#I still struggle with the idea that I will hurt them and they will hurt me and I need to cut them off before that happens etc etc

[motherfuck-why]

Why make choices that force people to die preventable deaths? That could push or force someone into killing themselves or otherwise dying? Someone's friend, sister, mom, girlfriend, or daughter dying because of a choice you made,does it make you feel good about yourself? Make you feel strong? Indirectly(or directly) causing an someone's death? In the future, do you think people will look back on this, at a time where people are becoming homeless or dying because they are force to have children they can't take care, possibly destroying the parents lives and condemning a child to struggle under the fear of homelessness or unloving and abusive parents, and say "Yes, that was the right thing to do, that was the best choice that could me made in that situation"? Are you really ok with damning a child to suffer through homelessness in a society where the people in power actively work towards homeless lives harder? With sending a child to be forced to live in a loveless household with parents that didn't want them? With allowing children to be abandoned at orphanages or on the street because parents know they can't provide for a child? Is that the world you want to live in? One where men, women, and children are suffering and struggling to just live through the day? And if your regretful about your choices, realize that this was a bad idea, too bad, we're all stuck with consequences of YOUR actions, yours and so many others. But hey, I mean gotta protect those unborn kids right? Forget about the ones who died in school shootings, who killed themselves due to abuse and rape, the ones who are still being bullied and attacked for their skin color, or sexual preference, the ones being demeaned cause of their gender, their not important right? Right? This is what you chose isn't it? You looked at America as it is today with the rise in homeless populations and everything being made harder for them, the people struggling to get by because the people in power only care about the rich, global warming and decided "Yeah, let's make everything harder, why not, what's the worst that could happen". So when someday someone you know and love is hurt or killed by this I want you to look at yourself and know it's your fault, you caused this, and now there's nothing you can be about it.

All in all, go fuck yourself

To the men who voted for Donald Trump today:

When your girlfriend gets pregnant, and you’re not ready to become a father, and you’re forced into a position that cripples you emotionally, financially and irreversibly, remember: you did this.

When your sister’s pregnancy turns out to be ectopic, and she can’t get the life-saving medical care she needs and dies a completely pointless, preventable death, remember: you did this.

When your 12-year-old daughter is raped by her soccer coach — after he’s legally allowed to strip off her pants and peep at her genitals, because the existence of trans kids terrifies you — and she steals your shotgun and kills herself in your garage, remember, first and foremost: you did this.

Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die because of the decision you made today.

You did that.

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

They are being mind-controled by a villain and they believe you cheated on them (Part.1)

A fog has settled between you, a cruel illusion woven by unseen hands. The X-Man, your beloved, now look at you with wounded eyes, twisted by whispers that cloud their trust.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Bobby Drake

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- When Logan confronts you, it’s with an intensity that feels like it could crack the very air around you. His accusations are sharp, his words biting, and you barely recognize the man standing before you. He paces like a caged animal, his fists clenched, and his usually calm eyes are clouded with betrayal. Despite your confusion and protests, he remains adamant, pain flickering in his expression as he tries to push you away.

- You try to explain, to reach him, but Logan’s too deep in the hurt. He accuses you of breaking his trust, the one thing he’s rarely given anyone, and every word feels like a wound that digs deeper into both of you. Watching him struggle is heartbreaking—Logan, who’s faced everything with bravery, looks broken, vulnerable, and angry all at once, and it’s all directed at you.

- Days pass after the confrontation, and Logan distances himself from you entirely. He spends time in isolation, wrestling with his inner demons, consumed by a pain that he believes you’ve caused. Though you know the truth, his cold behavior is excruciating, and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever trust you again. You feel the loss of him like a piece of yourself gone missing.

- It’s a week later when the haze finally lifts from Logan’s mind, and the weight of realization crashes down on him. He remembers every word he threw at you, the devastation on your face, and it feels like claws are raking across his heart. He immediately knows he’s made a terrible mistake, that he’s been manipulated, and that he let it tear the two of you apart.

- Logan doesn’t waste a second after the truth comes to light. He finds you, standing before you with an unfamiliar vulnerability in his posture. The look in his eyes is almost childlike, full of remorse and guilt. He barely knows where to start, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “Darlin’, I messed up… and I’m so sorry.”

- His apology is raw, filled with regret as he struggles to find the right words to convey the depth of his remorse. Logan isn’t one to be emotional, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he reaches for your hand, as if afraid you’ll pull away. He admits to letting his fears get the best of him and begs you to forgive him, acknowledging that he never should’ve doubted you.

- You accept his apology, though the pain is still there. But when Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you like he’s terrified to let go, the walls around your heart start to crack. He promises, over and over, that he’ll make it right, that he’ll spend the rest of his life proving he’ll never doubt you again. His words are like balm to your broken heart, and slowly, you let him back in.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy’s confrontation is full of drama and heartbreak. His usual charm is gone, replaced by a sharp bitterness you’ve never seen from him before. He speaks with an edge, accusing you of betrayal, and it feels like he’s tearing your heart apart with each accusation. His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, pained, and he looks at you as though you’ve ripped his heart out.

- He’s visibly devastated, masking his hurt with sarcasm and bitterness as he tries to process what he thinks you’ve done. When you try to explain, he cuts you off, refusing to let you defend yourself, as if he’s afraid that hearing you out would only deepen the wound. Remy, who’s usually so open and loving, now feels closed off, unreachable.

- The days that follow are painful, as Remy retreats into himself, haunted by the idea that you betrayed him. He’s normally social and outgoing, but you notice he’s withdrawn, spending more time alone. He’s haunted by the memories of the life you built together, struggling with an emptiness that seems to swallow him whole.

- The moment the mind control breaks, Remy’s world feels like it’s spinning. The realization of his mistake hits him hard, and guilt floods every part of him. He sees, painfully, that his trust was manipulated, and the weight of his accusations toward you crushes him. He spends sleepless nights thinking of how he hurt you, how he let himself be blinded.

- He seeks you out immediately, carrying flowers as a small gesture of peace, his hands shaking slightly as he approaches. Remy’s usual swagger is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a genuine, almost desperate sincerity. He tells you how sorry he is, his voice trembling as he explains how he was played, how he let his fears consume him.

- Remy’s apology is heartfelt, filled with regret, as he stands before you vulnerable and bare. He acknowledges that he should have trusted you, that he let his insecurities get the better of him. His words are raw, his gaze intense as he begs you to forgive him. The flowers fall from his hands as he reaches for yours, a silent plea for another chance.

- When you finally forgive him, Remy’s relief is palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he swears he’ll never doubt you again. His lips brush against your forehead, his voice barely a whisper as he promises to rebuild the trust he shattered. In that moment, you feel the depth of his love and regret, and your heart begins to heal.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt’s confrontation is heartbreaking and full of sorrow. He approaches you with tears in his eyes, struggling to voice his accusations because the very thought pains him deeply. His faith in you has been his rock, and now, it feels like that foundation has been cracked. He’s devastated, his voice soft but filled with agony as he asks if it’s true.

- He tries to maintain his calm demeanor, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes. Kurt’s normally gentle spirit is marred by doubt, and every word he says feels like a dagger to his own heart. His hurt is almost palpable, and it’s clear he’s wrestling with the pain of even thinking you could betray him.

- In the days that follow, Kurt’s heartache is evident in his every action. He goes through the motions, struggling with his faith, his love, and his broken trust. He distances himself, praying for guidance but feeling lost without you by his side. The ache of loneliness gnaws at him, leaving him hollow and uncertain.

- When the mind control is finally lifted, Kurt’s guilt is immediate and overwhelming. He realizes that he was manipulated, that he was led to doubt the one person he trusts most in the world. The weight of that mistake crushes him, and he falls to his knees in prayer, asking for forgiveness before he can even face you.

- Kurt finds you with a heavy heart, his usual gentle smile replaced with a look of remorse. He takes your hands in his, looking at you with tear-filled eyes as he begins to apologize. His voice trembles, filled with the weight of his regret, as he tells you how deeply he’s sorry for doubting you, for letting his fears take over.

- His apology is sincere, and his words are filled with emotion as he explains the mental manipulation he fell under. Kurt admits that he should have trusted in your love, that he should have held on to the faith he always had in you. He looks at you with a sadness that pierces your heart, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he asks for your forgiveness.

- When you forgive him, Kurt’s relief is visible in every part of his being. He holds you close, whispering promises of love and trust, his embrace warm and full of tenderness. He presses a kiss to your forehead, vowing never to let anything come between you again. In his arms, you feel the depth of his love and the healing of the wounds that the villain’s manipulations tried to create.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott’s confrontation with you is direct and intense, as he’s always been the type to tackle issues head-on. His voice is steely as he lays out what he believes he’s discovered, his emotions restrained but still evident in the tension in his jaw and the way his hands clench at his sides. He’s hurt, yes, but also furious, struggling to understand how someone he trusts so deeply could have supposedly betrayed him.

- You try to explain yourself, but Scott cuts you off, his tone sharp and pained. He refuses to listen, his normally calm and rational mind clouded by the betrayal he believes he’s facing. His words sting, each one landing with the force of his suppressed anger, leaving you feeling both confused and devastated. Seeing him like this, distant and cold, breaks something inside of you.

