#I don't want to be living like it's normal if it isn't

[inkskinned]

i. there's this video of a guy dancing on his tiptoes. i will begrudgingly admit the song is kind of catchy actually. i don't think it's the worst song i've ever heard. he seems passionate about it. but it is embarrassing, how he's dancing.

ii. you know where this story is going, unfortunately, and so do i.

iii. three weeks ago i had to drag half a dead rabbit out of my dog's mouth. i was just recently discussing how cruel things feel lately. that the way the world is shifting feels mean. three days ago, a random woman rolled down her window to snap at me because she missed her turn. this is now routine.

iv. 11 years ago in october, i made a post about how we shouldn't make fun of people for doing brave, vulnerable things. it has over 400k notes. people - at the time - seemed to generally agree with me. we have all felt shy and insecure when we share an intimate part of ourselves. we have heard someone at a concert say "that's fucking embarrassing" and said to ourselves - oh, this person is unsafe to be vulnerable in front of. we have said i can't act like that in public. we have left our art and passion in the dark. i think there will never be enough graveyard space for the art we have killed because what if others shame me for it.

v. the thing i was bullied for in high school was because i was a "predatory lesbian." a popular girl i'd literally never spoken to just decided she didn't like me and announced i was "stalking" her. to this day i have no idea what motivated this - i think i was just shy and poor and awkward and ugly. the perfect target. what they don't really ever show in movies is how quickly it moves, how suddenly strange people in the hallways are attacking you about it. they also don't show you that the bullies get this strange ... glee out of it. like, it's fun for them. it's enrichment. everyone else is in on the joke. suck it up, kid.

vi. so far, from what i have seen, creators that stand up for the musician all seem to have the same story: when i asked why we're bullying a random guy, people actually got mad that i asked. i've had similar things happen to me when i ask for us to be less comfortable with our anonymous cruelty. when an internet stranger says "be kind, it saves lives" - people find it funny to say fuck you i hope everyone kills themselves. pages and pages of people saying the same bullshit. sitting in their little caves, eating their own humor. it's just genuinely exhausting. the natural endpoint of "cringe culture" is that even kindness is cringe-worthy.

vii. loneliness is an epidemic. but where are you going to make your community? call your representative. go back to bed about it.

viii. due to how i was raised, i am always confused by cruelty. i understand the american isolationist belief "i can do whatever i want" - sure. but why wouldn't you want to be kind? i have lived too many bad things. i cannot be the epicenter of someone else's bad dream.

ix. it's just that if we were going to bully someone relentlessly, why is it never the healthcare CEOs. why isn't it the fascists. why isn't it, like, someone who you could at least argue "deserves" it. why is it always just some guy in socks singing a pretty mid song? or a person that doesn't look like you, just, like existing.

x. it's just that i think people enjoy doing it. they want to do it because they get some kind of masturbatory release from it - like a shrug or a splinter, they all seem to say the same thing - come on, it's funny.

xi. the world is sometimes beautiful, and sometimes you make something. the world is sometimes terrible, and you are worried they won't accept what your hands can wring. you open the instagram comments and they're still saying all sorts of shit to just - like - a normal guy. and some part of you thinks: if that was me. good lord. if that was me i'd -

xii. somewhere there is a graveyard. someone is already burying their hopes and dreams.

[dxmedstudent]

They tell themselves that all women must prefer what they see as the apex man - extremely well muscled, tough, traditionally masculine.

When women aren't the Borg - we don't have a hive mind (and we aren't all attracted to men). But when we are, there are a range of tastes and thoughts behind how we feel.

For example, I see the Left Olly Murs - he seens happy, and you can tell he's fit and has some muscle definition. He looks good in a "boy next door" kind of way. He seems like the kind of guy I could actually meet on a date or be friends with. He might work out, but he also probably has relatively normal hobbies that we might share.

When I look at the Right Olly Murrs, is see a man who isn't less attractive - but is a lot less attractive to me. Why? He probably lives in the gym. He probably has an extremely rigid gym timetable and diet plan. I don't, so i already feel that my life isn't compatible with this kind of person. I'm soft and pudgy, realistically I expect a person in excellent shape will want a partner who is the same, and I have no intetest in overhauling my entire life just to date someone, when I can look for someone whose lifestyle and goals more closely match mine.

But in reality, women saying they find the left version more attractive are really just acknow acknowledging that someone similar to us is a more realistic fit. And if isn't settling, because their similarity to us is what makes them attractive.

Men can get this when they talk about the "girl next door", and how her everyday approacha beauty makes her the kind of woman you want to share your life with because she isn't some kind of alien-like hot girl that's "way out of your league". They get the idea that you may not actually have a shot with the most conventionally desirable people - and that sometimes being attractive means everyone treats you nicely but people are too scared to approach. Because they've probably all met a woman they found so hit that they didn't dare ask her out.

But some guys like to complain that women want only the hottest men. The richest. The tallest. The most muscled, well-endowed of Chads. That women are unhappily single because they will only date perfect men and are leaving normal guys to languish.

Because it makes them feel better to imagine they are losing out because women just have shallow, unfair and impossible standards.

But to be confronted with the reality that most heterosexual women are perfectly happy dating average men? That being mildly attractive but approachable and nice is actually probably going to get you more genuine interest than being stunning? Statistically this is obvious - if you just think about the people you know or walk in a crowd you'll see mostly average looking couples happily living their lives.

But it goes against the narrative these particular guys have created to explain why they hate women because they are single. So of course they are furious.

Because in their eyes, if Imperfect Left Olly Murs can get woken, why can't they?

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

[milder-manners]

out of every situation dream's been involved in, i don't think anything has shown proof of his integrity more than the situation with tommy back in january. the sheer fucking restraint he showed in his video out of sheer respect for tommy isn't just commendable, it's as impressive as his resilience.

like, what makes dream stand out from other creators imo is that he never tries to pretend that kindness isn't a choice. he doesn't try to claim some sort of inherent moral high ground that he holds by virtue of being xyz thing and therefore makes him kind because he is so nice and passive and agreeable which makes him morally superior to others because he is incapable of harm. dream is mean and petty and hot-headed, he is assertive, he gets aggressive when he needs to feel in control, sometimes he walks right up to where the line is and you see him choose not to cross it.

and that's what i think makes all the difference. like i can say that based on his public behavior, dream comes across as a good person. not because he's incapable of harm, or because he said so, or because he always says and does the right things and never makes any mistakes and is a bland pushover of corporate-sanctioned buzzwords. but because time and time again, dream has relentlessly shown himself to be completely unafraid of being flawed and messy and loud because, as he has also relentlessly shown, he knows exactly where the line is. and he will walk right up to that line and stare it right in the face and every single goddamn time he'll make the conscious choice not to cross it. but he could, and it'd be frankly easy for him to. but he won't. because that's not the person he wants to be, he lived the power fantasy of being a monster with c!dream and all he had it do was destroy c!dream's life. he knows exactly how far is too far, he knows exactly what lines he won't cross.

which is more that can be said for guy who ran his server like a corporation and tried to blame the 'higher ups' he employed as if he wasn't their boss, and spoiled brat who apparently doesn't even realize that nobody normal does the kind of shit he did to dream and expects the other person to just take it quietly because normal people call that shit emotional abuse.

Yeah, like yeah.

It's honestly kind of hard for me to comprehend how he's managed to retain himself through all these years. A normal person would've been completely burnt out from the emotional turmoil a smear campaign of a level and length like Dream's. A normal person would've just left the internet.

But also combined with his outrageous growth and fame?? In less than a year, 15 million eyes on him, simultaneously being praised for his intellect and torn apart as a phony? That alone is crazy to deal with (and that was just the first year).

Im sure there are a bunch of other things he's also dealt with that we don't have the privy to.

Like that is crazy, how did he do that? How is he so normal and sincere and understanding? He genuinely astounds me with his resilience.

[3amfanfiction]

Three, I’ve finally had a thought! (But it might be a 10k nightmare, sorry my dear 💚)

Imagine if you will, ex-cult!AU, there you left years ago, are trying to live a “normal life” and suddenly you feel like you’re being followed, and you? You know when your anxiety is right.

You start making plans to ghost, you haven’t lived away from them for so long without a reason

When you return to your apartment you already know it’s all over. Someone’s here, but close the door behind you. Part of you always knew someone from your past would appear.

