#And while I cannot and will not give you what you want or need

[ifightformyfriends]

I took calls for Covered California for all of 2023 and it is capable of helping SO much, however, so many bad outcomes from it came from misunderstanding one simple thing.

The ACA gives you your tax break in advance, you are essentially borrowing from yourself once you file taxes. When it asks you for tax information, it is asking what, to the best of your ability, your year of coverage taxes will look like. So, for 2025, you need to fill it out with what you expect the taxes you file in 2026, for 2025, to look like. If you make mistakes and do not correct them, that is when you can get hit with having to repay what you were given because you were borrowing from your future self and then didn't get that money.

Income changes are a big one that caused issues, but other big ones included not reporting spouses or kids because they didn't need coverage. They are on your taxes, they need to be included to know how much money you can borrow from your future self. Also, if you are offered coverage from your job, or your spouses, and it is considered Affordable (which has a legal definition) and meets legal minimums, you cannot get financial assistance. Same for if you file taxes alone while married. Automatically have to pay back everything for those.

That's it for warnings, now for some ADVICE.

BRONZE plans are shit. They cover basically nothing. Three basic checkups a year, and after that they are basically a safety net for catastrophes ONLY.

If you are low income, SILVER is usually the way to go. Certain income ranges qualify for ENHANCED SILVER which means more coverage and less cost. Silver 84 has coverage greater than Gold and Silver 94 is better than Platinum. If you have access to those PLEASE take them.

Deductible is what you have to pay in the year before the insurance "kicks in" and starts paying for things. Lot of people did not know that.

I am a random person on tumblr, I can answer asks to the best of my ability, but if you want more information look for a Certified Enrollment Counselor. NOT an Agent. CECs are members of Covered California that are incentivized to HELP. Agents are third party licensed "with" Covered California and get a portion of your Premium as kickback. A lot of Agents would fuck up information on the application to get lower costs for people that they'd have to pay back where the Agent just gets free money out of it. Some are decent and care, but they were rare from the perspective of someone being called when there were problems.

I know that's a lot to take in but so many heartbreaking calls were due to a lack of understanding the system. If you know what they're asking for and what things are, it's an incredibly useful system! But very few people have that.

Banging on the walls chanting "OPEN ENROLLMENT FOR ACA THRU JAN 15" like some deranged town crier. Election results aside, you have options to access healthcare as a RIGHT through the ACA. NO one can dismantle the Affordable Care Act in less than 4 years, so SIGN UP! GET YOUR CARE! USE THE SYSTEM!

You have options RIGHT NOW that will be stable thru the next year, the one after that, and I'd be shocked to see them shrink even the year after that. That means RIGHT NOW you can get signed up for next year to gain 100% covered preventative care (your annual check ups, pap smears, dental cleaning, vision check). You have the option to get checked and screened as you need, do NOT be dissuaded from exploring ACA choices. They are SOLID, LEGISLATED, and WORK BEST WHEN PEOPLE USE THEM.

I can't change most things around me, BUT I CAN tell everyone I know that THEY CAN GET LIFE SAVING CARE. THEY CAN GET PRESCRIPTIONS. THEY CAN GET PREGNANCY CARE. THEY CAN GET CANCER CARE. AND THEY WILL GET THAT CARE!!!!!!

SIGN UP BY DECEMBER 15, 2024 FOR COVERAGE TO BEGIN ON JANUARY 1, 2025. ENROLLMENT AFTER 12/15/24 WILL HAVE COVERAGE BEGINNING FEBRUARY 1, 2025.

[syluslnd]

Hello there! I really enjoy your writing, I was wondering if you could write something where ‘Sylus is very clingy and cannot spend a second apart from the mc physically’? We chilling on the sofa? He is there pulling us to his lap and treat us like his plushie. Are we going to kitchen he’ll hold our hand while doing it 🎀 I’d be really happy if you could write couple occasions with this, I love the obsessed Sylus the most 🫠🫂

Love your writing 💞

sylus who cannot stand being too far away from you

couch cuddling

• You’re sitting on the couch, minding your own business, maybe reading or just relaxing. Sylus is sitting beside you but apparently that's just not close enough for him. Without a word, he slips an arm around your waist and tugs you right onto his lap.

You squeak a little in surprise and your cheeks heat up. He acts like nothing is out of the ordinary, just adjusting his grip as if you belong there.

“Comfortable, kitten?” he murmurs with a grin, barely suppressing a chuckle.

You nod, trying to play it cool but he can see your shy smile as you sink into his chest. He holds you close, and every once in a while, you feel him lean down to plant a lazy kiss on your forehead, perfectly content.

cooking situation

When you stand up and casually say “I’m going to start dinner” Sylus instantly perks up. “Where do you think you’re going?” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Um, the kitchen?” you say with a laugh.

Before you can take another step, he grabs your hand. “Then I’m coming with you sweetie.” His tone is final, and he gives you that teasing smile, as if he’s daring you to object.

“You need to be this close just to cook?” you ask with a little giggle.

“Of course” he says. “Wouldn’t want this kitten wandering off somewhere, now would we?” He gives your hand a squeeze and doesn’t let go as you both walk to the kitchen, his presence warm and steady by your side.

bathroom bodyguard

When you get up to head toward the bathroom, you notice Sylus trailing close behind. “Sylus!” you laugh, “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

He shrugs, looking like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And?”

You stop and raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

He pretends to look wounded, crossing his arms. “What, can’t a man worry about his girl?”

You shake your head but can’t help smiling. “Just wait outside, then” you say.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You know, kittens are in their most vulnerable state when using the bathroom”

You roll your eyes but feel warmth in his protectiveness. It’s silly but that’s just him and as you close the door, you hear him chuckling softly to himself outside, still keeping his post as if he’s on high alert.

[hitlikehammers]

ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so��earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[gem-de-lune]

Daily Vibe Check 11/07

Seunghan

Hanged Man + 10 of Swords + Ace of Swords (Strongest Emotion)

Again, he is facing similar energy these days. A waiting for the signal. There is some fear bubbling up though, some anxiety around the situation. But that fear is kind of extinguished with a certain excitement for the whole ordeal tdealtover and dealt with very soon. With his strongest emotion here being thebAce of Swords, he is experiencing something like an emotional breakthrough. Internally he is developing himself and rebuilding a lot of lost confidence. His mind his clear and he knows what he must do.

What is he expecting to happen within the next few days?

King of Pentacles + Chariot + 9 of Pentacles (his reaction)

He is anticipating a deal of sorts, perhaps a contract for investment of his time and future. This, along with the Chariot does indicate some positive omens in regards to his potentially rejoining the group. (Again, the 7 card Chariot pops out) and with the 9 of Pentacles being his reaction to this ordeal, it does indicate he is satisfied with the outcome and the work it took to get there both internal within himself and externally as a lot of people supported him.

What is SMs current stance on the Seunghan issue?

