What if we unconsciously choose our ultimate biases based on some of our features we recognize in them… ‘like bias like fan’.
Write in tags some of yours and your bias’ similar features, i really want to know if this theory makes sense 🤗
Jungkook: *working on potatoes in the pan*
Jungkook: *sees V struggling with blender lid*
Jungkook: *sees Jin come help*
Jungkook: *sees how impressed V is with Jin*
Jungkook: *grumbles miserably as he’s stopped paying attention to the pan*
Jungkook: *potatoes all stick together*
A few weeks ago, while I was sitting on my front porch, I heard faint barking, followed by an annoyed huff. I glanced over, and to my surprise there was a spirit of a dog sitting near me. He was very adorable, looking like a shiba inu mix, and after a minute of sitting, he walked up to me and tried to nudge my hand with his head in an attempt to get me to pet him.
I laughed and made him a flower crown, and since then he’s been following me around, occasionally getting himself in trouble (read: got his head stuck in a box or trying to jump into my pool even though it seems that he cannot swim and hates water).
A few days ago, I decided that it was time to give him a name. My first idea was to name him Bark Ruffolo, but decided against it. I did consider Honey because of his fur color, but ended up going with what is obviously the best name: Potato Honeybee. When I asked him if he was okay with that name, he barked and rolled over for a belly rub, which is an obvious yes.
My husband made him a collar on the astral with a french fries print fabric, and there has never been a more stylish pupper ever.
Can you explain to me why you like Auston Matthews? Cause I really dont see it? Hes so annoying and sounds like he has an IQ of a potato!
Smart potato you got there, it’s got really good ice vision
*strums my guitar while looking soulfully into the distance*
You see, once upon a time there was a young potato unearthed in the desert where few root vegetables have come before. And this was a unique potato, a potato with passion and drive and a love for his sport that knew no boundaries. This potato was gonna play in the National Hockey League damn it, even though this was a league of white radishes and there really weren’t a lot of potatoes that made it. And very few from the desert.
But this potato worked hard and gave it his all and ended up being selected first overall and then went on to set records in his rookie season and wow all the radishes. And through it all this potato stayed humble and good and kind. And back at home, all the potatoes in the desert watched him and felt pride that this was their potato, and all the young potatoes felt like they could do what this potato had done, even in a world where everyone just really prefers radishes for some reason.
Also this potato is like….really really good at hockey.
So at least on my dash, nobody ever drags the xxTPs, so I'mma do it really fast bc y'all really piss me off from time to time.
Like would it kill you to NOT critique rules from time to time trying to find all the damn loopholes? Like pls can u not. LIKE SURPRISINGLY JUST BC SOMETHING DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO YOU DOESN’T MEAN IT’S NOT SENSIBLE IN THE LONG RUN?? Like is it so hard to realize that if you take into account EVERY SINGLE tiny ass thing you guys pick out, nothing would ever get done???
Rules, laws, procedures, etc, they’re there to make things easier. And like?? Honestly fuck you, ExTPs? Stop blatantly doing the loophole thing that the rules don’t cover just because you can. Y'all are so damn full of acting like a dick while not coming up with PROPER SOLUTIONS. And you, IxTPs? Just stop. You may not outwardly defy the untold laws, but you still don’t come up with solutions like the shut in you are.
“I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea.” for ELANDRAS!!!!!!
I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea. Andras thinks frantically.
Trees flash past on either side of him, the speed of his movements reducing them to blurs of green and brown with the occasional tiny burst of colour. The human lands are so barren and lifeless compared to the vast expanses of lush, vibrant beauty he’s used to in Spring. Dangerous. This land is dangerous for his kind.
He can feel death snapping at his heels as he bounds farther and farther from the wall, forcing himself to run or else he knows he’ll stop, knows he won’t be able to do his duty. He should embrace the cold whisper of death’s foul breath upon his back. This is why he’s here, after all, to seek death at the hands of a hateful human, to free his lands, his people, his love.