There’s a giant behind you, dark eyes cold as he holds a finger to his mouth, signaling you to be silent. All you can do is nod weakly. You don’t remember him, tears are building in your eyes

“‘S wrong, luv? Didn’t think I’d find you?” Something about his voice is familiar, but you don’t know what

When he leans in closer, you see it — a very specific scar you’d been at the birth of

“Simon?” Utter shock pitches your voice higher than you thought possible.

Your only friend couldn’t have been this big, but it had been years since you last saw him

(Is this anything? 💚)

Is this anything, you say like this isn't everything. I'm already up to 20k words my dearest, lovely Temp and I haven't even gotten to the smut so this is going to come out in chapters. I hope you all enjoy part one!

~~~~~

Escaping the Cult Chapter One

tw: none this chapter, 4.8k

summary: you've escaped the cult and stayed off their radar for years. so how did he find you? what does he want from you? simon x f!reader but it stays pretty gn for the most part.

~~~~~

"Hello, love."

He loomed over you, half encased in shadow like an avenging demon. His bulk eclipsed the room, ensuring he was all you could see. This couldn't be happening. You'd been so careful.

Your knees trembled and you used the wall he had you pinned against as a buttress. Something solid that you took what strength you could from. You clenched your fists, the peeling wallpaper getting caught, curled under your nails. "You-you can't be here. I made sure, you shouldn't have been able to find me." Your heart was beating too fast in your chest. It felt like it was about to take flight and leap from its resting place. Your lungs seized and you fought to draw in air as you panicked.

"You might've been able to hide from others. But me? You were never able to hide from me." He took a step towards you, invading your space as you pressed back, your spine molded to the wall. You couldn't help your nervous swallow.

As you took in his broad frame—shoulder eclipsing the room, blocking you from seeing anything that wasn't him—you were reminded that this was the cult's enforcer. If he wanted you to do something, take you somewhere, you wouldn't be able to object. You never would've thought the scrappy little kid you used to go down to the creek with would have a job like that. But he just kept growing that one summer. You swear he'd shot up over a foot in those three months alone. Then when the muscles started packing on it seemed like a foolish hope that he'd ever go to work as something else.

You'd seen the signs as soon as Price had walked down the lane towards your little house—butted right up against Simon's. Knew what he'd ask, knew what Simon's response would be. It marked the beginning of the end of your life in the group.

Even to this day you couldn't call it a cult. Just a nondescript 'group' the closest you could manage, a rotten taste in your mouth at the thought.

And now your past was coming back to haunt you.

"Just let me go. You don't have to do this," you pleaded, trying to find some small chink in his armor. Something you could dig your fingers into and pull. "I haven't said anything to anybody, I promise."

And you wouldn't. Honest. You had no desire to be reminded of your past. Everything you had, everything you lost. Everything you hoped to gain and how bittersweet it was in comparison to your dreams. The past was the past and you never wanted it brought up again.

But the past was standing in your kitchen, taking up more space than you remembered.

"Simon, you know me," you tried. Something to appeal to his humanity, your shared childhood, anything. "You know I'd never talk. Please, you don't have to do this."

"Oh, sweetheart," he cooed with a strange tone of voice. Was it mocking? Eagerness? You flinched, preparing for the worst, "It's not like that at all."

Not like that? What does that mean? You had no ideas, nothing to guide you, no landmarks to follow. You hadn't seen him in years. Sure, you remembered the child fondly but you weren't ignorant to what the adult had done in service of Price. The horrors that Simon must have seen, been in accompaniment to.

He didn't give you a chance to respond before his arms darted out. You took a half step backwards in shock as his hands made contact and he pulled you into his chest, constricting his thick, burly arms around you. You felt your breath huff out at the pressure around your chest, struggling to get another inhale in. Simon squeezed tighter.

He buried his face in your hair and croaked out a, "You don't know how long it took me to find you," squeezing you tightly, as if afraid you would slip through his fingers.

Oh. He wasn't looking to take you back.

He got out.

You felt the tension drain from your shoulders so suddenly you practically collapsed into him, dizzy but trusting that he would have no trouble taking your weight. You wrapped your own arms around his waist, hugging him tightly to you, afraid to let go. To be alone again. Tears started to blur your vision.

The relief you felt was indescribable. You could finally breathe, a weight you weren't aware of had been yoked around your neck, something that wasn't noticed until it wasn't there anymore.

You didn't have to do this by yourself anymore.

—

He had searched and searched for you. Dead-end after dead-end all he had to show for it as the days bled into weeks, into months. It wore on him, grinding away at his determination until it was paper-thin, a hairs-width all that separated him from continuing to look and calling it quits. But he'd always been a stubborn bastard. And if you thought you were going to get away from him, leave him behind, you had another thing coming. So he had put his nose to the grindstone and kept at it. Town after town, questions and probes, always looking. Even when his desperation seeped into his every action, he didn't falter.

It was exhausting.

But it paid off.

It was chance that had him stopping in this blip of a town. Nothing but a twist of fate. And now he had you again. Here, in his arms. Crying into his chest. This was what he had been looking for since he left Price. This was the integral part that had been ripped from his life.

You.

In any capacity he could get, he wanted you.

He buried his nose in your hair, taking all of you in as he held you tightly. Now that he had you, nothing would pry him away.

—

That was weeks ago.

You watched Simon get up to pace a lap around the small living room/dining room combo you had going on. An outlet for the anxiety that thrummed under his skin. Money was tight with you being the only one with a job and you were only able to tighten your belts so far.

Simon had a rough demeanor—a scowl that was ever present on his face ensured he failed miserably at all his interviews, even the ones for a day laborer. You were working doubles trying to keep the both of you fed and afloat while Simon did what he could. He managed to pull in a few dollars here and there but never anything substantial.

You'd forbidden him from finding a fighting ring and trying to earn his money with his fists. You were terrified one day he wouldn't come home, left to bleed out in a ditch after a bad fight. You wouldn't have any word, no way to find him, no way of knowing what happened. He'd just be gone.

No, you wouldn't have it. You'd figure something else out.

Thus the current fight.

"We can't keep doing this, you're about to fall off your feet and I'm sitting around, fucking useless," he snarled, fed up at his own ineptitude. He'd never had that problem before. Back with Price. He'd always known exactly where he fit in, which space was hand-carved just for him. There hadn't been this constant uncertainty.

Now he couldn't even help to make sure you were fed or that there was a roof over the both of your heads. He was sidelined as you picked up back-to-back double shifts, working yourself to the bone. He watched it happening. Each day you came home a little bit frailer, a little more worn. It was eating you alive.

But you didn't see it that way.

"You're not useless. Things are tough right now but they're going to get better."

You wished you had something better to say. Something that said you would work until your fingers bled to keep him here with you. That this was all you wanted, all you hoped for in the darkest parts of the night, was to have him here with you. And now that he was you were going to hold on as tightly as you could, he wouldn't be slipping through your fingers. You just wished you could make him understand what his being here meant to you.

He scoffed and jerked his head, as if he couldn't bear to look at you. You didn't acknowledge how much it hurt, gaze flickering down so he couldn't see the emotion in your eyes. "I don't see how. Rent's due this week."

"It's going to be okay," you mustered, "We're almost there. I'll pick up a few extra shifts, we'll make it—"

"You're not picking up extra shifts," he roared, finally losing his temper as he spun back around to look at you. You flinched at the sound but held your ground. You knew he would never hurt you but that didn't change the fact that he was a big man. A big, loud man. "You're barely able to stay on your feet as it is, we're not going to keep doing this."

"Well, I don't see any other alternatives, do you?" you spat back after you gathered yourself, fed up with an argument you'd had several times before. "We need food, we need electricity and water and all that costs money. Money we don't have."

Simon ran his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration, finally turning to look at you, pinning you in place with his dark gaze.

"You were doing just fine before I came, maybe I need to leave. Head out so you don't have to worry about covering for me."

"Simon Riley, you stop right there before I shove a bar of soap so far down your throat you'll be shitting bubbles. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You think my life was fine before you got here?" You thought back on all the missed meals and cold nights you'd endured by yourself. The lonely hours you would spend staring at the ceiling, too lethargic to get out of bed, nothing that could pull you from its warm embrace. "I was struggling then too, and I'll take this over that any day of the week."