3 of Chalices + Queen of Swords

They are meticulously planning, still. There are indicators that it is a small team that is managing whatever plans are being made, and they all have a very collaborative energy, and there is a positive and celebratory vibe around what they are planning.

When will SM reveal their intentions regarding Seunghan?

The Moon + 8 of Wands + Queen of Wands (Clarification)

These were very contradictory and I was very very confused at first. The Moon would indicate "IDK would they even ever though?" and the 8 of Wands would indicate "very soon" LMAO. So then I was like hollon....what if they do not announce it? We have already spoken about this theory, but I have never necessarily pulled that theory so explicitly before. So I used a clarifyer (Queen of Wands) to ask if Seunghan would come back suddenly and unannounced. This would indicate that yes, and that SM is likely being very careful about what they are doing and trying to protect Seunghan from the situation that happened last time. So they will probably not give any heads up or if they do, it will simply not be far ahead of D-Day.

However I also want to acknowledge that I said something like 2 last time, and i also said i did not feel like it would be 2 weeks. But i change my mind. I think it could be two weeks before we SEE something in the flesh. But i think we may still HEAR whispers starting tmw into the weekend and next week.

Final Notes:

I want to remind you all that again- these need to be taken with a grain of salt and that the future is STILL up for grabs. I hope no one becomes complacent and overly reliant on Tarot. While we can see a path here, we cannot guarantee* it and that is important. I am here to show you the path so we do NOT lose hope, not to play God. Please remember that and still do everything you can for Seunghan until he comes back. Again- he isn't back until we see him on that stage. It isn't over until we see him on that mf stage. Okay?!

[greenplumbboblover]

THIS ISSUE HAS BEEN RESOLVED!

(Source: https://modthesims.info/showthread.php?t=687747 )

TL;DR: What happened?

Two creators had unfortunately been victim to their passwords being leaked. The people who are behind these types of TS4 malware issues tend to find leaked passwords and then sharing their Trojan file.

IF you downloaded any of these 4 items in the last 24 hours: 1. No Mosaic / Censor Mod for The Sims 4 - Toddler Compatibility Update! 2. AllCheats - Get your cheats back! 3. CAS FullEditMode Always On (Updated 6/26/18) 4. Full House Mod - Increase your Household Size! [Still Compatible as of 1/25/18] Just know that they were only live for 1,5 hours. The chances that you downloaded something malware are quite low due to this. However, just to be safe, it's good to delete them anyways if you did download them 24 hours before as of this reblog post.

So: Just a reminder to, well, everyone using the internet: Make sure to change your passwords periodically! (and, if possible, use an authentication app).

As far as I know, MTS is working on making it much harder to update posts when you've been inactive for a while! So in the future, the hackers would need access to your email provider to include malware in your mods. I believe this code is already live as we speak.

How to stay safe downloading anything CC related in the future:

Know that this issue is seemingly a big issue in The sims 4 community! While the other communities are certainly not ruled out to be able to have malware in them, it seems this group of hackers are really focused on The Sims 4 community as a whole.

What files are the issue?

ts4script files. Because it's raw python AND TS4 doesn't have great restrictions for script mods in place, these people can modify the python file to create a .dll file on running the game. That's how they get information if they're lucky.

.exe files or files that look like another file type but are an .exe file. (or some executable file like a bash script, etc). MTS does check these things before approving, but do be careful when downloading these things from tumblr or github. Make sure to check the comments there instead.

What files CANNOT ever get malware in them?

Simply said: .Package files. Exception for maybe the .package files that are actually ts4script files, but that's really from the ancient TS4 days.

With other words, your: CasParts, Lots, Cosmetics, Hair, Sims, Recolours, Objects CANNOT have malware in them

The only "kind of" malware we saw back in the days in Package files was the infamous TS3 Doll corruption bug. But that didn't collect your data, just corrupted your save/game 😉

What ways can I detect if something is malware at first sight?

99% of script modders, when updating their mods, WILL add WHY they updated their mod in the first place. If you do NOT see any update reasons in the description, it's probably malware.

Check the comments! If you're not sure, always check if someone left a comment (or in Tumblr's case, a Reblog).

Trust your gut feeling! Does something seem strange? A bit out of place from the usual? Give it a few days before you download the mod.

Package files SHOULD NEVER have a way of "installing your content" through an .exe file "For simplicity", because 99% of the cases, it's malware to trick you. Unless there is a excellent reason for it (and I mean REALLY good reason).

More or less a download site related thing: If a download site has a billion buttons saying "Download". Please don't press these. They are most likely Malware too, but definitely shady ads. For those pages, it would be best to leave the item alone, unless you really know what you're doing!

Conclusion

While these discord server announcements mean well, it frustrates me to see that they mention that EVERYTHING is compromised. Whereas in reality it's only TS4Scripts and .exe files that can do harm.

I know they mean well! And wanting to protect people! But at the same time, it also spreads a sense of misinformation that can harm creators, websites, you name it.

So, instead, I would love to advise them to educate their members instead on what files can be the problem! And how to detect them. The more we get this into the world, the better we will be able to protect one another from downloading bad things!

And of course, websites that share CC, should make an effort to prevent this in the future. I'm happy MTS is doing this at the moment.

Stay safe!

(Sourced from the Sims After Dark discord server)

DO NOT DOWNLOAD ANY MODS FROM MODTHESIMS! Numerous mods there (including those by TwistedMexi) are being compromised by hackers adding a malicious file with the mods

Please reblog!!

[genderqueerdykes]

i just wanted to take some time to let americans know that while it's okay to be bummed about the results of the presidential election, the entire reason elections are so publicized and televised like this is to try to keep you wrapped up in this bullshit so you will ignore and forget about reality. yes trump being elected sucks but the entire point of this is to keep your attention off of real issues that are happening in the real world

they WANT you to get sad and defeated whenever a bad candidate wins so that you become complacent. they want you to lose hope and give up and accept what is happening. they want you to get wrapped up in debates and other he-said-she-said nonsense that's all conjecture and spitballing so you'll ignore what's actually happening in the real world. trump can say he wants to do this, and say he wants to do that, but the real world is way more complicated than that. our government sucks but he's going to have to fight with the senate and house just like he did the last time he was elected. he's going to have to fight tooth and nail to try to get his unrealistic plans set into action, and it's not going to be any easier for him this time around than it was last time.

we don't know what will happen until we get there. the best we can do is continue to survive, and thrive, until we see change. all we can do is continue to care for and love each other until we see things in our environment genuinely changing. don't listen to what this man says he wants to do. he wants to scare you and make you think that he's almighty and unstoppable, but he's not. he's a human who is subject to the rules of the government machine he willingly walked into. you can't give up hope right now and abandon your friends and family and assume you should move or die to escape it.

most people's first reaction is to move when the candidate they don't like wins. which is fair, but it's also really important to stick with your friends and family. abandoning the people you love during a hard time will not make it any easier for you or them. sticking together during adversity is what makes it easier to overcome. and if and when it comes down to a revolution, we need your help to set that in motion. we can't start a revolution to make a change if there's no one left to try. we have to stay in order to be the change we want to see. stick by your friends and family. stick together. don't abandon each other- now more than ever we need to stick together.

this wasn't the "most important election of our lifetime." all of the ones before that were framed exactly that way, too. what this IS is the most important time to stick together and stand up for one another. there will never be a more important time like the present to stand together, stick up for each other, defend each other, and to be there for one another. marginalized groups will only get weaker if we abandon each other. we have to stick together to fight like hell for each other.

it's not all doom and gloom. nothing is over. we survived a prior 4 years under this man's presidency and we will survive another 4. it sucked before, and it'll suck again, but we will persist through this. the world will keep turning. the sun will keep rising. please remember that we are stronger together, and that a revolution cannot happen unless there are people to partake in it. if we want to make change, we can't run- we have to stand and face the adversity we wish to overcome.