Lucien. He should have listened to Lucien. In truth the only one who had outright told him that this was a terrible idea, that he should stay. The other sentries had only looked away, refusing to meet his eyes when he had volunteered. Rather him than them, they had thought. Amarantha has destroyed the Spring Court. Even though it’s still relatively intact…They’re broken, beaten, acting only on the instinct to save their own skins. That was why he had come. That was why he’d had no choice.
Lucien had argued with him, had snarled at him, paced up and down in the study, made argument after argument about why he should stay, why he shouldn’t leave. The court needed him. Tamlin needed him. He led the sentries and they needed him. He was a symbol for the people and they needed him, trusted him, felt stronger knowing he was protecting them. Andras had listened to all of it, waiting, selfishly, to hear him say those words, ‘I need you.’
If he had said them like that, straight to his face in that room then maybe…Maybe he would have listened. Maybe he would have stayed.
He knows now that he’d been an idiot. Lucien had said that. He had said that he needed him, said that he loved him over and over and over. Andras had just refused to listen to him. And now he’s here, in these hateful lands again, risking his life, offering himself as bait. A lamb sent to the slaughter in a wolf’s clothing.
Panting hard, Andras stops for a moment, takes stock of his bearings. The forest is quiet, still, seemingly utterly devoid of any life. Perhaps the wild creatures are simply wise enough to recognise a faerie when they see one. Or perhaps…Perhaps another lean winter has seen this forest picked clean by desperate human hunters, perhaps-
A sudden high pitched scream splits the air around them. Andras doesn’t know what makes him act, shock, instinct, or a nature that’s been honed by centuries of training to respond to such cries, to the sound of someone in peril. He plunges through the trees towards the sound, the air now full of frantic pleas for help.
He halts just before he reaches the clearing, hunkering down behind the line of trees, just out of sight. The girl is young, unmistakably human, reeking of fear as she backs herself into a tree, her eyes wide and petrified. The basket on the ground at her feet has sent a few feeble roots and herbs scattering across the forest floor but she seems not to have noticed. Her great brown eyes are wide and terrified as she takes in the three lean, rabid wolves stalking slowly towards her.
He should leave her to her fate. This gentle thing is never going to be able to kill him, is never going to be able to kill anything. But he can’t. He can’t just turn and walk away and let the girl be savaged. Even if she’s so thin and starved she might die in a few weeks anyway. It’d probably be kinder if he just allowed her a quick death here and now but…He can’t ignore the terrified whimper that breaks from her.
With an echoing snarl that seems to tremble around the forest Andras launches himself at the wolves, teeth bared, hackles raised. He slaughters one in a heartbeat, leaves the other for dead and sends the other limping away in fright, a deep slash across the muzzle, all in seconds.
Breathing heavily, his breath forming a small cloud of mist in the air before him, he swings his head around to look up at the girl. She’s sunk to the floor, her eyes wide, her skin deathly pale she stares at him, whimpering, trying to back away from him, still looking terrified. He realises she must think he’s going to kill her, that he chased the wolves off to have her for himself but…
But then her expression changes, her mouth parts slightly. She looks even more terrified than before but…There’s a sense of awe in her now as well as she stares up at him. Then she whispers a breathless, “Thank you.” Andras blinks at her, shocked, and suddenly wishes that he could speak to this girl somehow, communicate to her what her gratitude means. He’s been risking his life for years now and no-one ever thought to just say…Thank you.
He takes a step closer to her, without quite knowing why he does so, hoping she’ll kill him or praying that she won’t he doesn’t know which is worse. She raises a trembling hand, reaching out to touch him but he jerks away, diving back into the trees, leaving her alone in the clearing, trembling, stunned, staring after him.
Her beautiful doe’s eyes haunt him as he ends his shift and returns to Spring.
Lucien is half furious, half deeply relieved when he staggers back through the manor doors, utterly exhausted, but all in one piece. Tamlin demands to know the reason for the human scent that clings to him and, duty-bound, Andras tells him everything that had happened to him.
