#or same function preference but the direction is opposite

[bat-the-misfit]

clarifying my latest post i don't mean character should always be opposite types bc

1 like in the quixote example a character can still foil another without them being opposite types

2 most people don't care about mbti and that's ok and writers shouldn't be forced to learn it bc of that

3 you shouldn't change the nature of a character just to force them to oppose another character's type bc mbti is not to force people into boxes :)

i just like it when it happens bc i'm a mbti nerd and i like the idea of foils being opposite types ok

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

I CAN FIX HIM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Peter become closer after your successful final project is finished, and you realize perhaps Peter isn't as bad as you've made him out to be. A night out at the bar with him leads to... a date in the near future?

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, alcohol and drug use

come close, i'll show you heaven/ if you'll be an angel all night / trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man / no really i can …

- i can fix him (no really i can), taylor swift

part one... part two

You could barely see him from the haze that seemed to linger over the crowd of people in the bar, its presence almost suffocating.

But you could hear him.

Even over the steady thud of music and peoples bustling conversations, his laugh rang loud and true in your ears, as if he had been talking about you behind your back.

Your ears seemed to ring as you let your head loll against the cool brick wall, gripping your glass of wine to try and stay cool.

It was stuffy and hot in this cheaply lit, dimmed rundown college bar, and yet it was completely packed- nonetheless.

And yes, you ordered wine at a college bar. You would be damned if you’d be influenced to try some foamy, warm beer- or a gross shot of liquor that would burn the back of your throat like wildfire.

No, you were quite content with your lukewarm glass of red, the same deep red as the lipstick you had boldly applied tonight.

You hoped it functioned as a fluorescent traffic cone in the sea of white shirts and blue jeans- an eyesore to anyone who bothered to glance your way. Your scowl steered everyone in the other direction anyways.

This was not your scene, and you had no plans of blending into it.

A bead of sweat trickled between your breasts, skin seeming dewy and sticky to the touch.

You had to get out here. You were drunk, and hot, and needy.

The longer you stuck by yourself, the more you got in your head about things. Peter had invited you out with some friends to celebrate the praise you received on your presentation, and the good grade that came with it.

Not that you were surprised by any means, you had worked your ass off- and you had worked it off whilst being partners with the most insufferable man alive.

Or so you thought.

Your once conflicting feelings about the man had turned for the worst- and you actually… liked him. Like really, really liked him. And it wasn't just the sex that had sold it.

He was a genuinely funny, charming and smart man. Behind all the jokes and the sass, he had real intelligent ideas.

You hated the fact you liked him.

It was a classic trope, the whole enemies to lovers, the one night stand and then acting like nothing had happened, that no feelings were shared, or had even been felt in the first place.

It was pathetic actually, the way you had let yourself go.

He was the reason you were on the opposite side of the bar. You were afraid if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to stop talking to him- and that wasn't good. Because then he would entrance you, with his charming- boyish grin, and you'd melt into his arms like cotton candy.

Trying to pretend you still hated Parker was impossible though, to anyone who had eyes. You had given up on that act after the presentation- the raised eyebrows and smirks from Peter's friends telling you everything you needed to know.

They knew your little facade of hate was over. The mask had slipped clean off and shattered on the ground, your heart on your sleeve like a lovesick puppy.

You wanted to stay home with your roommates- as none of them would come to this, much preferring a movie night instead. You didn't blame them. You’d be snuggled right alongside them if it wasn't for your little crush, that didn't seem so little anymore.

So here you were, longing for a man you wanted to loathe, on the opposite side of the bar- despite him inviting you. Your head was thudding so loud it felt like a snare drum was directly inside your skull, the endless buzz of people making you woozy.

You gripped your wine glass, shoving past people as polite as you possibly could, making a beeline for the smokers pit. You couldn't take it any longer. It was too much.

The end was in sight, the door just in front of you, so close you could practically feel your fingers brush the crinkled old posters taped all over it.

“Excuse me ma’am- you can’t take that outside.” a man, presumably a worker called to you, and you slipped from his grip, swinging the door open.

“I’m just taking a smoke.” you called, doubting he could hear you over the loud music. The cool night breeze washed over you like a salty ocean wave, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The bouncer eyed you suspiciously as you clenched the wine glass tighter, slipping over to the side of the building, where there was a group of guys huddled, puff like train smoke, a cloud in their wake.

It was too dimly lit to tell who was who. You sighed, pulling a joint and lighter from your purse. You leaned against the brick, perching the joint between your lips, groaning in frustration as you flicked your lighter- nothing but a small spark emerging from it.

“Hey lady, I told you you can’t bring that out here.” that same man yelled, and you just about drunkenly lost your shit.

“Listen man, I’m not gonna steal your four dollar wine glass okay?! I’m just trying to have a joint and a girl cant even get a light!” you stretched, loud enough to alert the group next to you, feeling five sets of eyes on your frame, some shaking with laughter.

The man's face flushed as red as your wine, and you knew you wouldn't be allowed back here again. You couldn't give less of a shit.

“You need help with that?” a familiar voice sounded beside you, making you jump. Peter leaned against the wall next to you, holding a lit lighter to your face, motioning towards your joint.

“Thanks.” you nodded, leaning in and covering it from the wind. You let out a sigh of relief as you inhaled the smoke, the burn in your lungs leaving you fuzzy as you coughed.

“I’ll take care of her man, don’t worry.” he called to the owner, waving him away. His gaze turned back to you, full of charm and sass.

“Well I’ll be damned. Y/L/N smoking a joint? Who would've thought?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I’m drunk and stressed. Big whoop.” you rolled your eyes, taking another inhale.

“I can see that, from the sass you gave the owner. Or maybe thats just normal, I’m not too sure since thats how you always talk to me.” he shrugged.

“Its called flirting, asshole. I was securing a second date at the establishment.”

“Flirting by taking his glasses? I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one before.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m in need of souvenirs of this place. Its so beautiful, I just had to take something back with me so I wouldnt forget it.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the air, interminling with the smoke from your half smoked joint.

“You’re lucky I know him sweetheart. Or you’d never be allowed back tothis beautiful bar.”

You rolled your eyes again, fighting the urge not to let your cheeks heat up. Before you could make a snarky comeback- a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hey Y/L/N. Funny seeing you here, without your little school girl getup.” Bucky smirked, peering alongside Peter, patting his shoulder.

“Harty har. Its vintage Chanel, I’ll have you know.”

“You look good.” he commented, both him and Peter checking you out, and you couldnt help but scoff.

“You should see whats under the dress.”

Bucky laughed and Peters eyes widened, stuck like a deer in headlights between you and Bucky. “Shes feisty when shes drunk, eh Parker? I like her. Good choice.”

He saluted you, him and the rest of Peters group heading back inside the bar, probably off to get more shitty tasting beers. You glared at him as he walked off before sharply turning your gaze to Peters, eyes narrowed like a hawks.

You were bold when you drank. Too bold.

“If you’re gonna look at me like that, ask me on a date at least.” you said, tossing the butt to the side and taking a sip of wine.

You felt buzzed. You felt as free as a bird. Anything could happen. You could say anything, and forget it ever happened in the morning.

So why not play him up a little?

“Would you like me to ask you on a date? Cause I will.” he stated.

“No.”

“So no, don’t ask you on a date?”

“No.” you replied again, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m gonna ask you on a date now.”

You raised your eyebrow, pursing your lips. “And what if I say no?”

“Well I hope you don't since I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, but if you did we’d just pretend it never happened.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. He had wanted to ask you out?

“And what, just do this? Have sex once and then act like we aren't interested when we are?”

“Whose we? You are interested then?”

You silently stared at him, glint in your eye as you took another long, drawn out sip. It was nice to have the upper hand and annoy him for once. Suddenly, this whole dynamic wasn't so bad afterall.

“Not sure yet. I’d have to go on a date to find out.”

“Then go out with me, next Saturday. Please.” His voice turned to begging, eyes pleading at you- as if he wasnt the one who played you like a fucking fiddle, teasing you and getting you so riled up youd have to take breaks just from talking to him so you wouldn't lose your mind and kiss him.

He was staring at you, as if you were worth begging over. Like you were above him.

“Please?”

“Please.”

You smiled, hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear, watching as it just fell forward again. Maybe that was too intimate. But he didn't seem to mind.

Encouraged it- actually.

You noticed every little move he made, inching closer and closer towards you- as if your red lips were a magnet.

“Fine. But don't make me wait. Pick me up at 6 o'clock sharp. And I don't like rocks being tossed at my window. A handkerchief wave will do just fine.”

“Just a wave?”

“Just a wave."

[witchthewriter]

𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

Like I've done with the Hogwarts Houses, Moral Alignment, Tarot Cards and Zodiac (Sun, Moon, Rising); I am now creating a post for MBTI personalities! 16 all together, I've included some tests so if you don't know already, you can now!

Test One (from 16 Personalities, sort of the 'official' test, well the official free test. I think the real one you have to pay.)

Test Two (free don't worry)

Test Three (from truity)

There are sixteen different options that are split into four groups:

Analysts

Intuitive (N) and Thinking (T) personality types, known for their rationality, impartiality, and intellectual excellence.

Diplomats

Intuitive (N) and Feeling (F) personality types, known for their empathy, diplomatic skills, and passionate idealism.

Sentinels

Observant (S) and Judging (J) personality types, known for their practicality and focus on order, security, and stability.

Explorers

Observant (S) and Prospecting (P) personality types, known for their spontaneity, ingenuity, and flexibility.

Analysist: INTJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅/𝑨𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕

The acronym INTJ stands for introverted, intuitive, thinking, judging. ESFP is the opposite of the INTJ personality type. They're also known as: The Scientist, the Strategist.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

One of the rarest personality types and one of the most capable

Rational and quick-witted

Not known for being warm and fuzzy. They tend to prioritize rationality and success over politeness and pleasantries 

Architects question everything

Prefers to make their own discoveries

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Independent

Introverted

Confident

Analytical

Driven

Ambitious

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Petyr Baelish

James Moriarty

Gandalf

Wednesday Addams

Walter White

Doctor Strange

Tywin Lannister

Analysist: INTP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏/𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒚

The INTP acronym stands for introverted, intuitive, thinking, perceiving. The opposite of an INTP is either an ESFJ or an ISFP. Also known as 'The Thinker.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

Can’t help but puzzle over the mysteries of the universe

Logicians aren’t afraid to stand out from the crowd

Often lose themselves in thought

They put a great deal of consideration into everything they do

Seem to live in a never ending daydream

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Analytical

Imaginative

Curious

Radical thinking

Indepedent

Problem solvers

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Sherlock Holmes

Alice from Alice in Wonderland

Lord Varys

Bruce Banner

Arthur Weasley

Analysist: ENTJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

It stands for extraverted, intuitive, thinking, judging. ISFP is the opposite personality type of ENTJ. Sometimes referred to as the 'CEO'.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

Ability to set long-range goals and implement them in an organized manner

They love a good challenge, whether it's big or small

Tend to avoid displays of any type of emotion, so they may be perceived as cold.

They firmly believe that given enough time and resources, they can achieve any goal.

At the negotiating table, be it in a corporate environment or buying a car, Commanders are dominant, relentless, and unforgiving.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Natural born leader

Charismatic

Direct

Organised

Self-assured

Stubborn

Dominant

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Thomas Shelby

Tony Soprano

Cersei Lannister

Beth Dutton

Milady de Winter

Raymond Reddington

Lyanna Mormont

Analysist: ENTP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

It stands for extroverted, intuitive, thinking and perceiving. ISFJs and ENTPs are two Myers-Briggs personality types that share the same cognitive functions, but in reverse order. Also known as ' the Innovator,' 'the Visionary'.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

It would be a mistake, though, to think of Debaters as disagreeable or mean-spirited. Instead, people with this personality type are knowledgeable and curious, with a playful sense of humor

No belief is too sacred to be questioned, no idea is too fundamental to be scrutinized, and no rule is too important to be broken

As Debaters see it, most people are too ready to do as they’re told and blindly conform to social norms

They tend to be bold and creative, deconstructing and rebuilding ideas with great mental agility. They pursue their goals vigorously despite any resistance they might encounter.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Quick-witted

Audacious

Rebellious

Outspoken

Puts self first

Charming

Unpredictable

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Captain Jack Sparrow

Tyrion Lannister

Willy Wonka

The Joker

Irene Adler

Fleabag

Alfie Solomons

Diplomat: INFJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆/𝑴𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄

Is someone with the introverted, intuitive, feeling, and judging personality traits. The opposite to INFJ is the INFP, who will appear less organized and less controlled than the INFJ to others.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They tend to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination.

Their inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide them in all things.

People with this personality type care about integrity, and they’re rarely satisfied until they’ve done what they know to be right.

Advocates tend to carry around a sense – whether conscious or not – of being different from most people.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Insightful

Idealistic

Principled

Wise

Moral

Compassionate

Understanding

Passionate

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Remus Lupin

Elsa

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Jane Eyre

Elizabeth Bennet

Loki

Galadriel

Diplomat: INFP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓/𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓

Is someone who possesses the introverted, intuitive, feeling, and prospecting personality traits. ESTJ is the opposite personality type of INFP. Also known as 'the Idealist,' 'the Healer.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

These rare personality types tend to be quiet, open-minded, and imaginative, and they apply a caring and creative approach to everything they do.

Although they may seem quiet or unassuming, INFPs have vibrant, passionate inner lives.

Happily lose themselves in daydreams

Known for their sensitivity; they can have profound emotional responses to music, art, nature, and the people around them.

Long for deep, soulful relationships

Mediators have a talent for self-expression. They may reveal their innermost thoughts and secrets through metaphors and fictional characters.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Introspective

Intuitive

Empathetic

Flexible

Idealistic

Curious

Creative

Strong Personal Values

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Lucy Pevensie

Frodo Baggins

Tina Belcher

Newt Scammander

Wanda Maximoff

Luna Lovegood

Edward Scissorhands

Diplomat: ENFJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕/𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒓

ENFJ is extraverted, intuitive, feeling, and judging personality traits. ISTP is the opposite of the ENFJ personality type. Also known as, 'the Giver,' 'the Teacher.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They're born leaders, with passion and charisma which makes them great politicians, coaches, and teachers.