- The days that follow are almost unbearable. Scott avoids you at every turn, burying himself in his responsibilities as a leader, his emotions carefully hidden behind a mask of professionalism. He’s always been committed to his duty, but now he throws himself into it with an almost unhealthy intensity, trying to ignore the ache of what he thinks is lost.

- When the mind control finally breaks, Scott feels the truth hit him like a physical blow. The realization that he’s been manipulated, that he allowed a villain to cloud his judgment and shatter his trust in you, fills him with an overwhelming guilt. He replays every harsh word he threw at you, and each memory feels like a knife to his heart.

- Scott’s apology is quiet but incredibly sincere. He approaches you cautiously, clearly struggling with the weight of his guilt. His voice is thick with emotion as he explains what happened, admitting that he let his insecurities and fears get the best of him. For Scott, the loss of control over his emotions is almost as painful as the thought of having hurt you.

- He’s never been one to beg, but there’s a quiet desperation in his voice as he asks for your forgiveness, his hand gently reaching out to touch yours. He promises to do better, to trust you more deeply, to never let his own doubts cloud his love for you again. His words are steady, but there’s a vulnerability in his expression that speaks volumes.

- When you finally forgive him, Scott’s relief is palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he whispers words of love and promises for the future. He’s still haunted by what he did, but your forgiveness allows him to finally let go, and he vows to spend every day proving just how much he trusts and values you.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean’s confrontation is heartbreaking. She approaches you cautiously, her voice soft yet filled with a quiet pain. Jean is sensitive to others’ emotions, and even as she accuses you, there’s a sadness in her eyes, like she’s already mourning what she thinks you’ve done. She wants to believe in you, but the thought of betrayal has left her shaken.

- As you try to explain yourself, Jean listens with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, her expression pained. She’s torn, doubting herself as much as she doubts you, and each word you speak seems to only deepen her confusion. It’s clear she’s struggling to make sense of her emotions, but she can’t bring herself to fully believe in your innocence.

- The days that follow are marked by an emptiness that seems to cling to her. Jean is normally warm and open, but now she’s withdrawn, avoiding everyone, especially you. She’s always been a source of strength for those around her, but now, the sense of betrayal has left her feeling isolated and alone, unable to find comfort in anything.

- When the mind control finally breaks, the realization of what happened hits her like a wave of relief and horror. She feels as though her heart has been shattered, and the guilt of having doubted you, even for a moment, consumes her. Jean has always valued honesty and empathy, and knowing she let her fears get the best of her is deeply painful.

- Jean’s apology is tender and filled with remorse. She finds you, her eyes brimming with tears, and she doesn’t hold back as she tells you just how sorry she is. She explains what happened, her voice thick with regret, admitting that she let her insecurities cloud her trust in you. For Jean, failing to see past the manipulation hurts as much as the thought of losing you.

- She takes your hands in hers, her grip gentle but firm, as she begs you to forgive her. Jean promises to trust in your love, to hold on to the connection you share, no matter what challenges come her way. Her vulnerability is evident, and you can see just how much this has affected her.

- When you finally forgive her, Jean’s relief is visible in every part of her being. She pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you as if afraid to let go. Her embrace is warm, her love tangible in the way she holds you, and you can feel the depth of her emotions as she promises to always trust you, no matter what obstacles they face.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo’s confrontation with you is intense, though her tone is calm and collected, as always. She approaches you with a steely expression, her voice as cold as a winter storm. Ororo is a pillar of strength and wisdom, and the very idea of betrayal cuts deeply into her sense of trust. She doesn’t raise her voice, but every word she speaks feels like a carefully controlled strike.

- You try to explain yourself, but Ororo listens with an unreadable expression, her gaze piercing. She’s hurting, and though she tries to hide it, there’s a pain in her eyes that you can’t ignore. Ororo is normally compassionate and understanding, but this supposed betrayal has left her wounded, her trust shaken in a way she’s not used to.

- The days that follow are marked by a coldness in her demeanor. Ororo throws herself into her work, her usual warmth and empathy replaced by a distant, almost unreachable demeanor. She is always the voice of reason and calm, but now, her heart feels like it’s frozen, and even her connection to nature feels strained, as if reflecting her internal turmoil.

- When the mind control finally breaks, the realization of her mistake crashes down on her. Ororo is a woman of honor, and the thought that she let her trust waver, even under manipulation, is deeply painful. The guilt of having doubted you feels like a storm raging inside her, and she knows that she has to make things right.

- Ororo’s apology is graceful yet heartfelt. She approaches you with humility, her usual poise softened by the vulnerability in her expression. She explains what happened, her voice steady but filled with emotion, and she admits that she should have trusted in the love you share. For Ororo, letting herself be manipulated feels like a failure, and she’s determined to prove that it won’t happen again.

- She reaches out, her hand resting gently on yours as she asks for your forgiveness. Ororo speaks from the heart, her words filled with sincerity as she promises to always trust in the bond you share. Her gaze is intense, filled with the promise of a renewed commitment, and there’s a quiet strength in her apology that reassures you of her love.

- When you finally forgive her, Ororo’s relief is like a breath of fresh air. She pulls you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapped around you with a warmth that only she can offer. You feel the calmness of her presence, the quiet strength that has always been her hallmark, and she holds you close, vowing that she’ll never let doubt come between you again.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue’s confrontation is a mix of frustration and heartbreak. She’s never one to mince words, and she lets her emotions pour out as she confronts you, her accent thicker as she struggles to control the pain in her voice. Her fists are clenched, and though she’s trying to stay calm, it’s clear that the betrayal she thinks has happened is tearing her apart.

- She listens as you try to explain, but the disbelief in her gaze cuts deep. Rogue has always struggled with trust, knowing how it feels to be hurt and left behind, so the idea that you could have done something like this shatters her. She’s hurting so deeply, and though she wants to believe you, she feels trapped by the manipulation that’s clouded her judgment.

- After the confrontation, Rogue withdraws, finding solace in her usual haunts and her own thoughts. She’s normally the life of the room, with her vibrant personality and teasing charm, but now, there’s a heaviness to her that makes her seem a million miles away. She hides her pain behind a facade, trying to convince herself that maybe she’s better off without you.

- When the mind control finally fades, Rogue is overwhelmed with guilt and anger at herself for having doubted you. The realization that she’s been tricked feels like salt in an open wound, and she’s furious with the villain who manipulated her, as well as herself for not trusting in your love. She hates that she let her insecurities control her.

- Rogue’s apology is raw and filled with emotion. She approaches you with hesitation, her voice soft but steady as she admits she was wrong. She’s not one to beg, but there’s a vulnerability in her tone as she asks for your forgiveness. She admits how much it hurt her to doubt you and promises to trust in you and your love no matter what.

- She reaches out to take your hand, her touch light but comforting, as she looks you in the eyes. Rogue doesn’t shy away from expressing how much you mean to her, and her words are filled with sincerity as she tells you just how deeply she loves you and wants to make things right. She’s always been fiercely loyal, and now she’s more determined than ever to prove that to you.

- When you forgive her, Rogue pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you like she never wants to let go. There’s a strength in her hug, a silent promise that she’ll never let doubt come between you again. She pulls back with a soft smile, her eyes bright and full of love, and you know that from now on, she’ll do whatever it takes to keep the bond between you strong and unbreakable.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik’s confrontation is cold, calculated, and full of barely-contained fury. He approaches you with an unyielding gaze, his tone low and laced with an intensity that makes it clear he’s already decided that you’ve betrayed him. His words are sharp, and each one feels like a dagger as he demands an explanation, his trust shattered by what he thinks you’ve done.

- When you try to explain yourself, Erik listens with a hardened expression, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He’s always been cautious with his heart, knowing all too well the pain of betrayal, so for him to believe you’ve done this shakes him to his core. His past experiences with betrayal and loss have left deep scars, and it’s clear that this supposed act has reopened old wounds.

- Afterward, Erik distances himself, retreating into solitude as he wrestles with the pain of what he thinks has happened. He becomes colder, more withdrawn, his usual fiery passion tempered by an icy demeanor. His actions are precise and methodical, each one a way to distract himself from the hurt, but the pain is ever-present, a reminder of what he believes he’s lost.

- When the mind control is finally lifted, Erik feels a mix of fury and regret. The realization that he’s been manipulated by a villain fills him with rage, but there’s an even deeper sense of shame at having let himself believe that you could hurt him like this. He’s always prided himself on his strength and resilience, but this has left him feeling vulnerable in a way he despises.

- Erik’s apology is as intense as the rest of him. He approaches you with a quiet, almost hesitant air, his voice softened by remorse as he admits that he was wrong to doubt you. For a man as proud as Erik, admitting a mistake is not easy, and the vulnerability in his eyes speaks volumes about how much he values you and your love.

- He promises to trust you more, his words laden with a rare tenderness as he takes your hand. Erik isn’t used to apologies, but he does his best, vowing to never let anyone or anything come between you again. He’s learned a painful lesson, and he’s determined to show you just how much he cares, no matter what it takes.

- When you forgive him, Erik’s relief is subtle but profound. He pulls you into a close embrace, his touch firm yet gentle as he holds you. There’s a newfound warmth in his gaze as he looks at you, a silent vow that he’ll never let his own fears come between you again. From that moment on, he’s more protective and devoted than ever, his love for you deeper and more unbreakable.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Charles’ confrontation with you is calm, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. He’s not one to leap to conclusions, but the evidence he believes he’s seen has left him deeply conflicted. His voice is gentle as he explains his suspicions, but the pain in his tone is palpable, each word carrying the weight of the trust he thinks has been broken.