[0vergrowngraveyard]

hey, so i don’t usually talk about this sort of thing on here and i’m not the best with words, but i need to say this:

you, the person reading this, have to survive.

you are strong. you are so, SO strong and so extremely brave. don’t give them what they want. they want you to be afraid, they want you to give up hope, but you cannot give that to them. do not give them power over you like that.

it’s only 4 years. that may seems like a very long time, but you survived his first term. you can do it again, i KNOW you can. and if his term somehow lasts longer than 4 years? i still know you can do it. will it be challenging? of course it will, but i and so many other believe that you can make it through to the other side.

take a break from the screens. go outside and just sit with yourself or invite your friends to sit along with you. spend time with your pets, indulge in your hobbies, or try something new. take the time to enjoy the little things in life. maybe reach out to a mutual you’ve never spoken to or who you haven’t spoken to in a while.

just please don’t give up. don’t give up on yourself. don’t let that smelly old man have power over you as a human being.

please survive. i know you can. it’ll be okay.

[thesassypadawan]

Dancing In The Moonlight (A.J. x GFReader)

Summary:  It’s tradition…  The two of you poolside…a bottle of something sweet and strong (just like your man)…while listening to all those old, cheesy songs he loves…  That’s just how you celebrate another successful job…

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Fun from behind, pool smex, brief appearance of hat, and… A.J.’s big, fat dick.

Notes: A little something for a lovely anon! It was truly a pleasure to write this! I'm sorry it took more than a hot minute to get this done, but I wanted to put all the extra love into this! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it and to see more of your lovely requests in my inbox! 💗

- Dancing in the moonlight...  Everybody's feelin' warm and bright…

- The familiar tune pours out from the open patio door.  Floating on the crisp night air.  Creating the perfect tone for a romantic, moonlit evening.  All that’s missing was your ‘partner in crime’.

- Checking your phone for what easily had to be the tenth time in the last hour, a slight frown crosses your face…no new messages.  “Where are you, Jay?”  You sigh softly to yourself, resting your chin on top of your folded arms…gazing up at the stars.

- This had always been your little tradition.  The two of you celebrating poolside.  Listening to his favorite songs.  Sharing a drink or two of something of his choice.  Helping him ‘unwind’ after another successful job…your frown turned up into a wicked grin.

- So consumed by your own thoughts you don’t register the sound of a soft splash, a voice calling to you.  Until small waves lap gently at, firm chest presses against your back.  And an arm reaches past you, setting an amber colored bottle and his hat beside the pair of empty glasses.   “Sorry, doll, that took longer than I wanted.”

- Humming, you practically melt into him.  Head lazily tilting to the side…eyeing up the spirit he brought.  “Strong stuff.  Must have been a rough one.”

- Hand comes to rest on your hip, giving it an affectionate squeeze.  While long fingers push your hair to the side.  Lips brush your neck; peppers your skin with tender kisses.  Low, gravelly voice mutters.  “Yeah.  Don’t wanna talk about it.  Just wanna relax…enjoy ya.”

- “Mmmh…”  You coo, a thrill coursing through you.  As you shift forward, hands grasping at the towel below.  Legs spreading apart, hips wiggling in invitation.  “Think I can manage that…”

- Teeth ghost over, nibble the shell of your ear.  “Figured ya could…”  Big hands pull on your waist, urges you up on your tiptoes.  “Always so good for me…”  Fat tip prods at your bare cheeks, teases at your folds.  “Treatin’ me right…”

- Mouth falls open, breathy moan slips out.  “Because you deserve it…would do anything for you.”  Upper body rises up, intent on thrusting yourself onto his throbbing length.  But…

- Calloused fingertips trail, grasp the back of your neck.  “I got it.”  Softly pressing you down, keeping you in place.  Pushing himself into your tight cunt, achingly slow.  “Don’t have to rush.”

- Bottoming out, hips flush with yours.  A.J stays buried deep within, not moving.  Tracing faint patterns, placing tender kisses along your spine…leaving goosebumps behind in their wake.  “We got all night, sweetheart.”

- “I know, but been waiting on you for week.”  Tightening from his sweet, gentle treatment.  Tiny gasps, little mewls spill from your lips.  As the burning desire inside you only grows stronger, more desperate for him to…  “Need you.  Need to feel you.  Need you to move.  Please.”

- “Mmmh, since ya asked so nicely.”  One last searing kiss between your shoulder blades and his hips begin to rock, roll.  Moving at a sensual, almost torturous pace that has your mind thrumming in pleasure.  Fingers weakly clutching at the towel; pussy fluttering, clenching hard around him.

- “Fuck.”  Lightly squeezing your nape before mapping a path up your thigh.  Dipping inwards; teasing, grazing…circling your neglected nub.  Groaning when he hears your low, needy whine.  “Weren’t kiddin’, were ya?”

- “No,” you hiccup, sigh.  Feeling his full weight press down on, pins your smaller body against the edge.  While he surges forward, somehow sinks his cock further into your warmth.  That familiar coil in your stomach wound taut, that molten pleasure pooling in its pit.  “Always need…always want…always miss you.”

- Increasing his speed slightly; the waves swell larger, lap louder.  “Good to know.”  Fingers swirl your clit faster, tug on it a bit rougher.  “Means you’ll be waitin’ here for me…every time.”

- Breaths come out in soft pants; wispy puffs of air merging together, rising up towards the starry sky.  “Ready to celebrate…”  Bodies trembling from the cool breeze, from the raw intimacy that’s easily and oh so quickly overtaken you both.  “Savor the moment…”

- Burying himself one last time, you spill over the edge together.  Him throbbing and twitching, stuffing you to the brim.  You clamping down, milking him for every last drop of that delicious heat. 