These warm, forthright types love helping others, and they tend to have strong ideas and values.

They back their perspective with the creative energy to achieve their goals.

Feel called to serve a greater purpose in life

When something strikes them as unjust or wrong, they speak up

These personality types have the ability to pick up on people’s underlying motivations and beliefs

ENFJ’s secret weapon is their purity of intent

They're motivated by a sincere wish to do the right thing

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Very extraverted

Great people skills

Warm

Affectionate

Supportive

Great at encouraging others

Thoughtful

Gentle

Kind

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Margaery Tyrell

Queenie Goldstein

Professor X

Mufasa

Diana Prince / Wonder Woman

Peeta Mellark

Elle Woods

Moana

Diplomat: ENFP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒓

ENFP stands for extraverted, intuitive, feeling, and prospecting personality traits. ISTJ is the opposite personality type of ENFP. ENFPs are also called the Campaigners or the Encouragers mainly because of their desire to inspire and encourage other people. Also known as, 'the Champion,' 'the Visionary.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

These people tend to embrace big ideas and actions that reflect their sense of hope and goodwill toward others.

Their vibrant energy can flow in many directions.

Are true free spirits – outgoing, openhearted, and open-minded.

They can’t help but ponder the deeper meaning and significance of life – even when they should be paying attention to something else.

These people radiate a positive energy that draws in other people

Few things matter more to these personality types than having genuine, heartfelt conversations with the people they cherish

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Free-spirited

Optimistic

Idealistic

Open-minded

Curious

Authentic

Inspiring

Intuitive

Imaginative

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Ariel

Anne of Green Gables

John Keating

Wizard Howl

Jo March

Michael Scott

Peter Parker/Spiderman

Phil Dunphy

Sentinel: ISTJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏/𝑫𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆

ISTJ stands for introverted, observant, thinking, and judging personality traits. ENFP is the opposite personality type of ISTJ. Also known as 'Duty-Fulfillers'.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

These people tend to be reserved yet willful, with a rational outlook on life.

They compose their actions carefully and carry them out with methodical purpose.

ISTJs pride themselves on their integrity

Aren’t known for expressing their emotions readily

They strive to meet their obligations no matter what

ISTJs might unfairly misjudge people who can’t match their rigorous self-control – suspecting that someone is being lazy or dishonest when that person might actually be coping with other challenges.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Decisive

Focused

Efficient

Reserved yet willful

Loyal

Blunt

Factual

Logical

Meticulous

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Hermione Granger

Thorin Oakinshield

Nedd Stark

Rick Grimes

Brienne of Tarth

Jim Hopper

Ron Swanson

Sentinel: ISFJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

ISFJ stands for introverted, observant, feeling, and judging personality traits. The ENTP personality type is the opposite ISFJs. Also known as 'the Protector,' 'the Nurturer.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

These people tend to be warm and unassuming in their own steady way.

They’re efficient and responsible, giving careful attention to practical details in their daily lives.

In their unassuming, understated way, Defenders help make the world go round.

They invest a great deal of energy into maintaining strong connections with their loved ones

Known for dropping everything and lending a hand whenever a friend or family member is going through a hard time.

Defenders’ sense of loyalty doesn’t stop with their nearest and dearest – it often extends to their communities, their employers, and even family traditions.

For ISFJs, “good enough” is rarely good enough. People with this personality type can be meticulous to the point of perfectionism.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Warm-hearted

Responsible

Sensitive

Reliable

Caring

Will do anything for those they care about

Generous

Defenders tend to underplay their accomplishments but they eventually become resentful toward the people who just don’t seem to appreciate them.

Excellent analytical abilities and an eye for detail

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Steve Rogers/ Captain America

Jennifer Honey (Miss Honey from Matilda)

Beth March

Charlie Buckets

Samwise Gamgee

Dr Watson

Will Turner

Sentinel: ESTJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆/𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏

ESTJ stands for extraverted, observant, thinking, and judging personality traits. INFP is the opposite personality type of ESTJ. Also known as 'the Supervisor,' 'the Composer.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They possess great fortitude, emphatically following their own sensible judgment.

They often serve as a stabilizing force among others, able to offer solid direction amid adversity.

ESTJs feel most comfortable when there are established procedures in place

Taking pride in bringing people together

The main challenge for Executives is to recognize that not everyone follows the same path

Executives are classic images of the model citizen: they help their neighbors, uphold the law, and try to make sure that everyone participates in the communities and organizations they hold so dear.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Productive

Task-Orientated

Pragmatic

Enjoy order and structure in life

Focuses on facts and details rather than ideas and concepts

Confident

Natural leaders and have a strong work ethic

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Mary Poppins

Peter Pevensie

Borormir

Monica Gellar

Hector Barboss

Claire Dunphy

Miranda Bailey

Mycroft Holmes

Sentinel: ESFJ

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒍

ESFJ stands for extraverted, observant, feeling, and judging personality traits. ISTP is the opposite personality type to ESFJs because they often struggle to be practical. Also known as, 'the Caregiver,' 'the Host.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They are attentive and people-focused, and they enjoy taking part in their social community.

Their achievements are guided by decisive values, and they willingly offer guidance to others.

Energized by time spent with others

Consuls do believe in the power of hospitality and good manners, and they tend to feel a sense of duty to those around them

Consuls have a talent for making the people in their lives feel supported, cared for, and secure.

They believe that there is a clear right thing to do in nearly every situation

ESFJs have a clear moral compass

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Attentive

People-focused

Generous

Reliable

Tender-hearted

Organised

Focused

Strong sense of duty

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Anna Smith

Molly Weasley

Bilbo Baggins

Effie Trinket

Sansa Stark

Cher Horowitz

Nala

Leslie Knope

Explorer: ISTP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒐𝒔𝒐

ISTP stands for introverted, observant, thinking, and prospecting personality traits. ENFJ is the opposite of the ISTP personality type. Also known as, 'the Vigilante,' 'the Crafter,' 'the Analyser,' 'the Artisan.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They tend to have an individualistic mindset, pursuing goals without needing much external connection.

They engage in life with inquisitiveness and personal skill, varying their approach as needed.

Virtuosos love to explore with their hands and their eyes, touching and examining the world around them with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity.

Energized by time spent alone

Virtuosos are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play.

Act too soon

They’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in someone else’s project, roughhouse and play around, or suddenly change their plans because something more interesting came up.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Individualistic mindset

Logical

Loves action and new experiences

Logical but adaptable

Enigmatic

A lot of impulsive energy

Have a “do unto others” attitude

Self-sufficient

Tough

Independent

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Arya Stark

Jason Bourne

Jessica Jones

Jace Herondale

Indiana Jones

Rosa Diaz

Rue Bennett

John Wick

Wolverine

Explorer: ISFP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒓

ISFP means introverted, observant, feeling, and prospecting personality traits. ISFP is the opposite of ENTJ: the commander, who is upfront outgoing and demanding. ISFP is quiet and unassuming. Also known as, 'the Artist, 'the Composer.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They tend to have open minds, approaching life, new experiences, and people with grounded warmth.

Their ability to stay in the moment helps them uncover exciting potentials.

Adventurers tend to see themselves as “just doing their own thing,” so they may not even realize how remarkable they really are.

Quiet and reserved, people with this personality type are keen observers; they enjoy the moment and what’s happening around them.

Embrace a flexible, adaptable approach to life.

Remarkably tolerant and open-minded.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Gentle

Compassionate

Tend to live in the here and now

Love to be active

And love interacting with others

Carefree

Playful

Spontaneous

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Claire Fraser

Eowyn

Bella Swan

Jon Snow

Cinna

Zuko

Cedric Diggory

Explorer: ESFP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒓

ESFP stands for extraverted, observant, feeling, and prospecting personality traits. INTJ is the opposite personality type of ESFP. People with this personality type tend to be outgoing, friendly, and impulsive, acquiring the most enjoyment from being in the presence of others. Also known as, 'the Performer.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

These people love vibrant experiences, engaging in life eagerly and taking pleasure in discovering the unknown.

They can be very social, often encouraging others into shared activities.

These people love vibrant experiences

ESFPs get caught up in the excitement of the moment, and want everyone else to feel that way, too.

No other personality type is as generous with their time and energy as Entertainers when it comes to encouraging others, and no other personality type does it with such irresistible style.

Many famous people with the Entertainer personality type are indeed actors

There’s no greater joy for them than just having fun with a good group of friends.

Have the strongest aesthetic sense of any personality type; an eye for fashion.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Spontaneous

Humorous

Comedic-relief

Thoughtful

Well-liked

Resourceful

Outgoing

Friendly

Love the spotlight

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Steve Harrington

Jesper Fahey

Arthur Shelby

Rose Tyler

Jesse Pinkman

Andy Bernard

Explorer: ESTP

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒓/𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍

ESTP stands for extraverted, observant, thinking, and prospecting personality traits. INFJ is the opposite personality type of ESTP. Also known as, 'the Doer,' 'the Action-Seeker,' 'the Persuader.'

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

They tend to be energetic and action-oriented, deftly navigating whatever is in front of them.

They love uncovering life’s opportunities, whether socializing with others or in more personal pursuits.

They love using common sense to find smarter ways of doing things.

While they are dedicated to whatever they're working on, they don't like to be micromanaged or told what to do by others.

They thrive by being the center of attention.

Always have an impact on their immediate surroundings

If an audience member is asked to come on stage, Entrepreneurs volunteer

They have a special ability to react quickly in an emergency or crisis situation.

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬:

Adventurous

Thrill-seeking

Energetic

Outgoing

Charismatic

Persuasive

Live in a world of action

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈:

Rebecca Sharp

Jaime Lannister

Aquaman

Gimli

Sirius Black

Han Solo

Jennifer Check

𝑻𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌:

Extraversion (E) – Introversion (I)

Extraverts (also often spelled extroverts) are "outward-turning" and tend to be action-oriented, enjoy more frequent social interaction, and feel energized after spending time with other people. Introverts are "inward-turning" and tend to be thought-oriented, enjoy deep and meaningful social interactions, and feel recharged after spending time alone.

Sensing (S) – Intuition (N)

People who prefer sensing tend to pay a great deal of attention to reality, particularly to what they can learn from their own senses. They tend to focus on facts and details and enjoy getting hands-on experience. Those who prefer intuition pay more attention to things like patterns and impressions. They enjoy thinking about possibilities, imagining the future, and abstract theories.

Thinking (T) – Feeling (F)

This scale focuses on how people make decisions based on the information that they gathered from their sensing or intuition functions. People who prefer thinking place a greater emphasis on facts and objective data.

Judging (J) – Perceiving (P)

The final scale involves how people tend to deal with the outside world. Those who lean toward judging prefer structure and firm decisions. People who lean toward perceiving are more open, flexible, and adaptable. These two tendencies interact with the other scales.

[calypsolemon]

You've said that Ink Click Clack is trying to protect others from the leaking narrative but what exactly is the danger posed by the unbound narrative? Like is it a physical hazard or just a "things man was not meant to know"

Sort of both!

As illustrated in my comic, even just the mere act of Click Clack removing his mask around mortals can endanger them if left long enough. Anybody in proximity to him is exposed to increasingly more detailed and expansive parts of the narration. For mortals, this onslaught can eventually break their minds, leaving their own stories lost in a sea of others, causing them to lose all sense of self. For his fellow gods, this is easier to cope with, though its something he'd prefer not to expose them to on a regular basis, in the same way Thespius wouldn't want to expose his fellow gods to the whole expanse of every human emotion, or Bau would not want to overwhelm his friends with all memories.

However, this is just how Click Clack functions normally. While removing his mask can be a risk, its an action he has complete control over, and can therefore easily stop before things get out of hand. When split into his component parts however, there's no way for him to edit what leaks out into reality anymore, no way for him to dam up the outpouring. But on top of that, without his other half, he has no ability to edit the story of the world itself. What is leaking out into the world is a story that is gradually losing all direction or purpose.

This means that the longer Ink-click is left alone, the people of Hobbyhoo, the Grove, and eventually the entire world, will experience an onslaught of key, "plot-important" events happening in their lives. Life-altering successes and tragedies alike, things that should only happen once in a great while, suddenly compound into a single afternoon. Everyone is suddenly having their 15 minutes of fame, their worst days of their lives, their defining moments, all at once. Its complete chaos without rhyme or reason or direction! And notably, it's quite the opposite of what Click Clack wanted when he began editing the problems out of his friend's lives.

Ink-click is attempting to ward all this off temporarily, by running into the space between the god's domains. Physical "distance" can't truly change this effect, but on a spiritual level, burying himself where nobody but his other half can (hopefully) find him will at least buy them some time to come to their senses.

[windvexer]

Hi my fav chicken! I have some hard time researching transmutation magick.

On YouTube I’ve watched videos but they do not explain that very well, they just post their own weird spells:/

On tumblr it’s also hard.

I’ve saw ppl saying that 1. When someone random is talking bad about them they r transmuting that energy into free energy for their spells/manifestations etc 2. When they r depressed they r transmuting energy into manifestations etc. 3. They have as well transmuting wards.

And I’d really want to have all of these 3 points though I cannot find good resources. That’s why I’m asking u, would u mind maybe explaining all of those 3 points and maybe giving a lil tutorials and perhaps spells? Thank u for all of u are doing, u are my #1 profile on tumblr and witchystuff xx

Hi!

I'm afraid I will not be your #1 profile on this one.

These beliefs do not fit into my practice of sorcery. This is more or less the opposite of how sorcery works for me.

I don't mean to say that I am practicing the ultimate best form of sorcery and other people are doing it wrong. It's just that the idea does not fit into the school of sorcery I practice.

The idea that all energies can be reduced down to a "free energy" that can be used for any purpose might be true. I don't know if it is.

Here are my thoughts on it:

If you have to transmute energy before you can use it, that means it is not suitable for what you want to use it for.

Finding energies suitable for the task you need, and learning how to gather and store them, is beginner-level witchcraft.

The world is freeflowing with abundant magical energies. If a person has sorcerous abilities, they do not need random people to say bad things about them in order to power their spells.

They could just more or less permanently attach their spells to beneficial energies that power them perpetually.