It was clear from the look on his face that he didn't believe you. You stalked over to him and pressed your finger firmly into his sternum, using it to emphasize every word you said. "I want you here. We'll figure it out."

He looked down at where you were pressed so close to his front. Chest and shoulders heaving from the strong emotions coursing through you. He wanted to touch. He wanted to feel your heart race under his palm, feel your breaths skating over the thin skin of his cheek, he wanted you.

You'd always been beautiful but there was something special about this. Something that he hadn't seen before. Certainly not back with Price. You had always been meek back then. A quiet little mouse that wouldn't hardly say boo to a ghost. Nothing like now. He wondered where you'd found your new backbone.

He wished he'd been here to see it.

He took a step closer, forcing your elbow to bend otherwise it would've been your finger, still pressed to his chest. When he was close enough to smell your shampoo he paused, suddenly unsure about pushing this further.

You watched with an uncertain look, waiting to see what he would do. Your chest was still heaving with emotion, dragging in what oxygen you could and let your hand drop. You watched his pupils expand as he looked at you. The black eating away all color of the iris.

He took a deep breath, his chest moving out to lightly brush against you before he exhaled. There was hardly any room between the two of you now, just heat and a yearning that was slowly being unearthed. Something that had never seen the light of day but was now stretching its legs, ready to be acknowledged.

You'd loved him for years and wondered if this was it. If this was the moment you were going to risk everything and tell him how you felt. How you saw him. You'd never been brave enough before, but you'd had to be tougher since leaving Price. More sure of yourself. And you knew what you wanted. Him. Simon. Just like he was.

He opened his mouth and you waited with baited breath. Waited for the culmination of years worth of longing. Everything leading up to here. To him. Surely he felt the same way as you. You couldn't have been imagining all the subtle glances and brushed hands over the years. Surely this was reciprocated.

"I—"

The ringing phone snapped you out of your haze. You watched as he closed back off, biting the words back behind his teeth. Another opportunity lost. The disappointment almost choked you as you pulled your phone from your pocket, your mood souring further when you saw it was work calling.

"I've gotta get this. They might have more shifts to be picked up," you muttered as you stepped back, putting distance between the two of you, physically and metaphorically, lifting the phone to your ear. You couldn't look at him. It was too painful. You turned away, missing the look that crossed his face for a split second. A there and gone emotion too quick for you to make out even if you had been watching, one that if you had seen you would have clocked almost as fear.

—

Your days changed after that.

Simon had always been a loner. Even when you two were thick as thieves he still valued his personal time by himself. You couldn't count the amount of times you'd spun around, talking to him while he was supposed to be right behind you only for him to be dust in the wind. Gone without you realizing it to go do his own thing. You went searching for him a few times but you rarely had luck finding him. Even as a child he'd been skilled in hiding and remaining undetected. Something Price, no doubt, saw and made plans to utilize. But something caused his loner tendencies to change. Where before you mostly saw Simon at home, you now saw him when you were out and about as well.

He followed you to the farmers market, something he normally avoided—all the people talking and yelling made his anxiety spike, not that he'd ever admit it. He'd practically kept his hand in your pocket the whole time. He followed you to the drugstore when you were only running in for one thing, he even showed up while you were at work.

You'd just set the last plate of breakfast food in front of a family when the door jangled its little bell letting you know someone new had just walked in. Letting the family know to ask if they needed anything, you turned to seat the newcomer when you came face-to-face with Simon.

You'd slipped out of the house early this morning, not eager to rehash your ongoing fight. You thought it best to give him some time to calm down, to come to terms with the fact that the both of you needed your job, needed the money that you were able to pull in from the diner. The tips were the only reason you'd survived as long as you had.

But you were shocked to see him so early. He must've rolled out of bed just after you left, you thought glancing at the clock. You hadn't been here for a full hour yet. You wondered if something was wrong.

Frowning, you made your way up to him. "Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

"Everything's fine," he said, reaching out as if to trace his fingers gently along your cheek before he caught himself and pulled back. You blinked up at him in shock, mouth parting in an oh. That was new. Simon wasn't a touchy person. He didn't normally reach out to you, letting you keep your space, always a buffer between the two of you. You were the instigator the majority of the time, always the one to reach out first whether for a friendly shoulder tap or pulling him into a long over-due hug. It'd been that way forever, you thought nothing would change that.

He didn't explain anything further, just moved around you to take a seat at one of the back booths. You watched him go with confusion, standing in the middle of the diner dumbfounded before you made yourself move. Moving to pour him a cup of coffee, you sat it down in front of him. You couldn't afford much but coffee was basically free here. You could at least manage that.

Your day passed quietly but with a hefty weight to it. Simon never left, he kept the corner company for the hours of your workday, sitting calmly with a patient focus. Whenever there was a quiet moment you'd look up to find him looking at you, his gaze steady as he watched. You tried to come over and talk to him but he wouldn't say much, would just redirect you to other customers, saying something along the lines of 'we can't lose this job'.

The strangeness continued into the evening. Clocking out, you saw Simon waiting for you at the exit, finally leaving the booth he'd been sat at all day. Leaving with a wave and goodbye to the kitchen staff you met up with him and started your journey home, enjoying the cool breeze blowing across your slightly sweaty skin. The sky was dark and stars were just starting to peek out, evening turning its way into true night.

He reached out and tucked your arm into the crease of his elbow, keeping you firmly within reach.

What was going on?

Simon and personal space were near synonymous. Excluding you, he didn't care much for anyone intruding on his personal bubble and even you he would only put up with until he grew overstimulated and then he would forcibly put distance between the two of you. But him initiating contact again? Twice in one day? You wondered if he might be feeling poorly, maybe a fever was causing him to behave erratically.

You weren't sure but something wasn't right and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

You'd spent the whole walk home thinking up a game plan. What you were going to ask, his expected response, your rebuttal. All of it laid out like a general making war plans. Lines of supply and areas to push, the landmines which were to be avoided at all costs. Keeping the end goal in mind, you planned.

Walking ahead of him you heard the front door of the apartment close behind you. The locks clicking into place a short second later. Turning to frown at him, all your plans went out the window and you flat-out asked, "So today was fun. Why'd you want to hang out with me all day?"

Simon bent down to take off his shoes, not bothering with an answer.

"Was there something that I missed?" You tried again, looking for an in. Something that you could use to pry apart his silence.

He turned to put his shoes into the hallway closet where they belonged.

"Simon. Why'd you spend all day at the diner?" This was like pulling teeth.

"Wanted to," he finally grunted, moving to walk past you into the kitchen, opening the bare fridge before closing it with a huff. You'd split your two free meals with him on your breaks but that didn't go terribly far. Especially when he tried to encourage you to eat the majority of it saying you were on your feet all day, you needed the energy. Moving to the cupboard he pulled out a box of pasta.

You stepped forward, I can make that for you, only for him to pull it away and redirect you towards the bathroom with a firm press to your shoulders.

"I've got this, you go take a shower."

You wavered for a second before a twinge in your lower back made you decision and you decided to take his advice. A shower sounded amazing after your day. You were pretty sure you still had syrup in your hair from when a toddler had flung his plate of pancakes at you. Grumbling at him that this conversation wasn't done you headed towards the bathroom, a slight detour made to grab clean clothes before closing the door behind you.

Stepping under the warm spray, you couldn't help the soft moan of release at the sensation. You stood under the stream for a moment, letting the heat soak in and the running water wash away the stress of your day. When the tendrils of water reached your scalp you couldn't help the shiver that skated down your spine. Goosebumps creeping over your skin in a there-and-gone sensation.

Turning to grab the body wash, your eyes opened for the first time since stepping under the water. You saw a far-too-large shadow standing on the opposite side of the curtain and let out a shriek of fear, the call of Simon! on your lips before your brain had a chance to catch up.

He'd always been your first call whenever you were in trouble.

Watching the dark shape remain stationary, you realized what was going on. Yanking back the curtain just enough to stick your head out, ensuring the rest of you stayed behind it, you glared up at Simon standing just on the other side of the bathroom.

"What. are you. Doing?" you half shrieked, half spat at him. He looked far to nonchalant for the vitriol being pointed his way.

"Food's cooking, just have to wait."