A week later and he’s heading back to the mortal lands, Tamlin at his side. This time he rides his horse, sitting straight backed and proud, a high fae at his master’s side. He had never expected this to happen. The girl hadn’t touched him, had had such a gentle, guileless look about her that he suspected she might have felt guilt about pulling the plants from the ground in case she might have hurt them. She doesn’t deserve this, shouldn’t be dragged into these games but….They had agreed.
Andras had come in contact with a human and death had found them in that clearing with the wolves. It might be enough, if they could lie convincingly enough to Amranatha. Tamlin and Lucien had agreed that they should at the very least try. They were getting desperate. There was less than a year until the breaking of the curse when they would all be damned anyway. They had to try something, for the sake of her people too, even if she doesn’t know it.
Still, it’s with a heavy heart that Andras retraces his steps for his High Lord, leading him back to the place where they had found the girl. From there they make their way to the outskirts of a small town, to a small, ramshackle hovel that contains the girl, her two sisters, and their father. The sisters plead and roar and rage but Tamlin is adamant and drags the girl from the cottage, whispering that she’ll go. She strayed too far into the forest, she nearly got herself killed, she owes a blood debt to the faeries, she must go.
Her name is Elain, Andras overhears from outside the cottage where he waits, guarding the horses, while Tamlin does his part at terrorising the girl and her family in his beast form. When she steps out of the house, trembling violently from head to foot, asking her elder sister, Nesta, to please continue caring for her garden while she’s away, Andras stares down at her from his horse.
She looks exactly the same as he had remembered. Painfully thin, in spite of her hollowed out cheeks and slightly sunken eyes…She’s still pretty. Delicate and graceful her steps are small and controlled as she moves away from the cabin. Her sisters appear in the door, the younger restraining the elder as she thrashes like a caged wildcat, trying to get to her sister.
Andras’ eyes however flick quickly back to Elain. She’s staring straight at him, seemingly oblivious to the struggle behind her, Tamlin stalking towards her. To his utter shock she bobs a quick curtsy to him and he stares at her in utter bemusement until she looks up at him and says softly, “Thank you for rescuing me that day.”
Andras gapes at her in astonishment. Precious few fae he’s known for centuries can recognise him in that form, and yet this human girl- “How?” he demands, startled.
Elain opens her mouth to reply but cuts herself off with a little yelp of surprise as Tamlin lifts her up as though she’s a doll and sets her on the horse in front of Andras. Settling herself with as much dignity as she can muster with her threadbare dress riding up her thighs she turns back to him and says simply, “Your eyes.”
Andras doesn’t get a chance to respond as Tamlin urges the horses into motion, carrying them away from the cottage and the hoarse screams of Elain’s sisters. She doesn’t look at him as they ride and Tamlin’s magic causes her to sleep before they reach the wall crossing. Andras says nothing about the use of magic, just keeps a tight grip on the girl to stop her falling from the saddle.
They arrive at the manor at last. Tamlin wakes Elain on the border of the manor grounds and she’s staring around with huge, wide eyes as elaborate gardens and the great, sprawling mansion. He strides into the manor, no doubt to fetch Lucien, leaving Andras to tend to Elain and the horses.
It seems, however, that the girl who, Andras is increasingly suspecting is stronger than anyone might guess, isn’t done shocking him. He slides from the mare’s back first then reaches up, bracing his hands firmly at Elain’s waist then lifting her carefully down from the saddle, setting her gently on her feet. She begins thanking him again but a loud crash from the opposite side of the stable, where Lucien has just entered.
His lover is staring at Elain, his eyes wide, his entire body slack with shock. Concerned, Andras takes a step towards him, away from Elain, who looks rather alarmed by this strange behaviour, shifting a little closer to him on instinct.
Lucien takes no notice of either of them, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Elain’s as he whispers three hoarse words that shatter Andras’ entire world.