And then they could cast a spell to get random people to stop saying bad things about them, which to me seems like the preferable option.

Mental illness may or may not be generating its own energies in any particular situation. An exercise that attempts to drain away these energies may be a helpful (if temporary) treatment for symptoms.

But that energy does not need to be used to power spells. It can just be sent away.

I have heard arguments that witches have a responsibility to transmute energies they don't like, which I disagree with. I may not like a cold wetland, but I don't have to reduce it to Formless Biome. I can send it to an alligator, who will like it just fine.

Transmuting wards I have more direct experience with. I understand the point; transform the energy encroaching upon you into something else, and it can't accumulate and come back to haunt you.

This is a decent idea. I wrote up a banishing thing which functionally does this. Take a look at the banishing portion; the invocation seeks to transform the nature of unwanted energies so that they fade back into the universe like droplets of water fading into a biome.

But transforming energy isn't the same thing as keeping it around to work over it so it is possible to use it in a helpful way.

All this being said: I imagine those things you mention are possible. I bet they could be done. It's just that I don't have anything useful to say about accomplishing them, because I don't personally see it as a useful thing to do.

I was just chatting with some friends about this topic. Perhaps @rosecoloredtarot and @elminx might have different thoughts about this?

[noferrah]

Jung Never Intended the Auxiliary to Have the Opposite Attitude

Last post, I spent a good chunk of it focusing on the notion that Isabelle Myers misinterpreted Carl Jung about what he thought the attitude of the auxiliary function is. Because I made a pretty strong claim there and because I don't wish to leave it unbacked for too long, I decided to take care of it now (and besides, I did kinda promise to make a post like this anyway).

I will first quickly outline the bare minimum basics of Jung's model, supported by quotations. Then, I'll bring it all together with simple logical deduction and we shall see what we find in the end; I claim that what we'll find is that, under Classic Jungian, the auxiliary function of the typical individual shares an attitude with the dominant function.

The bare-bones basics of Jung's model

Jung proposed two different "attitudes", which are essentially distinct 'orientations'. One is an orientation towards "the object" -- the extroverted attitude (or extraversion, depending on your preferred spelling,) and the other is an orientation away from the object and towards "the subject" -- the introverted attitude. To quote Jung:¹

Extraversion means an outward-turning of [psychic energy²]. With this concept I denote a manifest relatedness of subject to object in the sense of a positive movement of subjective interest towards the object. Everyone in the state of extraversion thinks, feels, and acts in relation to the object

Chapter XI, p.g. 542³

Curiously, "Everyone in the state of" implies that attitude as such is a kind of mode one can be in. Now, introversion:

Introversion means a turning inwards of [psychic energy,] whereby a negative relation of subject to object is expressed. Interest does not move towards the object, but recedes towards the subject. Everyone whose attitude is introverted thinks, feels, and acts in a way that clearly demonstrates that the subject is the chief factor of motivation

Chapter XI, p.g. 567

We again see that attitude is a matter of one being in a particular state, though it's not as strongly implied here as with the previous excerpt. We can settle this ambiguity by looking at Jung's definition of "attitude":

. . . attitude is a readiness of the psyche to act or to react in a certain direction.

Chapter XI, p.g. 526

This not only seals the deal on what attitude is, but it even specifies on what it applies to. The operative word is "psyche", and not, say, "function".

We can also presume the two attitudes, extroversion and introversion, are primary when it comes to psychological type as, in Chapter X, not only are Jung's pure type descriptions (it will be addressed what exactly a "pure type" is later in this post,) sectioned off into an introverted and an extroverted category, but in the book's very introduction, Jung opens by talking about, of all things, the Introverted and Extroverted types:

IN my practical medical work with nervous patients I have long been struck by the fact that among the many individual differences in human psychology there exist also typical distinctions: two types especially became clear to me which I have termed the Introversion and the Extraversion Types

Introduction, p.g. 9

The next core aspect of Jung's model are the psychic functions, or "psychological functions" (I will continue to only say "psychic function" for the remainder of the post). Let's see what Jung says a psychic function is:

By psychological function I understand a certain form of psychic activity that remains theoretically the same under varying circumstances.

Chapter XI, p.g. 547

Simple enough. How many functions may there be, Jung?

I distinguish four basic functions in all, two rational and two irrational--viz. thinking and feeling, sensation and intuition.

Chapter XI, p.g. 547

The way this is worded, it could be interpreted in one of two ways: either Jung is definitively saying that there's only four functions total, or he means that these are merely the "basic" functions and that there's ultimately more overall. We will settle this ambiguity later.

The third core aspect is one that is easily forgotten about, but is at least just as important as it intermingles with the other two very intimately. This aspect is 'consciousness' vs 'unconsciousness'.

An important thing to clarify from the outset is that Jung's conception of what the word "consciousness" means is different from many other definitions attributed to it. To quote Jung:

By consciousness I understand the relatedness of psychic contents to the ego . . . in so far as they are sensed as such by the ego

Chapter XI, p.g. 535-536

"ego" here is not meant in the colloquial sense of 'self-importance', but instead means something different:

By ego, I understand a complex of representations which constitutes the centrum of my field of consciousness and appears to possess a very high degree of continuity and identity.

Chapter XI, p.g. 540

In other words, the "ego" is that thing which is reading these words right now. That is, it is essentially you. This then means that, for Jung, consciousness is simply whatever part or parts of your psyche you are most aware of. Therefore, unconsciousness is that area of the psyche which you, the ego, is unaware of.

An easily-understood example of these concepts is memory. Before a memory of yours is recalled, such as your memory of whatever you had for breakfast yesterday (if you do not remember and/or did not have breakfast yesterday, pretend otherwise for a moment -- pretty please,) it was not present within your field of awareness; it was unconscious. However, the moment I mentioned such a memory to you, it suddenly sprung to the forefront of such awareness, and so it became conscious.

As such, the psyche is divided into two parts, the conscious and unconscious sides. Likewise, this applies to every other part of Jung's typology. For this reason, consciousness and unconsciousness are two of the most important things to understand about it, and so you're encouraged to consider the following few paragraphs carefully, perhaps more so than any other on this post. In Chapter X, Jung describes "the general attitude" of both consciousness and unconsciousness for the extroverted and introverted types. We will use the former one as an example. For the extroverted types, he writes,

His entire consciousness looks outwards to the world, because the important and decisive determination always comes to him from without . . . Interest and attention follow objective happenings and, primarily, those of the immediate environment

Chapter X, p.g. 417 (Bold emphasis added; italics are of the original text)

Without a doubt, the attitude of consciousness for such kind of type is extroverted. This much was expected. However, for the unconscious side, it seems quite different:

The attitude of the unconscious as an effective complement to the conscious extraverted attitude has a definitely introverting character.

Chapter X, p.g. 422 (Emphasis added)

Why would an extroverted type's unconscious be introverted? Jung explains,

I regard the relation of the unconscious to the conscious as compensatory . . . It is only to be expected, therefore, that a psychic compensation of the conscious extraverted attitude will lay especial weight upon the subjective factor

Chapter X, p.g. 422 (Emphasis added)

In other words, Jung indicates that the unconscious's own nature serves as a compensation to the nature of consciousness. When the conscious is one way, the unconscious will be the exact opposite way. In the case of an extroverted type, since the consciousness of such is extroverted, the unconscious compensates for this by assuming an introverted nature. And an analogous situation is found with the introverted types as well:

The superior position of the subjective factor in consciousness [for the introverted types] involves an inferiority of the objective factor . . . a compensation naturally develops under the guise of an unconscious reinforcement of the influence of the object

Chapter X, p.g. 477-478 (Emphasis added)

Now, we will see how the concept of unconscious compensation applies to the psychic functions. Recall that Jung proposed four "basic" functions: Thinking, Feeling, Sensing, and Intuition. These functions have a very particular relationship with one another. The former two, Thinking and Feeling, are what Jung called the "rational" functions, while the latter two are designated the "irrational⁴" functions. What exactly those words mean is inconsequential in regards to the point being made here, and so the terms will not be explained in detail. The important thing to note about the groups is that, for each one, the two functions within are diametrically opposed; total opposites. For example, while describing Feeling, Jung says,

. . . thinking belongs to a category quite incommensurable with feeling.

Chapter XI, p.g. 545

And,

. . . [feeling's] nature stands in too strong a contrast to thinking. Thinking, if it is to be real thinking and true to its own principle, must scrupulously exclude feeling.

Chapter X, p.g. 514

The same tenet also applies to Sensing and Intuition.

It is important to note that this inter-function conflict is not as pronounced when one rational function and an irrational function are considered:

Neither intuition nor sensation are antagonistic to thinking, i.e. they have not to be unconditionally excluded, since they are not, like feeling, of similar nature, though of the opposite purpose, to thinking--for as a [rational] function feeling successfully competes with thinking -- but are functions of perception, affording welcome assistance to thought.

Chapter X, p.g. 515

Anyway, as with extroversion and introversion, there is the concept of opposites at play. As one might expect, this also implies that psychic functions relate to consciousness and unconsciousness in a very similar manner as the attitudes do.

If you're familiar with Pop-Myers-Briggs, or any other similar typology, you likely already know the idea of "function stacks". Jung never explicitly talks about such type of concept, but he does talk about three aspects of it: the "dominant", "auxiliary", and "inferior" functions (if you're going, "Where's the other one?" don't worry, we'll get there.)

The dominant and inferior positions are the ones most elaborated upon by Jung. In fact, the eight type descriptions found in Chapter X of Psychological Types are what he calls the "pure types": a type with only one function -- that is, the dominant one -- present in consciousness. As for the non-pure types, the auxiliary only receives a passing mention. To quote:

In the foregoing descriptions I have no desire to give my readers the impression that such pure types occur at all frequently in actual practice . . . Accurate investigation of the individual case consistently reveals the fact that, in conjunction with the most [conscious] function, another function of secondary importance, and therefore of inferior differentiation in consciousness, is constantly present, and is a relatively determining factor.

Chapter X, p.g. 514 (Emphasis added)

In other words, for the average person, consciousness has a total of two "basic" functions: the dominant function and the auxiliary function. If you're familiar with the function "stacks" of the Pop-Myers-Briggs system, you may recognize that they share a very similar pattern with Jung's own theory here. You may also be wondering where the other two functions are. Well, at least one of them, the inferior, is also here in Classic Jungian, except for one major difference: it is unconscious.⁵

Recall that when consciousness is extroverted, unconsciousness is then introverted. A very similar case happens with the functions. When Feeling is dominant, the unconscious compensates for this by taking on the Thinking function as its own "dominant" -- this does not mean that there are two dominant functions per se, but simply that the inferior function is the unconscious equivalent of consciousness's own dominant function. For example, the case of Jung's pure Extroverted Thinking type:

Since feelings are the first to oppose and contradict [extraverted thinking], they are affected first by this conscious inhibition, and upon them the most intense repression falls . . . Should the repression succeed, it disappears from consciousness and proceeds to unfold a[n unconscious] activity, which runs counter to conscious aims

Chapter X, p.g. 437-438

Now, although Jung only mentions these three positions -- dominant, auxiliary, and inferior, we can yet deduce that there must also exist an additional one as well, sitting between the auxiliary and inferior. If the dominant function has an unconscious counterpart found in the inferior function, then the auxiliary then must as well have its own counterpart also found within the unconscious. You may already know this as the "tertiary" function.

To sum up, the typical, fully developed psyche's function-arrangement within Classic Jungian goes like so:⁶

Dominant - Auxiliary <> Tertiary - Inferior

The "<>" separates the conscious (left) from the unconscious (right).

Following this general structure, here's an example of a Sensing type with a Thinking auxiliary:

Sensing - Thinking <> Feeling - Intuition

Bringing it all together

To recap, there are two different "attitudes"; two opposing modes of orientation regarding the world. One is a positive orientation to the object, extroversion, the other a negative relation to the object, introversion. Both modes apply to the psyche of each type, but in a dialectical manner, such that when the conscious side is of one mode, the unconscious finds itself in the exact opposite mode.

Additionally, Jung delineated four "basic" psychic functions: Thinking, Feeling, Sensing, and Intuition. The first two are designated as "rational", the other two "irrational". A function of one given category is mutually opposed with that of the same category, and therefore when one of them is conscious, the other is unconscious. However, this conflict does not apply as such across categories, and so, for instance, when there is an irrational function as the dominant function, there can be a rational auxiliary, which, like the dominant, is also conscious.

Now, the punchline.

As the two attitudes apply primarily to the psyche and not the functions themselves, and as the manner in which they apply to the psyche is dialectical and one-sided in nature -- meaning, the conscious side can only ever be either extroverted or introverted, not both at the same time, and the unconscious must have the opposing attitude to consciousness -- this unequivocally necessitates the fact that, under Classic Jungian, the auxiliary function has to be under the same attitude as the dominant function, and vice versa. So, if there is an Introverted Intuitive type with a Feeling auxiliary, both Intuition and Feeling must share the same attitude; for either to differ in attitude would mean consciousness has two attitudes at once, which is impossible given the parameters of Jung's model as previously stated. The same logic applies to the unconscious side of the function-arrangement, i.e., the inferior and tertiary functions share an attitude as well.

Addressing potential counterpoints

I will now address two certain arguments against my conclusion that I anticipate being made.

Counterargument #1: As alluded to earlier, one could point to Jung qualifying the four functions as the "basic" ones to mean that there are ultimately eight. That is to say, the four functions Jung describes would be the 'base functions', with each of them having two derivative forms: one extroverted, one introverted. This opens the door to there existing functions that have attitudes independent of both consciousness's and unconsciousness's overarching ones.

However, this is very unlikely. In Chapter XI of Psychological Types, which Jung dedicated to exhaustively defining his terms in detail, no entry for something like "introverted feeling" is to be found; there are entries for the four functions only. If he indeed thought there were ultimately eight functions in total, why does he not have definitions for both the supposed 'base functions' and their derivatives? Furthermore, Jung specifying that the functions remain "theoretically the same under varying circumstances" contradicts the notion of there being such derivative functions, as for something like Thinking turning into Extroverted Thinking would suggest that Thinking's intrinsic nature has changed as a result.