"That doesn't—Simon!" you sputtered, "What are you doing in the bathroom?"

He just looked at you with deadpanned eyes.

"This isn't the time for your stoicism, Simon. What are you doing in the bathroom while I'm showering?"

"Thought I heard something."

"You thought you heard something," you couldn't help but repeat with derision, nose crinkling. "Was that something me showering?"

He didn't do anything beyond shrugging his shoulders, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Get out."

"Gotta brush my teeth."

"Simon Riley, I swear on your life. You get out right now or you're not going to like the consequences." He sighed like you were the one being difficult. Setting down his toothbrush he looked from you to the dark night creeping in through the small bathroom window, back to you again. A staring contest ensued before he finally shut the cabinet with a disgruntled huff, turning to leave, at last giving you peace.

"What was that?" you couldn't help but ask the empty stall once you heard the door click shut. Like it would have the answers showing the inner workings of Simon's brain.

Your shower was a touch hurried after that. Your hair took the time it took to get the stickiness from it, body and face scrubbed perfunctorily, no longer basking in the heat. Shutting the water off you could almost swear you heard footsteps retreating from the other side of the doorway, heading back into the kitchen. Like he had been waiting for you to finish. Listening.

What was happening?

Drying and dressing as quickly as you could, you decided to nip this in the bud. He was going to talk to you, one way or the other and he was going to do it tonight. No weaseling his way out of it. You were going to sit him down and have a conversation.

Walking into the living room you saw him sitting on the couch—finished bowl of pasta on the cushion beside him—looking completely unaffected by the ire pouring out of your skin.

Coming to a stop in front of him, you threw your hands on your hips and glared down at him. "What is going on with you? Why have you been acting so weird all day?"

His brows furrowed before smoothing into an impassive mien. He looked down at his hands. "I'm not acting weird, you're just being paranoid." he said in a strange tone of voice. An unknown strain bracketing his shoulders, the tension causing the cords of his neck to stand in relief.

You looked at him in askance. "Simon, you showed up to my job. You were practically in the shower with me." You were coming up with nothing when you racked your brain, nothing that could point to an instigator for his new behavior.

You thought things were fine. Not good, as your frequent arguments about money and jobs highlighted, but okay. You two had always gotten along and had a way of understanding each other that seemed almost supernatural when witnessed from the outside but nothing was making any sense in what was going on with Simon.

"You can't just shut me out like this." You chased after him as he stood up and moved to take his bowl to the sink, talking to his broad back, his shoulders tightening as he tensed with every word. "Not only is the shower thing weird, showing up at my job will get me fired. If my boss would've been in today he would've been asking about you."

Simon stood at the sink in silence, letting the frustration and indignation grow in the stagnant air as he faced away, avoiding looking at you. Why wasn't he saying anything? Was he trying to freeze you out? What good would that do? You were at your wits end when he finally gave you a crumb.

"—Making sure you're still there," he muttered.

"Still ther—You're acting like I'm some sort of flight risk," you scoffed in derision at his quiet statement, still craning to get a look at his face. A glimpse at the side of it showed you the moment his demeanor cracked.

"That's because you are!" he roared back, whipping to face you as strain finally broke in a way you couldn't have foreseen. It was clear he had no concern for the neighbors who probably had their ears pressed to the wall, eager for any drama. He spun around to face you, chest heaving as his breaths came in deep, sharp pulls. His face was turning a reddish hue, splotchy anger marks rising along his cheeks.

"I'm—I'm not a flight risk," you said, shocked, into the charged air. "Why would you think that?"

"Why would I think that?" Now that the seal had been broken he had no problem telling you what was wrong. His arms jerked out as he gestured wildly. "Tell me, was it you who woke up one day to your best friend missing? In the wind without a word about where they went?" He sneered down at you, "I was alone and you were gone. I was left wondering where you went, if you were safe, if you were hurt, why you'd left."

You heard the unspoken why you left me that hung in the fraught air. You felt your lungs squeeze as if in a fist. "It was so hard Simon, I wanted to tell you, I really did—"

"You didn't give two shits about me," he cut in with a barely contained yell. his gaze frenetic. "You just wanted to get out. Wanted out so badly that you left everything behind."

You felt your heart crumbling against his accusation as your breath hitched in your throat. Because it was true, wasn't it? You had left him. You'd packed up and sure, maybe you'd regretted the fact that you couldn't say goodbye but you never seriously thought about staying.

Not even if it meant keeping him.

Keeping Simon.

You chose yourself over him, hadn't you? And then you expected everything to fall into place once he was back? That was presumptuous of you.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Simon—"

"—Don't. Don't apologize when you don't mean it." His voice evened. His shoulders lost their tension. "I spent years looking for you. You forgot me as soon as your feet hit the road."

"Simon—" was all you could say as he made his way for the door. You couldn't help the uncalled for flinch when it clicked closed softly, the hint of an echo bouncing off the suddenly silent room in accusation.

Fuck.

[p0ltus]

It's insane to me how people will still blame South for "overreacting" or "letting jealousy ruin her relationship with her brother" when Connie literally tells the audience The Director is intentionally pitting people against each other to stir the pot. Did you just not pay attention?

South wasn't "jealous" she was being intentionally and strategically punished while North was being favored and praised because THE DIRECTOR. IS. A. BAD. PERSON.

He is experimenting with these people. People like Wash and North don't understand that because they're the ones getting favored. Wash tells Connie she's "overreacting" and that "The Director is helping us!" because that's genuinely what he believes at that point in time. There's also a later clip of North talking to York where they DO start to question what's going on only AFTER evidence of internal corruption is thrown right in their face instead of being told to them second hand.

(I cant add more videos so ill transcribe my clips from here on out)

York: When the cops and the military started shooting at us, yeah, I find I just keep coming back to the same question in my head. Over and over again.

York: We're the good guys, right?

North: Of course we are!

York: You don't sound so sure of yourself.

North: No... No, I suppose I don't...

They only become aware of the problem when the problem is right in their face because The Director is manipulating all of them. Hes putting blinders on them. That's how situations like this work. Those who live comfortably won't understand the mistreatment of those below them because they're in a higher position. In this case, The Director has created an artificial hierarchy which separates and isolates the people he really wants to pick apart and fuck with.

The Director is intentionally doing this as CT says. He wants to drive a wedge between the "good" Freelancers and the "bad" Freelancers and part of that is making sure his top dogs don't see how their colleagues are being blatantly mistreated. If they knew, his little fucked up psychological experiment would backfire.

All of The Freelancers were victims in some way. Trying to say "South was just jealous!" or trying to imply North, York, or Wash had some kind of superiority complex proves you didn't pay attention. The Director was the puppet master. He played with The Freelancers like toys.

North and York don't start to question who's really in the right until proof of The Director's corruption is right in front of them. The cops and the military shooting at them is NOT GOOD. If they were really doing good, that wouldn't happen. They hadn't questioned it before this because as CT says in the previous clip, The Director is intentionally using and manipulating The Freelancers and cherrypicking what they get to know.

He's pitting people against each other. That's why the leader board exists. It's a way to make people hate each other. To create artificial hierarchy within his agents so they start to blame each other. Its to create a sense of competition and shame among these people depending on what number they’re at. Its a manipulation tactic. This includes doing things like treating the higher ranked agents better than those below. The Director treats people like CT and South like shit intentionally. Yes he paints it as a punishment for things like South being reckless at the beginning of season 9 but it's deeper than that. He demotes her on the leaderboard and berrates her in front of her colleagues to embarrass her. He is praying on her inferiority complex to see how she’ll react. Its all part of the experiment.

Wash, North, and Yorks obliviousness doesn't come from "having a superiority complex" it comes from the fact they're only seeing what The Director wants them to see. From the surface level treating these "worse" Freelancers more harsh seems normal, it's standard military procedure. But The Director isn't just criticizing them for not being "the best". Hes intentionally punishing them and embarrassing them in front of their peers so they start to hate the others. He is creating artificial rivalries. Only the people being affected by it notice which is why South and CT are so "mean." THEY’RE IN A LOSING GAME. THEY KNOW THEY WERE FUCKED FROM THE START. THERES NOTHING THEY CAN DO.