- As you try to explain, Charles listens carefully, his gaze never wavering, though his expression is clouded with doubt. He’s always been a strong believer in empathy and understanding, but the thought of betrayal from someone he loves has shaken him to the core. There’s a sadness in him that’s hard to miss, and each word you speak seems to deepen the sorrow in his eyes.

- In the days that follow, Charles retreats into his own thoughts, often lost in contemplation as he tries to make sense of his emotions. He’s a compassionate man, and the idea of mistrusting someone he loves feels foreign to him. His interactions with others are quieter than usual, and there’s a noticeable tension in his usually serene demeanor.

- When the mind control finally breaks, Charles is flooded with relief and regret. Realizing that he’s been manipulated fills him with a sense of guilt, and he’s angry at himself for not seeing through the trickery. He’s a powerful telepath, but even he is not immune to the pain of betrayal, and knowing he doubted you leaves him feeling ashamed.

- Charles’ apology is heartfelt and deeply sincere. He approaches you with a gentleness that is uniquely his, his voice filled with remorse as he admits that he let his own fears cloud his judgment. He speaks from the heart, explaining how much he values your love and how he intends to trust you more deeply in the future.

- Taking your hand in his, Charles promises to never let his own insecurities or doubts come between you again. He looks at you with a tenderness that speaks volumes, his eyes filled with the quiet strength and unwavering devotion that have always defined him. He assures you that he’s learned from this experience and that he’ll always trust in the bond you share.

- When you forgive him, Charles’ relief is almost palpable. He holds you close, his embrace warm and comforting as he whispers words of gratitude and love. There’s a peace in his expression that hasn’t been there since this whole ordeal began, and you can feel the depth of his commitment to you in the way he holds you. Charles may have been hurt, but he’s come out of this with a renewed determination to cherish and protect the love you share.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- When Bobby confronts you, there’s an unusual edge to his usually playful demeanor. His blue eyes, usually filled with warmth and laughter, are clouded with hurt and disbelief. He struggles to keep his voice steady as he asks for an explanation, his usual humor replaced by a seriousness that you’ve rarely seen from him.

- Bobby tries to be logical about it, but it’s clear he’s barely holding himself together. He’s normally the fun, lighthearted one, always quick to crack a joke, but now he can barely bring himself to look at you without pain flickering across his face. There’s a heartbreaking vulnerability in the way he seems so lost, and it’s clear he’s battling with his own insecurities.

- After the confrontation, Bobby avoids you, feeling embarrassed about his emotions but too hurt to stay near. He doesn’t want his friends to see him like this, so he tries to hide his pain with a mask of indifference. He throws himself into training and missions, trying to push down the heartbreak he feels whenever he thinks about what he believes happened.

- When the mind control finally fades, Bobby feels a rush of guilt and disbelief. The realization that he’s been tricked hits him hard, and he’s furious that he doubted you. He’s known for his resilience, but the idea that he let his own insecurities and fears cloud his judgment leaves him feeling deeply ashamed.

- Bobby’s apology is genuine and filled with remorse. He approaches you with his heart on his sleeve, fumbling over his words as he tries to express just how sorry he is for not believing in you. He’s clearly nervous, but his eyes are filled with sincerity as he admits his mistakes, promising to never let anything come between you again.

- He reaches out to hold your hand, his touch soft and careful as he confesses just how much you mean to him. Bobby may be a jokester, but his apology is anything but. He pours out his feelings, his usual carefree attitude replaced with a quiet determination to make things right and prove that he’ll never doubt you again.

- When you forgive him, Bobby’s face lights up with relief and joy. He pulls you into a tight hug, laughing softly as he holds you close, promising to always trust you and to work on his insecurities. From that moment on, he’s even more devoted, making sure to show you just how much he cherishes every moment with you.

[teambyler]

This Wrinkle in Time scene previews how Byler likely will culminate: LOVE lets them "Escape from Camazotz" in s5e6

Every season of Stranger Things has taken inspiration from popular horror and science-fantasy stories. A big theme of A Wrinkle in Time is that it's okay to be different. Camazotz is the planet that's all about conformity: everyone is under the hypnosis of a hive mind(!).

ALL BYLER FANS SHOULD WATCH THIS SCENE!

On Camazotz, Meg's love for her brother snaps him out of his possession which lets them escape Camazotz. (They're siblings but this easily translates into a ROMANTIC confession.) It's VIRTUALLY IDENTICAL to many scenarios Bylers have thought up, where a possessed Mike or Will is saved by love (especially the ChurchGate theories!). Here the hivemind, through Charles, even tries to kill Meg with vines!

I take back what I said about how I predict Mike and Will confess their love. I still love the idea, but episode 6 now definitely being titled "Episode from Camazotz" and this scene mean this is the NEW most likely way Mike and Will culminate their love. (Thanks to @yesimtrashforit for pointing out that this is likely the episode.)

This means we might get a Will "villain arc" where Vecna possesses Will. It would explain why he was taken in s1, why he survived, and why he was possessed: a Will under his control (maybe with powers?) might be a vital part of Vecna's endgame!

Just as in this scene, Will and Mike's internal struggles all come to the fore. Will who knows Mike better than anybody and can say the most hurtful things. Will refuses to accept a love confession because he's "a mistake" and "will never fall in love," and lashes out at Mike even harder.

The title Camazotz probably refers to them being in a horrible supernatural place, but also the conformity that demands Mike and Will not admit their love.

But, like in A Wrinkle in Time, Mike and Will's love triumphs. They refuse to conform: they escape from Camazotz.

-teambyler

[symphonyofmars]

There was something I wanted to add as i saw people arguing back and forth (and this might be against my better judgement): but I believe the first post I saw referenced Bell Hooks, and then I later saw someone else say that the use of her quote was bullshit. The quote had to do with being compassionate towards men, and then the person responding said that wasn't what the quote is about (iirc, it's been a few days and my sense of time is not great) but having read The Will to Change (which I believe the quote was taken from), that's exactly what it was about.

[adding a read more because this became much longer than I intended it to be]

The book discusses how the patriarchy hurts not just women, but ALSO men, and how it's so much harder to rehabilitate men from it because: they think they stand something to gain from cramming themselves into the box they're supposed to fit into, and, many of them just have no idea that their life could even be different. That they could be an artist if they want to, they could dance if they want to, they could go into childcare if they want to or grow their hair long or write poetry or paint their nails-- that there are no "boy colors" and "girl colors", that there are no "men's jobs" and "women's jobs", that they could just do what they want because it makes them happy. They don't even know that being happy is more important than filling their sociological niche that someone else has carved out for them. It reminds me when I learned the story of Siddhartha Gautama when I was little, and that he had no idea that poverty, sickness, and suffering even existed because he had never been outside the palace walls and, not that I'm saying every man can achieve nirvana in an afternoon (or even in a lifetime), sometimes someone who knows what's outside the walls has to let you know that there is even something beyond the walls.

Which is also not to say that women need to be doing all the work for men. I spent ten years trying to disabuse a man of the "things he has to do to be manly" and it ended with him breaking up with me and joining a trad christian cult.

Some men (like my ex) are just extremely resistant to change because change is terrifying, but they also have this sense of Sunk Cost Fallacy, where if they were doing this thing the whole time and it's not working, then what were they wasting their time on?? (I feel like you see this with a lot of evangelical/trad Christians as well, where the idea that they might have been wrong is so scary that they double down on their beliefs in the hope that it will work out for them.)

But, there are also men like a book reviewer I was watching a few days ago (whose name I don't know), who admitted that he really had no idea women were catcalled as much as we say we are, until he was grocery shopping with his girlfriend and she went into the next aisle (literally like five feet away, just with the wall of food between them) and he heard a man catcall her. Like, the second she walked away from him and she no longer obviously belonged to him (in the mind of horrible men like her catcaller) she was suddenly fair game to be harassed in public. And he said that he never didn't believe his girlfriend, but to witness something makes it so much more real. To use my "wall" metaphor another way: he and so many men are still inside the palace, experiencing what they think is the same life others experience, while women are outside of the walls, struggling. The incident of hearing his girlfriend (who is an adult women and who shouldn't need him constantly around as protection from horrible men) being treated like an object while she's by herself was like someone grabbing his hand and pulling him outside the walls without even asking if he wanted to go, showing him a truth that can only be experienced by someone who is not him.

Back to Bell Hooks because there was something I wanted to add: yes she does say that it is at least partly the job of feminists to help to deprogram men. Men, as a group, have been brainwashed to think that they have to be The Provider, The Protector, The Leader, and not all of them are good at providing, protecting, or leading. Maybe some of them want to do the things I mentioned before like care for others (in the way we would describe as "maternal" and attribute to women), maybe they want to create art or do crafts or other things not considered "traditionally masculine", and that's not even taking into account that the "traditional idea" of a man is to be constantly wanting sex, and that men could never be sexually assaulted because they're in a constant state of wanting to fuck (obviously this is a lie; anyone can be sexually assaulted, and not everyone wants to fuck). You can't just take a dog who was taught only to fight and put it in a house of children, it won't know how to act around them and might attack them: it needs to be rehabilitated first.