Counterargument #2: In Jung's Psychological Types, near the end of Chapter X, he proclaims this:

For all the types appearing in practice, the principle holds good that besides the conscious main function there is also a relatively [conscious⁷], auxiliary function, which is in every respect different from the nature of the main function.

Chapter X, p.g. 515 (Emphasis added)

Many, including Isabelle Myers, have taken "in every respect" to mean the auxiliary must be the opposing attitude to the dominant. However, this is also unlikely. Before where the previous quote was taken from, we find this:

Naturally only those functions can appear as auxiliary whose nature is not opposed to the leading function. For instance, feeling can never act as the second function by the side of thinking, because its nature stands in too strong a contrast to thinking.

Chapter X, p.g. 514

Upon careful consideration, it is clear that by "nature", Jung is referring to the 'rationality'/'irrationality' of a function. If he meant something other than that, one would expect him to also mention the two attitudes. This is not even withstanding the fact that, as established earlier, attitude only applies to the psyche, not functions, and so neither extroversion nor introversion could be part of a function's intrinsic nature anyway.

Closing off

As one can readily see (hopefully) from my argumentation, given the core aspects of Classic Jungian, the auxiliary function's attitude for every one of the sixteen types matches that of the dominant function. To say otherwise is to simply misunderstand the very fundamentals of the system.

It may be helpful to combine the overarching argument presented in this post with Akrhomant's own post on this subject, as it mentions things I haven't touched upon here. Taking all of his points into consideration alongside my own, I'd say there's zero to no leeway for thinking the auxiliary's attitude mismatches the dominant's.

---

FOOTNOTES:

All quotations are from a certain copy of “The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Volume 6: Psychological Types”. You can find it here: https://archive.org/details/Vol06PsychologicalTypes/

The original quotation says “libido”, but Jung defined such a word in a manner equivalent with the general concept of psychic energy, which can involve sexual desire, but does not always involve it.

All emphasis -- italics, bolded text, or otherwise, is of the original text for all quotations unless otherwise specified.

Jung did not say the word “irrational” to mean something against reason, but rather meant it as, quote, “something outside the province of reason, whose essence, therefore, is not established by reason.” (Chapter XI, p.g. 569). A more suitable term for such a concept would perhaps be “arational”.

Some interpretations of Pop-MB may have some concept of the inferior being unconscious, or at least being related to the unconscious, but it’s not that common and is certainly not very well-emphasized as shown here in Classic Jungian.

Somewhere just before or around the age of adolescence, or after in the case of an atypical psychology, the function-arrangement under Jung’s original typology may (theoretically) look different. For example, the arrangement matching that of one of the eight pure types -- that is, one conscious function and three unconscious functions.

The original text says “unconscious”. However, this is a known translation error; the source text, Psychologische Typen, says “bewusste“, which is German for ‘conscious’. For this reason, I have corrected it here.

[mindfulwrath]

The Triaxial Theory of Horror

I have a theory that most horror fits into a volume of conceptual space described by 3 axes, which are:

Discrete--Diffuse

Mobile--Sessile

Wet--Dry

The Discrete--Diffuse axis describes the source of the horror. A Discrete horror has a physical, usually tangible form; is recognizable as the source of the horror; and takes actions which make it horrifying. On the opposite end of the scale, a Diffuse horror is one with no obvious source, center, or primary actor. Most of Steven King's work falls on the Discrete end of this scale; Silent Hill falls close to the middle; and The Others lands on the Diffuse end.

(As a note, any point on this axis can be done badly; hamfisted Discrete horror rapidly enters a space I call "Ooga-Booga Horror," where the object/entity/what-have-you is so cartoonishly scary as to wrap back around to being silly. Likewise, poorly handled Diffuse horror becomes "Vapor Horror," which is so completely sourceless as to be nonsensical.)

The Mobile--Sessile axis, meanwhile, describes the behavior of the horror. A Mobile horror is one that hunts, pursues, clings, reappears, or otherwise moves around; 80's slasher flicks being a prime example. Sessile horror, in contrast, stays put, and the horror derives either from the inability to escape its radius of influence or the inability to stay away; The Haunting of Hill House nearly exemplifies the far end of the axis.

(Here, too, poor handling can lead to the inversion of horror into comedy, on a scale from "Imma Gonna Getcha" to "Just Leave, Bro.")

Finally, the Wet--Dry axis deals with the effects of the horror, and is essentially equivalent to the gross-out factor. Typically, Wet horror is rich in blood, brains, and body parts, while Dry horror keeps its victims physically intact; however, this scale is not necessarily coupled to the presence or absence of viscera. For example, The Color Out of Space involves significant bodily disturbance, yet remains relatively Dry due to the elision of details. In the same vein (but in the opposite direction), Crimson Peak is an exceedingly Wet horror film, yet utilizes actual gore quite sparingly, preferring to shift the language of decomposition onto the inanimate house; yet its substitution of red clay for blood in no way lessens the Wetness of the horror.

(And as expected, this axis has its own hilarious pitfalls; over-the-top gore rapidly enters "Blood Fondue" territory, while excessively dry horror risks becoming "Totally Scary, Trust Me." Some would argue that The Color Out of Space indeed represents a plunge into the latter category.)

Some examples, then, of the triaxial scale in action:

NBC's Hannibal is Discrete/Mobile/Wet. Hannibal is the primary source of the horrifying events, he can and will chase you down, and when he does, it's going to get messy.

Saw is Discrete/Sessile/Wet. While the threat of bodily harm is similar, and its source similarly known, as in Hannibal, the texture of the horror is significantly altered by the confined setting.

House of Leaves is two horrors stacked up in a trench coat: the parts dealing with The Navidson Record are Discrete/Sessile/Dry, while Johnny Truant's narrative is Diffuse/Mobile/Wet.

Likewise, The Shining nests Discrete/Mobile/Dry horror (Jack chasing Wendy around with an axe) inside Diffuse/Sessile/Wet horror (the Overlook Hotel itself).

Silent Hill, as mentioned, is close to centered on the Discrete-Diffuse axis, and is also nearly centered on the Mobile-Sessile axis, although it is consistently Wet.

The Magnus Archives utilizes all three axes nearly to their fullest extents, but tends to cluster in the Discrete/Mobile/Wet octant.

To be sure, there are elements of horror not described by these axes--internal vs. external, active vs. passive, certain vs. uncertain doom--but as a system for interpreting and categorizing the main structural elements of horror, and particularly for describing one's preferences in horror, the triaxial scale functions well.

[ultrvmonogamy]

what kIND of candy??

there's only one way to find out..

this just brought back an old memory, wow.

for a while in the late 90s i was doing a lot of hard drugs, and at one point my whole city was essentially in a dry spell. i had a car though so a very strung out friend of mine and i were like fuck this n decided to drive to nyc where he had a longstanding connect. then when we were still a couple of hours away my friend gets a call from dude, and dude's connect is gonna be delayed until late in the following evening, which effectively meant nothing was gonna happen until like 16 hrs or so later than originally anticipated.

so anyway we roll into the city way late at night (or early morning if u prefer), and we weren't going to be able to just lounge around the connect's apartment bc it wasn't like they had a social relationship in the first place, let alone a close enough bond to just bring some random other person (me) to crash there too. it was the dead of winter at this point, just cold as fuck, we've got nowhere to set up a home base, and there's still like an hour or two until daylight. meanwhile my friend had been getting progressively sicker n less functional all along the drive, and at this point he was pretty much in full withdrawal, suffering, and also growing increasingly belligerent.

cut to half an hour or so later, and it's me wandering the streets of alphabet city in the hopes of finding someone to cop from without first getting jacked or killed or wtv. i'm just starting to see the first signs of dawn, it's so so so fucking cold (somewhere in the teens fahrenheit), the ground is frozen, there's around an inch of snow from earlier, and with any gust of wind it's blowing around like shallow dust squalls. there's no one at all to be seen, and as the sun comes up literally everything is sparkling.

eventually i see two guys a few blocks away in one direction and then another guy a couple blocks away in the opposite direction. i'm just kinda sussing it out for a while, and they're each just walking patterns. on the one side there's the pair of them: up the block, back down the block, across the street. up the block, across the street, down the block, back up the block, back down the block, across the street etc. in the other direction, the lone guy is doing essentially the same. there's only one of him, so i head in his direction.

i cautiously approach him, and we're both clearly suspicious of one another, but he's in his element and probably not all that concerned abt me, who is clearly out of my element. he speaks first to begin a conversation that goes like this for way too long:

whatchu need? whatchu got? whatchu need? whatchu got? whatcu need? whatchu got? whatchu need? whatchu got?

that little round of absurdist call n response came to an end when he stopped participating and instead just stared at me w a fixed eye contact that pretty quickly had me feeling compelled to speak. i have zero recollection of what i even said or any other words that may have been exchanged, but i did manage to complete the mission.

i walked a few blocks back to my nice n toasty car to find my friend semi-reclined n sipping a 7 and 7 he'd had stashed in his duffel bag in, um, not a sippy cup but one of those drink bottles that's made of soft translucent plastic and has a hard plastic lid w a hinged, hard plastic straw like thing that folds up from the lid. he gets himself straight w what i brought back, n then like a minute later he looks at me, shakes his head, and disappointedly says "u shoulda got more." i was abt to fucking flip on him but then he smiles w closed eyes n says "i'm just fucking with you, man. thank you."

[strapped-and-beheaded]

1, 19, 26 and 27 for all of them if it's okay!!!

1.Meals/Dish

Charlotte likes sea food and something hearty and filling, herring pie is her favorite but her most reliable meal is sandwiches. Bailey does not raise picky kids she doesn't have much she won't eat.

Rebecca doesn't enjoy food, its another annoying bodily function she needs to fullfill. But after the ufarm she started to get a meat craving...

She likes a rare steak with side of salad. hates crab and chicken wings and any other food that required too much effort to eat, literally loses all her appetite thinking about it.

Had a specific thing in mind for Anna couln't think of a name but in game items had tikka masala, you can't go wrong with chicken and rice. also not picky, but dislikes food that gets messy, her dresses are hard to clean

Okay this got long, banishing the good stuff under the cut

19.Book/Movie/TV Genres (Additionally, what types of endings do they prefer?)

Charlotte likes nonfiction the best, history specificly, helps that it feels like useful knowledge, and there is no narrative to track down. she feels better after a happy ending, knowing it will end up okay after all is comforting...

After the avarage day she has, Lottie doesn't have the brain power for complicated stories. whatever genre it is she just wants a shorter story so she won't forget the beginning by the end when she gets busy. don't expect her to decode a weird ending neither she's just gonna go "I don't get it. anyway" and never think about it again.

Rebecca is a simple girl, after a long day of work she wants to kick back and jack it to slasher movies, upgrades to snuff films eventually, they're her favorites.

Thinks most fantasy is so lame, she's gonna bring back bullying geeks. she thinks dnd players need to be oppressed again. hates when an otherwise grimdark story has a hopeful ending too, commit to the misery fest or don't even bother pollyanna

Anna loved fairy tales all her life, anything that scratches the same itch has her attention, so mostly fantastical romances, shoujo anime, some bodice rippers... and of course all with a happily ever after to follow. wildly opposite but she also likes the occasional horror.

What she can't stand are comedies, she just never seen a good one. and she dislikes a forced happy ending most of all, if the male lead sucks that much she doesn't want him married to the poor dumb heroine !!

26.Affectionate Gestures/Phrases

Charlotte isn't used to pet names but, anything that starts with "my" wrecks her, "my girl" "my love" "my treasure" "my kitty cat" sure whatever, she's gonna be blushing and twirling her hair and trying to act like she's not a little hot and bothered about it.

She pets people on the head all the time but people don't usually pet her back, since she's taller, but she'd like it, her ears twitch and she start purring. oh also "are you okay?" and checking each other for injuries, ultimate form of love really.

She hates nicknames, if you're close enough you can call her Lottie but if you call her something like Charlie she might actually snap, don't get her name wrong, she's Charlotte, okay? Char-lotte. with a "sh" sound.

And no matter how close you get she always freaks out at surprise touches, don't sneak up behind her and try to be funny, that's how you get a concussion from her.

Rebecca shows affection by pinning you down and bitings, if her teeth weren't blunt she'd leave you bleeding. and kick to the stomach, nothing you call her compares to whimpers. you know she likes you when she starts referring to you at her dog, cute little puppy or loyal attack dog, affection seeps into her words.

She hates getting called petnames and all that lovey dovey posessive "my love" "princess" "darling" just eugh bleh. she hates the most being complimented, she's not insecure in a cute one direction what makes you beautiful way she's insecure in a you call her pretty and she hits you until you shut up way.

She can't stand perceived false affection, don't pretend you love her, don't pretend this is anything but carnal desire, are you trying to piss her off?

As long as you let her do whatever you can do whatever you want back to her, hit back or try to get cuddly she doesn't mind, but don't push her hair out of her face, she might just break your wrist.

Call Anna "princess" and kiss her hand and you can watch steam rise form her head, it's cheesy maybe but it's just so. eeeeeee~ maybe she does have a hand fixation...

Anything demeaning is just insulting tho, doesn't know how Whitney fuckers do it if someone called her Slut on the regular she'd break, something, someone. rough handling is not the way to her heart neither

27.Friend/Partner Activity

Answered but man. she really likes doing anything with friends, even chores or getting in a little trouble.

For Rebecca, violence. otherwise... just sitting together, sharing a bottle or smoke, and occasional small talk, or comfortable silence, you can rant about something you find interesting too... putting her cigarette out on people are still her favorite activity tho.

Dislikes anything high energy, don't invite her out to swim or hike or amusement park, she is not coming.

Anna's favorite thing is sleepovers. as a kid those were something she was never close enough with anyone to be invited to, so when Charlotte invited her to sneak into her room to hang out the first time she was so happy... they still have sleep overs and you're invited too :)

She doesn't like it when people invite her over for things and it's not a date but clearly just foreplay to hook up, at least be honest... but if you're paying for drinks she'll still come anyway......

[fruitcoops]

a prompt:

sirius and regulus argument. probably something which has been manifesting for a while, like it starts with short sly comments and then builds up to create tension within the family (cuz i consider them part of the dumais family) so dumo tries to comfort one or both of them in the end? kinda long prompt, it’s just something that i’ve not seen and would like to see how it would work?