The Director treats the higher ranked Freelancers like he treats Alpha. He intentionally keeps them in the dark from what's really going on. Alpha only knows what The Director wants him to know. That's the same with his highest performing agents. When Alpha splits, his fragments are blatantly mistreated but he doesn't know that because The Director won't let him know that. The lower level Freelancers are also blatantly mistreated but the top rankers don't know that because The Director won't let them know that.

When the Freelancers are going to retrieve Connie's armor Connie literally tells Carolina "The Director is playing you, don't you see?" She tells Carolina to her face The Director is manipulating the agents and Carolina still can’t see that for herself because she is still under The Director’s thumb.

In ANOTHER clip where Tex watches the video CT left her along with the files, CT says:

CT: “I never could shake the feeling that something was wrong with the program. The secrets, the lies, the manipulation. Smoke. All of it obscuring a big damn fire.”

Here is when CT finally uses the word manipulation itself to describe what The Director is doing to them. Her metaphor about smoke is her way of explaining how The Director would keep them all in the dark in order to keep them obedient, but also to get them to distrust each other. Part of the goal of Project Freelancer is psychological experimentation. The Director is using these people like lab rats not just for his AI obsession, but also to study how these soldiers will cope/react when he tries to turn them against each other.

They are ALL victims. Its not “South is a bitch wah wah” or “North thinks hes better than his sister” or “CT only left because she knew she wasn’t good enough to be a freelancer”. They were being abused. ALL of them. The Director is an evil, sociopathic man who only cares about his own self gain and research. He just wants Allison back. He sees no value in the lives of his agents. It’d be nice if more people would realize that instead of doing the exact same thing The Director did and trying to paint one freelancer as worse or better than the other.

TLDR: Fuck that sad poo lookin cocksucker.

[ahllohehn]

okay as an angst lover officially in love with moral-dilemma mumbo could I perhaps have a little treat of moral-dilemma mumbo

tw // mentions of murder, crime note: separate fiction from reality. /srs

It's not like Mumbo doesn't care. It is because he cares so much that it feels wrong to do something so careless such as forcing his best friend into a corner.

Grian. Before he was a murderer, he was Mumbo's roommate. Before he was Mumbo's roommate, he was his best friend. Before he was his best friend, he was someone who he had sworn to grow old with at the day they first met on each side of the fence between their childhood homes.

But, was he really only a murderer only after the fact that he was Mumbo's roommate? Was there ever a time that it was "during" and not a before and after?

Nonetheless if it was before, during, or after, the fact that Grian had been a man Mumbo solely believed was mercy on earth had been true all throughout.

Grian was a mischeivous sort, but not to this point. At least, that's what Mumbo had been believing until now.

"Protection," Grian suddenly speaks up, causing Mumbo to snap out of his mindspace. He notices Grian's squint before he realizes first that he had unconsciously taken a step back.

Mumbo stiffens in place, out of fear of being hurt or out of fear of being the one hurting, "Protection?" He croaks out.

"When those of authority use their title to inflict such acts..." Grian gestures to the body on the floor, "Is it not in the name of protection? Of justice?"

The atmosphere continues to grow tense, even the night winds don't dare sing their usual whistling melodies.

Mumbo swallows anxiously, "That is only because they're of authority-"

"I don't need a title to know who is deserving of a life or not."

"That's egotistical! And... plainly wrong.." Mumbo argues weakly.

"But when those of the higher status does it, it's normal?"

It's normal because they're trained to do what is believe is the best choice. That's why they are given such high statuses in the first place. But when Grian's eyes meets his, Mumbo finds it hard to verbally defend them.

Grian is given the time to monologue.

"Shoplifters and Hit and Run criminals could get away with enough money."

"Corruption gets away easily with enough bribery."

"Abusers could go through multiple trials only to serve shortly and live freely enough to do it again."

"The world needs.... faster initiative."

Mumbo's breath hitches as Grian takes a step forward, hands slowly reaching out as if to hold him. They stop short when Grian notices Mumbo's trembling.

"Mumbo, it's why we're here." Grian's tone is softer, gentler. Mumbo feels chest tighten despite himself.

"We take initiative to bring justice in our own ways, to help for a better place. Isn't that great?"

The journalist does not respond once again. The killer does not let him.

"I don't want you to live in such a rotten world, Mumbo."

Mumbo exhales shakily, "But what if the world is fine as is?"

Grian's smile does not reach his eyes, "Then you spout lies."

The journalist who wrote to seek change and document change. Such an honest life that wouldn't live long here, but the journalist risks his life anyways.

But considering the current situation, did he ever actually wonder how he lived for so long this way?

[bucchiboo]

I don't know if I'm friend who doesn't get subtext or not, but I just wanted to talk about the dual meaning of Leona's unique magic chant! Go ahead and pelt me with tomatoes and run me over and spit on me if this is already heavily implied and I'm going on about what everyone knows!

Leona's unique magic incantation reveals the dual nature of his magic's power. His ability is able to be a source of motivation and momentum as it effectively challenges what is considered "normal" by doing away with it entirely. Rather than the belief that he destroys whatever is in his path, his magic is capable of creating "even playing fields" by doing away with perceived advantages, so to speak; and his incantation is the first hint of this hidden motivation.

In English, to hunger and to thirst are words with multiple meanings depending on the context used. The literal hunger and thirst obviously refer to the drought and famine his magic can create by doing away with resources. However, in a more positive spin, hunger and thirst are also figurative words, meaning to have a drive for a goal one seeks to accomplish. While Leona could be causing your "hunger and thirst" by drying out your resources, he could very well be the reason you seek to no longer remain stagnate and reach towards a better future, he certainly is for the likes of Ruggie and Jack. Likewise, "I am the one who steals your tomorrow" can be read as dedicating your time to his cause. He is "stealing" you away from perpetual insignificance or trivial endeavors as you face reality with a newfound drive. Even the egregious "kneel before me" can be read as him demanding gratitude for his guidance, rather than a demeaning request after threatening violence. Although it's still a grandiose boast, there is an implication that you'll want to kneel before him once his mission is complete. This would also play into the spirit of tenacity that marks Savanaclaw, as hunger (be it a spark of inspiration or a desperate need) creates the drive that makes one tenacious in the first place.

His magic is mischaracterized as inherently destructive because of the magnitude of the force he exudes with it, but like in Chapter of Ignihyde, there's nothing destructive about turning falling shards of glass into a trinkle of light sand, in fact it's quite the opposite. Likewise, in chapter of Octavinelle, he is able to sand the contracts, shrapnel and heavy objects thrown the student's way by Azul. These moments reveal its true nature as a disruptive force, rather than destructive, as Leona disrupts the advantage that better mages and stronger agents have over his underclassmen. It could be intentional that both of these are instances where he does away with things that put weaker students at a disadvantage, effectively creating a fairer environment for them to compete and/or win. While he can (and does!) cause harm, its disingenuous to only paint his magic as dangerous, much like how his intentions by those around him are perceived. Leona seeks to disrupt normalcy, not degrade it into chaos like a surface level reading of his magic might cause one to assume. Disruption of abusive or harmful systems or powers isn't inherently a negative action, as he shows that there's actually stability that can be created by doing away with egregious privilege. His magic seeks to change narratives through his own momentum, which of course should inspire those around him to do the same.

This alternative interpretation of the meaning of his Unique Magic works because Leona is a character who lives in doublespeak and coded language. In the chapter of Octavinelle, he laughs with Ruggie over telling half truths to Yuu, he's one of the few characters to give coded nicknames to his peers regarding how they present themselves, and he even excels at ancient spell language, which might be a hint to the secret complexity of his own! His last name having "scholar" in the mix and his own harped upon intelligence also suggests an academic lens used for his character. This would explain why complex language is used for his spell, as the phrase comes from the user's understanding and own thoughts. Maybe he's still hopeful that he can win over those who view him negatively if they could only see where he's coming from?

[woogilicious]

was it worth the fight? ꒰ yeosang ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: kang yeosang x gn!reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 1.8k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: angst, heavy themes. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: major character death, curse words, emotional breakdown, grief, guilt, suicide (read responsibly). ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ a.n: it's been a while guys! got busy with stuff, i didn't have the energy to write anything, but finally be able to finish this one that has been dusting inside my draft. anyways, hope you guys enjoy and also, happy pride month!

"I fucking hate you!"