- And as A.J. showers you with words of admiration, loving praises.  Sways slowly, back and forth with you to the music.  Staying connected.  You know that you two will sip on another drink…dance to another song in…

- It's such a fine and natural sight…  Everybody's dancing in the moonlight…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @lotte08, @rafeswifeyy2, @exsamlockwood-kate, @sythethecarrot, @fuckmyskywalker, @everydaydreamer, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @adorbzliz, @lesnby23, @starsoldier077, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @poppysunderthestars, @maggyskywalker, @gracescorner, @onlygoodatbeingbad, @lulu-lux, @bigaoibhe2024, @miumia, @moonlxght-tyler, @juli007, @chrismus48978731689, @dietcoke-lover, @polly-xo, @eviekj, @cocobear18, @anonymous1996s, @coooooooooochie, @anthonyromero45566, @bladeloverblog, @jarofer, @olivia82827jsnms, @jaynech028, @arabellaamore, @supernatural-lover, @niyahnotnia, @peyton3328, @ethere4lbts, @jasperanddaisy, @lachimolalaloveeeeee, @sold1erboy, @generalgalaxyfury, @t-bag2, @ttdrake, @gardenfairy-33, @jameskellysgirl, @maddis0n4, @war-and-chaos, @slutforoldermen, @oneaftertheotherone, @cherryhwaa

[gothwineaunts]

I don't want to make you feel guilty about it but do you have any updates about Shiloh?

Don't worry, I've been wanting to tell y'all what's up with Shiloh for awhile now! I just want to start with the disclaimer that I don't really have what I'd call "news" on it. It's in limbo at the moment, but for good reason. When you sign on with Webtoon you agree to give them digital exclusivity for a period of time. This is so you can't go and post your series somewhere else, because ofc webtoon wants readers to only be able to read it on their app. This is all fine, like it's all above-board, normal stuff. But as a result there's a span of time where you cannot post the series anywhere else, even if the series is finished. I don't wanna get too specific, but a few years. You've probably heard about Let's Play, right? How Mongie left the platform? The reason she can't immediately start posting Let's Play somewhere else, is because of this same thing. She, like all the other webtoons that leave or are canceled, needs to wait until the term is up before she can continue elsewhere. The clock on this resets whenever you post a new episode. So it's not like episode 1 is okay to post somewhere else before episode 10 is, it's the whole series or nothing. So with all that said. Shiloh's almost to the end of this term, and past a certain point we felt it no longer made sense to try to post S3 as a webtoon original because the moment we post even one episode, we'd have to wait all these years over again if/when we left. There's also been some writing on the wall for a minute that webtoon isn't keen on renewing Shiloh after S3, so there was also a possibility we'd come back, just to be canceled. And honestly that's alright with us, we have thought for some time now that Shiloh is better suited to a longer monthly issue release rather than shorter weekly ones, just with the genre it is. And besides, we wouldn't be able to keep up with webtoon's mandated weekly schedule while we're working on Nevermore at the same time. So TLDR; when Shiloh comes back it won't be as a webtoon original. But I'm not sure what it'll look like yet. Could be on canvas. Could be on patreon as like a free/fastpass sort of route, potentially. We know we want people to be able to read it for free no matter what. But the details are all sort of a toss up at the moment, because we still have a little more time to wait before we can do anything anyway. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer! It's why I've been dragging my feet on a proper announcement, because I don't have any hard dates or plans for y'all yet. But we have not abandoned Shiloh! It's been in deep freeze, but intentionally. And with plans to return at some point. We won't be abandoning it, it's a huge passion project for us. <3

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Comfort

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Light mention of politics, fluff

Length: 494

Summary: Bucky comforts you during your time in need.

A/N: Normally I’m not one to be overly vocal about my beliefs, but after the shit show that was the election, I can’t not be. If you know me, I believe that everyone deserves rights, no matter who they are, how they identify, who they love, etc. The type of hate that we see now is only going to increase and I cannot stand by and not say anything. My page will always be a safe space for everyone, no matter what. I wrote this partially to comfort myself, but now I am posting it for everyone else who also needs this. To my friends who are going to be affected by this, I am so sorry that this country has failed you. I am sorry that your rights will be affected by this. I am sorry that people carry this immense amount of hate and don’t know how to mind their own business. Know this; My page will be a safe space for you to be yourself, even in this horrible time. You have someone in your corner who will not judge you and cares for your overall well being. We may not know each other, but I support you.

This is not proofread, I just wanted to put this out.

I do not consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You lay in your bed, thinking about life. It’s a tough pill to swallow. There are no words to describe the devastation you feel for your friends and family. You continue to stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how much you wished Bucky was home.

Bucky had left a few days prior on a mission. While it shouldn’t be much longer, you still wished he was home. You wished that you could lay in his arms and cry while he held you, telling you that he would do everything in his power to try to help you.

You are so lost in thought, you don’t hear the front door to your apartment open. 

Bucky quietly opens the door, hoping to not disturb you. He gently locks the door and takes off his boots, leaving them by the front door. Alpine is the first to greet him, rubbing against his leg. 

Bucky picks her up to pet her, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Hey girl, is she still in bed?”

Alpine purrs to say yes and rubs herself on Bucky’s chest. Bucky frowns slightly but he knew you would be like this. He walks to your shared bedroom, knocking on the door.

“Doll?” He asks tentatively.

Your heart jumps before you turn your head. “Hey, Buck.” You whisper with a small smile and tears in your eyes.

Bucky gently puts Alpine on the bed and cuddles up right next to you. “I’m so sorry, Doll.”

You only nod your head and turn your body to be engulfed by him, wrapping your leg around his waist. “You just being here is helping.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, only rubbing your back and kissing your temple as you cry in his arms. If there was anything he could do, he would do it. But that’s not possible and he wants to destroy everything because of it.

“I got you, Doll. You can cry, scream, punch, do whatever you need to do.”

You shake your head. “I just need to be with you.”

Bucky nods. “Then we can lay here and waste the day away. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head once more. “No.”

Bucky frowns slightly. “Doll, you need to eat. It’s almost 3 pm.” Alpine meows in agreement.

“I know, I just couldn’t pull myself out of bed.” You reach for Alpine and she lays between you and Bucky, purring at her favorite humans.

“Ok, well do you want to order food?”

You shake your head and scrunch your face. “I feel like if I eat, I’m going to throw up.”

Bucky looks you in the eyes. “Baby, I know. But you have to eat. How about I make you some toast? It’ll fuel you and isn’t super heavy.”

You nod. “Yeah, ok.”

Bucky kisses your forehead. “I know Doll, but we’ll get through this. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll be ok.”

[holylulusworld]

How to free a demon (3)

Summary: You try to free the demon you didn’t summon.  

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Librarian!Reader

Warnings: cocky Demon!Dean, mentions of hell/torture/demon deals/, flirting, tension, implied smut, fun, fluff

Catch up here: How to keep a demon (2)

“Fuck, I still got it in me. My mojo is back, sweetheart,” your demon purrs your name and nips at the inside of your thigh. This time, he got it up. More than once, to be precise. “Hmm…good thing you didn’t make a wish.”

“I can’t believe you tried to talk me into selling my soul. You knew what happened down there,” you grumble. “Even worse, I let you turn my life upside down.”