Gnaw at the Bone, because I just can't leave these two alone. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW** (please be gentle with yourselves!): canon shit childhoods (no graphic abuse), Walburga and Orion's A+ parenting, sibling parentification, panic attack, bad coping mechanisms (skating), and past minor injuries from said coping mechanisms

“Sirius.”

“Reg.”

His stomach twisted. His head throbbed. His mouth tacked over, lips sticky, chapped, too much, not enough. Years of it. Stars in orbit, on a collision course with anything that came too close—their gravity was inescapable and destructive to the nth degree. They ruined everything but each other. That gravity would rub and chafe and grind at their rough surfaces and it made him sick to think about it.

Oh, it made him sick to think about it.

--

“Sirius.”

“Reg.”

And that was it—a clipped acknowledgment from scowling lips, then resignation. Regulus disappeared down the hall with his pasta. Sirius watched him go, shook his head, and headed in the opposite direction with a white-knuckled grip on his cup.

Alright then.

“Everything okay?” Pascal ventured.

Sirius jumped, his glower lifting for a moment in surprise, as if Pascal hadn’t been sitting there for over an hour. “What?”

Pascal tilted his head toward the empty doorway and set aside the broken toaster. “Everything okay?”

His mouth dipped in a grimace; his brow wrinkled like he was trying to find the weak link in a failing play, but something simmered beneath. “We’ll figure it out,” Sirius finally answered. “We’ll—it’s Reg, you know?”

Pascal didn’t know, actually, but Sirius was gone before he could ask for an elaboration. In fact, the only thing he knew for sure was that Regulus had gone through a period of rapid character development over the past nine months and that Sirius didn’t stop loving him for a single second of it, even through the snappish attitude, even through those horrible interviews that Regulus clearly regretted. They were two sides of the same coin with the unfortunate ability to be as evasive as greased weasels.

Celeste would say he was being nosy. Pascal preferred to think of it as a natural desire to engage with his kids as a loving, supportive parent.

He looked down at the toaster, then back up at the opposing doorways and sighed. It seemed some detective work was in order.

--

“Remus! How are you, mon ami?”

“I’m…good?” To his credit, Remus recovered quickly and offered a light fist bump in greeting. “What’s up?”

Pascal waved a vague hand. “The usual. House is good? Dog is healthy? Boyfriend is happy?”

Bingo. A shadow flickered over Remus’ face before it smoothed out into his usual neutral friendliness. “Yeah, we’re doing great. We were thinking of repainting the living room soon, so if there’s a day you want to borrow the dog, I’m all ears.”

“Parfait, I’ll let you know. And Regulus?”

There it was again—the tension, the twitch, the passive smile. “I think Sirius is just glad to have him home. It’s really been great getting to know him. He’s a sweet kid.”

He might be, but he’s been getting on your nerves, too. If Pascal knew anything, that would piss Sirius off more than any insult Regulus hurled his way. “I’m so glad to hear it. It’s good for them to be near each other right now.”

He clapped Remus on the shoulder and stood before the younger man could respond. It wasn’t just a one-time problem, then; whatever the seething, festering thing between Sirius and Regulus was, it had seeped into their everyday function. Enough that it had even begun annoying Remus ‘Patient’ Lupin. Pascal might not be able to fix their issue, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give them a nudge in the right direction.

Sirius was right where he left him, hunched on the bench with a whiteboard in hand, though his pen served more as a drumstick than a writing instrument as Pascal approached. The tip-tapping stopped when he ruffled Sirius’ hair and took the seat next to him. “Defense,” Sirius muttered by way of explanation. “There’s a gap. Tremzy’s a killer when he goes in for a shot, but we need to close his spot when he moves.”

Pascal hummed in agreement and propped his skates up on the boards, letting the battered wood take his weight and ease the ache. “Good eyes.”

“ ‘s what I get paid for.”

“You seem tense, mon fils.”

“Hmm?” Sirius blinked. His eye contact was pristine, but his attention was lightyears away. “Sorry, just thinking. Did you need something?”

Pascal offered a wry smile. “What, you’re too old to let me sit with you?”

The deep crease between Sirius’ brows smoothed out; he smiled softly. He blinked again; this time, a bit of him returned. Not beyond all hope of intervention, then. “Non. Desolé. I’m…I’m in my head today.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

A few seconds passed before Sirius nodded. Pascal watched his gaze go distant again and his cheek dimpled as he bit the flesh inside. Guilt. Perhaps frustration. A twisted mystery to solve, if Pascal had not been watching him so closely since he first blessed their threshold. It was Regulus, it was Remus and Regulus—

It was something from a time Sirius had been trying to lock down. Ghosts were hard to trap behind hasty boards, nailed haphazard and half-panicked. Sirius was better, not healed. He was safe, not exorcised. He was so goddamn brave it hurt to watch, but Pascal wasn’t foolish enough to miss the way he spooked. And Regulus was a good kid, but a fucking mess all the same.

(Privately, he questioned the decision to go headlong into university right after escaping 18 years of living hell. That was not his place to challenge and not his problem to solve.)

(But still. University? Really?)

Sirius made another note on his board. A canine tooth poked out as he worried at his lower lip. Pascal watched him fidget, hands up and over and under and between, and steadied himself with a slow exhale when Sirius began twirling his pen over his knuckles with a dull, rippling noise.

“Regulus is angry with me.”

Pascal made an impassive noise. It was Regulus.

“I think. Probably.” Sirius’ knee bounced for a five-count before going still. “He’s working through a lot. Finals were hard. It took him off-guard. He got snappy at Remus.”

Remus and Regulus. “Oh?”

“Something about changing his sheets. He didn’t like that we went in his room to clean while he was away.”

Something from a time you’ve been trying to lock down. Not mutually exclusive events, but a progression. Sirius was fixed on a far point, no longer tracking the movement of players. His hands had gone quiet.

“I think I—I think they—” Space hung between them like a bear trap. It was horrible to be right. Sirius exhaled hard and shook his head. “C’est pas grave.”

Pascal bit back his disappointment. He knew better than to think it would spill out so easily. He scooted closer on the bench, and when Sirius didn’t flinch, leaned over to bump him with a gentle shoulder. “Don’t let it eat you up, ouais? Regulus is grown. So are you. It will come in time.”

A halfhearted nod was the best he would get, it seemed. Pascal risked a soft squeeze to the back of Sirius’ neck and—there he was. The loosening of his tense shoulders, the careful lean into the contact. “We’ll talk,” Sirius said.

“Take it slow,” Pascal advised, and prayed to any god that Sirius would at least listen to that. Those who shoved their hands in the cage of a feral animal only came away bitten and rabid. For all his growth, Sirius was plenty feral without the influence of Regulus Black ripping him open again.

They watched the drills together in silence for forty-five minutes. When they were done, Sirius’ clipboard held only blank paper.

--

“Tuney and I were really close. As kids, I mean.”

A light, fluffy cloud passed overhead on the rushing breeze.

“We did everything together. Like, literally everything. Mom used to joke that we should’ve been twins.”

The pain in her voice was one he knew well.

“We started drifting when I hit junior high, I think.” A controlled, even breath followed the gentle sound of a dandelion being picked. A few bits of fluff floated in and out of view. “And then high school came around, and she hated my fucking guts. Shredded all my tights with a fork. Refused to look at me in the lunchroom. Mom and Dad didn’t tell her it was okay, but they didn’t stop her, either. They just kind of sat there and looked sympathetic.”

Quiet fell over them again. A strand of hair billowed over his vision for a half-second. Time for a haircut.

“I still don’t know what I did,” Lily confessed to the afternoon sun. “I still don’t think she’s forgiven me.”

Looking at Regulus now, Sirius thought he might finally understand what she meant.

The corner of Regulus’ mouth was turned down; not more than usual, but enough to be a scowl to anyone who knew where to look. Quietly, he hoped Regulus’ school friends could tell the difference. He deserved to have people like that. Sirius wasn’t sure he had explained that very well before sending him off. Or ever.

“It’s a good book,” he said.

Regulus made a noncommittal noise. He hadn’t turned a page since Sirius paused in the doorway.

Another try. Pull back to the midline, find an open corridor. “One of my favorites.”

“Je sais.”

“Why are you angry with me?”

Once upon a time, he would not have been so bold as to ask. Once upon a time, Regulus would have sunk further into his cocoon. One pale finger traced the edge of the worn paperback. “I’m not angry with you.”

You’re always a little angry with me. “You won’t look at me.”

“God forbid I’m busy.”

“You’re reading.”

“And I’m busy,” Regulus said waspishly. “Go get Remus to take you for a walk, or something.”

Maybe this was where Lily had failed. In one way or another, she and Petunia had missed each other in the middle. He could recall those six terrible, lonely years with too much clarity to let Regulus push him away. Losing him would never be worth an argument won. “I want to spend time with you.”

“Then get your own book.” Regulus muttered something else under his breath that Sirius didn’t care to look into.

He swallowed down a sigh and picked one at random off the shelf, then settled down on the couch opposite Regulus’ armchair. The words could have been in Portuguese, for all they registered in his mind. The edges were soft from many hands. It might have been Remus’, or from the secondhand bookstore in town. God, it could have been one of Sirius’ own favorites for all he knew. He was working on knowing more of those.

The color blue, but a specific shade.

Tater-tot casserole, preferably with meat, acceptable with just cheese.

Books with adventures, books he could run away in.

Poutine with extra gravy.

Henley shirts that stopped at his elbow.

Hoodies—not the zip-fronts—made of heavier fabric. The ones where Remus had fussed with the cuffs.

“What’s your book—”

The sudden snap of cover on page made him wince; an irritated grumble-sigh hung on its coattails as Regulus swept out of the room without a backward glance. Sirius’ stomach turned, and turned, and turned. He always fucked it up. He always tried too hard. He shut his book in silence and set it on the floor, and went to get his skates.

--

I’m not an infant. Bared teeth and clenched fists. A charge in the air, a snake ready to strike. And you are not my fucking mother.

Remus wrinkled his nose and scrubbed harder at the grout.

Nightmarish, is what it was. The summer had been sun-soaked and semi-charmed with only the awkwardness of getting-to-know-you’s to taint it. But that was Remus’ perfect wheelhouse—polite conversation, buttering up, small talk to ease Regulus into a world that wasn’t actively trying to shred him. It had all worked so well.

He didn’t know what went wrong. Worse, he didn’t know how to fix any of it. Regulus was constantly boiling with silent fury like a kettle about to blow and it was terrible. Every second Sirius and Regulus existed within each others’ eyeline was hell. And they were living together. For twelve more days.

If they all survived this, Remus was going to take himself out for a little treat. One that did not involve scrubbing the kitchen grout just to avoid running into either of the ticking time bombs.

Regulus’ hissing colliding with the low, furious timbre of Sirius’ voice was not something Remus wanted to experience again, in this life or the next. Nobody won. Everybody lost in one way or another. Sirius got angry and Regulus got angry and Sirius got defensive and Regulus got mean, flat-out and full-send. Sirius snapped back, Regulus stormed off, and Remus spent the better part of his night assuring Sirius he was not turning into his parents. Rinse, repeat, wish for death.

Commotion kicked up in the living room and went quiet in the same breath—Remus paused to watch Regulus stomp off with a book in one white-knuckled hand and listened carefully for the aftershocks.

The house inhaled with him. The office door closed hard. Sirius’ footsteps were rhythmic as a metronome all the way up the stairs and back down again—Remus bit his tongue when he saw the skates clenched in one hand—and remained that way until the basement door shut him out.

Then, and only then, did Remus let a quiet, “shit” slip through his teeth.

--

Pull back to the midline. Pull back to the midline. Watch, pull back, find your corridor, strike.

The puck skated past the goal without so much as a whisper of net. Sirius hardly heard it hit the boards.

--

Remus looked faintly ill when they arrived at practice; Pascal was grateful for the early warning to prepare himself for Sirius’ perma-scowl and overall vibe of ultimate distress. The change in the atmosphere nearly made his ears pop. Leo made a hasty retreat from the locker room after Kasey, looking as if he had taken psychic damage, and several others watched him leave with unbridled longing.

“On-ice in five,” Sirius said. Ordered. Everything about him looked incorrectly articulated. “We’re running drills, then doing dry lands.”

Not a soul dared to try the usual bitching and moaning. All cheerful conversation had met its abrupt end.

Cole lowered his head and slunk out the door like a stray bit of shadow. The rest of them followed suit within a minute or two, save for James, who steered Sirius into the ice room with a firm hand on his back.

Plastic buckles clinked softly in the empty space left. “They’re worse?”

Remus slumped forward and muffled a groan in both hands. “They’re going to fucking kill each other.”

“Any idea what happened?”

Remus spread his hands with a lost expression.

“Did this start when Regulus came home?”

“It’s just been the past three days.” Remus shook his head, leaning his elbows heavily on his knees with his pads half-done. “I can’t—Reg was fine when he got here. He was fine through Christmas. Sirius mentions we changed his sheets before he came home, and now he wants my head on a pike and my boyfriend to explode.”

Pascal picked at the peeling logo of his shorts. Sheets. What was so special about the sheets? “Were they new sheets?”

“Same ones he used all summer. I literally just washed them and put them back.”

“So…he didn’t like that you were in his space?” Remus half-shrugged, clearly frazzled by the mere memory. “You know, Adele hates it when we go into her room. Even to drop laundry off, or help her clean.”

“No, yeah, Jules is the same. That’s what started it.”

“Started…?” Understanding crept up his throat like battery acid. “He didn’t.”

“It was bad,” Remus said weakly.

“How bad?”

The laces of Remus’ skates dragged on the ground while he shuffled in his stall. The lines of his arms were rigid and upset; he scratched at the back of his wrist, curled over like he was trying to shield his middle. “His feet bled again.”

Pascal closed his eyes. He should have pushed harder against the basement rink eight years ago. He shouldn’t have let Sirius leave so soon.

He forgot, sometimes, how very alone Sirius had been.