The words snap out of your mouth before you can even think, venom-coated and loud, sharp enough to pierce through bone. They echo in the living room, bounce off the walls like they're mocking you. And he just stands there. Kang Yeosang. Not yelling back, not even flinching.

Just... quiet.

His eyes flicker, once. That's it. No fury. no dramatic outburst, no slamming doors or throwing shit, just silence. He looks at you like he's already tired. Like he's already gone.

You wish he'd yell, or scream, or even do something. Because this? The silence? It feels worse.

"Say something," you bite, suddenly desperate. Your chest is heaving. Your throat hurts. Your fingers are clenched so tight they ache. "Are you really just gonna stand there? After everything—"

"What do you want me to say?" Yeosang's voice is hoarse, not angry. Quiet, but the kind of quiet that sounds like giving up.

You feel the tears coming, fast and hot, but you refuse to cry. Not now and definitely not in front of him.

"Anything. Lie to me. Tell me you still care," you snap.

"I do," he says, almost too fast. "I always have."

And fuck, that absolutely ruins you. Because it's too honest, too soft. It cuts through all your anger like it's nothing.

But it's too late.

Because you already said it.

"I fucking hate you."

He exhales, finally. Looks away and runs a hand through his hair like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Then grabs his keys from the table like it's muscle memory.

"I need some air," he mumbles.

You don't stop him.

You should.

You know you should.

"Fine, go."

And he does.

You hear the front door shut, and you hear his car start. Then, it's just you, alone, in a room full of everything that just went wrong.

You whisper, barely audible. "I didn't mean it."

You just stand there, staring at the door like maybe he'll walk back in any second, hoping that maybe he was just bluffing. Maybe he's still in the driveway, waiting for you to come after him, and hoping you'll say "I didn't mean it" out loud. Like, really out loud this time.

But you don't.

You just sink to the couch like your legs gave out. Arms crossed, stubborn. Face twisted into something half-mad with emotion and half-exhausted from pretending you're not hurting.

Your phone's right there, on the coffee table. Screen lighting up once, then twice. A group chat ping, a calendar notification, but nothing from him.

You tell yourself you're fine. He just needs to cool off. You need to cool off. It wasn't even that serious, right? People fight. Couples argue. It's normal. Yeosang's probably driving around, maybe to the river or that late-night convenience store he always ends up at when he needs to think. He'll come back.

But still—

You keep glancing at the door, then at the phone.

It's 11:20 PM.

You open the messages app, click on his name. Your last text is from earlier that day—"don't forget the oat milk lol."

You type out something.

"Are you okay?"

No. Delete.

"Where are you?"

Too clingy. Delete.

"Come home."

Your thumb hovers over send.

You backspace it all.

Because your ego is high. It wraps around your chest like barbed wire and whispers, he should text first. he left. he made you say it.

But your gut won't shut up. It twists tighter. Something's wrong, and you feel it in your bones.

Your phone buzzes.

But it's just your screen time report.

You nearly throw it across the room.

Instead, you just sit there, phone in hand, pretending the silence isn't getting louder. Pretending your heart isn't racing every time headlights pass the window. Pretending you're not dying to hear his key in the lock.

It's 11:50 PM.

He's still not back.

But you wait.

And wait.

And wait...

You tell yourself he'll come back.

He always comes back.

You must've fallen asleep at some point.

The TV's still playing some random tv shows. The room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the TV screen. The sky outside is pale grey. Your neck aches, your back is stiff, mouth dry.

Your eyes burn like hell.

When you sit up, you realize your cheek is crusted with dried tears. Your shirt is slightly damp near the collar. Your face feels swollen, like you cried yourself straight into unconsciousness.

You check your phone immediately.

No texts.

No missed calls.

Not from him.

Until...

Incoming call from Yeosang's sister.

Your heart sinks before you even answer.

Your thumb shakes as you swipe up. "...hello?"

Her voice is choked, trembling.

"Y/N, you need to come to the hospital. It's—it's Yeosang. He got into an accident last night. On his bike, please come."

You don't even answer, but you just go.

Everything happens in a blur. Cold water on your face, shoes on the wrong feet. Your phone clutched in your palm so tight it might crack. You run out of the apartment without brushing your hair, without changing your shirt—the one still soaked with tears.

The drive feels like it's too long, or maybe it's too short.

Your legs barely carry you through the hospital doors. The air smells like sterile. Someone behind a desk is asking you for a name. You say his. Voice trembling.

His sister is already there, waiting. Her eyes are red and swollen. The same way yours feel. When she sees you, she breaks.

She walks straight into your arms and clings to you.

"He's in critical condition," she sobs.

"They're trying... but it's really bad. He lost so much blood—"

You hear the words but they don't land.

Like your brain is floating.

Like this isn't real.

You turn your head.

His parents are in the corner. His mom is crying quietly into his father's shoulder. He's holding her with both arms, face grim and pale.

You walk toward them, slow and hesitant. His mother looks up and the moment she sees you, her bottom lip wobbles.

"He was on his way home," she whispers, like it's a secret.

Your knees almost give out.

You sit with them, or maybe you just collapse there. Time loses all shape, minutes blur into hours. Every time footsteps echo down the hallway, you flinch.

Finally, a doctor approaches.

His face says enough, tired.

"We've stabilized him, for now. He's unconscious, but you can see him."

His parents go first, and you sit there. Alone.

Your fingers are shaking again, staring at the floor tiles. Trace every crack. You can't stop thinking about that last moment—"I fucking hate you."

And he left like that.

He got on that bike like that.

His sister comes back, pale. Silent. She grabs your hand.

"They said you can go in."

You nod.

You don't breathe.

You walk in.

And there he is.

Machines beeping softly, wires attached to his chest. His face is bruised, lip split, gash above his eyebrow. His hand limp on the blanket, IV tape holding his skin down.

You break.

You stumble forward, and drop to your knees beside the bed, head bowed over his arm.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Fuck, Yeosang—baby, no. I didn't mean it. I swear to god, I didn't mean it."

Your voice shakes so bad it barely counts as speaking.

"I was mad. I was so mad and scared and stupid and you—you didn't deserve that. You never did."

His chest rises slowly.

He doesn't respond, so you reach for his hand, holding it like it's made of glass.

"Please wake up. Please... I can't let that be the last thing you remember. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I was just scared... scared of how much you mean to me. I'm scared of fucking it up, and now I did."

You bend forward and press your forehead to his.

"Please, come back. I need you to come back. Yell at me, tell me I'm an asshole. Tell me I broke your heart, anything. Just don't stay like this..."

But then—

The monitors start screaming.

A flat, high-pitched sound slices through the room like a blade.

"No no no no no no—" You sob, grabbing his face, shaking his shoulder, "Yeosang—please—please—wake up—I love you, I love you—please—!"

Nurses rush in, and doctor follow. Someone pulls you back, someone else shouts medical codes.

You scream, you scream like your lungs will collapse.

You scream like you're trying to force time to go backwards.

His mother comes in and holds you, sobbing. You can her his sister's wailing into the hallway.

"Don't let him die—please!" You sob, reaching for him. "He can't go—he can't—"

But he does.

Yeosang dies at 9:42 AM on a Wednesday morning.

And all you can think is—

Was it worth the fight?

It's been four months.

Since he died.

Since your world cracked down the middle.

Since everything started tasting like cardboard and sounding like static.

You moved.

Somewhere far, somewhere without the constant buzzing of city streets or the sound of motorcycles roaring past your window. No packed subways, no chance of accidentally passing his favorite coffee shop. No risk of running into anyone who knew.

You changed your number, deleted all your socials, left everything in the dust.

Even Yeosang's parents.

You didn't want to. God, it nearly broke you since you loved them like your own. His mom once kissed your forehead and said she was glad Yeosang found you. His dad helped fix your heater in the winter. They always made room at the table.

But they didn't know.

They didn't know you fought that night. Didn't know he died thinking you hated him, that you screamed it.

And if they ever found out—

If they ever looked at you with blame in their eyes... you wouldn't survive it.

So you stayed away.

You live in a tiny house now. Tucked near a forest with no name. It's peaceful, and there's a river nearby. Clear water. A waterfall not far from it, tall and quiet, tucked away behind a hill.

You go there sometimes.

To breathe.