“I made it up to you, right?” Dean looks up at you from between your legs. His favorite meal seems to be your cunt lately. He can’t get enough. “I could make it up to you again and again.”

“Dean, no,” you groan and push against his head. “Not again. I’m already sore.” You whine and try to wiggle out of his grip. “Stop! I need to get up and take a shower. Sam needs my help with one of the books. He wants me to translate it.”

“Boring,” Dean nuzzles your crotch, sighing deeply. He’s not sure if he wants to be the normal guy again. His demonic powers protected you and him until now. If Sam can cure him, he’ll lose his powers and be back to running in circles to keep the people he loves safe. “Let’s stay here and do naughty things.”

“No, let’s get up,” you grumble. “Dean, come on. Do you want the short guy to come back and drag you down to hell? We don’t know if he doesn’t find a way to break the bond protecting us.”

The demon coughs. He was bouncing ideas and options while you were sleeping too. If he goes back to Crowley, there is no guarantee the king of hell won’t hurt you or his brother. If he stays, there’s the chance that Crowley finds a way to get back at you and Dean too.

“What if,” Dean tries to talk you into not curing him, “you don’t cure me.”

“No, Winchester. We will cure your demonic ass. I don’t want to wake up to a guy with black eyes eating my pussycat. I want the green-eyed cocky guy to do it.”

Dean grins. “I knew you’d end up addicted to me, sweetheart. I still got it in me to steal hearts.” His features sadden, and he sighs deeply. “I know you want me to become human again, but giving up my powers will weaken us, Y/N.”

“Sam said he knows what he’s doing. He can cure you, and it won’t change a thing,” you pat his head. “I left my old life behind. I’ll stay here and help you with research and stuff.”

“I wasn’t scared of losing you,” he huffs. “I’m a big bad demon. No one breaks my heart or scares me. I faced worse than a cocky sweetheart wanting to steal my heart.”

You smirk. “I’ll hold your hand throughout the whole procedure. I won’t leave you alone. Please give Sam the chance to get his brother back. He tried to get you out of hell for eight years. Do you know how hard it was for him to fail every time?”

Dean nods thoughtfully. The last thing he wants is for Sam to feel guilty. He knows his brother, and Bobby tried anything to get him out of hell. Dean made the deal, and he was ready to pay his dues.

“Winchester! Come out! You still owe me. I gave you your body and life back! You will pay for the deal you made!” Crowley, the king of hell, yells outside the bunker. “Dean Winchester, don’t think I won’t destroy this little hideout! I’m losing my patience here.”

“Aw, look at the big bad tiny wolf standing in front of a fortress he cannot tear down.” You giggle and wink at Crowley. The demon flashes his eyes red to scare you. “Get off my lawn, king of shit. You won’t get my demon back! He paid his dues. Eight years! He collected souls for you for eight years!”

“He didn’t pay back his debts!” Crowley steps closer to the bunker and sneers at you. “I own him. He’s my demon!”

“I own his cocky ass, king of shit!” You aim a gun filled with devil’s trap bullets at him. “Devil’s trap bullets, you son of a bitch. One step closer, and you are history.”

“You dare to threaten me?” Crowley sneers. “I’m bloody Crowley!”

“Well, shit. I’m bloody Y/N, the owner of Dean Winchester’s cocky ass. Please excuse us now. We will free him off you!”

“Hey! You can’t just leave!” Crowley yells when you go back inside and slam the door shut. “I’m the king of hell! Do not disrespect me!”

“What did you do outside?” Sam rubs his tired eyes. For hours, he tried to cure his brother. “I told you not to leave the bunker. Crowley is out for blood.”

“I made sure the king of shit knows his place,” you casually say. “If he dares touch on my demon, he’ll regret it.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean slowly walks toward you. He grunts as he feels like he got under the bus twice: “My cocky ass is human now.”

“Awesome,” you say, and wrap one arm around his waistline to help Dean walk toward his room. “Your ass still belongs to me, right?”

“Of course, Y/N,” he chuckles. “It belongs only to you.”

Sam watches you and Dean laugh. He sighs deeply. Dean is cured, but Crowley is still out for blood.

Tags in reblog.

[lastoneout]

Hey so uh y'all know this is straight up radfem rhetoric that will do fuck all to actually combat the rise of fascism in this country while putting young people further at risk of being indoctrinated into conservatisim, right? Like this is 100% the basis of political lesbianism and is a direct pipeline to becoming a fucking TERF which is a direct pipeline to holding hands with Nazis, we should NOT be supporting or promoting the idea that the only way for women to be safe is to completely isolate themselves from men, especially in the coming years where unity with our allies, a group which includes men, will be the key to survival for so many people. The state of the world right now is based in part on the rampant spread of individualism and exclusion and distrust, why the hell would perpetuating that help??

Also this alienates women who cannot or will not abandon their connections to men(wanting to marry and love and have sex and children with men is morally neutral) and strips us of our ability to find allyship with marginalized men who are on our side and also will face extreme violence under this new administration. This will cut us off from black men and disabled men and intersex men and queer men and will absolutely be used as justification to completely fucking abandon trans men, who have already been completely abandoned by current mainstream feminism to the point that I cannot go five seconds without someone saying reproductive rights are an issue that only affects women when that is in NO way the case. Basically no one has been including trans mascs/men, nonbinary people, and intersex people in the abortion and birth control discussion this election cycle despite those groups needing just as much help and support on this front and that is a PROBLEM. Like trans men and intersex people who can get pregnant are going to be at a hellish level of risk going forward, infinitely more so than the average cishet perisex woman. We cannot abandon them further.

Plus for some of us marriage will potentially keep us safer or help us escape this country should we need to, I'm disabled and can't work I cannot just move to another country, but if I get married and my fiancé goes first and finds a job that can support us both that will help me. And like you can also get married to a man and still refuse to have kids in protest? Most of the people in our generation aren't having kids anyway? And tbh those of us who want to are not bad people nor should we have to put our entire lives on hold for god knows how long to stick it to the men. We live in hell right now, why the fuck should we be asking people to completely abandon things that could make them happy in a weird form of protest that won't work and is a gateway to being a raging Nazi transphobe??

And on top of all of that this also lets the hundreds of thousands of women who voted for Trump on purpose because they too have bought in to his rhetoric off the hook, which again, is where radical feminism leads because it is fundamentally based on the idea that men are always dangerous and harmful no matter what but women are always innocent brainwashed victims who can do no harm. And writing off men as a lost cause who are evil by nature and thus cannot be saved is also not only radical feminist bullshit, it's legit just conservative "boys will be boys" bullshit with a progressive hat. I am not giving shitty men a free pass to suck forever by pretending they are incapable of change, they can, should, and MUST be held to a higher standard. That is what I mean when I say radical feminisim is a conservative ideology, it doesn't believe a better world is possible because it assumes men will always be evil and should be avoided at all costs which upholds the status quo, it does nothing to actually challenge it.

