The boy keeps behind him, sword tightly held in front of him. He looks frozen.

He stands from his chair and turns towards the boy, keeping his eyes forward and over the boy. 

The dumb boy looks him in the face, his mouth hanging wide open.

“Don’t look me in the face, idiot,” Katsuki hisses, giving the stupid boy time to frantically lower his eyes to his feet, his sword shaking tenfold at being adressed directly. He sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. 

This is just a kid, maybe ten years old at most. 

He turns around, looking at the top of his head, where a stupid red hat rests above black locks of hair. The power that emanates from him is ancient, very familiar to Katsuki. 

A sneer forms on his lips, his skin prickling with disgust. 

A son of Poseidon. 

 Rage fills him and his hands shake. He still follows him, even now after so many years. Katsuki feels weak all over again, vulnerable in front of a ten year old that can barely hold his sword. All because he is the spitting image of the one who he hates most in this cursed, backwards world. 

“What are you doing here, son of Poseidon?”  

The kid trembles, his small hands gripping the hilt of his sword harder and Katsuki sees from up top how his eyes widden in obvious surprise. He doesn’t state his purpose, but Katsuki knows. No one has ever come to simply commute with him, the multitude of statues proves his point. 

“You’ve come to take my head? Like the so many others in this garden?” The hiss that comes from his mouth is hateful, resentful and hurt. His eyes rake around him, pointedly looking at the mossy statues.   

He has never maliciously harmed anyone. Not before and not even after being cursed. Every single one of the statues scattered around his garden are people who have come to his home with the intention of taking his life. Most of them dumb, young demigods in search of grandiousity for being the ones to behead the Medusa. He had never done anything worthy of the atrocious stories that carried the dumb children to his garden. But yet, somehow, the reputation of being a horrible monster follows steadily behind him. Not even him secluding himself in his garden was enough to keep them away. 

Ironic, really. He is the one wronged in this whole ordeal.

The kid looks around and suddenly drops his sword, but doesn’t move from his spot. So, Katsuki moves to his work table and grabs the cloth he uses to dry his hands. With fast hands, he ties it around the dumb kid’s head securely, making sure he wouldn’t be able to see through it. 

There’s a tiny gasp that traps in the middle of the child’s throat and he stiffens, but lets Katsuki do as he pleases. 

When he is done, Katsuki steps away, letting the boy inspect the cloth, probably confused. He does lift his head, though. 

“What’s your name, brat?” 

“I- My name’s Kouta…” He whispers, his voice slightly high pitched and innocent. The voice of a kid after all. 

He feels how his anger melts away. This kid has no fault for being the son of a terrible god. 

“Kouta, huh?” Katsuki sighs, grabbing a chair from his work station and placing it loudly behind Kouta, causing the boy to jump startled. “Sit.” He instructs and Kota immediately follows his command. 

“Who sent you here? How did you even find me?” 

“The- The oracle said we would meet; talked about following the trail of blooming roses that guides to your garden during the full moon.” The kid talks, a bit more securely than before. His hands reveal his nervousness; rubbing against each other in an obvious attempt at soothing. 

Katsuki hums and wonders if there really is a trail of flowers leading to his garden. He has never seen it himself, for he never wanders far from his garden. He moved to the middle of the darkest and most dangerous forest known to mankind with the permission of the forest nymphs for a reason. The forest of the lost souls, people call it, but the nymphs made his space bright and fruitful. 

They pitied him, he knew and he hated it. But at the time, their pity seemed better than staying around the humans and the gods that cursed him. 

Huh. This kid is fairly brave. Maybe if he was a little older, Katsuki would have actually lost his head today. 

Well, lucky him.

The kid ends up leaving half an hour later, properly berated by Katsuki, and the cloth still tightly wrapped around his eyes. And even though Katsuki is relieved to still have his head attached to his body, he feels nostalgic, melancholic. 

It's been years since he last spoke to another human. 

Damn. He feels lonely.

Pt.2

[aajjks]

we’re getting there 😉

TPOL!JK

"no offense taken" shrugs jorja who wishes the two of you would just make out already. it's so obvious how in love he is with you and despite you playing it off, you've got feelings for him too. you're just better at hiding it than he is but jorja can tell. she wonders what drove the two of you apart from one another but it's a conversation that will have to wait now that the main focus is using chaeyoung's obsession against her.

"against her?" you ask confusedly. yes, against her.

you aren't one for jungkook's plans but by the time he's out the door, his plan is already in motion. he calls chaeyoung to "talk" but like the creep chaeyoung is, she watches jungkook leave jorja's apartment, obviously upset but she pretends to not be aware of hiss serious tone.

there he is leaving jorja's home and chaeyoung knows that you're inside because your car is parked in the lot along with jorja's. she watches jungkook in his BMW and drives off and once he's out of view, chaeyoung gets out of her car and walks up to the apartment door with gloves on and a knife in her right hand. "well i'm at a shoot right now so i'll call you when i'm on my way okay? i love you" she says before hanging up the phone and taking out another. she texts a random number a single emoji signaling the people to break into your apartment and trash your home while she deals with you and jorja. chaeyoung knocks on the door twice and it is you who opens the door thinking jungkook came back but your surprise it's chaeyoung wielding a knife.

"surprise, bitch" she says before lodging the knife at you which you barely dodge. chaeyoung swings the knife all-over trying to cut you while jorja grabs her metal bat and starts swinging it at chaeyoung. she easily dodges the swings and slashes her hand making her drop it. "I TOLD YOU TO STOP SEEING HIM" she says swinging the knife at jorja but yerin, out of nowhere, hits chaeyoung in the head with a pot from jorja's kitchen knocking her onto the floor. all three of you begin kicking at chaeyoung, especially jorja who shouts every curse word in the book as her foot connects to her body. chaeyoung then pulls mace from her pocket and begins spraying it at the three of you before making her escape out the door and into her car. she immediately phones jungkook as she drives to his penthouse crying about how the three of you jumped her for no reason.

"b-baby!! they jumped me!!"

meanwhile, you're patching up jorja's cut hand and the slit on your face from when you barely dodged her surprise attack. the good thing was that none of you were maced but your apartment was in shreds.

Of course she’s lying. And even if you three jumped on her, she deserved it he’s sure about it. Since he saw your face, he has been boiling with anger.

How could she even have the audacity to punch you and hold you at gunpoint? HE WAS GOING TO MAKE SURE THAT SHE LEARNS A LESSON OF A LIFETIME.

“ WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING THERE, HUH? CHAEYOUNG??? You went there? WHY? WHY DID YOU GO THERE?” Jungkook screams when he learns that she went to your friends house. What if she tried to hurt you again and what if something had happened to you?

She starts to stutter, and he just tries to calm down.

Jungkook has to play sweet for now, so he sighs and tells her to calm down and come soon so they can talk.

She disgusts him. As soon as he cuts the phone call, he calls the security service, “Have you sent the men yet?” he asks. “yeah, I need them divided into three teams. And I’m going to send three different addresses so they can station there.”

He’s going to make sure that you and your friends are safe because he cannot have a repeat of last time. “Fine. Yeah let me know as soon as the work is done.”

Now all he has to do is wait for his psychotic girlfriend, He cannot believe he let his mother meet this girl because she’s a danger to him his family and you.

Then it hits him to call you, just to make sure that you’re OK. “Yn- are you OK? I just heard that she was there??! OH MY GOD WHAT?! OH MY GOD SHE’S GOING TO DIE FROM MY HANDS TONIGHT.”

[randomwriteronline]

"Do you have rice at home?"

What a weird question. Emmet turned to Briosa and nodded, an eyebrow crooked up to make a confused expression.

Why?, he signed.

She shrugged over the back of her seat: "You know," she replied vaguely, not answering, and added: "Do you have butter, shredded cheese?"

Emmet nodded again, more puzzled.

"Mushrooms?"

He shook his head. She clicked her tongue.

"Zucchini?"

That he did have, yes.

Briosa hummed loudly.

"Do you have broth cubes?" she asked. Her hand rose from beneath her chin and made a gesture as if holding something small between her index and thumb: "Like the uh, the ones that you put in boiling water and it makes stock broth?"

Did he have those?

He shook his head, struggling to find the right signs: Broth... Powder.

"Oh, that's still fine."

You... Need? Thing?, he asked. The vagueness was tiring him out more than the already long day had.

Briosa hummed for a long while.

"Are you hungry?" she didn't answer.

Emmet raised a hand to give an exhausted half-half gesture.

"Same," she replied - which was strange, because according to Briosa she was never hungry. She turned off the last computer still on: "Let's go."

Home sounded awful. Home sounded empty and soulless. Home sounded like Crustle yelling because he had missed feeding time by 1 minute and already trying to rip open the food cabinet to forcefully get his supper like a big cement baby, and that did make him chuckle a little and give him the strength to be on his way.

His head pulsed a bit. Mawile must have been as tired as him, because Briosa held her in her arms like a little kid as they walked down the street at a pace that was clearly not up to the shorter man's standards.

Emmet yawned. Goodness. So tired.

Briosa skipped a little at his side.

"There's some foods you absolutely cannot eat at dinner," she began unprompted, but her squeaky voice was a welcome distraction from the noisy quiet, "Not because there's some actual rule - technically there is but I call bullshit on that, it's all food - but because they're so heavy on the stomach that if you do eat them you'll be dreaming of green Raticate and pink Donphants like you got five shots of ketamine before bed."

His head snapped to face her with eyes wide from vague concern.

"I don't actually know if that's what ketamine does, I've never had it," she added, oblivious to his look.

"That's not how you pronounce that," Emmet managed to deadpan.

Mawile translated him sleepily.

Briosa turned to face him, the corners of her otherwise perfectly straight mouth pointed downwards and her forehead creased in puzzlement: "Pronounce what?"

"Ketamine," he replied - the last syllable making a 'meen' sound.

"Ketamine?" she repeated - the last sillable making a 'mine' sound, like the possessive pronoun or the place where miners work.

"Keh-tah-meen," he sounded out carefully so that she could easily read his lips.

Her brows furrowed over her crooked nose: "Ketameen?" she said correctly with a tinge of disgust. Being treated with a nod, she scoffed: "That sounds stupid. It's not a 'meen'-ending word, it sounds too stupid. It could be if it ended in 'a' but otherwise it sounds way too silly for me. I'm gonna keep calling it ketamine."

"That's wrong."

"Well, it sounds better."

Whatever makes her happy.

Emmet blinked heavily.

"Why are we talking about ketamine?" he muttered. The streetlights were too bright.

"We aren't," Briosa replied as soon as Mawile had translated him in sign. "I'm just trying to keep you awake and you derailed the conversation with what is the right way to pronounce ketamine."

"I am awake," he mumbled back.

"Are you?"

He showed her his tongue - immediately covering it with his hand. An awfully unprofessional thing to do: Briosa wasn't Elesa, even though her name ended with the same syllable, and as far as he knew they weren't quite considerable friends.

How had he even thought of confusing them enough for a mistake in etiquette like that? They were nothing alike, in looks and sound.

The substitute didn’t seem that bothered, proceding without a care: “Is it ok if I ask you for some food for my lads while I’m at yours? I’ll pay you back. It’s just because otherwise they’re gonna eat at 2 AM.”

Emmet nodded without really paying attention; only when the words swam from his ears into his brain and began being digested did he narrow his eyes and stop right where he stood.

He turned and looked behind himself.

Briosa only noticed his sudden stillness after a dozen or so steps, when Mawile pointed her back to the flabbergasted man in the middle of the street.

“You good?” she asked.

He pointed to the direction from which they had come silently, in deep thought. He blinked, then finally turned back to her.

“This isn’t the way to your house,” he noted.

“It’s not.”

The matter-of-fact tone didn't help.

"Why aren't you? On the way home?"

"I'm following you."

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm going to your house."

"You're coming to my house?"

"I'm coming to your house."

"Why are you coming to your- my house?"

"To cook you rice with zucchini."

"Why?"

"For dinner."

Emmet took a moment to pause and ruminate on all that.

"Did we agree on, on that? That you were... Coming to my house to cook?" he asked, because he genuinely didn't remember if they had.

"No."

Ah. Made sense.

A slow roundhouse kick that was probably meant as gentle (and while it did not send him hurtling across the street, it was still imbued with a discreet amount of strength that made him wobble on his unsteady knees) hit him with the back of the foot square in the ass and propelled him forward a little bit.

"Come on, let's go," the man (when had she gotten back at his side?) egged him on, much like a father dragging his noisy tired child out of the supermarket by an arm with as much vague kindness as possible: "You're sleeping on your feet like a Rapidash and you need to get some food in you."

He was too tired to complain or make a comment about that first part, and could not argue with the second.

He was really hungry.

Excadrill seemed perplexed when Briosa snuck under his arm as soon as the door was opened and made a beeline towards the kitchen, but Emmet just waved a hand, letting her know all was fine.