To remember,

Today, the sky is beautiful. All soft clouds and gold light. Birds chirping, people laughing by the river, splashing around. You stand near the edge, close enough to feel the mist. Your fingers trail through tall grass.

You close your eyes.

"You'd love it here," you whisper, voice caught in the wind. "I wish you saw this place."

Your chest aches. But it's quieter than it used to be.

"I tried," you mumble. "Tried to be okay, tried to forget, tried to forgive myself but it won't leave. It won't."

Your eyes flicker open, and you look up at the sky.

"Do you hate me?" You ask. To no one. "Do you know how sorry I am?"

You let out a shaky breath, then a smile.

"I'll come to you, baby."

Your voice is softer now.

"I don't think I'll be able to follow you into heaven, but I hope there's a chance we could meet up there."

You step forward, shoes off, toes curling at the ledge.

"I'm sorry..."

You close your eyes.

And jump.

[korrasera]

This seems inaccurate.

It's always easy to find people with liberal politics who don't want to look deeper, that's for sure. And I'm certain you could find Biden/Harris supporters that were behaving like the op suggests.

But this sounds like the same sort of rationalization that I hear from liberals who only want to see a small part of the picture.

A few points:

The democratic party isn't the reason the US has a strong relationship with Israel.

US support for Israel has been a core part of US foreign policy going back to at least WWII, when the parties were completely different to what they are now. People who think the Republicans have always been the Republicans and the Democrats have always been the Democrats just demonstrate that they haven't actually studied the history of US politics.

Anyone who lays the blame at the feet of the Democrats and doesn't mention Republicans? Seems a little suspicious.

The US has been complicit in the genocide of the Palestinian people from the very start.

Biden and Harris weren't anything special in this regard. We've all had to live with it. That's one of the reasons why people are taught to think of Israel as the good guys so much in the US, why part of our cultural myth is about protecting Israel, because otherwise it would be a lot easier for people to understand how complicit we are.

Biden's administration was the closest thing we've had to an anti-genocide presidential administration.

They took action to try to stop Israel and then to try to stop the genocide. Weak, insufficient actions, but the actions were there.

Military advisors telling Israel not to invade. Political advisors pressuring Israel not to invade. Diplomatic officials working the entire time to get Israel to the table for a peace process. Delays of already funded military aid.

Unfortunately, that's what the slow wheels of politics look like in the US. A sitting president openly talking about changing foreign policy that's been in place for decades was not nothing. It wasn't sufficient, but it also was never going to be sufficient. The US political system is a very large ship and it does not change course quickly.

Trump was always going to be the worse choice for the Palestinian people.

Provably, 100%, voting for Trump was going to be worse. And telling people not to vote for Harris is almost the same exact thing as telling them to vote for Trump.

One of the first things Trump said about Palestine after the election was how he wanted to remove all Palestinians (complete the genocide) and annex the country to develop it as a destination getaway for the wealthy.

Harris wasn't going to promote a plan to turn Gaza into a casino.

Were there actually Biden/Harris supporters asking for a source that people care about Palestine? Like, as a trend?

That sounds an awful lot like claiming that anyone with liberal politics doesn't understand basic empathy. And like, sure, I don't like liberals either, but that's obviously nonsense.

This sounds less like an actual observation and more like a strawman built to support the op's assertions.

-

Here's why I'm pointing out these problems:

The problem wasn't criticizing the democratic party for collaborating with the Israeli government. That's normal and good and people should keep doing it.

The problem was everyone telling people to not vote or to not vote democrat out of a misguided believe that ideological purity would keep them from feeling complicit in the genocide.

-

Since the election, I haven't seen the anti-Harris types talking about how bad Harris would have been for Palestine. I have, however, seen them continue to get really pissed off when anyone points out that they worked hard to discourage people from voting.

And since Harris didn't get elected because the democrats weren't able to get people out to vote, it seems like that anger might be caused by guilt over helping get Trump elected.

Sure, it's really on the democrats being terrible political strategists, don't get me wrong. But when Harris lost because the democrats couldn't get out the vote?

People who spent their time telling people not to vote played a small part in that. I suspect they still aren't willing to confront that particularly uncomfortable truth.

US politics has always been about holding your nose to vote for the lesser evil.

People who told you to sit it out were just telling you that it's okay to let the greater evil get elected because it means your hands won't get dirty.

But our hands are born dirty. You shouldn't let that stop you from trying to change things for the better. You don't have to be the one to fix it, but it's on all of us to keep working for that better tomorrow.

You know, here was a solid bit of time where you couldn’t post “The Average person is bothered by the sight of Innocent men, women, and children, being butchered and bombed on our tax dollars. this will cost Kamala Harris the election.” Without some Joe Biden/Kamala Harris Stan saying “Source?” and then immediately ignore the polling you show them that a majority of people have some modicum of empathy. Or call you a trump supporter. Or-

Those same stans, who do not mention or talk any politics when an election is coming up, would then accuse Palestine supporters of being russian plants who would stop posting.

The Joe Biden and Kamala Harris stans stopped posting or are just overtly racist on main now.

[theheirofthesharingan]

Can we talk about the forehead poke, I know a lot of ppl simply see it as a thing Itachi did to Sasuke. But I always thought that it was a sign of affection while keeping Sasuke at a distance.

From the actual traditional hand gesture that is used in Japan (which I didn’t know until recently, I thought that was just something Itachi did) to the way Itachi always has a smile on his face whenever he does it.

It’s Itachi’s way of silently telling Sasuke he loves him while also keeping him at a distance from him specifically due to the things he had to do at the time.

It’s why Edo Itachi pressing their foreheads together before he disappears is so impactful, cuz he’s showing Sasuke that he loves him by pulling him in close, no longer keeping him at a distance.

I've never seen an Itachi fan talking about the significance of the forehead poke. It's always — and I mean always — SS fans or haters (or just Sasuke fans) distorting the symbolism to turn it into either the "ultimate symbol of love" or a satanic gesture that was meant to manipulate Sasuke and Itachi used it on him because he was a crazy manipulative bastard.

Huh.

Itachi really was very busy as a boy and hadn't lived a single day of normal childhood. He couldn't spend as much time as he'd have liked with Sasuke, so whenever Sasuke wanted him to be with him, Itachi used the forehead poke and promised they'd do it when he was free or had time.

It wasn't meant to hurt Sasuke. It wasn't meant to manipulate him. It wasn't the ultimate symbol of love either. It was just what he did because it delivered the message. Sasuke wasn't supposed to know things about him. The distance was mandatory. He was protecting Sasuke from what he was doing and dealing with.

The forehead touch is special, because he acknowledged Sasuke finally as an equal and the distance between them was gone. It also came with the confession of the deepest kind of love, and that makes that moment even more special.

It was everything their bonding should always have been and would have been had it not been for everything. And even if for a moment, they lived it. Itachi expressed how much he loved Sasuke and that Sasuke had grown up, even was a better person than Itachi could ever be, and he managed to express how much he loved Sasuke.

Since Sasuke is so love-starved for Itachi's love, it was natural that Itachi had to say it, and give him the assurance and acknowledgement.

To me, the forehead touch symbolises everything right about their bond while forehead poke is patience and an endless wait. I don't want to take "lies" into account, because he lied to protect Sasuke from the terrible things.

In the end, he isn't going to say maybe next time, because it will never come. He pressed their foreheads together because everything that kept them apart as children was gone. And he needed to give his brother a moment of peace, a piece of himself, and he did it this way.

[lestatthelioncourt]

....... Imagine shipping remmick x sammie, COULD NOT BE ME NOPE NOPE NOPE

IT BRINGS ME PAIN THAT ITS SO IN YOUR FACE TOO, 😒 make me sick and heavily missed me with that. I actually don't like the thought of Sammie stuck with Remmick for a long period or time or even being caught by him just to be caught into vampirism to only play him the blues like the police made Delta Slim and his friend play the blues. That's not hot or gay or swell, that's fucked up.

The whole point of Sammie's was that we understood the importance of sticking to your culture and expression, staying true to what you have come from artistically. Remmick wanted to take that away, he wanted to know his stories for himself. I don't see how it's appropriate to ship the dynamic of a culture vulture and the true embodiment of a young BLACK artist trying to grow into his true expression.