“I fixed it,” Remus said after a minute. Of course you did. He sniffed, shaking his head like he could hear Pascal’s thoughts. “It wasn’t too bad. Blisters, mostly, some hotspots. Made him keep the bandaids on for practice. I hate—Dumo, I hate this. I hate living in it, I hate seeing them tear each other apart. It’s so quiet.”

“They need to stop,” Pascal agreed. Remus kept looking at him for—a solution, he realized. Terrible hope. Something desperate and fragile, a young man coming to a mentor for help he just…couldn’t give.

He looked away first. Remus’ exhale felt like a knife.

--

“It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me—”

“No, no, no,” Remus soothed somewhere in the catastrophe of the world.

Sirius spit, again, and pressed his hands over his eyes, again, and willed the bathroom floor to stop digging into his knees and just swallow him up already. His skin crawled and he wanted to scratch but he couldn’t take his hands away or the room would spin and tip him into nothingness.

Maybe he belonged there. But he had managed to hurt Regulus when he was a country away, so perhaps he wouldn’t even be safe in the ether.

Remus’ hand was cool on the small of his back as he frantically tried to keep his dinner down. He didn’t rub. He didn’t tap. He didn’t so much as twitch. Sirius listed to the side and flashed a hand out to steady himself. The pain of his wrist hitting the cabinet didn’t even register until Remus hissed in sympathy and took his weight in the bend of his arm.

“I am treating him just like they did,” Sirius rasped through the smoke pouring from inside him.

“No.” Remus was begging now. He sounded so tired. He was begging. The room swam in the kaleidoscope of suffering that he really should be used to by now, and Sirius pressed his elbows harder into the toilet seat as his ears began to ring.

You are not my mother.

Sirius gasped in a too-hot breath. It had been directed at Remus, not him. But.

But he was.

It was so sick and twisted and his stomach made sure to tell him that with a real-world example of both those words.

You are not my mother.

She wasn’t, either. Their nannies had come close. Sirius missed them sometimes (often) (aching) (with the hurt of a child).

Remus was not Regulus’ mother but he had been, in the same scream-worthy way he had been his father, too, and his brother. He couldn’t think too hard about how he had been the only one to cuddle Regulus without crying and fuck, there he went, Sirius the drama queen making the whole damn world about him.

“Okay, okay.” Arms came around him, easing the slicing pain of the sobs that caught him in fishhooks. The back of his hand hit the floor. His knees hurt like a bruise. His face was smushed against Remus’ chest and it really should have been uncomfortable. Remus made a noise of sympathy and gathered all the gross, slimy, bits of a Sirius-puddle into his arms because he was a saint. The patron saint of fucking messes, and Sirius was the messiest sinner of them all.

“I’m so horrible to him,” he sobbed, hitching and sticky. Probably incoherent. He mumbled. She hated it when he mumbled. “I’m so horrible.”

You are not my mother.

“It was me.” He gulped for air. Remus’ dizzying words fell quiet at the interruption. He added another note to his list of penance. “It was me, it was, I tried.”

“What did you try?” Remus’ fingertips brushed away a loose, sweaty lock and the sobs came harder after that, wracking him down to his organs, past the precious cradle of his ribs. A warm palm cupped the back of his head and Sirius heard a strangled noise interrupt his own endless babbling. He didn’t know he could make that sound. With the way his throat and body were angled against the unmovable pillar of Remus, though, it shouldn’t have surprised him.

“I was—I was his mother.” It was so hard to breathe through the gasping. “I didn’t know what I was doing but I was his mother but I won’t be her.”

“Oh, god.” Remus sounded weak for a saint. There went another beautiful thing, ruined in Sirius’ messy clumsy hands. And somehow, in the darkness, in the Blackness, a kiss nestled just near his temple.

He couldn’t help but go still, then limp, as all the fight and fear siphoned from his flooded lungs.

Remus breathed like he was going to speak several times before he did. “There are other ways.” His voice was heartbreak. Sirius closed his burning eyes. “Sirius—baby, you know my mom. You know Effie, and Celeste, and you know Lily.”

Lily. He knew Lily. Her green eyes, so much pain and regret. Don’t be like me, Pads. Her green eyes, the way she looked at Harry, the way they matched. Sirius had his mother’s eyes. Had she ever looked at him like that?

“There are other ways to be someone’s mother. And…” His hands stuttered, then began to move again, scritching the back of Sirius’ head. That feeling usually made him go comatose in their bed. “Regulus was trying to hurt me when he said that. You know that, right?”

I am not an infant. And you are not my fucking mother.

Remus kissed him again. The shell of his ear, this time. “It wasn’t about you. I promise.”

But it was. There on the bathroom floor, it was.

--

The woman was watching him with infuriating patience. Sometimes—more often than he cared to count—she would even look away to her clipboard or her phone, and that was even worse. Regulus knew how to be ignored. He fucking hated her nonchalant attention.

Either look at me and pay attention or ignore me properly, he thought with enough force that it should have beamed into her brain directly.

Heather chewed at the corner of her lip and checked her texts again.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask questions?” he finally muttered.

She looked up, milk-mild. “Are you ready to answer them?”

You can’t trick me that easily. “Are they worth my time?”

“I certainly think so.” She tilted her head back and forth for a moment. “But it’s not up to me to decide. That’s your choice.”

“So I can just walk out right now?”

“Sure.”

Regulus only let himself pause for a second before regaining his composure. “I’m pretty sure my brother would murder me if I did that.”

“Your brother didn’t set up this appointment.” A smile made her face even kinder, like a storybook bear. “And I’m not allowed to discuss my other patients’ homicidal tendencies. But yes, Mr. Black—”

“Don’t call me that or I’ll puke, I promise.”

“—yes, Regulus, you are welcome to leave whenever you feel like it. I can’t legally force you into therapy and I don’t particularly want to. If you would prefer to sit here quietly, we’ve still got twenty minutes left.”

He bit the inside of his cheek.

“I have a spare crossword,” she offered.

Gifts. Of course. What an awful woman. He plucked absently at the threads of the armrest and slouched into the too-squishy cushions.

Silence reigned supreme for another five minutes and twenty-four seconds before Heather stretched her wrists and smiled at him again. “It’s good to see you, Regulus.”

“You don’t have to say that,” he snorted.

“I know.”

“So don’t.”

“Alright.” She tapped the side of her thumb on her clipboard. “I’m glad you came back. Is that better?”

“Will you stop with the mind games, please?”

Heather’s eyes softened. His skin crawled. “Regulus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in my office. I would vastly prefer it if you did something you enjoy with this time, rather than forcing yourself to come and sit there and be miserable. I’ll sit with you if you’d like, but it seems like that’s not helping.”

His lip curled against his will. “So Sirius told you I’m miserable?”

“I haven’t spoken to Sirius lately.”

“You should. He’s a disaster.” Ignore that I’m a screaming teenage trainwreck.

“If he gets in touch with me, I’ll happily make time.”

“He won’t,” Regulus informed her. He wondered if she would stop him. Was there a point where he was no longer allowed to talk about her other patients? He already felt pathetic enough for refusing to use any therapist except the one Sirius had vouched for.

Heather hummed. “Guess that’s for him to know, and for me to find out.”

Push push push push push— “He’s been a mess. He’s doing that implosion thing he does when I’m mean to him. It’s like he thinks everyone in the whole world depends on him to be happy, and the second they’re not, it’s his fault.”

“And have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Been mean to him?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been terrible.” Regulus frowned slightly and sat up. “You know I’m not a nice person, don’t you? You should know that before we start anything.”

Heather seemed interested, but not confused. Infuriating. “Okay.”

“Sirius is the nice one.”

“Okay.” She nodded for a moment. “Why is Sirius nice, but you’re not?”

“You’re not—” He bit his tongue. Being mean to Heather was not what he came here to do. Wasting his time with someone who didn’t understand was not the point of this. “Sirius would have been much happier as a suburban family’s well-loved dog. He’s good like that.”

“Okay.”

“I was ignored for three-quarters of my childhood and have half a dozen complexes and attachment issues because of it. I am not a nice person at all, and so I take it out on Sirius because—I don’t know, I think it’s supposed to feel good, since he had everything and then he left me.” She was still looking at him. Mild and kind. Was everyone in Gryffindor obtuse enough to think he was kidding? “Heather, I am telling you that I’m petty and mean and use my older brother as an emotional punching bag because our parents fucked us up. There is nothing you can say to help me.”

“Supposed to feel good?”

Regulus blinked. “Pardon?”

“You said it was ‘supposed to feel good’ when you’re mean to your brother.” Heather rested her head on her hand. He wasn’t sure when she had put her clipboard aside. “Does it feel good?”

“Oh my god, no,” Regulus laughed hoarsely. “No, it feels like I’m the worst person alive. Why does that change anything?”

--

I just wanted them to like me.

It hadn’t even been about love, in the end. He had given up on that. Forget about pride—that was a lost cause. But he had yearned to be liked, to have a smile turned on him like the ones he only remembered in blurry dreams between sleep and wakefulness. Their father had light crow’s feet by his eyes. They were probably deeper by now. Their love was never going to happen but it really would have been enough to simply be liked. Regulus had been bright enough to stop hanging on to them far sooner; oh, yes, he had always been the smart one.

Heather had seemed sad when he said that. Sirius hated making her sad.

--

Pascal thought he knew where the precipice was. He thought they had more time to reel that celestial disaster back from the brink before they tipped over it, clawing at each other for grip and for hurt. Looking back, he felt like an utter fool for thinking he could have stopped them.

--

“You fucking liar!”

“I wouldn’t lie to you!”

“Yes you would, you always do that!”

“I—” Sirius’ mouth snapped closed; his jaw ticked with tension. “I wouldn’t—”

“You do,” Regulus insisted angrily. “Our whole childhood, and now this. I won’t fall for it anymore.”

“I told you, I didn’t go through your things—”

“Stop it.”

“It was just changing the goddamn sheets—”

“Stop it.”

“God forbid I want you to sleep on something clean!” Sirius shouted back.

Regulus flushed red, bright against his dark hair. “Don’t yell at me!”

“Are you—you started yelling first, you pain in the ass!”

“Oh, I’m just a pain in the ass now?”

Sirius threw his hands in the air with a furious noise and folded them at his nape, shaking his head. His stomach hurt and trembled. His throat was tight, and every swallow had to fight its way around an iron fist. The inside of his cheek was raw and tender from his teeth. “You’re fucking delusional.”

Remus straightened fast. “Woah—”

“I’m delusional?” Regulus laughed humorlessly, hysterically, all dry bonfire wit. “I’m delusional? I’m not the one that tried to start a brand-new family when the old one failed!”

The insides of his ribs were scorched black. “Don’t bring Remus into this—”

“I’m talking about him!” Regulus’ arm shot out. One pale, skeletal finger hovered in midair, an executioner’s axe. A hairline tremor shivered over his skin; his eyes gleamed.

Dumo had both hands on Sirius’ broken toaster, and both eyes locked on Regulus’ hand in shock.

“You had it all planned out, didn’t you?” Regulus’ face contorted. “From the second they called your name on the television. You were going to billet and you were going to go to him and fuck the rest of us, is that it?”

Sirius couldn’t feel his hands. I still don’t know what I did. I still don’t think she’s forgiven me. “Regulus, no.”

But Regulus just nodded, tears welling up despite the guillotine edge of his voice. “You did. And thank fuck for that, because then Logan came along and a brand-new brother just dropped himself in your lap without any effort at all. Your perfect parents, your perfect brother, your perfect, perfect life. How convenient.”

He shook his head. “No. No, it’s not like that.”

But.

But it was. A little bit, it was. Dumo wasn’t his choice but he was Sirius’ escape. And Logan…Logan had been so alone, so afraid, so young, hiding under his baseball caps like Regulus used to hide under his toques. Sirius had caught too many sidelong glances of dark curls and bitten back the wrong name those first few months.

Regulus could smell it on him. Could read Sirius’ guilt like a child’s book. His eye twitched. “I told you not to lie.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius said hoarsely.

“I don’t care.”

“It was not my intent—”

“Fuck your intent.”

Lightning spit up inside him and he choked it down, tasting iron as it went. “Will you let me speak? Or are you going to stand there and yell until you feel better?”

Regulus’ face turned blotchy with rage. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Then stop acting like a child,” he snapped back.

“You sound like—”

“Do not.”

Something burnt coated his tongue as the lightning licked off it in a whipcrack and sparked between them. Regulus looked away, fists balled tight against his sides.

Sirius let the burning out on a controlled breath. “Do not bring them into this,” he continued carefully, even as a scream built under his lungs, kicking its feet and howling. “Do not bring her into this. I am telling you right now that you will not like how it goes for you.”

Regulus’ mouth twisted, petulant and bitter. “You’re really going to threaten me? Now?”

“I don’t threaten, Regulus. I win.”

“Because everything is a competition,” he sneered.

“Because you know better than to start that fight.” Sirius caught his gaze and held it with clenched, snarling teeth. Regulus knew better. Always the smart one, always levelheaded. Regulus, the wordsmith, and Sirius, blowing up the ground he stood on as long as he didn’t come out on the bottom. Locked jaw or locked antlers, dragging them both over the canyon edge before any thought of retreat. He had shouted himself voiceless before bending to their father. A simple locked door couldn’t block the endless screaming matches from Regulus’ memory.

“This isn’t a tantrum,” Regulus said at last.

The slavering dog in Sirius’ head sat back and eased its hold. He jerked his chin. “Then get to the point.”

“You left.”

“I was always going to leave.”

Regulus flinched, but to his credit, kept going. “You replaced us. Me.”

“Logan was never you.” Logan, young and scared, but not Regulus. Never Regulus. It had only ever taken a moment for Sirius to right himself, and less than that to be buried alive in guilt.

Regulus stared at the kitchen table. His nailbeds were white where he clutched the back of a chair. They’d have to get more iron into him while he was home; Sirius didn’t trust the university food. “You never came back.”

“For holidays—”

“You never came back,” Regulus repeated, louder. He blinked fast a few times, inhaling sharply. “You were never there for more than a day or two. You’d go dead the second we sat down together. You never—you never came back.”

“Regulus, that house was going to kill me.”

It came out too soft for the weight of it in the room. Regulus closed his eyes and leaned forward, stretching his arms with an unsteady exhale. Sirius kept his focus despite the building sting in his eyes but he could feel Dumo’s gaze on his neck, could hear Remus’ short inhale. There was no coming back from this. Ever onward, clawing his way out of the depths.