“She’s helping,” he told her with a yawn: “Said she’ll make dinner.”

The Steel mole looked back at the room the small vaguely antropomorphized Electrode had disappeared inside of, not very certain whether or not leaving someone like that in the vicinity of gas outlets, fire, sharpened blades and various more or less dangerous tools at her whims’ disposal; but she did consider, turning once more to the man trying to slip his shoes off while Archeops was nibbling at his wrist to shake him out of his tardiness, that was a risk she was willing to take if it meant her ward would eat before collapsing into uneasy sleep.

Footsteps stampeded heavily all the way back out of the kitchen, and Briosa appeared from the doorframe.

"I don't know where anything is," she said very flatly.

The light that came from the room hit the side of her frame, almost painting a yellow line where it landed, making her look something akin to incomprehensible in the dim sorroundings.

Emmet managed to blink slowly.

"I did find the refrigerated foods and knife and the tap water," she continued as if to reassure him she wasn't a complete cretin, "But I don't know where anything else is and I thought maybe I shouldn't slam open all the cabinets of some house that's not mine to find the rice jar."

Her boss raised a finger in the air to ask her to wait a moment; he stood slowly, heavily, and wobbled on his socked feet over to her.

He didn't have a rice jar, but he did have a box of rice, as well as a rice cooker. He provided Briosa with a pot, some oil and a plate at her request: she struggled to pour the grains into her small palm six, eight times, each fistiful dropped in the plate, cursing softly in what seemed like gibberish, and he watched her absolutely transfixed by the motion and sound similar to rain.

Something vaguely pinchy pulling at his leg snapped him out of it.

"Durant," he assumed as he croaked without looking, leaning down a big to pet lightly something vaguely metallic but not at all like his Bug's carapace, "I'll get dinner. Hold on."

A tongue clicked loudly while he reached for the pantry under the silverware that held the Pokémon food, and a large blackish mass delicately helped him get the bags out. Mawile's large mouth was a little clumsy, since the stem connecting it to the back of her head was quite thin, so Emmet ended up reciprocating her help to save her some of the strain.

Above himself he could hear the gas sparking into fire on the stove.

He nudged Briosa with an elbow to get her attention while remaining crouched - it was a little surreal to be looking up at her as he signed: Zucchini?

"Water," she replied. "I need to boil it. Also I think we forgot the broth powder."

Why boil?

"For the rice."

Sitting on his knees so he could peek over the counter, he pointed at the rice cooker; she looked at it, then turned back to him with a completely blank expression.

Rice cooker, he explained.

"Ah," she replied, and made no motion towards it.

For cooking rice, he continued.

"Yeah, I figured." Briosa checked around the station for a moment more: "Hm, yep, we missed the broth powder."

His brows furrowed: Why powder?

"For the rice. You gotta boil the rice in broth to cook it."

Emmet blinked: Rice cooker, he repeated.

Briosa blinked: "Hm," she noted.

Her boss pointed back to the utensil.

Use rice cooker.

"I don't know how to use that."

I teach you.

"That's gonna take longer than just letting me boil the rice," she waved her hand, her stoat fingers grazing his nose with a certain resolution to the movement that told him not to worry: "I know what I'm doing. You do what you gotta and try not to fall asleep. If you need me to do something or you gotta tell me something just punt your elbow on my shoulder."

Might hurt.

Briosa smiled, toothy grin not nearly as terrifying as usual: "You're a wet noodle when fully awake," she laughed, sounding like a repeatedly squeezed rubber Ducklett: "You won't hurt me."

Then she turned to wash the zucchini a bit in the sink, humming something. Mawile slowly dragged a bag out of the kitchen, struggling a bit; Emmet carefully placed the powdered broth next to the stove where it could be easily seen and raised the other end of the heavy sack to help the little Fairy bring it all the way over to the livingroom, others following behind them in mid air, held floating in the air by Chandelure's helpful Psychic - to keep it away from Crustle’s impatient grabby claws as well.

It took him a hot moment to realize he would have needed seven more bowls (the other twelve already fetched by their respective owners, thankfully); he then also realized that other than Mawile, the six guests were not actually there.

Briosa was chopping a zucchini very slowly and heavily when he came in to ask her for her team, which sat in their Pokéballs on their counter a little closer to the kitchen door. Emmet saw it fit to collect them without bothering her, noting distractedly that she seemed to be singing and deciding, against his will, to listen in.

“... Amministra-zio-ne, e liquida-zio-ne, rateizza-zio-ni anti-previden-zial - misura came-ra-le, calcolo dell’IR-PES, scarico dell’I-VA, misura cata-stal...”

The tempo of her chopping increased to a horrendous degree immediately after as she vocalized quietly; Emmet watched her cut through the vegetable with admirable technique and fury for a moment more before deciding he did not want to have her turn around a little too fast and get that blade flying right in his eye socket, and went right back to the livingroom where his brother’s Bug was starting to scream his little bulbous eyes off in hunger.

Knowing full well how big, bulky, destructive and aggressive ‘the lads’ could be in battle, he was somewhat surprised to see their politeness outside of their Pokéball when he first released them. Their sizes did cause bit of a stirrup, especially among those who hadn't seen them before, and Emolga's heavily deformed scarred grin certainly did not put anybody at ease - but Seismitoad croaked very gently, as a kind greeting, and Bisharp bowed in an incredibly courteous manner; Klinklang did seem a little more than uneasy at the sight of Heatmor, trying to scoot behind Excadrill and to drag the much more relaxed Durant with it, but the Fire type seemed just as scared of the hunk of metal as he hid behind the only lady of the team.

Speaking of Conkeldurr - the poor girl was trying her hardest to shrink in her shoulders as soon as she noticed where she was, eyeing co-workers and new curious faces with a sheepish kind of apprehension, large rough hands playing with one another.

"Hello," Emmet welcomed them too tired to stop Boldore from running into the newcomers repeatedly. "I live here. You eat here tonight."

Cryogonal made a horrifying sound not too far from Candelure' worst cough.

He gave her a thumbs up: "Yes."

It struck him very suddenly that roughly three out of six out of Briosa’s team effectively could have been considered full ass human people by size, and that while one of them was indeed an enormous bulbous frog he should have probably just let Conkeldurr and Bisharp sit on the couch.

It also struck him that Cryogonal (from whom Haxorus was inching away) was a pure Ice type.

“We don’t...” he muttered, turning around to check on the bags. He stared at them for a second or so before remembering the rest of his thought: “Have Ice type food. Food for Ice types. Uh...”