To bring an interview with the vampire into this, everyone hates Magnus and Marius (if they are normal and not sick and twisted). Because they turned Lestat and Armand against their will, mistreated them for their own gain to put it without getting too graphic of course. And that's what Remmick's goal was, he wanted to use Sammie for his own gain. That shouldn't be a popular ship that should be a popular disgust and disapproval, the point of Remmick is a big interruption to black joy and cause of black suffering.

He was selfish in his actions, we can talk about how funny some of his parts were all day. And how the vampire circle was very cool yes, it showcases the culture he missed. What he wishes wasn't taken from him, so why must we cheer for a hypocrite? Fantasize a hypocrite getting what he wants from a young black man? We shouldn't, that defeats the whole point of why he was kept away from Sammie.

Switching it up for them to be gay will never work, for the plot of sinners it can't be without being extremely distasteful and misplaced to what Ryan was trying to portray in his story.

Like my main point is that both stories, iwtv and sinners are very nuanced and specific scenarios that play with different dynamics. The whole point of iwtv is that we dig into the internal turmoil of living as a vampire for so long, the detachment from humanity or the connection with it. How living or loving another one will forever and always be a complicated journey, or just a horrible experience. That's what I grasped from the concept of it anyways, I only fully watched the shows and read a bit of book one and two but that's the main message.

The reason Louis and Lestat works is because Lestat (despite his obvious flaws) shows genuine love and compassion for Louis, isn't literally just wanting to turn him for - what would Louis have his pimping abilities? Idk bro ☠️ but my point is that he ain't tryna turn him to just take advantage of the fact he holds culture and creates an impact he wants.

With sinners is a story about not only vampire experiences, it shows black joy, pain, triumph, failure and greed. Expanding on the experience of living in the 1930s as a black person during the Jim crow era, they may be fictional but it's treated with such care that characters like Sammie, Smoke, Annie, Stack and etc did have a life similar to that. Remmick has the role of the super natural force that wrecks their life more than it was already hard from the get go. Sammie literally is paralyzed once a week from that night, because a vampire clawed his face and took away most of his family and friends all because he wanted his music. Like are we seriously thinking that has gay potential? 🧐

Enough of my rant though, I'm staying safe in the actual characters in love and showing the themes of romance y'all tryna force onto Remmick x Sammie cuz y'all weird.

[ctcaptaincorgi]

Hey, hold up, this isn't my usual art, since I normally draw for Star Wars, but I really wanted to do stuff for Thunderbolts after watching it twice. I want to talk about the movie. Consider this your first and only spoiler warning. If you haven't seen it, go watch it. And if you have seen it? Watch it again.

Well, I don't know what happened, but my posting schedule is gonna be completely thrown off now that I've seen Thunderbolts. I didn't really have much anticipation or excitement for seeing it (though I was curious because I had jokingly guessed the Thunderbolts would fight the Void). But then my friends invited me, so I saw it, and... I loved it so much. It hit me emotionally in ways I didn't expect. And like, this movie decided it wouldn't undercut the emotions and I'm so thrilled by that. There was a lot of emotional sincerity. I really like how they handled the character development. I didn't think I would care so much about any of the characters, but then by the end I DID.

This movie really hit the regret from past wrong that still haunts the characters (or at least Yelena), and yet the characters are trying to come to a place where they can still do some good. Like... it feels highly specific, but I LOVE that kind of redemption story. The struggle with coming to terms with what you've done, having to fight to keep going, to be a little better, to help who you can even if you stand a high chance of dying in the process. There's something that just feels so real about it. It got me in the feels.

There wasn't any spectical, no showy CGI fight to make the Thunderbolts look like awesome, cool heroes. While most of them have a degree of superpowers, its nothing like the previous Avengers. The Thunderbolts are mostly just people trying their best to help Bob who they can see is struggling too. There's no way for them to defeat the Void through traditional combat. All they can do is support Bob. Honestly, around midway through the movie, after Alexei talked to Yelena to help her feel better, I got kinda choked up when everyone was saving the people from falling debris. It felt so much more meaningful and truly heroic because these people are far closer to human. In any other movie, the focus wouldn't be on heroes trying to save as many people as they could. It'd show them looking for the next bad guy to punch. I don't know, this movie felt weirdly grounded despite Bob having the power of a thousand suns and make people relive shameful moments in their lives.

You might've noticed, but I had a lot of thoughts on this movie. I loved it. It's probably my favorite from at least the past two phases, if not in general. I still love a lot of the other MCU heroes and movies, but this movie now has a special grip on my heart as evidenced by me finally deciding to draw MCU characters for the first time. Because I've genuinely never been so interested in doing so until now.

I originally meant to draw all the Thunderbolts + Bob, but then I ran out of space on my canvas. Bob is a Labrador flat coat retriever because they come both chocolate and black, as well yellow/blond on rare occasion. When choosing a breed, it was so important to me that the breed be fluffy (like Bob's hair), but also ideally come in those three colors. For the Sentry, I have his hair slicked back (for the purposes of this au, it was bleached like the movie too), and the Void's color is just barely lighter than the line art and the hair is similarly messy/fluffy likey design for Bob. For Yelena, I wanted a smaller breed well regarded for their agility, so picked the parson Russell terrier because it was the only breed the American Kennel club mentioned that gave me any Yelena vibes (because I wasn't going to make her a papillon). And for Alexei, I wanted a very large, brawly dog, ideally from Russia, so chose the Caucasian shepherd. I'm really happy with how they all turned out. I want it on the record that Bob is the first MCU character I've ever drawn as a dog because once I had the breed and concepts in my head, I had to draw it. And I have no regrets about that.

Also, I would be fine if the MCU didn't pair them together, but I see a lot of potential for Bob x Yelena. I think they'd be really cute, and at least have way better set up before Marvel could confirm if they're dating later (unlike a few other canon couples I can think of).

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam glared: The fuck is that supposed to mean!?

Lucifer: ....... You can't be serious, right? You have sinned a lot buddy.

Adam's glare deepened: I have not!

Lucifer smirked and crossed his arms: Being too prideful, relaxing and being lazy is considered slothful. And eating a bunch of food in front of someone is gluttonous.

Adam huffed: Oh fuck off! There's a difference between being fucking sinful and enjoying the paradise I rightfully deserve!

He turned away from the devil and angrily put his groceries away, Adam found a box of granola bars, a multiple pack with a flavor he didn't care for. He wasn't normally picky with food because of living on Earth, but the raspberry flavor was just not his thing.

He dug out all of those ones and placed them at the end of the couch with more force than needed.

Adam: There! Eat those.

Lucifer looked at them and took one, he was so hungry he didn't care what flavor they were. Just as long as he could eat something.

Lucifer: ...... Thanks.

Adam: Welcome. Don't get crumbs on my fucking couch.

The devil rolled his eyes as he opened one to eat it, it wasn't bad. He hoped this wouldn't be the only thing he would be fed.

Lucifer: Soooo, where did you go?

Adam: Out.

Lucifer: No kidding. Where?

Adam: None of your business, little man.

He went and finished putting the rest of the food away, Adam could feel Lucifer watching him.

Lucifer: Oh come on, you were gone for like four hours. What the fuck am I supposed to do all day?

Adam: Don't know don't care.

Lucifer: Come on Adam, prison in Hell isn't even like this. They get three meals a day and outdoor time.

Provided the guards also beat them on occasion but he wasn't going to bring that up.

Adam snorted: Nice try, like I'm letting you outside.

Lucifer finished his granola bar, when Adam wasn't looking he stuffed the wrapper in between the couch cushions.

Lucifer: So for the rest of our after lives I'm just going to be on your couch? Is it because Sera and everyone doesn't want me seeing what Heaven looks like because I can't see shit okay? Besides, I saw your lawn and it could use some mowing.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[celtrist]

Controversial opinion: Vox's design sucks

...

Because he should be wearing a NORMAL TIE. not a BOWTIE. It would:

Add to his businessman persona

Give a place for that wifi symbol to go that isn't awkward

Be a good opposing design to Alastor's bowtie

Potentially give the idea he's moved away (or attempting to) from Alastor. Especially if they had it that Vox USED to wear a bowtie.

Also, we joke about it but seriously, why does everyone have a bowtie when it doesn't make sense for some characters like Husk--

I rest my case your honors.

...

Rebuttle:

Vox having the bowtie could signify him latching onto his past with Alastor and not being able to move on

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.