And Bell Hooks does note, that the problem with trying to deprogram men comes from how they're raised. I'd like to submit this video about men and empathy, since I've already typed a bunch:

When I was reading The Will To Change and I got up to the part about her dad, I realized how different my dad is. And, because you don't get to choose your parents, I consider myself very lucky that my dad has always been unconditional in his love. For a moment I almost found this strange because his older brother was the "golden child" and his younger brother was "the baby", so he should have been somewhat neglected because they always got more affection from their parents, but I think it's because he was the favorite of his four girl cousins who would take him everywhere and fight over him (even now, he's the one they're excited to see and they shittalk the other two lol). So, I have a sneaking suspicion that the only reason he didn't end up shitty like his brothers, is because when he was a child he had four girls who were showing him what unconditional love was like and that you don't need to meet the criteria of your niche in order to receive love.

Which, I have to thank them for, because it's so much easier not having to decide whether or not I want to talk to my own parents as an adult because they've gone Fox News Insane. Both my parents will actually ask me about things they don't understand - like trans rights, queer rights in general, voting (I made them a paper of who/what to vote for for the election since the props always need extra research), geopolitical things - and I've even caught my dad making fun of conspiracy theorists and the thinking that trans women are ruining sports (he's a big sports guy and he mostly watches women's bball because he likes that they actually have to play as a team in a team sport). Life is a lot easier when both parents have empathy and don't have to be convinced to care about others.

And I think that's why the OG post I saw quoted Bell Hooks, because the "we need to rehabilitate men otherwise we can't have the feminist future we want" contingent of feminism never really took off; there was one-- I believe they were originally called "Meninists" as in "men who are feminists" and I've seen a picture of them from a parade in the 70s, but it died out because they were fighting such an uphill battle trying to convince other men to join. So now, we have more women who are independent and who have de-centered men from their lives, but also a bunch of men who were never rehabbed and who don't know their life doesn't need to revolve around "being a man." Being a man means being strong, it means being able to provide, it means being attractive; and the Tates and Fresh and Fits and all the other scam artists of the world sell them this on steroids: buy my book and you WILL be hot, you WILL be a millionaire, you WILL have women who want to fuck you...

Never mind that those guys are probably on actual steroids, they only have that money from scamming other men, and many of them have been found to hire escorts (which, there's nothing wrong with hiring sex workers, but there's a difference between selling the idea that you'll be so charismatic that women will throw themselves at you and having to hire a sex worker because your personality is so bad that no one wants to go near you.)

They're selling a false ideal to men who don't even know it's false in the first place.

But going back to Ms Hooks again: she did talk a great deal about how we need to raise our boys (as a society). She talks about how the whole thing of telling a nine-year old "Take care of your mother" is an insane notion, because he's nine and he can't do anything, and she's an adult woman who is actually the caretaker; and about how boy babies are treated so differently even to the point of "baby boys should not cry as much as baby girls". Like, the gender requirements are there before they can even talk, no wonder they're so damaged and hard to convince of anything later in life.

Reads with Rachel and her husband, Carlos, had two really good discussions about masculinity; one about real masculinity vs performed masculinity as they compared two books about being a man:

As Rachel says after Carlos complained about being made fun of for cleaning his nails after working on his car ("I work an office job and I have cleanliness standards"): "It's not enough for you to know how to work on a car, you also have to be dirty in order to be the manliest man."

The other is in the context of talking about how Patrick Rothfuss isn't the feminist he thinks he is because he still wants the women around him to perform femininity so he can perform masculinity and feel like "a big strong man" before going into a general discussion about masculinity (from about 9:01 to 53:55):

Together they ask a really good question (pardon me if I don't remember it verbatim): "Why does it take someone acting in a particular role for you to feel like a man?" And it's easier for Carlos to be able to deal with that question, because he started deconstructing from the patriarchy when he was 25 (he said he's 32 at the time of that video). It's something he and Rachel have done together as they learn and grow and live their lives together, him deconstructing from the patriarchy and her deconstructing from her fundamentalist christian upbringing (which is basically just The Patriarchy, but More, and +God.) And they've done this because they came to realize their upbringing was wrong, and they didn't want to raise their sons to be saddled with the same baggage that they both grew up with that made their lives worse.

So yeah, I forgot where I was going with this anymore since finding the one video took so long. The majority of men are resistant to changing their mind and it's because they were raised to be unemotional and not care about others but, sometimes, if maybe you've been friends with someone a while and take the time to explain something in a way they understand, you can change someone's mind. Story time:

I was a mod for a streamer for about a month and a half roundabouts January to February of this year (I ended up leaving because trying to get a bunch of randos to behave was stressful - esp since the streamer's rules weren't clear - and I ended up not really liking the streamer as a person). One person in the discord said that they hated the phrase "It's not my job to educate you" because it was condescending. I defended it as people being tired of having to explain shit to people just because they're black or trans or a woman but a bunch of people latched on and started saying anti-left things, which was weird because the streamer and his discord were supposed to be leftist (it's part of why I left, he was just weirdly antagonistic towards leftist ideals despite calling himself a leftist and he was attracting some *ahem* weird types). Anyway, a day goes by and a trans person comes in and says something like "I don't think I should have to explain my existence to random people on the street just because I decided to go outside," and a bunch of people descended on them, telling them they were wrong, and I'm pretty sure they ended up leaving the server.

[Like, the original group-agreed-upon argument came down to "I shouldn't have to google things or look up books to read or do my own work to discover anything new about the world, I should be able to demand of a random person's time and energy, even though I'm not giving off the vibe of someone who is actually ready to listen" and when I pointed out that people know when someone is and is not ready to listen, the streamer himself asked me how I knew and I was like like "do you think that I, a woman in her 30s, is somehow incapable of being able to discern intent?" Most women and queer folk KNOW who's a bad actor before they open their mouth, the idea that any of us wouldn't was just wildly ignorant.]

I complained to my friend (who I had met in the server) that the streamer was wrong and everyone's reaction was bullshit and, at first, he agreed with the position that a trans person should be prepared to debate people on their own rights if they deign to step outside their home. I countered with "You know, [streamer] doesn't it get it because he's a straight white man. He's the default. Other straight white men already know what it's like to be a straight white man so they have no questions for him. But to be trans or otherwise queer or a woman or any other person outside of a white man, is to have people question whether you have a right to be where you are. Trans women I've known have told me that they've had complete randos ask them if they've had bottom surgery and just-- how is that their business? People act so invasive towards non-straight non-white non-men in a way that no one does towards straight white men that they literally just can't understand what it's like to have your existence questioned just because you went outside. Asking a stranger if they've had bottom surgery is LITERALLY sexual harassment, and no one would ever walk up to someone like [streamer] and ask him like, "How big is your dick?" or something of a similar nature because that's just insane behavior, but when it's a trans person or a woman, it's suddenly okay? Like why do you think that is?" And my comparison to how white men are treated vs everyone else, and my stance that asking a stranger if they've had bottom surgery is sexual harassment (it is, no one needs to know about your genitalia) got through to him and he agreed with me. Awhile later I even heard him saying something similar to someone else about a situation that was similar and taking up the stance that I had given him.

So like... yeah, I probably wouldn't do that for a random man on the internet who is determined to hate me, but I can do it for a friend who I know might be receptive to what I have to say to him, and help steer him away from opinions that could end up dragging him down the wrong path.

As this post's OP said: "it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it!"

It's up to you if you want to try effecting the people around you, but if they've dug in their heels that much then it's okay if you want to leave and not speak to them again. Just know that, it's only so hard for you because they were brainwashed since birth to think the way they think and that's REALLY hard to undo. And that's not a pass, that's just the reason why this is so fucking hard for the rest of us (when they're adults and harder to reason with because they're so invested) and also, the reason why mothers of sons need to maybe rethink how they're raising them. Like, don't raise them with "boy colors" and "girl colors" raise them with "colors." Dance isn't something a girl does, it's something a body does. Women don't cook because cooking is a woman's thing, people cook because they want to eat. And... I'll be honest, I've known a few women who are just so mean to their husbands in a "why can't you be a real man?" way, and I just DON'T see how that makes him want to be a better person, but then again, those woman probably need as much deprogramming as their husbands do since they just keep reinforcing something that (she may not even be aware) is hurting them both.

So yeah, sorry if this was a bit rambling, but seeing people fight back and forth for the past week and seeing people take up some really... Mad Max-ian, like, ultra-anarcho-capitalist positions of "we shouldn't help any man at all, fuck em!" was really weird when it was being said by people who purport themselves as being feminists when feminist ethics is supposed to be more compassionate. There were just a handful of reactions I saw that seemed very "pull yourself up out of the patriarchy by your bootstraps" but like... what if their boots don't have bootstraps? What if they don't even have shoes on? What if they don't even know they could have shoes?

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[naamahdarling]

hi, i just wanted to let you know that what you said about "They're saying they don't believe they can cause harm." in your response about the sex ed comic and medical trauma helped me start putting into words some thoughts i'd really been struggling with. it's a hard thought for me to sit with, that believing myself to be harmless is actually a high risk vector for me committing harm, but being able to pinpoint the problem means i can work on de-internalizing the idea and hopefully make me less likely to do harm in the long run. thank you for writing and sharing your experiences, it means a lot to me.

Thank you! I'm very angry about the entire thing and was concerned I probably should not have gone off. Again.

But yes, I actually think this is a thing everyone should sit with. That meaning well doesn't mean you can't hurt someone. In our daily jobs, in our relationships, in our activism.