(And hell, if all that wasn't enough, this is also flawed because the kinds of women who are left leaning enough to consider doing something like this likely already only associate with progressive men, so who are we even punishing here? No woman riding the tradwife MAGA waterslide is going to do this, so the only men who get punished are the good ones who are on our side, which helps who, exactly?? Like christ y'all this falls the fuck apart so fast the second you actually think about it.)

There are men who will be my allies in the coming years and women who will be my enemy. Women are just as capable of being bigoted fascist pieces of shit as men are, this election proved that. We waited for women to save us and most of them fucking didn't. How the hell am I supposed to believe women are inherently safer or better while looking at the breakdown of what demographics voted for Trump. Some of the most vile, traumatizing misogyny and biphobia I have faced in my life was at the hands of other women and some of the most outspoken feminists who work tirelessly to tear apart the patriarchy I know are men. My fiancé, a cis man, legit checked MY toxic masculinity yesterday, I recently came out as butch and have been trying to live up to that by staying as strong as possible right now, and HE had to tell me to knock it off and let myself cry. Gender and sex are not indicators of morality and acting like they are is pure, unadulterated radical feminist bullshit.

We can and should absolutely talk about the rise of alt-right beliefs amongst men in this country, especially young men, but we cannot ignore that young women are buying into that shit too and a lot of it is COMING FROM RADICAL FEMINISTS, I cannot fucking stress enough radical feminism is a direct pipeline to becoming a conservative, the TERF to tadwife waterslide is real and likely WHY so many young women are voting conservatively. The more we concede to this rancid bullshit the more women wander directly into the alt-right's open arms.

The problem isn't men, it's systemic misogyny perpetuated by both men AND women, and also fascism. Don't lose sight of the true enemy.

[v6quewrlds]

girl could you possibly cook up something about andrei to distract from this election misery, i need to feel something 😭😭😭

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: a little distraction from the election dread. pls take care of yourselves, you cannot help others before you help yourself. put your oxygen mask on before helping others <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 704.

You squinted at the recipe on your phone, your thumb scrolling through the instructions Andrei had forwarded to you from his mother. You had never made this dish before, but Andrei had been missing his mom's chicken adobo, so you were giving it a shot. The kitchen smelled of garlic and soy sauce as your eyes darted between the pot in front of you and the text message. It was the night before the first day of training camp for the Bengals, and you wanted everything to be perfect for Andrei's first season as a veteran.

Andrei, on the other hand, was of little help. He floated through the kitchen, dancing to a playlist that seemed to alternate consistently between Uzi and Carti. His movements were as fluid as they were on the field, dodging your pointed glares as he added salt with a heavy hand to the marinade. 

"You're going to ruin it," you groaned, your soft voice barely rising above the beat.

He grinned, flashing a row of perfect teeth. "All those measurements on your screen. My mom said you just gotta feel it."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. You set the knife down and stepped closer to him, placing your hand over his to stop him. "Your mom also said, 'don't let the sauce burn,' and that's what you're about to do."

Andrei's laugh boomed through the kitchen, the sound warm and comforting despite the chaos. "It'll be fine. Trust me, I've got this." He dipped his finger in the marinade and offered it to you. "Taste it. Tell me what you think."

"Andrei," you began with disbelief. "I know you didn't just put your finger in the marinade."

But before you could say another word, Andrei had scooped up a dollop of the sauce and smeared it across your cheek. "Too late, you're wearing it now," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You stared at him, shocked for a moment before a glint of playfulness sparked in your eyes. "Oh, you think you're funny, huh?" You grabbed a spoonful of the marinade and held it up in warning.

Andrei's laughter grew louder as he stepped back, holding up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, put the weapon down, babe."

But it was too late. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of playful retaliation. Andrei dodged and weaved, trying to avoid the spoonful of sauce while you giggled and chased after him through the kitchen and into the living room. He attempted to lunge towards you and grab hold of the spoon, but you were a slippery opponent, your agility surprising him.

"Alright, alright," Andrei said, laughing and raising his hands in the air. "You win."

You paused, the spoon hovering over his head. "I do?"

"Yeah," Andrei said, his voice still full of laughter. "You do." He took a step closer and gently wiped the sauce from your cheek with his thumb. His eyes searched yours, the humor fading into something softer. "You're lucky I love you."

The words hung in the air like a surprise pass in the end zone. Your eyes widened, and you froze, the spoon slipping from your hand to clatter on the floor. "What?" you whispered, your heart racing.

Andrei's smile grew more earnest, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "I said you're lucky I love you. Because I do."

The apartment fell silent except for the sizzle of the marinade simmering on the stove. You felt your breath catch in your throat. Your eyes searched for any sign of a joke or a tease, but all you found was sincerity. Andrei's expression remained open and earnest, waiting for your response.

"I love you too," you murmured, the words slipping out before you had time to overthink them.

Andrei's hand slid around the back of your neck, and he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin. The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with the kind of love that had been growing between you without either of you fully acknowledging it. When you pulled apart, your eyes were shiny with unshed tears. 

"I love you," you said again, this time with more conviction.

[brazenautomaton]

so here's a conversation I had with a friend just now that sums up a lot of what I think so well I don't want to bother rephrasing it

them

Oh boy are we ready for 48 more months of hearing the Most Sanest Normalest People on the internet act like a right-of-center candidate getting elected when put up against another nagging scold of a progressive "It's Her Turn"-er was a surprise

me:

The Democrats and their wider supporters don't seem to realize people can remember the things they say. They said Biden was fine, it was a wild right wing conspiracy to think he was unfit for office. Then he is clearly, actively disintegrating on stage at the debate, so now it's Harris! Of course it's Harris, what are you talking about, we've always been about Harris! Harris who was, it's important to note, a diversity hire. She was not a popular candidate. She did dismally in the primary, and was chosen as VP because it was Time For A Strong Woman Of Color

them:

Y-E-P God imagine taking the VP of an unpopular incumbent and saying "Yep, she's the one" and being surprised when that goes poorly It is genuinely alarming, though, how absolutely temporally untethered a lot of the discourse coming from the left is. Like, genuinely just "don't believe your lying memories" level of attempt to disregard stuff that happened not just in living memory, not just in the last decade, but happened during the current presidency. The lack of humility is also not just distasteful, but actually alarming. If you make predictions that are wildly off the mark to try to get people behind your candidate, you cannot then treat your wildly off-the-mark predictions as if they did not matter.

the primary strategy of the "guys who spent five years using 'gaslight' to mean 'disagree with'" appears to be attempted gaslighting. you just aren't allowed to notice things they say and do. every time someone is like "I don't like this thing you're doing," the democrats as a whole are all "That didn't happen and you're a bad person."

this is an effective strategy for winning conversations with people and a very bad strategy for winning elections. when people are upset about things you did or allowed to happen, "nuh uh you bad person" is not a response. "that shouldn't count" is not an effective counter even if you genuinely believe it should not count. a million morlocks-holmes saying "this has nothing to do with the democrats because no democratic holder of office has introduced a bill with explicitly racist language" isn't going to convince anyone who wasn't already convinced. you are not entitled to votes, you have to actually do things to win the election.