Mawile’s little hands moved quickly to tell him something.

He blinked a couple times, trying to understand before giving in, pointing at his hand: “I cannot - three finger sign, I’m not. Fluent.”

The little Steel Fairy nodded apologetically and chittered as she repeated, slower so that he could try the signs out himself to properly translate them: No problem. C eat nothing or anything. C eat wood if want. No worry.

The chittering was probably so that Cryogonal could listen in herself and assure Emmet of the veracity of the statement with another ghastly shriek.

Which she did.

That got her another thumbs up.

It took a while, to properly get everybody their bowl of dinner, and he had to be helped a couple of times - mostly by Mawile, who seemed the most well-versed in reading written symbols.

He was so, so tired.

In the end they had managed to split the food around more or less evenly: both Durant and Excadrill had graciously declined the portion of Steel-specific food that should have been mixed with their other ones so that Bisharp and Mawile could have it, since they had nothing for Dark or Fairy types, and Emolga was more than fine getting only Flying-specific (Archeops wasn’t necessarily keen on that, but very wisely had not argued with the rat that looked like he had been through a shredder and survived) since Eelektross’ size demanded quite a bowl for him; Seismitoad had at one point striked up a conversation with his fellow Ground type regarding, Emmet imagined, which types of dirt tasted better, whereas Heatmor was still snout-deep in his can of beans, apparently eating them one at a time to better savor them, as normal Fire-specific food didn’t account for his digestive troubles.

Even Cryogonal had managed to snack around without causing an excess in panic. Gurdurr seemed to be the only one a little embarassed, glancing every now and then to the much bigger Fighting type in the same manner an elementary-schooler glances at a substitute teacher he may or may not have a puppy crush on.

It was relatively quiet, in the end. A lot of crunching and munching, and unintelligible words, but it was quiet.

Emmet shook himself a little when small teeth gently bit down on his arm: Mawile looked up at him with a slight concern, her little hands pulling at his pants to make him sit down properly instead of squatting on his toes.

“Hm?” he asked her - or, well, tried to - as he felt his head strangely light.

The Fairy insisted he take a seat first before explaining: No sleep yet! Rice not ready. Ready soon. Stay awake.

“I am Emmet. I am awake.”

Before no.

“Yes I was.”

Mawile pointed at Boldore: Called you, she explained. Food stolen. You asleep! No answer. Crab say shut up.

At that, he looked up to the three Bugs.

Durant and Galvantula both followed his gaze: Crustle turned his bulbous eyes in two completely different directions to try and feign ignorance.

That clearly did not work, as a perfectly straight finger pointed right at him.

“Bad boy.” his trainer’s brother decreted. Crustle (who by law knew any word he could have said could have been used against him) chirped out an indignated whine in protest. “No. Give Boldore some of yours.”

Bugs cannot quite huff, though the crustacean definitely did try; with no other option, he haughtily shoved what still remained in his bowl to the block of rock he had stolen the lunch from in the first place, who made a crumbling sound similar to a piqued ‘thank you’ and very slowly helped himself to the rest of his supper while the other retreated in his cement house as though he were the offended party here.

Well, that was solved.

Emmet rubbed one eye with his hand to shake the sleep dust off of it.

A three-fingered paw pulled at his shirt again: “I am awake,” he reassured Mawile, “I am not falling asleep.”

She did not particularly care about his blatant lies at the moment - not as much as she cared about getting him off the floor, at least, as evidenced by how she tried to pull him onto the couch despite her obvious size disadvantage. Bisharp, noting her struggle, quickly put aside his own bowl and rose to his feet, metal arms outstretched to catch the man in them.

“No thanks,” Emmet stopped him. “Can do it myself.”

Alright, he thought, time to stand up.

After a whole minute he had not moved an inch.

Bisharp, with as extreme a tenderness as a creature composed partially by sawblades could muster, gently slipped his hands under Emmet’s arms, lifted him into the air as one might lift a cat, and sat him on the couch.

“Thanks.” the human peeped.

Seeing the Dark type bow a little in response while Archeops blatantly laughed at him gave him some weird new kind of mortification to feel.

Maybe if he focused on the incomprehensible sounds somewhat reminscent of words coming from the kitchen, he would manage to trick himself into not thinking about having had to be picked up like a bag of cement because his joints didn’t respond.

From the door connecting the two rooms he could see Briosa perfectly still before the stove: a vacant look seemed to dwell in her eyes as her lips moved quickly, and perhaps most concerningly she was holding a kitchen knife in her right hand, bits and pieces of zucchini still stuck to the blade, with a grip that could have concievably crushed a piece of wood into shavings or caused a small enough pumpkin to explode under the pressure.

Not a very reassuring sight.

But it did immediately cancel his embarassment.

“... E il carica-to-re svuo-te-rà, sul-le aliquote della-li-bertà...”

Very suddenly, she began banging her fists against her hips in asynchrony, large knife very much still grasped tight in her palm, as if her body was a drumset and she were playing it after getting a dose of pure sugar injected in her veins.

“Ed il so-cio scompa-ri-rà, sul-le aliquote della-li-bertà...” she continued unperturbed by neither her own choreography nor the possibility of accidentally stabbing herself for that matter.

The rest of the chorus turned a little garbled from her furious headbanging, the movement so violent and so spread out through her entire frame (her torso and pelvis were oscillating in tandem back and forth to lend more strength to the motion, making her look a little like one of those bird-shaped toys that are constantly quickly dipping their beaks in the water, rising out of it, then diving back in for another sip) that it made him fear for a moment she would slam her head on the counter and either knock herself out or destroy it completely, with a higher chance of the latter.

Emmet turned back to Mawile, who had climbed the couch to sit next to him.

“She is always like this?”

She followed his finger with her gaze as he pointed to the kitchen.

Then she nodded.

“Man.”

No like silence, the Fairy explained.

"Aaah. So she talks."

The little beast waited a moment, then waved a hand in the air in a sort-of-yes-sort-of-no kind of gesture: Talk, no really. No hear voice. Feel mouth move, remember how voice sound. But no hear.

Emmet tilted his head: "She can't hear her own voice?"

Mawile nodded.

He clicked his tongue in thoughtful aknowledgement and blinked.

That was such a weird concept, not being able to hear yourself. It was the sort of obvious thing one never ponders on at all: so he had always assumed she could, without really thinking about it enough to question whether or not that was possible. And even if he had found himself reflecting on it in a sudden burst of curiosity, he would have probably still rationalized that she could, maybe by feeling the vibrations in her neck as she spoke.