Of course we can mean well and still hurt people. No, it doesn't mean we should drive ourselves into an anxious spiral trying to analyze every single thing we do from all angles to achieve the perfectly ideal state of doing no harm, but it does mean we need to be very aware of the vulnerability (sometimes by nature, sometimes temporarily) of those around us. Especially when we are in a position of power.

I think that medical professionals especially tend to forget that they are in a position of disproportionate power and that very small and simple things they consider normal may well be objectionable or even harmful to a patient.

I have a good team, mostly. It is very obvious they're just humans doing their best at their jobs and I like them. But they have a LOT more control over my life than they realize, or than I would prefer to give. Or if they realize, they don't know how threatening it feels. My GP is just a little guy with college debt. He could still fuck up my life in about fifteen seconds by refusing to refill a scrip or refer me to a specialist.

And I think all of us have the potential to be that person sometimes. Bears thinking about.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #30

[Continuation of Poll #29]

"Hey!"

Your yell startled both monsters, and you used that chance to squeeze past the vampire's defensive stance, putting yourself between them and the werewolf. The beast's eyes widened as you approached him, his gaze completely fixed on you as his stance turned receptive. He looked like he was waiting for you to come to him, with his arms open, palms upwards, eager to receive your body.

Almost too quickly, your feet stopped, and like a mousetrap, the werewolf didn't realize what was wrong until the vampire was already on him. You yelped as you whipped around, trying to shield yourself from the sight. But the sounds couldn't be avoided, the screaming, squelching, and the final whimpers. All of this had been an anticipated risk, but it was gruesome regardless.

Tears you couldn't seem to shed lingered in your eyes. What for? You had no idea. The werewolf? The vampire? Yourself? Probably the latter. It was shock, more than it was regret, your knees hitting the floorboards, shooting pain through you that you barely registered.

"It's over," you heard someone say, perhaps noticing your state of distress as your hand clamped over your mouth, holding back sobs and nausea. Cold hands fell to your shoulders, shaking you, but not enough to tear you out of the state of shock and panic. Not until they pushed you down, forcing you on your back.

"It's over," the vampire repeated, looking down at you. It was impossible to ignore the blood splattered all over their clothes and face. Blood that now also stuck to you where they touched. Your tears finally burst as you started to wail, so much fear and anxiety having culminated inside you throughout the night that it simply broke out of you now.

With bloody fingertips, the vampire wiped the tears away, but the sin they smeared on your skin couldn't be washed away by your crying. They still had killed someone, a perhaps inevitable outcome, but tragic nonetheless. And now you were alone with them—again. Perhaps for the last time?

"I... I won't hurt you. At least, it won't hurt long; one bite and it'll be over," they muttered, and your sobs turned softer, realizing what they meant. The time you two had spent seemed to have been worth nothing. Your efforts, the sacrifice you made—it still led to your death in the end.

"Just be quick," you mumbled, resigning to your fate. You had lasted longer than most. Even just the first decision could have drastically altered your fate, but at least you spent one last night making decisions and fighting for your life.

Their hair tickled your face as they leaned forward, burying their face between your neck and shoulder. Their hands gripped your shoulders tightly, discomfort forcing you to struggle until they had you in a position ready to bite. Pinned down with inhuman strength, you could only whine as the tips of their fangs poked at your skin, their bite slamming into you so hard it robbed you of your breath. Somewhere between feeling like the vampire tore a part of your flesh out of you and the eery sensation of release, you closed your eyes for the last time, sinking down into darkness like you had never before, death welcoming you like a gentle embrace, telling you to finally rest after all the tumult you endured up to this point.

Only for something to violently jerk you away from the waiting embrace.

Gasping loudly, you felt the air flow into your lungs, your body desperate to fulfill your need to breathe. But once it was there, it felt like holding your breath indefinitely, and you had to force yourself to sputter it out, rolling on your side as you tore your eyelids open. They had been stuck with tears and gunk, yet your eyesight had never been clearer, seeing every finely carved groove in the wooden planks of the floor beneath you.

"Finally!" someone rejoiced, their voice so loud and clear, every crack in it so unusually emphasized. It was far too much to take, and you raised your palms over your ears to blur it out, the stimulation far too great. Your own skin felt cold, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt normal. Right, even. But the hands falling to your shoulders shook you out of it, making you relive your final moments before you had closed your eyes, reminding you of the vampire, and you forced yourself to look at them.

Their features were so intricate that every pore on their eternal face was visible to you. Their eyes were dark with concern and fear, but a spark of hope laid in them as they looked at you, their lips slowly curling upwards. "I wasn't sure it would work," they breathed in relief, yet you heard them even through your hands.

"I've never done it before. I couldn't be sure it would work!"

The vampire seemed increasingly excited, their hands strangely warm as they wrapped them around yours, pulling them from your ears and helping you sit up. "You were down for almost the full day, but it seems to have finally worked!"

"I'm... I'm not dead...?" you croaked hesitantly as you sat there on the floor while the vampire got up, walking away with their steps suddenly loud enough to wake an elephant. You looked around, watching the dust particles sway in the dark, smelling the old, partially moldy wood around the house, and listening to the clanking of metal as the vampire poured a heavy liquid.

Instantly, your mouth began to water as you smelled the iron-y delight mixed with a much sweeter yet tart juice. "Here," the vampire whispered, kneeling down next to you. "I kept you some, I knew you'd be hungry. The pomegranate makes it easier to swallow the first time."

Your mind filled with a desire to feed, one so strong you yanked the goblet from the vampire, downing it swiftly. It felt fucking amazing to wet your throat, but once it was empty, you still felt like you were on the brink of dehydration, your eyes looking over at the vampire for more. For answers. But mostly for more of the drink.

They chuckled, shaking their head. "That's it. We'll have to hunt for more."

"Hunt?" you asked. The vampire held out his hand, helping you up from the ground and steadying you as you regained your posture. Somehow, you felt fitter; the idea of going out and doing something replaced the desire to drink more of the juice you had been given.

"Hunt what?"

"Humans."

"What?" you mumbled, taken aback by the statement. But the vampire stepped closer, still holding your hand while reaching up to brush some hair out of the way.

"Don't worry, I will teach you everything I know. Everything I learned in my centuries. And we have a long time to make a proper vampire out of you. But I'll be there every step of the way, always by your side. Together, we can hunt, talk, and dance for as long as we want. I can finally break this spell of boredom now that I have you by my side, my beloved."

"I'm... I'm not a vampire! I'm a human!"

They chuckled, shaking their head. "Not anymore, sweetheart. Come now, let's test your new abilities."

"What? No!" you took a step back, everything a little much to process, but their grip tightened.

"I said, 'let's go'," the vampire ordered firmly, and all your resistance melted as you followed them willingly, no thoughts of yours forming to make your body obey otherwise.

"I'm sorry," they whispered, bumping their head to yours. "Don't make me use it too often, darling. I hate treating you like a simple thrall. You are more than that, my sweetness, I promise. But I need you to do as I say, lest I might lose you again. Do you know how long I waited for someone like you? Someone I could turn and have by my side for the rest of eternity? Don't take this away from me, okay?"

Your head nodded without hesitation, the force of the vampire's bond with you too strong to refuse. They leaned down, placing their lips on top of yours as you felt close to crying. But no tears would rise to your eyes.

"Open," the vampire murmured against your lips. You did as ordered, the kiss deepening as they pressed you against a wall, intertwining your fingers. At the same time, you couldn't even struggle against their advances. Their tongue lapped over your own fangs, a drip of blood falling onto your own, and your body pounced forward, wanting more desperately. Neither the urge nor the orders were something you could control, and you felt your humanity shatter at the unpredictability of your own actions.

"Maybe there's somewhere else we should go before heading out to hunt," they concluded, satisfied by your reaction, pulling out of the kiss and lowering your hands again.

"Come, my dark consort. Let us unify in our eternal bodies and make this a day we'll never forget in all the centuries to come!"

They laughed cheerfully, pulling you close as they rushed you deeper into the mansion, your eyes only briefly glimpsing right, seeing the entrance door for a brief moment, reminding you of how much you tried to escape. At least the darkness around you wasn't as scary anymore with your heightened senses.

Only the darkness inside remained, deepening with every controlling touch the vampire graced you with. And you wondered...

[goodolddumbbanana]

[Nexus & Sun] See you in the dream - I hate you [3]

[1]; [2]

Warning: Nexus cringe thoughts. This is Nexus POV so it is very biased. Also here is fluff, Nexus misses and sees Sun in his dream.

If the opposite of love isn’t hate, then what the hell was Nexus doing with his life now?

The laboratory was still cold without a soul in sight. The monotonous whiteness and the hum of the machines running, the beeping of the symbols on the screen still showing negative signs as he searched for traces of the Wither Storm.

The air reeked of negative star power, dripping like the disgusting black coffee that Nexus had seen these mechanics gulping down like animals before, back when he was Moon.

The tapping is getting louder and louder. Nexus tapped furiously on the keyboard. 

Why was everything he needed always so far out of his reach?

His fingers scraped lightly across the surface, the bones glinting in the moonlight and starlight. Nothing came out of it, and Ruin was nowhere to be found, probably hiding in their box, or clinging to Dark Sun like a starving dog is willing to flipping its belly over to anyone who would feed it in order to escape Nexus’s presence.