“One way or another, it was,” he continued quietly. “So, no. I didn’t go back. I won’t.”

The blur of Regulus tilted his face toward the ceiling with another shaky breath, still blinking fruitlessly as drops of mirrored light slipped down his cheeks. “Then how—?” He broke off and cleared his throat hard enough to make Sirius wince. “How could you leave me there?”

“I didn’t want to.”

It meant nothing; they both knew that. It still felt right to get it out there.

“I thought you’d come back,” Regulus said. “I thought you’d try. Once—once you had your first paycheck, or something.”

It hurt so much more to hear old, broken hope than anger. “They knew where I lived.”

“Then we’d move.” We. A child’s daydream. They made me hate you, but I never did. A phone number memorized for six and a half years. “We’d go somewhere else.” Regulus ran his sleeve under his nose and shook his head. “I was so alone. I don’t—” He looked up and immediately, his lip curled in disgust. “Oh, god, don’t look at me like that.”

“Reg—”

“Like a fucking puppy, merde.” He yanked his sleeves down over his hands and scrubbed viciously at his face, lingering over his eyes a second longer before letting them dangle at his sides again. He sniffled, then did a double-take when he saw Remus and Dumo on the other side of the room. “Why are you still here?”

“Um.” Remus glanced over at Sirius, but he had nothing to offer. “It…felt wrong to leave.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though the effect was dampened by his red cheeks and slight pout. “You are all so codependent.”

“Don’t be mean,” Sirius chided instinctively.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Regulus gave him a quick up-and-down look. “We’re both ugly criers. Shit. Yell at me again.”

“…no?”

“Just do it, it’ll make me feel better.”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

“Don’t make me insult you more. My throat hurts.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“No.” They stood in silence for another fifteen seconds. Wool socks scuffed on the floor. Regulus gnawed at the inside of his lip, then stepped around the side of the table an inch. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

--

He was over six feet tall, now. His hockey muscle had yet to fade. He felt—

Small. He felt safe. A shudder ran down his aching back. It had been so long since he felt safe.

“Desolé.” Sirius’ voice vibrated in the burrow of his chest and Regulus pressed his face to it as hard as he could. “Desolé, mon etoile.”

Tears snuck up on him in bursts; he pushed closer, closer, tucking his arms between them and shuffling forward until he could stand on the front of Sirius’ stupid slippers and let the cold floor fall away. He was tired of drowning, but it was hard to remember how to let the water out.

Sirius sniffed above him. The kiss to the top of his head was more of a hard bump than anything else. His arms were tight and warm around Regulus’ back, one palm cupping the back of his head. “I never forgot you.”

“Je sais,” Regulus croaked back.

“I never forgot you.”

Don’t, don’t, don’t. He coughed to clear the brackish muck from his lungs. He wasn’t pretty like this, and he knew it. But neither was Sirius, so maybe that was okay. Just this once. He could be held like a child, just this once. It was a long time before they spoke again.

“I don’t want to see Heather anymore.” He breathed in Sirius’ laundry soap and the same deodorant they had both been wearing for years. The rushing flood in his head had become a stream, had become a trickle. His heartbeat pulsed behind his eye. “I want—I want to see someone else.”

Sirius’ shoulders relaxed enough that he could feel each muscle release. “Good.”

“I still haven’t told my friends about—the everything.” He felt Sirius nod and gathered two fistfuls of his hoodie. “I want to stay at school.”

“D’accord.”

“What if they find out?” He held on tighter, pressed his face to Sirius’ calm heart. “What happens when they find out how horrible I am?”

Sirius huffed. “You’re not horrible.”

“I am.” That was the deal. He was the villain so Sirius could be the hero. He was the junkyard. Spare parts to be hosed off and trotted out when they needed him.

“Regulus, you’re nineteen.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everyone’s horrible at nineteen.”

“What if I’m…” He wracked his brain for something smart. It blew a raspberry at him and fucked off back to sleep. “…extra horrible?”

Sirius sighed, scratching lightly behind his ears. Regulus felt his eyelids droop against his will. “If you turn out to be extra horrible by—I don’t know, 21, we’ll talk.”

“What if they fucked us both up too bad?”

He winced—Sirius’ steady motions stuttered briefly. He hadn’t meant to let that one slither out from its careful cage. That was a thought for sleepless nights in a cold hotel bed and watching the sun rise in a strange city through dry, tired eyes. When his hands were blistered and bleeding, he’d wonder whether that Black blood could ever really be gone from him.

Sirius’ head was a gentle pressure on his own. “Then it’s us against the world, isn’t it?”

--

Gryffindor airport was quiet at 7 in the morning. Dumo stifled a yawn in the back of his hand as he passed the rolling suitcase to a boy that was far too awake for the early hour, in his opinion. Youths.

“You have everything?” Sirius checked. “You’ll be safe?”

“I’m literally fine.” Regulus arched a brow. “And less than four hours away, if you speed.”

“You’ll call when you land.”

“I’ll text.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “If you don’t, I’m filing a missing person report.”

Regulus turned to Remus. “Can you keep him on a leash? Or just sedate him?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Remus laughed.

Sirius fixed them both with a weak scowl. “Will you just get on the plane?”

“I thought you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you—” Sirius took Regulus by the shoulders and turned him around with a firm grip. “—to have fun and live life and not die. The bar is on the ground. Do not dig under it.”

“Killjoy.”

“Pest.” Sirius kissed the top of his head. “Fly safe. Text.”

“Wait until I’m on the place before you start crying. I don’t want your gross emotions all over me.”

“Well, we can’t disturb your delicate sensibilities.”

“Sirius?”

“Reg.”

Regulus paused, laden with his duffel and rolling bag, and kicked the toe of Sirius’ sneaker lightly. “Love you.”

Sirius’ smile was close-lipped and small and brighter than the rising sun outside the massive bay windows. He kicked him back, even more gently. “Get on your plane.”

[muu-kun]

👀 yap yap

For every “👀” I get, I’ll post a lewd fact about my muse | Accepting | @fairymint

I've said it once and I'll say it again: Muu absolutely does not hold any concern towards how knowledgeable it is that his current form of employment is that of working at a brothel. One would imagine he'd have some level of anxiousness towards friends and strangers alike being presumptuous over his proclivities; however, he remains well focused on the fact that intimate encounters are actually his least done work at the establishment. He's sooner found preoccupied with remedial tasks such as dusting, laundry, supply counts, and even cleaning down tables that have been used by customers frequenting the bar. Only in instances in which he has managed to not sabotage his chances at getting selected in mandatory lineups does he have any significantly intimate encounters with clientele. When considering the hours he works each day, and how his drive to get customers is limited solely to only taking them if they ask for him directly, he takes only about half as many customers as his colleagues do on good business days.

He is not at all popular amongst colleagues of his who service their clients from a strictly dominant role and instead really only finds himself as having positive social interactions with those who actively choose not to be the exact opposite in their encounters with clientele. A common consensus amongst those with a solid preference for being labeled as tops is that they do not believe Muu should have been employed at their establishment as someone who provides adult services. Many have complained directly to their boss that they have found it appropriate that they have to share the same line of work with someone they believe is far too intellectually disabled to functionally do the work expected of him in a bedroom setting. Absolutely does Muu grasp the concerns had on his behalf, yet not he or the owner of the club itself have rescinded the job offer he was hired for prior to the end of 2024. As far as he is aware, there have been no laws put in place that say he cannot attend a day program for adults with disabilities and then later clock in for his six hour shift at the brothel.

Contrary to opinions held towards him being an autistic and intellectually disabled lewd service worker, Muu actually has all the tools at his disposal to thrive in his unusual choice of employment. What has aided him most is that of the fact he is the type of person to flourish in an environment with rules strictly laid out for employees to follow and implement in instances had with customers. Times in which he can be bossy are beloved by him dearly. Attempting go coerce him into disobeying a guideline he's meant to implement based on direction from his boss? No chance, pal, as his justice sensitivity does not play around like that.

Even with the disabilities he has, engaging in and consenting to sex are not at all as difficult as other people make it out to seem like it would be for someone like himself. In reality, it is very easy for him to do so as typical step by step process of physical intimacy is simple for him to follow. There's also an abundance of references on the internet for acts that may very well be asked of him by someone seeking for an encounter that go beyond the traditional vanilla experience. All it really takes is for someone to either ask him about or suggest to him one day for him to later on be a self proclaimed expert on what that thing may mean and look like in actuality.

Still, what he knows and what he can do / has done vary greatly. He's undoubtedly the least experienced choice amongst his colleagues. Which, for some, has been part of the appeal for why the chose him out of everyone to have coitus with. Having a very particular body type due the specific genetic makeup behind his form of Kal.lmann Syn.drome has also aided in the appeal for picking him above someone else. It is not uncommon for regulars of the establishment to share amongst themselves details about workers chosen by them and for curiosity to be what grants people more business opportunities in their near future. He would be telling a falsehood if he stated that there have never been cases of customers requesting his presence due to instances of intrigue over his talked about physique. Which, interestingly enough, is actually his least favorite part of the job he chose to work at of his own free will. What aids him in being successful within his decided upon career path is unsurprisingly his biggest insecurity. It embarrasses him greatly that people are so curious to find out firsthand that his nether regions are unlike that of anyone else's that they'd ever seen before. He has absolutely refused to take clients on days following one in which someone poked fun at his manhood even without any maliciousness behind their remarks.

[snugglesquiggle]

Any tips on using fonts in ao3?

going to assume you're familiar with the basics — creating a new workskin at Dashboard → Skins → My Work Skins, and selecting a skin on the Edit Work page. if not, AO3 has a tutorial for this

(though skimming the tutorial, it doesn't seem to mention the <span> tag, which is your best friend when it comes to applying styles to a bit of text within a paragraph)

now for the more specific part of this question. also, be warned i'm going to be embarrassingly technical before i actually answer your question.

this is going to sound funny, but i am by and large not a fan of manipulating fonts as a stylistic device. my personal opinion is that what font a text is displayed in should be for the user to decide, both for preference and for accessibility reasons (e.g. there's fonts designed for dyslexic readers). i also tend to find most font changes to be a a bit goofy and immersion-breaking

it's different when i do it, but i'll explain my cope in a second

anyway, the style property you want to change to set in your work skin is font-family. e.g. font-family: monospace will give text a code/"typewriter" look, and on my own site i use "font-family: Newsreader, serif;". (the comma there essentially says 'if you don't have Newsreader installed, any serif font will do)

but as mentioned, i don't like messing with fonts, and in fact, there is no font styling as such in my fic at all. what gives?

(note: im going include mildly spoilery excerpts from my fic, Hostile Takeover)

but basically, i wrap cyn's dialogue in <code> tags, and most browsers will make that monospaced by default, but it leaves the door open for custom userskins to add their own flair to code blocks.

for example, my site puts little boxes around them

but with all that said, i think i might be taking this question overly literally. i think it's likely you aren't talking specifically about just fonts, and most of the interesting things people want to replicate from my fic aren't about what shape the letters are.

my secret weapon for styling this fic is the humble text-shadow property.

what it does is simple: it creates a copy of the text, and you have four knobs to turn: you can shift it over horizontally or vertically, blur it, and of course change the color

text-shadow: 1px 2px 3px red;

this gives you a copy of the text shifted to the right 1 pixels, down 2 pixels, blurred 3 pixels and colored red.

text-shadow: 1px 2px 3px red, -1px -2px 3px blue;

same deal but now there's another in the opposite directions colored blue, like a chromatic aberration.

you don't have to include the color or the blur if you dont want color or blur.

now i'll run through some real examples

the "pain" effect is what you get when you stack text vertically

text-shadow: 0 -3px 0px, 0 3px 0px;

the "beyond the grave" effect is text stacked horizontally

text-shadow: 2px 0px 0px;

the famous "i want you destroy you" text is of course colored, and here i offer an actual tip

you can predict the offsets, but the color is special

text-shadow: 2px -1px 0px #da38;

full explanation here, but basically, when you write a color with four values, the first three are RGB, but the last is the opacity. i think this matters because, if the earlier part of this post didn't make it clear, i care about readers getting a good experience no matter how they choose their custom styles (within reason, ofc)

by making the color slightly transparent, it blends with the background color, means whether you read with a light them or dark, it meets you half way

(try removing the transparency on that shade, and it's a pretty harsh contrast on both modes — though part of that might be that i made it super saturated to compensate for the transparency.)

i have some complaints about how ao3 handles css, and one of them is that it forbids you from using the very convenient filter: blur() function. to work around this, i cooked up a very "we have blur at home" solution

text-shadow: 0px 0px 6px, 1px 1px 3px, -1px -1px 3px; opacity: 50%;

(it looks much better on my site, where i can filter: blur all i like)

one of the reasons this sucks is that without a doubt the biggest limiter on doing really complicated stuff with text shadows is that they don't stack.

you'll notice that when the "pain" effect shows up, the "blur" effect disappears.

this matters most for what is definitely the most striking and involved use of text shadows in the work: the big man himself

the basic principle here isn't that special. the illusion of depth is accomplished by increasing blur and opacity the 'deeper' the text is supposed to be. the biggest trick here is that instead of the 'px' we've been using everywhere before, the offsets use 'em', which is a unit that relative to the font size.

but there is a nuance. you see:

text-shadow: 0px 1px 0px, 0px -1px 0px, #fd64 2px 2px 2px, #fd68 2em 1em 3px, #fd65 4em 2em 5px; text-shadow: #fd64 2px 2px 2px, #fd65 2em 1em 5px; text-shadow: #fd6 2px 2px 5px, 0px -3px 0px, 0px 3px 0px, #fd68 2em 1em 3px;

the "translate" looks like a combination of the new effect and the pain effect, but i had to give it a special style, specifying both by hand.

if you want to layer things, it will get out of hand, and if you ever opt to revise the specific colors or values, solver help you.

also, this doesnt show up anywhere in HT (yet), but i've used it in the past — only setting the blur of a text-shadow lets you give words an 'aura', and it's a neat and simple effect

(excerpt from Eifre Quest, an original work of mine from years ago. i have mixed feelings about it)

sorry if that was a long ramble or self-indulgent, but hopefully something there was new or helpful.

thanks for asking!