But that would have meant keeping her hands on her throat all the time, he reasoned, and it would have been really bothersome for someone as prone to action as she was.

He wondered, suddenly, if she knew how squeaky she sounded.

Probably not.

"Could she hear herself?" he asked. "Somehow?"

Yes!, Mawile nodded enthusiastically.

Emmet blinked again. From what she had told him, he hadn't expected that could have been a possibility.

Headphone! Microphone!, the Fairy continued without needing any prompting. Ear implant! But no wear for long. Hurt ear. Or yell!

"Yell?"

If loud enough! Like before!

Did that mean she had been yelling?

This whole time?

Oh, Emmet suddenly thought: yes, actually, she must have been. The kitchen was a room that in some strange way never let any noise escape it; no matter how much the oil could have sizzled or how agonizingly the blender could have screamed, their agony remained hushed into silence between those walls. It was very nice, by all means - he still remembered having to retreat in his closet to escape the noise of his uncle in the kitchen so it couldn’t make him feel like there were Stunfisks flapping around in his veins - but it brought along the slight side-effect that if they had to set a timer that wasn't the oven's (which turned the machine off as soon as it was done) they would have to put it in the livingroom, or they'd never hear it.

For him to be able to listen to her, Briosa must have been belting the hell out of her incomprehensible song like tomorrow wasn't planning on being a thing.

“Verrry loud,” he commented, slowly.

Mawile nodded, whirring her tongue to imitate him as she signed: Verrry loud.

Some minor inconvenience must have happened, because Briosa shouted something irritated, possibly profanity of some kind.

Emmet leaned his head on the back pillows.

Now she was singing again.

“Al-me-no-fi-no-a-do-mat-ti-na-ti-pro-me - tto-che, sarò la fa-ccia, di-cui-hai-più bisogno...”

This one was much calmer. More melodic. The way she pronounced the words had a strange cadence, quick yet slow - it was hard to explain. He blinked, feeling drowsy all the way into his marrow.

“Me-glio-non-di-re-nien-te-aspet-tando-il-mat-ti-no, sor-rido, se-pen-so-al-no-me-che-tu mi-darai do-ma-ni...”

Huh. This verse had a completely different rhythm. Weird.

Maybe the author was part of some avantgarde musical genre he didn’t know.

He felt something lukewarm pulling his forehead back and realized his eyes were closed. When had that happened? Chandelure chimed at him something that sounded like ‘don’t fall asleep yet, you still have to eat’.

Ah.

So it wasn’t the song’s fault for having different-sounding verses.

He mouthed that he wasn’t asleep, voice barely leaving his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed he’d dozed off.

“... che, orati-mangida-den, tro, piccolo-pianeta-spen, to, come-una bri-ciolaal-ven-toe-un-bu-co-ne-roe-un-oc-chio-blu,” Briosa was continuing.

He wondered how much of it he’d missed.

“E, so-no-po-co-più-di-un-jamais-vu, tra tutte queste persone, nella-mia-testa-io-gioco-a-tabù, perdo-se-dico-il tuo no - me...”

A pinch at his leg.

Ow, he murmured, furrowing his brow; Durant chittered worriedly at him, nudging him to spur him into action. His eyelids felt horribly sandy against his sclera as he rubbed them with as much vigor as possible to shake any tiredness away.

He was not tired. He was not sleeping.

His knees popped when he straightened them to tense his legs.

He was not about to fall into a nap again.

“Io ti terrò la mano, tu tienimi l’anima...”

He bent down to grasp his feet.

“E pure se non sai chi sono non lasciarla mai...”

Maybe, if he went to check on Briosa, he would avoid knocking himself out on the couch for the next five hours.

He stood as though he were made of lead.

Following her saccharine voice, he slowly began wobbling towards the kitchen.

“Ve - di, ci sono, dei-ri, cordi, che-mi de - vi, sei grande, ma-ti, chiamo-an, cora ba - by,” (oh, a word he recognized) “Ho gl’occhi rossi ma non te ne accorgi, ti guardo mentre dormi, ma solo ieri-”

Her nose stuck out so much when you looked at her from the side. It jutted out from her forehead out of nowhere, somewhere a little above her eyes and almost right below her eyebrows, and then it came right down like a straight wall. It wasn’t perfectly straight, because there was a dent where it had likely been broken and incorrectly healed; so more than a wall it was like a waterfall interrupted in the middle by a rock. Despite the contrast with the rest of her more graceful features, it fit everything about her like a glove. Emmet’s nose showed no signs of harm and pointed outwards instead, like half the head of an arrow. What weird things to notice in the split second between two verses of a hook.

“-C’e-ri, nei giorni ne-ri, quelli che piove troppo fo-rte per stare in pie-di,” she sang: “E fottevamo anche la morte volando legge-ri, m’hai chiesto dimmi cosa te-mi, in che cosa cre-di, la mia risposta sei tu.”

She hummed loudly, thin lips pursed tight, tilting her head with the melody.

“La mia risposta sei tu...” she repeated while stirring the mass of rice in what little broth was left.

Emmet stared.

She had a nice voice.

When she turned to the door - maybe to call for him - she had a startle and flattened herself closer to the floor, little eyes blown wide and hand grasping the counter. She looked like she had a heart attack.

They simply stared at each other for a moment, before Emmet remembered she couldn’t have heard him come in and likely had shat her pants.

Whoops.

Briosa was quicker: “Hello!” she grinned apologetically. “I was really really loud, wasn’t I.”

Her boss shook his head, smiling back: No problem. You sing nice.

Expression losing any mortification, she flipped her wooden spoon to tap her chin with it a few times as though she were thanking a deeply captivated audience - giving a ‘youch’ and a ‘porca puttana bastarda’ when the heat carried by the utensil scalded her a little.

He wasn’t sure what that second thing meant, but it made him chuckle.

Briosa turned back to the pot and twisted her mouth: “Ok, since it’s almost ready, do you want me to put...” she rocked in place for a moment, hand waving a little, “A sensible person’s idea of a good amount of cheese and butter, or my idea of a good amount of cheese and butter?”

Second, he signed.

“Gotcha.” and she got her big knife back in hand and grabbed the brick of definitely softer butter like she was going to squeeze it between her fingers and annihilate it completely: “Drown it in dairy it is.”

Emmet wheezed weakly.