Why such a pathetic leech existed, Nexus had no idea what their Creator was thinking when hí alternative dad let that monster live.

Boredom crept into Nexus’s viscera, heavy and toxic like cyanide. The emptiness was so painful that it made his hands itch, making him want to smash the lab into a pile of dust and throw his damned staring hat away.

Nexus needed something to relieve stress, and with no gaming equipment around (he ignored his thoughts screaming that no one would play with him…); smashing Ruin’s circuit board over and over again was the only way to ease the pain of the negative star power on his increasingly broken body.

It honestly wasn’t personal. Nexus thought boredly, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. The chair creaked as he spun around.

Nexus didn’t actually hate the two-colored clown as much as they perceived, and while Nexus certainly loathed and disgusted by them, watching Ruin whimper and cry at his feet was only fun the first dozen times before things started to fall into the tedium of routine.

***

[“Hey, Ruin. Remember that game you made me play before?” Nexus’s footsteps slowly moved closer to the red and blue clown struggling pathetically on his hands and knees, his colors ragged like a rag doll with oil and blood oozing from his joints. “Tic tac toe? Or 1,2,3? How does it feel when it's applied to you now, huh?

Nexus grabbed Ruin's rays, bending them sideways so hard they were forced to look into his eyes, to look closely at the monster they had created.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Nexus laughed dryly, the dull, oxidized ruby ​​staring at the hate-filled greens before them. Even now, they still hold that arrogant pity as if they were above him.

"I have gone through so much pain because of you." Nexus whispered. Ash-colored claws traced the rims of their eyes, gliding through the butterfly lashes, enjoying the gasps and pearly tears they couldn't hold back as he dug his nails deeper.

The pathetic scream of the leech, as Nexus dug deep into their eye sockets, crushing the stalks to break out the fat black oil is so exhilarating.

The sound of something breaking like an egg is like music to his ears.

“Shhh… It’s okay… Okay…”

Nexus chuckled, holding them struggling in his arms, as if the thing before him was nothing more than a kitten. He could easily have ordered them to sit still, but this was more fun. Knowing that no matter how hard they tried, they would still be dragonflies, allowing him to pluck their wings and pin their tails to the wall.

Nothing personal. Nexus thought blandly as he flicked the shiny oil off his hand and dropped Nexus to the ground after he finished playing.

The metal echoed dryly in the vast hallway. The soundproofing here was excellent, though no matter how much Ruin screamed, no one would come to their rescue.

Nexus would love hearing that leech screaming for help someday.  

Black droplets bloomed like roses, dripping profusely on the gray floor of the sterile lab, splashing onto the leech’s brick pants, onto the tips of Nexus’ shoes.

Filthy. Ruin’s colors are reflected in Nexus’s irises. All Ruin had to pay today was the price they had to pay for the lives they had taken.

And if that was the punishment and Nexus was destined to be the executioner, then who was he to disobey?]

***

Perhaps he had gone too far, but even that Wrong Sun had appeared from wherever holes they were working and asked him to keep his toys tidy and not break them too soon.

Anyway, Nexus yawned, his hand coming to his mouth. His joints were stiff, the system constantly reporting that he was on the verge of running out of battery, the result of working tirelessly without sleep for about two weeks straight.

His fan was running too loud and the copper inside the circuit board was so hot that he could feel it when Nexus pressed his hand against the plastic outside.

Guess even though this body was a machine, his personality chip would still be overloaded if he didn't get enough rest.

It wasn't like he didn't know that. He just… Nexus knew he should try to take better care of himself, especially when there was no one nagging him or trying to get him into bed anymore.

No more pats on the head of his hat, no more tugging on his sleeves when they realized he was too sleepy. No more whispers waking him up every morning, no more hands holding his cheeks to check if Nexus's internal systems were okay.

The yellow shadow still hovered over Nexus's shoulder, the trembling concern lingering in their eyes like ghosts of memories. And Earth's laughter, moss-colored eyes looking at him with the loving trust of an old time. 

Nexus's eyes twitched, wine-red staring into space before he grabbed a piece of incorrect equation from the table and crumpled it tightly and threw it hard on the ground.

Nexus didn't need anyone, he was fine, he was still fine.

He was going to die soon anyway, wasn't he? Why the hell should he care about the people he left behind anyway?

They hated him, they all stopped caring about him a long time ago.

No one bother try to—

If the love he had tried to give them was so easy to cool off, wouldn’t it be better for Nexus to make a big fuss before he left forever?

He’s tired. Nexus is tired of caring. It would be more fun for them all to disappear in a flash, so he wouldn’t remember or get mentioned about it ever again…

“Is that really what you believe?”

Sun’s soft voice made him turn around in surprise.

Not SUN, the one who was wrong. That cruel bastard who always acted like he knew it all would sneer if he saw him in such an emotional state. The silver eyes were the same, but if the one in front had the softness of a lily and the clarity of a lake reflecting the moon on a clear night, the one behind was the roughness of rusted silver and the boiling surface of a stormy day.

“How did you get in here?” His back stiffened, his fingers curled together. The bones glistened, wrapped in fine cloth and black silk gloves.

Everything was suddenly too hot and cold, and the light was too bright. They stood in the doorway, awkwardly, bewildered, dirty and greasy as if they had just cried, the silver plating constantly rubbing against each other, as if it wanted to distort their knuckles.

Their backs were hunched, their rays were so pale it was almost silver. They looked so small, and sad, as if they would shatter if he actually touched them.

They still looked at him like the moon and the stars.

“I just wanted to know if you were okay,” Sun replied awkwardly, the bells chiming like bright music to the place where, though free, it was no different than another prison.

Just by these words, and all the sharp words Nexus wanted to say, stuck in his throat.

All the anger, all the bitterness, was rising and rising, like a deflated balloon, like a wave toppling a sand castle on the sea.

They trembled and Nexus wanted nothing more than to get closer.

Reaching forward to hold them and comfort them like how good of a brother he had been. Like he always did and Sun rarely does. 

But could he still touch them when there was no turning back? When the bond Nexus had desperately built in the first place, ironically it was him to destroy it all?

It hurt, because no matter what he said, no matter how he lied to himself, Nexus still wanted to throw himself into Sun's arms and hold them and let them comfort him like the little brother he was.

The warmth he had lost since that dream, only came alive when he caressed Sun.

Nexus hated Sun as much as he had loved them, that even when all that remained between them were broken like pieces of glass, Nexus couldn't help but pick them up carefully.

Why did Sun have to exist? What did he do to deserve this bastard?

He wasn't ready to meet Sun. Nexus still didn’t want to see Sun again, not since the last failed kidnapping.

He wanted him to be the one in control, he wanted him to surprise Sun, to make them hate and fear him and not catch him off guard like that. He wanted to hurt Sun, tear Sun apart, terrorize them enough to when he looked into their eyes, he would see him there,  and not some broken mirror reflection of a dead monster.

The drops of oil were sticky on his fingers. Nexus touched his face, tracing the wet cracks on the plate. The laughter he let out echoed and creaked along the cracks in the wall, dulling the echoes with each beat.

“Okay?” His mouth twisted painfully, he couldn’t help but hurl harsh words like a hurt child. “Isn’t it all thanks to you? Wasn’t it your pathetic bodyguard’s attempt to shoot me? And now you dare.. to show up here? Are you serious?! Are you even real???”

They fell silent. Nexus could imagine the gears turning in their heads, as they decided that instead of taking the blame on themselves, they would blame the outside world, and on him. As always and always, the good Sun did nothing wrong, and the bad one was always Nexus.

I’ve always been a burden to you, haven’t I, Sun?

“You tried to kidnap me.” They said stiffly, looking at them with naked, blunt truth.

He dodged their eyes. It was like diamonds and cold steel, the way their words nested in his skull, like knives twisting into Nexus’s ribs. When all he felt was the coldness that Sun reserved for those they accepted had gone too far to be saved.

He didn’t want love, he just wanted recognition.

But the Nexus Sun knew had always been a crybaby.

Don’t leave me…

“And yet, you’re still whole.” Nexus scoffed. He moved closer, staring at the silver bell hanging from their wrist and the scarlet tassels. 

The waves were crashing somewhere. It felt like his head was underwater and his eyes were looking through the foam. Nexus could taste the salt and grit of sand, the wind that smelled of coconut and dry sun. The meowing of cats and the scent of dinner someone was urging him on to.

Nexus hadn’t known how much he longed for the old days until he’d rather eat broken glass than go back.

“You can’t be here. The Sun I knew would never have been smart enough to break in here alone.” Nexus was cold, he quickly noticed the incomplete details of his room. ‘and cared enough to come looking for me.’ The latter part was bitterly left unfinished.

“So what are you? Some kind of hallucination, some remnant of my old subconscious trying to tell me I’m on the wrong path? Or a dream? Because I don’t care. I’ve had enough ghosts telling me that. What difference could a Sun like you make?”

He almost screamed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Sun by the neck and break it, to tear the plastic plate to shreds and let them sink into oblivion.

He wanted Sun to stop looking at him as if all they wanted was for him to come home.

Because he wouldn’t. There was no home for Nexus to return to anymore.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just wish to meet you and then I am here.”

Quietly, gently wrap around Sun’s legs like the tail of a calico cat. Their voices always sounded like they were about to crack, like they were about to cry. They moved closer, bowing their heads to look at him. It was funny, he was always taller than them, but Sun was always the one looking down at him.