focusing on how bad and threatening Trump is is a losing strategy when we had a term of Trump and none of the fascist future we were warned of came to pass. Trump had a fucking vision of the future to really behind that more than zero people believed in. Now, I'm not a "typical" ad-watcher because I only saw campaign ads on YouTube (but I feel like this is not super atypical any more), but I saw a lot of Kamala Harris ads, and zero of them were about any of her plans or ideals or vision and all of them were about "You need to give us money right now to win the election." Like if you're using the money to make ads like this, that's kind of like a one-person pyramid scheme.

the Trump presidency will be terrible in a predictable, expected way. there will be no fascism, just a slow crumbling of our already-dismal institutional competence. I don't think the Democrats would have been much better. They'd still be beholden to an activist core of psychopaths and doing everything they can to cover for those people, while also governing incompetently and completely unable to capitalize on or draw attention to any good things they actually manage to do. Leftists and progressives are already going through the whole "the Democrats move us all to the right they only want to move to the right!" but the Democrats don't move at all; they don't think they should change their behavior, because when they lose an election it is because the voters failed them and not the other way around.

[razzberrydazz]

While my soul wants to shapeshift, my heart wants teleportation, so that I can instantly go to the people I am trying to help and get them the things they need and get them to safety! Such as Ali Jendia's family!

A family in particular I want to help get to safety is Ali Jendia and his family. @ali-manar asked me to share his story as follows:

"I write to you with a heavy heart, not seeking financial support, but simply to share my voice, my family's voice, and our daily struggles. We are living in challenging conditions in a tent, where my wife, Manar, cannot find the comfort she needs for her kidney treatment. My children, Muhammad and Haneen, could not complete their education because of the war. My young son, Yazan, has been severely injured by explosions that shattered his safety and childhood.

All I ask is that you remember us, ask about our well-being, even if with just a few simple words that let us know we are not alone and that there are those who feel for us. Just shedding light on our suffering would be enough to ease this heavy burden and give us hope that kindness still exists.

May these words reach those with compassionate hearts who will remember us and keep us in their prayers. This gesture alone would be enough for me."

I am doing what I can to help this family and several other families devastated by the occupation in Gaza, and if you would like to help this family, you can find their fundraiser here. This is a vetted campaign. The currency is in swedish krona, $10 USD ≈ 105 SEK.

@dev-tawfik @northgazaupdates2 @a-shade-of-blue @rainy-fog @7yrannic @ankle-beez @loonarmuunar @nationalvyvanseshortage @hootnhoney  @theslyvoid9  batman @jays---wing @murielswedding @shesnake @userpeggycarter @sabertoothwalrus @daily-click-reminders @halorvic @bluerepository @kindaorangey @lorelune @smolldust @skautism @creaking-skull @bloodbornebutch @bloodraven55 @thatneoncrisis @loserlesbianongsa @serotoninny@vamprisms @ohmaerieme @meglyfer @shoogachi @the-stove-is-divorced @loudmound @wyrm-with-a-why @cybrthrillz @racc0jello  @eldermoonbreezy @dreamterlude (comment/DM if you want your tag added or removed)

[queenshelby]

The Accident (Part Eight)

Pairing: Reader & Cillian Murphy

Warning: Domestic Abuse, Religious Themes, Trafficking

Thank you @blondie-22 for this amazing idea!

Just as Cillian had promised, he took you and the girls to see the caseworker and, whilst the office felt somewhat sterile, the older man's kind eyes softened the edges of the stark room.

“Y/N, right?” she said, glancing at the papers in front of him. You nodded, your stomach twisting with both anxiety and relief.

“I’ve reviewed your situation, and we can definitely help you,” he said, his tone reassuring. “But it’s going to take some time to sort everything out especially with regards to your immigration case. For now, let's focus on getting you and your children settled somewhere safe and I understand that Mr Murphy has already made arrangements for that, right?”

Cillian, who was sitting next to you, minding Mika, nodded, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Good, because you are not eligible for emergency accommodation outside the homeless shelter or immigration camp, both of which I consider somewhat inappropriate for your two children," he continued, folding his hands in front of him.

“What I will do for you now is file for a protection order against your husband if you're willing to proceed with that,” he said, meeting your gaze with a steady look.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “What if he finds out? What if—” “—he comes after me?” You finished, biting your lip. The weight of your past hovered like a dark cloud.

Cillian leaned closer, his expression earnest.

“We’ll make sure he can't find you," he told you and the case worker nodded, explaining that, as part of this process, your location will not be disclosed.

"Once we file for a protection order, he cannot come near you or your children. He would be arrested if he breaches this order and our office will take necessary steps to enforce it," the case worker explained and your breath steadied a little, the idea starting to take root in your mind.

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “I’ll do it.”

"Good choice,” the caseworker replied, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at Cillian with approval.

"We will also get some schooling sorted for your older daughter and provide access to resources for you to get back on your feet. We don’t want you feeling isolated,” the caseworker then added before explaining the process further.

According to him, Sarah would be attending a school in your area that could accommodate her needs. In addition to that you were getting access to essential food and clothing, as well as healthcare, all while your immigration matter would be assessed for processing.

"Finally, we suggest that you agree to us providing you with a therapist for both you and your older daughter so that you both have someone to talk to about everything you've been through," the caseworker concluded, his voice gentle but firm.

“Therapy?” you echoed, uncertainty pinching your heart.

“It’s a safe space,” the caseworker replied, leaning slightly forward.

“To help you heal, to help Sarah process everything. It could be invaluable for both of you," he went on to say and Cillian rubbed your shoulder lightly, a silent gesture of support.

“It might feel strange at first, but it’s okay to ask for help,” he murmured, glancing at you with warmth and, eventually, you nodded, absorbing the details as they unfolded.

The caseworker smiled, jotting down notes before standing up and extending his hand toward you.

“Once all the paperwork is completed, I will ensure you're safe and secure. Remember, you’re not alone in this. You're surrounded by people ready to help," he explained and you grasped his hand, feeling a surge of hope at his words.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice wavering slightly as you looked at him, the sincerity of his reassurance wrapping around you like a protective cloak.

Cillian stood as well, giving you a moment to breathe before ushering you and the children outside into the fresh Dublin air.

“Let’s go check out the house,” he suggested, smiling at you as you stepped into the sunlight. Sarah grabbed your hand, her small fingers twining with yours, while Cillian hoisted Mika onto his hip, his expression softening at the sight of the two of you together.

“Is the new house going to be really nice?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide with wonder, a slight bounce in her step as they walked.

Cillian chuckled softly, glancing back at her. “It’s old and small, but charming I think,” he replied, his voice light.

“Charming? What does that mean?” Sarah asked, swinging her arms and skipping forward.