He fetched a couple plates and forks to set on the table, slowly, so slowly. By the time he found the glasses and started checking for a bottle that still had some water before pikcing one and putting in the sink to fill it, the rice had completely dried up, and Briosa was stirring it with butter and shredded cheese with such a focused gaze and furiously quick hand that an inattentive onlooker might have thought she was busy making merengues instead.

(They had tried exactly once, and in the end they’d both ended up with aching wrists and a bunch of half whipped egg clears despite their best efforts. In the end they had made sweet white omelettes that weren’t as bad as they could have turned out to be.)

“You wanna lick the spoon?”

Before he could even register the question he had already clamped the wooden utensil in his mouth.

Clearly the correct course of action: that tasted great.

Must have been all the cheese.

Now he was salivating.

“This’ll kill you,” Briosa assured him with a calm tone. “If you’re not gonna be sleeping after this I might have to punch a hole in your head.”

He gave her thumbs up. A good last meal either way.

They ate in silence, fairly quickly. Had he really not noticed how hungry he was up until now? Dragons. He shouldn’t skip meals. But maybe it was just because this rice specifically tasted so good. Why, he couldn’t really tell. It was just rice and zucchini. Drowned in dairy, but still rice and zucchini. It wasn’t even that hard to make. He probably could have made it on his own.

Maybe it was because he’d fasted the whole day.

He stood and fetched a second portion. Briosa was eyeing the pot like a Braviary waiting for the right moment to strike a Basculin.

When he motioned for her to hand him her plate she shook her head: “I’m not hungry,” she claimed, though he never quite believed her when she said that, even when she sounded so honest - maybe she was trying to convince herself, but as to why he couldn’t tell, “It’s just gluttony. Keep that in a tupper or something, I made a lot for that especially. And!”

Her index waved a little in the air, possibly to distract her boss from how she was standing to wash her dish and everything before he might object: “And, when you warm it, do it in a pan. With some oil. Gets all crunchy like popcorn. Good shit, let me tell you.”

Emmet nodded. You know a lot, he signed back once both his hands were free.

“My dad always fries his rice instead of putting it in the microwave.”

I see. It was very good.

She smiled at him weirdly.

“You gotta do it like this,” and she signed ‘very’ back at him - though her index and middle fingers paused for a moment after parting, dipping just a second towards the floor before she finished the sign.

He tilted his head: he’d been fairly sure he’d learned how to sign that correctly. Nevertheless, he imitated her.

“There you go!” she grinned. “It’s too weird when you say it with no gemination.”

Twin?, he asked, even more confused.

She spelled the word quickly: “Gemination - doubling letters in a word to make a longer or stronger sound. Like rubble or throttle or bottle. In this case it’s over-gemination because no letter in ‘very’ is doubled but that doesn’t matter. You geminate it. It doesn’t feel right if you don’t.”

How do you know?

“Know what?”

Gemination.

“Ah. Your mouth.”

He pointed at it, surprised. It likely looked a little comical, since he had taken a rather big bite at that moment.

Briosa smiled a little wider: he watched her clearly mouth the word twice, slowly.

“The eh sound opens it a little wider than the ee sound,” she explained, and mouthed it again. “The R by itself has a shwah sound, a sort of ‘uh’ - that’s really weak, so it gets replaced easily by a different one. If you stall it after an eh sound, the lips remain in a similar position, and you can see how they flatten more once the ee sound comes along.”

He looked more carefully as she repeated the motion once more before gulping down his last forkful and imitating her, trying to feel the sounds on his lips. Huh! That was true. He could tell the different shapes made by the vowels. Curious.

Verrry interesting, he signed. The stalling made her grin. Where did you learn?

“Phonetics class in college I had to take to meet the right amount of credits. I actually chose it mostly because the professor was deaf too, so.”

Emmet clicked his tongue, understanding; Briosa clicked it back in affirmation.

Who knows where they’d picked that up from.

He leaned his strangely heavy head on his crossed arms, splaying himself on the table with a sigh. He felt comfortably warm, at ease; he grumbled a protest when a smaller hand slipped his empty plate and dirty silverware away to wash it in the sink, but didn’t quite manage to coax himself to stand up fast enough to stop her from doing his dishes. He did manage to seize the still half full pot before her, emptying its contents into a glass container and managing to hold onto it long enough to squirt some dishsoap in it - not to clean it, because Briosa twisted his arm behind his back without breaking a sweat (without hurting him either) forcing him to hand it over to her.

You should not clean, he pouted once he had both his hands free again: My house. I’m host. You’re guest. I clean.

“I invited myself over though.”

And cooked.

“And ate also.” and she kicked his hip gently to get him out of the kitchen: “Get your pijamas on while I’m busy, you’re going straight to bed once I’m done.”

You’re not my dad.

She stared directly into his eyes with a face so blank it almost made him laugh.

“Do you want me to adopt you,” she said like it was a threat.

Emmet’s entire body began shaking to contain a giggle. He shook his head.

“Then wash your teeth and put on your jammies.”

He wheezed in her face.

She snorted back.

“But seriously,” she chuckled, “Go get changed. The rice is gonna hit soon and you’re not gonna be able to move a muscle for the next three hours otherwise.”

Alright, fair.

He didn’t notice it, but the Pokémon chatting about in the livingroom were all greatly relieved to see him stumble into his room giggling to himself like a kid.

Flannel felt good on his arms. It was soft, warm, loose... It seemed like forever since he had last worn those pijamas. They were awfully comfortable. He had to make an effort to change into them more often when he came back home. They were much better than a dirty button up and dress pants.

(He hadn’t called before eating. He should have called now.)

(One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.)

“If you’re naked stick out your leg!”

The sound of Briosa’s voice shouting from the corridor made him almost throw the Xtransceiver into high heaven, fumbling to catch it so that it didn’t shatter on the floor and hastily closing the call before she could hear the ringing and ask about it.

The fact that she was deaf dawned on him a second too late, but that was done.

(And he hadn’t replied, anyways.)

He settled the gadget on the nightstand, trying to pull himself out of the spiral he’d almost been sucked in; without even thinking he proceeded to stick his leg out through the doorway.

There was a beat of silence; then: “I said naked!”

Emmet cawed out a laugh.

His head peeked through as well. Briosa looked at him, face plain, coat in her arms and hat in hand.

“I thought you’d passed out,” she noted.

Nope, he signed back. Still awake.

“Not for long!”

Sounds evil.

Her brows furrowed: “What’s that mean?”

You sound like you’ll knock me out.

She thought it over a moment before squeaking a chuckle.

It would be verrry easy, he shrugged.

“It would!”