“I don’t know if I’m real or not. But either way, I’m happy.”

“Why?” Nexus sneered, jabbing his hand into their chest. “Because I haven’t grabbed you and plugged you into the machine, turned you into something usable like you did to me right away?” Nexus ignored the pain and betrayal that sparkled in their lily eyes. “Or used negative star power to torture you like your poor Moony did?” His voice grew louder and louder, so loud that tears came to his eyes, so loud that his voice seemed to crack in two like them.

There was something boiling in Nexus’s chest, and he couldn’t help but take it all out on Sun.

‘Why am I always the one who has to comfort you? When will it be my turn to be held?’

The child in Nexus was sobbing in despair.

“Because I got to see you.”

Nexus was taken aback. That… wasn’t the answer he expected. That was the answer he wanted, but—

Should he care when this was just a dream? But if he didn’t care, why didn’t he do anything when Sun wiped his tears?

Their faces were soaked too, oil dripping down their lapels. If it were the real Sun, they would probably scream, and spend all their time cleaning up and finding new clothes. If it were the real Sun, they would probably run away from his sight, looking at him with tired disappointment like everything he did was their fault. And it was true.

Nexus hated Sun. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have gone crazy. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have been living in fear from the first day he woke up. If they hadn’t always compared him to that damned Old Moon, he probably wouldn’t have felt so broken every time he looked in the mirror.

Was it fair that he was always the one tiptoeing around Sun? When he had no sin other than being Moon’s code?

Why was I always the one protecting you when you were supposed to be protecting me? Aren’t you my big brother, Sun?

“I don’t care.” That was what he said. “I’ll kill you and wake up right now.” That was what he should have done.

But his eyes remained closed, and his nonexistent heart still pounded lively in his core. Nexus still didn’t move, his cowardice making him enjoy the way they caressed his face so gently and carefully, checking for every wound like the old day when they’d do whenever he hurt, no matter if it’s big or small.

It was warm. Nexus pressed his cheek against Sun’s neck.

Has anyone cared about him like that since that white-haired bitch kicked him out of space? Even Solar now looked at him with a bitter look, half wanting to fix him, half wanting to tear him apart.

“Why aren’t you Solar?” Nexus grabbed Sun’s ashen hand desperately to not fall to his knees. “Why do I still hurt so much because of you?” His chest felt like it was being squeezed, making it hard for him to breathe. 

Solar was easier. They were easy to play with, talk with, easy to love, easy to keep. Although the last part probably wasn’t true for a long time.

Loving Solar was easy, they always accepted Nexus, always played along with any of his selfish or fleeting thoughts. They never refused, never were weak enough to need his protection, never left him.

But they did. They died, and in the process of him trying to save them, Nexus went crazy too.

Only Sun stayed. And he was the one who left.

Nexus hated how warm he missed his brother's embrace. He hated that this dream was everything he wished for in reality. He hated that he fell for Sun so easily as if he had never left.

He hated that choosing to love Sun meant he would be chained up again.

Sun's love was kind, but it was also as harsh as touching the thorns of a rose with your bare hands.

And Nexus couldn't bear to bleed any longer.

"I hate you. I hate you. It's all your fault." Nexus kept talking as he clinged on Sun tighter, when he couldn't tell if it was their tears or his, when he didn't care if everything turned into a nightmare right now or if he woke up.

Reality had long since shattered in Nexus’s eyes.

“It’s so mess up.” Nexus laughed in pain, clinging to the soft hem of Sun’s shirt, smelling the familiar antiseptic and powdery scent of lavender and vanilla. When he cried and the hand that patted his shoulder was a barrier protecting Nexus from the world.

“You never held me this voluntarily and this was the only thing I miss about you.” Why was the sun always the center of everything with all the planets revolving in its orbit? Why was Nexus always get caught in Sun’s way? 

“Why can’t you love me for who I am?” 

Nexus sobbed, holding onto his home and prison, ignoring the pain from the fan running too loud and him being overwhelmed. 

“Why am I always a monster to you Sun?” The question came from a younger, more innocent version of him, the one Nexus had killed to become himself again.

“Tell me Sun, am I that terrible to love?”

The short question scratched sobbingly in the air, mixed with their soft sobs of apology.

“I loved you and when I needed you the most you left me! Why did you leave me?” Nexus struggled out of Sun’s arms, only to be held back by Sun’s pleading grip. By Sun’s tighter hug, by the passionate words of love they whispered in his ear.

“Let me go! I’m tired of you, I don’t need you anymore!”

“I hate you.”

“Why can’t you just do what I say and leave me alone? Why do you have to love me but treat me like this?!”

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all!”

“I’m so tired… I’m so tired Sun…”

Like hitting a brick wall, no answer came back to Nexus no matter how loudly he screamed or how hard he pounded his hand on Sun’s shoulder. Did he hurt Sun? A vague thought crossed Nexus’s lips before it shattered like crushed pearls.

Like one man standing on the shore, and another had sunk deep into the sea.

‘Why don’t you jump in with me?’

The darkness gently embraced Nexus, welcoming him to wake up still on the same desk.

The cooling fan whirred, the beeping noises signaling some new developments of interest for him to study on the screen.

Ruin had returned, the leech limping, looking at him with confusion and feigned concern.

“You’ve been asleep for a while, are you okay Nexus?”

“Go away…”

“Huh?” The clown’s face was filled with pitiful confusion, the buttercup yellow still flickering just beyond Nexus’s vision. “I said go away!!”

He threw Ruin against the wall. The rumbling noise sent a bot rolling to the floor. The monster groaned pitifully, then hobbled up, clutching its shoulder, walking quickly through the cuts, leaving a look of horror and hatred behind. “Of course Nexus.”

The icy loneliness whispered like a ghost to the moon animatronic standing in the middle of the room, still unable to stop shaking from shock.

Papers flew everywhere like paper airplanes, a ghost looked back at him, their harmless single-legged smiles like a sad crescent moon looking at Nexus.

‘Why don’t you look back?’

[leandra-kinard]

So, I have thoughts about this. Because this is a concept that you can/have to look at from multiple angles.

From Tommy's angle, for example, you can understand it, considering some of the (more or less vaguely implied and some confirmed) history of the character. It's pretty clear he was hurt before. It's also clear (canonically) he has hurt someone before because he didn't know who he was and what he wanted. Mix that together, and you get deep-rooted insecurities and fears that make him project them onto Buck. It's not correct, it's not great, but it's understandable as a trauma/struggle response.

Now, if we stay in the text, there should be Buck's angle too. And this is where it gets a bit tricky, because Buck often truly does not know what he wants. He is impulsive and impressionable (so ADHD of him), and, while probably deep down having the right idea, often follows the lead of others.

He understood Josh's speech, realized the depth of his feelings for Tommy, and then over-compensated by asking Tommy to move in so soon (and into a much too small loft for two grown men, one of which has a Muay Thai setup and a garage at his own place, come on Buck!).

And now he heard Tommy's position, and I think it would track for him to at least partially doubt himself and his own intentions. While still feeling that yearning for Tommy, the depth of his affection towards him, he would also doubt himself and wonder if maybe Tommy is right and he has to figure himself out some more, has to kick off his training wheels and fit some kind of unwritten standard of experience in gay sex and gay dating.

Narratively, outside of the character's inner workings, however, this all REQUIRES a resolution. It REQUIRES Buck to realize that no, he does NOT need to fuck 10 more men and go on casual dates to know where his heart is leading him. And it REQUIRES Tommy to realize he's been punishing himself for mistakes of the past, and been reaffirming old trauma that everybody leaves him and he's not worthy of other people's love and faithfulness.

With how the episode ended, if we hadn't gotten all of those interviews and Lou now filming SWAT again and all that, we could still have hoped for that resolution. But this seems to be a final decision, no resolution planned in the foreseeable future. As so often, with so many other abandoned plotlines.

911 doesn't care about coherent writing and consistent stories, apparently.

Anyway, since this conflict is interesting and - despite what some of you have expressed - not OOC in my opinion, I'm probably gonna use it to write a fix-it. I can do better than Tim, who, I hope, steps on a lego at least once a week, barefoot, from now on.

The reason I don't like "I'm not your last, I'm your first" is because it perpetuates this very common idea that you have to have a ton of experience in order to know what you want. I'm not judging the people to whom this sexual ethic applies, I'm just tired of being told it's the only correct way to experience relationships and sex. It alienates the people who have thriving, lasting relationships with the first person they date or the first person they have sex with. Notwithstanding that Tommy isn't Buck's first, just his first man, and I don't really see why that makes a difference.

[lilac-hecox]

honestly just more damangela would be amazing, but if you do hurt/comfort type fics could you do one about anxiety around going public about their relationship maybe? i need a really well written one like that for my soul

also i think it’s so cool you’re doing this. voting is important!

Damien/Angela - Hard Launch

--

“So, is it awful?” Angela asks, peeking at Damien through her fingers.

The nerves are swarming inside her, making Angela feel like she’s shaking even though her body is perfectly still. This is sort of how she felt when she first started performing. Her first few times on stage were fun, exhilarating, but she shook with nerves the entire time.

Before Damien answers, his hand finds hers. He covers the hand she has spread out on the table with his own. Damien’s hand is warm, a comforting weight. Angela lets out a nervous little sigh.

“It’s social media. It’s a mixed bag, as usual.”