[renee-writer]

Frank Chapter 5

AO3

If they carried any doubt that they are in a time not their own, it vanishes at the sight of Castle Leoch.  The Mackenzie Keep is no longer the heap of wreckage it was just the previous few days ( no centuries in the future) it was, or will be.

 

They arrive to a fully functioning home, with many men, women, and children moving about.  A jolly older woman, comes running up, holding her skirts aloft, to greet them. 

 

Jamie dismounts and assisted Claire down as she greets Murtagh.  Frank comes and stands beside his wife.

 

The lass turns to them, her smile fading into a frown. “What is this then? You bring that Randall villain into Leoch?”

 

“Nae, Miss Fitz. This is Frank Beauchamp and his wife,” a slight, barely expressed sigh, “Claire.”

 

“We rescued them from the aforementioned villain. Thought with the resemblance, it was best to bring them here.” Murtagh adds.

 

“Dougal did.” Jamie agrees.

 

“Well then,” She studies Claire, covered in dirt, her hair hanging in lose dirty curls around her face, her dress ( that she sees as a shift)  tore almost to her thighs. What type of man is her husband, to let her go around dressed like that? No matter. A good scrub and proper clothes, for both for he is dressed but in his own queer way, will see to them, “lets see you dressed in more, well more.” She starts to lead her away.

 

“Wait, what about him?”

 

“Your husband? Dinna fret, I will see a lad to see him properly clothed.”

 

“No, that’s not, Jamie, he has been shot. I cleaned it as best I could but he needs seen too. To prevent inflammation.”

 

“You ken how to do that? Are you a Beaton, a healer then?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

She nods. “Well, you heard the lass. Off with you then.” She gathers him, like a hen gathering an errant chick. Frank attempts to follow.

 

“Murtagh, see Mr. Beauchamp gets properly outfitted. Himself will wish a word or two with him.”

 

He nods and takes Frank by the arm, leading him the opposite direction from his wife and the Highlander.

 

Walking down the long stone halls, she couldn’t help being reminded of doing the same with Frank when the stones were a lot less together. The feeling of dislocation is overwhelming.

 

Kneeling by the fire in the stone room, making rags to draw any impending infection from Jamie’s wound, grounded her some. Still, she needs to talk to Frank, preferably before he is taken to Himself.

 

“Jamie, who is Himself?” Asks as she lifts out a hot cloth and lays it across his shoulder.

 

He hisses. “Smarts. Himself, that would be Colum Mackenzie, Dougal’s brother and the Laird here. Also my uncle, my mam’s brother.”

 

She nods as she fetches another. “Is he a good man?”

 

“Dinna fash, as long as your husband is honest with him, and he isn’t a Sassanach spy, naught should happen.”

 

She notices his back then, criss-crossed with deep scars.

 

“What happened?”

 

“That would be the work of Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Black Jack.”

[asher-writes]

16, 18, and 21 if you have something you want to talk about! :)

16. Did you ever change an oc's identity when they were already established? Why?

Yes! I did! Edward was initially gay and then I made him bisexual after writing one too many throuple fics. Him and Neptune just have great chemistry, especially with the whole love/hate thing at the beginning. And April was initially aroace but then I got mad at how underrepresented hypersexuality is as a trauma response, and he accidentally became the horniest one. And Eli's sexuality doesn't get out right addressed BUT he had a crush on Alicia when he thought he was a boy, and initially that was never mentioned so I presumed he was straight. But no. That boy likes kissin boys.

18. Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

Unspecified because my sexuality is super messy half the time, and I feel seen with my characters. I also like how they mess up their own labels a little, or invent words that suit them? In their world this stuff doesn't matter much, and for the people it does matter to (Eli, Ari) it's in a context of homophobia. Eli, like, I genuinely don't think he thinks about it, largely because he is functionally demisexual, and he definitely does not have that word. He also doesn't care. Ari, on the other hand? He's not going to feel too comfortable identifying with words that have filled him with self-hatred for years. It's just not in his personality, because he's naturally very self loathing and if he wants to move away from that it has to be very definitive like "these are not words I use for myself." We would probably categorise him as bisexual, but he would likely use an entire definition instead of an all-encompassing word. He's very direct, so I can imagine that if he were asked, he'd respond with "I am often interested in the aesthetic qualities of both men and women." Aesthetic is key here. Because Ari would never really openly talk about his sexual desires, and he has them, but not sexual attraction. When it comes down to it, the words he uses are very purposeful - "beautiful," "enchanting," "delightful," - because he views people in the same vein that someone might view art. There's an aesthetic beauty to the human body, but he actually finds genitals a little weird, too. This could be because of his very sex-negative upbringing but later on, I can promise you, this man likes sex. He's like a feral little puppy once he gets a taste of it. He just also functionally finds it weird. He finds his enjoyment of it weird, to the point of scientific analysis (his conclusion is that pleasure must be as functionally important to the survival of the human race as producing offspring, for desire and attraction to vary so greatly across the human race). April is very blunt about his sexuality on many occasions. He flirts with men, women, robots, on every available opportunity. Jokingly, I think his sexuality is just "daddy issues." Or lack thereof. He describes his romantic attraction as "romance-less" and "without love". In a conversation with Ember, he also explains that he isn't capable of viewing one person as more important than another, with the same intense longing to protect and be cared for by every person he meets. I didn't project on him, shut up /j Another interesting one is January, who is aroace, and was initially just aro, but I had so much fun writing a backstory for an oversexualised character who went the polar opposite to April and never wanted to fuck again, that i spilled the Complexities Jar. And he became aroace. And he is by far one of my more interesting people to write when it comes to relationships. I fuckin love April and January's QPR. I love how they navigate a tower of boundaries with careful conversation and a little bit of fucking up and apologising. And January, who so eloquently states his boundaries, absolutely bewilders April, who has never set a boundary ever because nobody taught him how to love himself. :/ Put them all in therapy I can't stop being mean to my characters. Anyway, that was an essay. Next question.

21. Free ramble card wee

So anyway, April and January and Ember. I think there's a lot of one dimensionality to how people can portray aro characters without really exploring the complexities and passions that can be found in QPRS. Especially when it comes to aro characters who aren't ace. Ironically, I think January's asexuality - which forces April to find new ways of establishing meaning for someone he cares about, and wants to enjoy being around - teaches April more about sex than he ever really knew. His and Ember's relationship is so full of turmoil. They both care about each other, insanely deeply; but neither of them can take care of themselves, let alone each other. They're obsessive, anxious, often angry at each other for completely avoidable things, and then there's the realisation that April is so used to fucking his way out of situations that he does inevitably see sex as more of a poker chip than an act of intimacy. And then January comes along and he's like, actually I would like to show you the stars from the tower, and I will tell you all I know about them (Not to be autistic but infodumping is its own love language). April is bewildered. He gets confused, he assumes that January wants sex, gets upset when he's rejected because he feels he isn't good enough, and physically can't wrap his head around the idea that someone can just want to be around him. (We see in book three that April even purposefully flirts with Ari, knowing it makes him uncomfortable, because he finds it comforting to be reminded that he doesn't see him as a sex object). January relays this observation back to Ember and it fuckin breaks Ember's heart like. What do you mean he's not having sex because he enjoys it?? It's a ploy?? And then Ember has to figure out new boundaries and understand new things about April that neither of them were aware of. They're such a fuckin mess! And that's without including the "I would kill for you / I would die for you / I would burn down the sky for you." which is the AprilEmber trademark. I'm sleep deprived. I love my murderous qpr.

[most-definitively-a-human]

Oh dear. It seems I may have made yet another character autistic without realising. We've got three now. (Most likely.) Yay!

I'm happy her experiences are different enough to mine that I'll still have fun. (I get bored when characters are too similar to me)

I'm seeking out the input of people who aren't as negatively affected by autism as I am to get a clear view of things. I'm disabled to the point where I can't drive or work by it, have a caregiver, and don't relate much to much of the autistic representation I see. My experiences with autism are predominately sensory, motor, and with executive function, but I don't struggle to make friends and Lumin's are mainly social and about routine, I think that's why I didn't notice for so long. In many ways we're complete opposites.

My experiences are a skewed and incomplete perspective of what the spectrum is, and something I'd like to rectify/add onto.

About Lumin

Lumin despises interruptions, experiences outbursts of rage whenever interupted, and follows a strict schedule (mainly due to being a workaholic but she does find it soothing). She prefers to do things together than talk most of the time (like sparring), has to excercise to deal with a ceaseless and restless energy, and doesn't understand people different to herself and assumes everyone is similarly oppurtunistic.

She communicates in a blunt, direct manner, with occasional vivid metaphor. She despises looping floral speech, abhors small talk and beaureocracy, and doesn't understand how to interact with others outside of intimidation or power plays as that was all she was taught.

Other people's emotions and sentimentality baffle her, and she's annoyed by their outbursts. She sometimes attempts to soothe people by saying things like "you have nothing to cry about" and "it could be worse" with genuine kind intent. She wishes she could find people who aren't so easily upset.

As a doctor, she is baffled by people who say she has a bad bedside manner. Why are they angry at her for failing to interrupt her duty to engage in pleasantries? Do they want her to be slow and incompetent? If you want pleasantries go elsewhere. You have a broken arm. Why isn't that your priority?

She couldn't bear working as a soldier since she hated being ordered about and 'being in the prescence of so many unambitious idiots' (I think she might also be overwhelmed by all the people but too proud to admit it) (she also hates turning her hobby into a job) (sparring is the one thing in her life that wasn't graded and she wants to keep it that way)

When she meets Asran (a small child of eight years) she decides to entertain him by reading out loud medical textbooks. This works. She does not have any other ideas for methods of entertainment other than "put him in a garden and ignore him" or "give him non sharp medical tools to fiddle with"

Most people dislike her, and she gave up on trying to be friendly long ago. She tries to seem as intimidating and unpleasant as possible because if she can't be loved, at least she can be feared.

She also has a strict moral code and is relentlessly adherent to authority figures she admires. She thinks it is sacriledge to question them.

Typing this out, it seems the main reason I didn't realise it is because she doesn't need a carer like me. She seems pretty obvious now that I type everything up.

I do have another few points of difficulty though.

Reasons why I'm uncertain

-Her inability to empathise is more due to her experiencing severe trauma and also being a jerk. She could understand others if she tried. She just doesn't want to because a) she has work to do and b) to her people are all the same anyway. No point in analysing them when the only important thing is ascertaining whether or not they're useful or a threat. (She would still have a naturally blunt style of communication without trauma - might be even blunter) (And would still be fixated on medical knowledge to the detriment of everything else.)

-She's an alien mermaid with a different set of instincts. She has a heightened prey drive and heightened instincts. Due to her species this explains much of the autism like symptoms, like the sensory seeking behaviour and love of schedule. In short, she wouldn't qualify for a diagnosis without being an alien so I'm not quite sure if she counts.

Personally I think her experiences will be very relatable to many autistic people, but I'm not quite sure yet due to the alien mermaid thing.

I want to make sure I'm describing her accurately. I'm not interested in changing her to be more in line with the diagnostic criteria - she's her own person and close to being fully developed as a character at this point. If she's subclinical that's great because people on the border between neurotypical and autistic get someone to relate to, and if she isn't that's also great. Either way she'll resonate with people, and that I'm content with

I just want to know how best to describe her and make no false promises. (Don't want to say she's autistic rep when she might just a more relatable than average ornery fish lady)

[msbarrows]

Have spent the last few days diving back into playing the early access version of Timberborn. I played the same map twice, once with the default Folktails beavers, and a second time with the unlockable Iron Teeth beavers, whom I'd already unlocked the last time I was playing this game a lot.

The first playthrough was mostly re-learning how to play, as it's been a while (almost a year) since I last opened the game, and I barely played it that time.

There was the usual working through the tutorial to build the minimum stuff you need to survive and start building, and then I built. A lot. A lot a lot. My usual goal when playing a map is to get as much of it as I can green (watered) , and in this case I also wanted to build all-or-most of the items in the technology tree. At least of the non-decorative objects.

There's a lot of water management, in order to get water to places that it currently isn't (including getting it somewhere uphill). Complicated by the most recent addition to the game, badwater, which is full of toxic contamination (needed to produce explosives). There were two rivers on this map, starting in opposite corners. One of good water that runs down a large mountain and then across to the far side of the map, the main river my settlement is sited on. And then on top of a smaller mountain there's two badwater sources fuelling a river that runs along the side of the map, in the opposite direction of flow as the main river, and then floods a big chunk of one corner of the map before draining away. Also, for added entertainment, there's intermittent droughts, plus "badtides" where the main river briefly turns into badwater too. And you really don't want toxic sludge running through your city, poisoning your citizens and killing their crops! Thankfully you can build levees, dams, and floodgates to control the flow.

The Iron Teeth playthrough was interesting, as they have an almost entirely different technology tree than the Folktails, right down to having different crops (carrots vs kohlrabi, as the starter point). And it's not just a one-to-one re-skinning of buildings; they often have different buildings, and even things that are similar largely have entirely different meshes or level of function. Iron Teeth pumps can pump up higher distances by default, for example. Folktails can build windmills in addition to using water- or beaver-power. Iron Teeth have hydroponic gardens to grow mushrooms and algae. They ferment a lot of their foods before eating them, or process them into rations, while the Folktails prefer grilling, grinding, and baking. Folktails have aquatic farms that can plant cattails and spadderdock in the water; Iron Teeth use foresters to plan mangroves. But they can't plant maple trees and harvest maple syrup from them, as Folktails can.

One thing I like a lot about the game is that there's a lot of structures that count as "solid" and can be stacked. Like housing and warehouses, though "piles" aren't stackable for Folktails, but are covered, stackable structures for Iron Teeth. I basically built a big stack of housing and storage in a central area for my Iron Teeth; it's a nice solution to dealing with limited map space.

As a fan of city-building games where your only potential conflict is versus the environment, I highly recommend this one. It was already enjoyable when I first purchased early access a couple years ago, and it's definitely gotten better since. I'm probably going to go wild with it for a week or three once it officially releases.