He accompanied her back to the livingroom. The various bags of food had been transported away, the bowls had disappeared back into their cupboard, Crustle still refused to grace the room with his handsome face, and Gurdurr hurriedly scuttled away from Conkeldurr despite having barely come close enough to graze her, deathly embarassed by his crush and round nose redder than usual; Cryogonal shrieked something in his general direction as greeting.

He gave her thumbs up.

“Alright my beautiful death machines,” Briosa called with a tone so affectionate it felt as though her mouth was dripping cotton candy: “We’re goin’ back home! Time for the circus trick.”

She patted her belt a few times, looking for her set of Pokéball. Emmet helpfully pointed them to her from where he’d laid them on the table; Mawile took that as an opportunity to gently bite her shirt as she collected the spheres to rapidly sign something at her and direct her attention over to Heatmor, who was fidgeting rather nervously with his yellow claws.

Once he had her undivided attention, he pulled the sweetest pair of Baby-Doll Eyes he could muster, wiggling demurely as though whining.

Briosa smiled: “Go on, give her a snuggle,” she allowed.

In a second the Fire type wrapped Durant in a tight hug, rubbing his snout on her with a concert of thrilled chirps; the Steel Bug for her part clacked her mandibles rather happily as though to remind him they were going to see each other tomorrow at work anyways.

The beasts who hadn’t visited the station in quite some time eyed the exchange with genuinely dumbfounded gazes.

It probably felt a little like beholding a glitch in nature itself.

A brief whistle tore Heatmor from his friend; he waved her bye one last time before a reddish ray sucked him right back into one of the six balls being juggled by his trainer, followed suit by each of his associates while Mawile latched herself onto her aidee’s elbow.

Emmet followed the trajectory of the flying spheres without trying to keep up with their increasing speed, head heavier than lead lolling back and forth until all six were caught with a fluid graceful motion between the fingers of the Substitute, the little Fairy swinging from her arm leaping onto her head and landing perfectly balanced - thanks to her main maw acting as counterweight - right on her buzzed mousy hair with a little flourish, like an olimpic gymnast.

He weakly waved his hands in a silent applause. Mawile bowed deeply, proud; Briosa curtsied and thanked him by grazing all ten fingertips to her chin.

Must teach me, he signed as he forgot to stifle a yawn.

“Maybe when you’re not falling asleep on your feet.”

Agreed.

Galvantula gently nuzzled her leg.

“Ye, ye, I’m leaving him to y’all now,” she assured the Bug. She saluted the rest of the beasts as she slipped her coat back on hurriedly and helped her aide back down into one of her pockets: “Thank you for not mauling me!”

A chorus of noises she couldn’t hear bid her farewell.

Socked feet accompanied her to the door. Emmet stalled for a moment before opening it; his fingers drummed on the knob under eyes of rotten green waiting patiently for him to send them on their way.

Instead he turned towards her, hands a little sluggish as he signed: Thank you. For rice. And company. Elesa does this, usually. When she can.

“That’s nice to know.” Briosa noted.

Not always. She comes, not always. I mean that. Always nice, when she comes. But doesn’t come always.

“Yeah, I imagined you meant that.”

Sorry. Verrry tired.

“I can see that.”

I am... Bothering?

“Not at all! You just kinda look like you’re melting. You should go sleep.”

Will do.

Briosa smiled. It was the most angular smile he’d seen on her yet, and it fit her like a glove. It made him think like the smile that made Elesa’s eyes too small and her face too round. It was sweet.

“Next time I’ll make you a soup,” she said. “And if I remember them I’ll sing you some songs from old cartoons to keep you awake.”

He liked the idea of a next time.

He gave her an ok; she tilted her hat at him.

“Goodnight.”

Goodnight.

Then he closed the door behind her; tucked his and his brother’s partners to bed; turned off the lights; crawled under the covers.

He slept well.

[femchef]

So today was the first day back for teachers (semester starts on Monday) and I was going over my notes from one of my classes and picking out things to share with another teacher who’s teaching the same class on one of our satellite campuses -

So anyway, does anyone want to read my lecture notes on thickening agents that I turned into a study guide (I wrote one up during the semester because we didn’t have any previously prepared materials because other instructors just skip or gloss over the chapter but I felt like it was worth the time to focus on the topic and also I’m a Nerd about stuff that makes things gooey).

You know what - I’m just going to post it under a cut below, because it’s fun and also an infodump.

**For context, even though my notes go into more specifics than the required reading, the book for the class is called How Baking Works by Paula Figoni (3rd edition, tbh needs an update but is a good reference), and the link I am telling them to refer to for more information on gelatin that includes conversion charts is here:

Thickening Agents Study Guide

1. Thickening vs. Gelling

1.1. Thickening = moving slowly, viscous, but still some movement while set

1.1.1. Either when sugars and proteins become loosely entangled or when water is absorbed and trapped by swollen starch granules, or when air bubbles in foams or fat droplets in an emulsion slow water movement.

1.2. Gelling = completely set, no movement whatsoever

1.2.1. When water and other molecules are prevented from moving around at all, usually when sugars and proteins bond or tightly entangle and form a larger network that entraps water and other molecules.

1.3. A number of thickening/gelling agents are interchangeable in different quantities.

2. Food-Grade Gelatin (Type A Gelatin) is produced by boiling or soaking pigskins in acid; the connective tissue breaks down into thick strands of collagen and thinner strands of gelatin

3. Powdered Gelatin is made from lower-grade pulverized sheets

4. For more information, take some time to view the attached link in blackboard and the conversion charts.

5. Vegetable Gums = polysaccharides that absorb large quantities of water and swell to produce thick liquids and gels. Veg Gums are a nice source of dietary fiber (think fiber one Powder added to drinks)

5.1. Pectin = present in all fruits

5.1.1. LM (low Methoxyl) Pectin = Also comes from citrus peels or apple. Used in low-calorie jams and jellies, relies on calcium rather than sugar to solidify. Suitable for dairy-based products. Becomes increasingly firm as calcium is added until it reaches saturation point, at which time it begins to reverse in process and soften.

5.1.2. HM (high Methoxyl) Pectin = Comes as Rapid Set or Slow Set; extracted from citrus fruit peels. Rapid-Set for products that require suspension; Slow-Set for recipes that require a smooth texture with no suspension (such as a jelly)

5.1.3. NH (Thermal Reversible) Pectin = Modified LMP; Requires sugar and acidity to gel (and less calcium), and can be melted, set and remelted – requires heat to activate properly. ‘NH’ because of the Ammonia Hydroxide treatment it receives to modify (NH3(aq))

5.1.4. Apple Pectin = Derived from apples. Usually sold as a powder, can be used as a gelling and thickening agent, as well as a stabilizer. Is high in healthy carbs, dietary fiber, sodium, manganese, copper, and zinc – which is why it is a common ingredient in health supplements and pharmaceuticals. Additionally used in laxatives for natural purgative qualities.