“It means it has character,” Cillian said, his tone playful as they walked. “And stories, like old fairy tales," he went on to explain, gesturing towards the quaint houses lining the street, each with its own unique features.

"A writer used to live there. He used to write many stories actually," he continued, glancing down at Sarah, whose curiosity had completely captured her attention.

“Did he write about princesses?” Sarah’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm, eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely," Cillian said, a grin spreading across his face. “He would write about princesses who saved kingdoms and fought dragons,” he added, weaving stories with animated gestures, his energy infectious.

“Did they fight them with swords?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide, envisioning grand battles. Cillian nodded, playing up the drama.

“Of course!" he confirmed, and Sarah was in awe.

“Wow!” Sarah gasped, imagining the fierce princess charging into battle atop a magnificent steed. “And they’d win, right? Like all the time?”

Cillian raised his hand theatrically, “Always! They never backed down," Cillian told her and, after a while, you all arrived in front of the small townhouse in one of Dublin's better suburbs.

The townhouse stood with a quiet dignity, its brick facade softened by creeping ivy and blooming flowers spilling over the window boxes.

Sunlight danced over the charming entrance, a welcoming sight that sparked a flicker of hope in your heart. Cillian stopped at the front door, turning to Sarah.

“Ready to see your new, although temporary, home?” he asked and you all nodded.

“Yes!” Sarah exclaimed, eyes alight with eagerness.

Cillian smiled widely, then opened the door with a gentle push.

“Welcome, little warrior princess!” he said as he stepped aside, allowing the sunlight to spill into the foyer.

You followed Cillian inside, your heart fluttering with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. The interior was warm and inviting, with wooden floors polished to a shine and walls painted a soft, cheerful cream.

“It's not much, but it's furnished and has everything you and the girls will need," Cillian said, waving a hand to indicate the living area and kitchen.

"It's perfect, Cillian! Thank you!" you said, relief flooding your voice as you took in the small details—a cozy couch, a dining table, and a kitchen that radiated warmth.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, his voice softening as he noticed the hesitant smile on your face.

As you stepped further inside, Sarah peeked around, eyes darting from one item to another, absorbing every detail.

“Look at that!” She rushed toward a small bookshelf lined with children's books, her fingers skimming over the spines. “Do we get to read them all?”

Cillian knelt beside her, a gentle grin spreading across his face. “Absolutely! They are all yours now," he told her as he picked one up, its cover bright and vibrant, featuring a dragon and a small knight in shining armor.

“Why is all this stuff here?" you asked as you examined the spines of colorful books lining the shelf, suspicion mingling with curiosity. Cillian stood up, eyeing the shelves thoughtfully.

“The person who lived here sold it as is. She was an older lady who moved to a retirement home," he continued, his voice warm yet tinged with nostalgia. “She left behind all this, including the books. Figured it would be more special if the next family could enjoy them.”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled at the thought, her small hands already reaching for a bright book with a whimsical illustration on the cover.

“Can we read one now?” she asked, her innocence shining through.

“Definitely,” Cillian replied, smiling as he settled down on the floor, gesturing for Sarah to join him. “Which one do you want to read first?”

“This one!” she exclaimed, holding up a book with a vibrant cover and Cillian chuckled, taking the book from her hands as he cleared his throat before commencing to read.

“Once upon a time,” he started, weaving his voice into a melody that danced through the room. “In a kingdom far away, there lived a brave little knight...” he went on and Sarah settled beside him with rapt attention, her small body leaning closer as if the words themselves drew her in.

Cillian's voice turned animated as he read, infusing life into each character. “This knight was not afraid of the fiercest of dragons, for he knew that true bravery came from a kind heart.”

Sarah's eyes widened, her imagination lighting up with every word but, eventually, after about half an hour or so of storytelling, Cillian had to leave.

Cillian glanced at the clock on the wall, a slight furrow forming between his brows. “I have to head out in a bit to pick up my daughter, Nina, from the station,” he said softly, apologizing to Sarah, who couldn't believe that Cillian had a daughter too.

“Wait! You have a daughter?” Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief, her curiosity bubbling over. “Is she like a princess, too?”

Cillian chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately “Not exactly a princess,” he replied, his laughter warm and genuine. “But she’s pretty special in her own way and much older than you are, so she really doesn't like it when I call her princess now, you know. She's sixteen and quite independent,” he shared, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Sixteen? That’s so old!” Sarah exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with wonder. “What does she do?”

“She studies a lot,” Cillian replied, leaning back slightly to allow Sarah space for her imagination to roam. “Nina loves music and plays the guitar. She's very good at it, actually. She even writes her own songs,” Cillian added, a fond smile gracing his lips at the thought of his daughter.

“Can I meet her?" Sarah asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her excitement palpable.

Cillian smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Absolutely, but you’ll have to wait just a bit longer. Maybe I can bring her around tomorrow," he promised, glancing at you before returning to Sarah.

“Tomorrow sounds great!” Sarah beamed, her enthusiasm radiating through the small room.

“Alright then,” Cillian said, standing up, brushing off the imaginary dust from his pants from the fairytale story.

“Now,” he clapped his hands together, “you look after your mum, okay?" Cillian said before gathering his things and you felt your heart swell at the sight of Sarah’s beaming face.

There was a flicker of resilience in the little girl, a balm against the scars of their past and the way Cillian interacted with her kindled something new in you—hope.

"I will see you tomorrow," Cillian eventually said as he moved toward the door, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

"The key is here," he gestured toward the small hook by the door, where a single brass key glinted in the warm light.

“Make sure you lock the door. It's got security features in case anything happens, but I don't think you have anything to worry about here."

You nodded, the weight of his reassurance settling gently in your chest.

"Oh and I have ordered some groceries, nappies and baby stuff for you. It should get delivered within the next couple of hours," he continued, his voice steady as he pulled open the front door.

"You're a lifesaver, Cillian," you replied, feeling an unexpected tightness in your throat. Gratitude swelled, the warmth of his kindness flooding through you.

Cillian’s smile deepened, his blue eyes reflecting sincerity. “Just doing what I can.”

He paused at the threshold, a spark of hesitation flickering in his gaze. “Remember, if you need anything, just call me,” he added, his voice low and intentional as he glanced at you, pointing at a cellphone he had also left for you that rested on the kitchen counter between the flower-patterned towels.

"I saved my number for you on that phone. You can contact me anytime, day or night," he added, his expression serious, underscoring the weight of his words.

“Thank you,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt the depth of his sincerity wash over you before, finally, with a gentle smile and a wave, he stepped out into the cool Dublin afternoon, leaving you and Sarah inside the warm cocoon of the townhouse.

The door clicked softly shut behind him, a quiet reminder that you were safe, at least for now.

Sarah bounced on her toes, her energy bubbling over. “Can we read more stories?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement as she clutched the book Cillian had left behind.

“Of course!” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face at her enthusiasm. “Pick a new one, and let’s see what adventures await.”

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