5.2. Agar = Is a polysaccharide extracted from either of two varieties of red algae (ogonori and tengusa); has gelling/setting properties that behave remarkably like animal protein. Less agar is required than gelatin, and agar has the benefit of holding shape at room temperature. Cannot be used to stabilize aerated products, and does not whip well.

5.3. Carrageenan = a family of sulphated polysaccharides, name comes from variety of red seaweed found off the Irish Coast termed “Irish Moss”. Typically used in conjunction with meat and dairy products, for which they work particularly well, in large-scale production for stabilization, thickening gelling and texturing.

5.4. Guar and Locust Bean Gum

5.4.1. Guar Gum = Extracted from the endosperm of Guar Beans (legume); does not self-gel like LBG, but is more soluble. Requires high temperatures, high ph and longer times to cause gelling. Low-cost alternative to many other agents and starches, and is 8 times more effective than cornstarch. Used commercially, and stays stable when frozen/thawed.

5.4.2. Locust Bean Gum = Extracted from endosperm of bean on Carob Tree. Dispersible in hot and cold liquid, and converts to gel with addition of minimal amount of sodium borate. Is naturally sweet and is typically used to sweeten foods and as a replacement for chocolate.

5.5. Gum Arabic = Acacia/Senegal/Indian/Sudani Gum = Harvested from Sap of two Acacia Tree Species. Primarily used as a stabilizer (such as in sodas and cosmetics).

5.6. Gum Tragacanth = derived from several species of legumes in the genus Astragalus (Tragacanth, lit. “Goat + Thorn”, which is common name). Largely produced/exported from Iran. Is viscous, odorless, and tasteless water-soluble sap. Traditional binder for pigments in artist’s pastels, and main gum used in fabricated Gumpaste.

5.7. Xanthan Gum = derived from a species of bacteria, Xanthomonas Campestris (same bacteria which causes a variety of plant diseases, such as black rot in brassicas and bacterial wilt in turf grass). Produced via fermentation of glucose and sucrose. Is used to stabilize emulsions (is not an emulsifier in itself). Also helps suspend solid particles in liquids. Commonly used as a thickener in egg white substitutes and to build matrix in gluten-free products where there is no gluten-development.

5.7.1. Shear Thinning/Pseudo-Plasticity: Non-Newtonian behavior of fluids who’s viscosity decreases under ‘shear strain’. Examples Ketchup and Salad Dressing.

5.8. Methylcellulose = “Modified Vegetable Gum” an emulsifier and bulk-forming laxative. Unique property of Setting when Hot and Melting when Cold – commonly used in ice creams for this reason.

6. Starches = Starch molecules are polysaccharides that are arranged in one of 2 ways: either as long, straight chains or as short, but highly branched chains.

6.1. Amylose = long, straight chain starches

6.1.1.  Clouds when cooled

6.1.2.   Firm, heavy-bodied gel when cooled

6.1.3.   Not freezer stable

6.1.4.   Thicker cold than Hot

6.1.5.  Masks flavors

6.2. Amylopectin = short, branched chain starches

6.2.1.   High Clarity

6.2.2.   Thickens, but does not Gel

6.2.3.   Less Likely to weep over time

6.2.4.  Less likely to weep when thawed (more freezer-stable)

6.2.5.  Same thickness hot or cold

6.2.6.  Less likely to mask flavors

6.3. Cereal Starches = extracted from endosperm of cereal grains

6.3.1. Cornstarch

6.3.2. Rice Starch

6.3.3. Wheat Starch

6.3.4. Waxy Maize

6.4. Root Starches = Extracted from roots/tuber plants

6.4.1. Potato Starch

6.4.2. Tapioca Starch

6.5. Modified Food Starches = Starches treated with one or more chemicals to possess more desirable properties or results. (i.e. increased stability with excessive heat/acid, texture, speed of setting)

6.5.1. Corn

6.5.2. Potato

6.5.3. Arrowroot

6.5.4. Tapioca

6.5.5. Waxy Maize (clear and clearer tasting)

6.5.6. Instant Starches = pregelatinized or cold-water swelling (jello cold pudding mix).

6.6. Refer back to previous chapters about gelatinization of starches

6.7. Refer to chart 12.5, pg. 337 for a comparison of properties

Homework: 1-30, Ch. 12

[lesser-mook]

WingsOfRedemption VS. Wings007 FULL DEBATE

Wings is a POS, shitty husband, shitty friend. But I don't know the guy, period. That's just what he projects, and that's what I see. The problem with this, is there's ZERO nuance to the conversation when it comes to these trolls. That's what's stopping them from being a concrete movement, the fact that they exacerbate what actually happened, and cannot concede on anything & always has an excuse. Ironically? The exact same problem wings has. They just need wings to be the bad guy 100% and that's the only narrative they accept why? because they've been spoiled by the lack of challenge, the discord shit, the comment sections, they're spoiled and so used to being told they're right-- The mere consideration that they got something wrong or out of proportion about this guy (as creepy & incompetent as he is) is a cosmic impossibility to them Because on their channels where no one challenges them or questions them, they're god and so is their propaganda. Lions den? They got their buddies piggy backing everything they say. So when some of em go on a podcast where their homeboys aren't there to hold their hand, they have no power over the narrative. They melt, get pissy and panic, because that's what it boils down to, the narrative and control over the narrative. There's no way you can invest that much time to one person and not be invested to the point of fanaticism and overreaching bias.

The moment  their narrative challenged: panic. Yelling. Bringing up the same talking points, no new facts or evidence. Just broken records. It's impossible to be reasonable, when the entire appeal of your content is a dramatized biased view. There's no way you can hold down an argument, without the slightest bit of nuance. Even if you don't mean it, at least telegraph the POSSIBILITY that you might not have it all together in the facts. That's where the trolls fail. When all you're used to is an echo-chamber, you're not ready for a conversation. Might as well should just stay on your troll channels where 99% says you're right 24/7 All Wings007 had to do was agree to disagree or concede that wings is a pos but not to the extent that he believed all this time. That's all he had to do to avoid an L & a borderline meltdown, just concede both truths.