Angela groans softly and hides her face. Damien’s thumb rubs over the back of her hand.

“Hey, I mean I see lots of support, but also people saying they knew it, and people assuming we’re pulling a prank.”

“I’m gonna kill Shayne and Courtney,” Angela mutters. “They’ve ruined the art of a hard launch.”

Damien laughs.

“So, no one is mad?”

“Not really. Not at us, at least. More so they’re fighting with each other. Which is common in fandoms.”

Angela finally lets her hand drop from her face and she watches as Damien locks his phone, setting it down on the top of the cafeteria table they are sitting at. It’s a break between shoots and the cast and crew roams the building. They don’t really need to be careful here because Smosh has known about them, has been aware. Angela is pretty sure Nate wanted to cry when she and Damien let him know they were in a relationship. Ian had kept a tally board on his office’s whiteboard attached to the wall until Anthony told him it was probably a bad idea to even jokingly track their employees who have started dating or got married.

“No regrets?” Damien asks, his voice is smooth and calm, but when Angela looks at him, she can see where his features flicker with the hint of nerves. His eyes watch her face, searching for a cue, something he admittedly already struggles with.

Angela takes Damien’s free hand -the one he had been using to hold the phone- in her own. Her palm set in his and her fingers curling around his wrist.

“None. I’m nervous, but I don’t regret it. I don’t like the idea of hiding us.”

“Think of it more like we were keeping us safe, guarding something precious, like a jewel or something, you know?”

Angela smiles fondly at Damien. “More nerd shit.”

“Hey, you’ve been my girlfriend for a year now. You know I like my nerd shit.”

“Yeah,” she says, “and I like that about you. I like a lot about you.”

Damien brings her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it.

Angela lets out a laugh, even as her cheeks flush just a little.

She’s happy. He makes her happy. Damien is sweet, kind, hilarious. They are both so busy that neither of them ends up feeling neglected because in ways they are both workaholics. Smosh brings them together, anchoring them back to each other, and the fact of how busy they are, when they’re together, it’s even more special, the time feeling all the more meaningful.

“Even if stuff gets bad for whatever reason,” Damien says, “I’m here for you. I always will be.”

Angela gets up, walks around the table and crouches close to Damien. She leans in quickly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his mouth. Damien hums happily, smoothing a hand over the back of her hair affectionately.

“I know that” Angela says, “And I’m right here for you too.”

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO THEIR INJURIES ( part i. )

ଓ.° ・ thoma ･ itto ･ childe. genshin impact. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ thoma

"i'm okay, i'm okay! i promise."

the way thoma winces when you dress his injuries betrays a forced smile. you study him, brows furrowed in both concern and distress-- concern at his condition, distress at his failed attempts to downplay it.

you want to say a thousand things-- ask him why he's trying to hide the pain, what happened-- but the lump in your throat renders you speechless and the tears that threaten to form shift focus elsewhere. you inhale, shaky-- exhale, and look away from him. he doesn't need another problem-- and it's stupid to cause him worry because you're on the verge of crying.

it's hard to steel yourself when thoma has always been quick to pick up on your emotions and take them to heart. he notices how you struggle to pick up the antiseptic, takes one glance at your face and the way the tears well up, and perhaps that is the most painful of all.

his hands cup your cheeks so gently that you are afraid the tears will spill. how wonderfully loved and safe you feel in his hold.

"please don't cry," thoma reassures you, and you almost think you hear his voice quiver, "please. i'm okay, i really am."

"i'm not." you tell him that, but you are, and now he is, too. you imagine you both look so silly right now, crying and fretting over each other like it's the end of the world. "my allergies are bad."

"oh." thoma laughs through his tears, pinches your cheeks playfully and in meaning of you're okay and so am i. i am grateful. "so are mine."

"we're really bad at lying." you mumble, and he hums in agreement as he kisses your forehead. you place your hands over his, find closure in the idea that he is still with you, here and now. safe.

"thank you for coming back to me." you whisper, and under the stars, thoma presses his lips against yours in need.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ itto

itto, you've come to notice, gets hurt more often than one would think. a daring warrior that throws himself entirely into battle, caution and safety disregarded in the midst of adrenaline rushes. he comes home to you with wounds littered across his body; the cheeky smile on his face that appears at the sight of you almost makes the ache in your heart abate. almost.

he tends to forget about the pain, he tells you, so it's okay. he notices the way your jaw clenches at the sentence, how your words of protest die instantly. something in your chest tightens as if someone wrapped their hand around your heart and squeezed and squeezed until the words of innocence fell on deaf ears. because there are only so many times you can see the love of your life injured, and you are losing count.

how many times have you replayed this act before? an unending cycle of hurt and healing over and over again, the scenes blurred and turned into one. you remember where each scar came from -- how you did everything to ensure his wellness, and how the injuries faded into scars to serve as a reminder.

your fingers brush over the gash on his temple. he winces, slightly, but maybe his pain is insignificant in comparison to what you're feeling.

"please be more careful." you say after a long silence. he nods solemnly, finds that his usual lighthearted words of comfort will not do in this situation.

itto leans forward.

"kiss it better?"

you laugh for the first time that night, indulge in his request. a gentle kiss pressed against his temple and the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist. he holds you closely, apologetic in his touch.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ childe

"i almost think you do this on purpose."

childe grins. you aren't entirely wrong-- but it's not like he tries to get hurt. it's more so that he enjoys the thrill of lethal situations and will jump straight into one for the sake of amusement and the yearning for acknowledgement that he can handle it. that's a bit different, he supposes, but he won't argue.

"i like the attention from you."

"i know you do." comes your flat tone, and you gently tap his chin as if that'll make his grin go away ( surprise: it doesn't ). "have you considered that you could just ask for attention instead of doing...this?"

ah. well, that makes it go away, and now you're faced with a very convincing pout. you sigh; he smiles at your reaction.

he never has the intention of worrying you with small cuts and bruises, not at all. he's completely fine, save for some discomfort and aches here and there, and while he truly does enjoy the attention and care, he's not one to cause you distress on purpose. ( the teasing is fun, though. he can admit that much. )

his expression softens as you inspect the bandage on his arm, fingers sliding down the cloth as a means to make sure it hasn't loosened anywhere. slowly, your hand meets his and he squeezes it tightly in reassurance.

"i'm sorry." his apology is genuine; it always is when this happens. "i'm alright though-- see? nearly at a hundred percent again because of you. couldn't do it without my favorite nurse."

"childe." you poke his forehead with your free hand, but he responds by grabbing it. "if i was your nurse, i would personally fire you."

he's grinning again. how annoying-- is what you want to think, but when he presses kisses against your knuckles, the touch light as a feather but heavy in meaning, you can't help but smile.

--until he talks again.

"you couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

"i know. it's annoying."

his laughter rings in the air, and you admit your defeat when you kiss him.

[smilesatdawnmain]

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 7) (Interactive Story)

Tug a war!!

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal Au

Ships: Shadow Peach

The string burned in his grasp. The feeling of heat, for a being without physical form, was disorienting. Despite the sensation, Macaque powered through and pressed his heels into the ground. As a soul, a ghost, his abilities on this plane were now restricted.

However, if he knew anything about Soul mates, there was a high chance there was at least one thing he could still have a semblance of control over. The connection between their souls. If it could pull him around- it could pull Wukong around!!  

Digging his heels downward, anger surged in him. He heaved with all his might, feeling the string grow taut, sharply coiling up and against Wukong’s own chest. The King gagged when his leisure flight was pulled short, frozen in mid air as he felt something sharp tugging him back. 

He spun around, his eyes scanning the area for whatever had grabbed him. But there was nothing there, and when he checked his chest, there was no physical force holding him in place. "What is going on?" he twisted and turned, trying to shake off the strange sensation.

Macaque struggled and wrestled with Wukong, as if trying to wrangle a raging bull. "You infuriate me!" He shouted at Wukong in frustration. How could this man have such a strong hold on him? How could he be his soulmate? How dare he hurt him- leave him- kill him!!

“Let go of me!” Macaque wailed, “Move on from me! Fuck you! I hate you!

 The idea of being stuck, forced to follow close behind as Wukong went about his day to day. It was disheartening- infuriating even, watching Wukong live in peace in their home when it was his fault in the first place that things were like this. How dare Wukong return here after everything he did! After everything Macaque went through to ensure this place was okay after he left. 

"You're pathetic. You're awful! You never listen to anyone. You act impulsively and then act so pitiful when you get in trouble for it. But you never learn from the impulsive things you do!" Macaque barked. Seething, he felt his own ears flicker and glow. 

The two Diyu collectors stepped back, eyes wide when they realized what he was about to do. With a feral roar, he yanked back the string with every ounce of strength in his tormented soul, determined to unleash all of his pent-up rage and fury upon them

Wukong's screams are cut short as he is violently ripped from his cloud, plummeting towards the unforgiving earth below. In a matter of seconds, he slams into the ground with bone-crunching force, sending shockwaves of agony through his entire body. “Gah!”

Macaque's rage burned hot as he yanked on the golden thread with all his might, forcing the still writhing Wukong upward, eyes wide and dazed. "You selfish, arrogant bastard!" he snarled, pouring years of pent-up frustration and hurt into each vicious tug. "You left me behind! You chose that human over me! And now you have the audacity to keep me tethered to you?!"

With each pull, Wukong jerked in the air, bewildered by the invisible force yanking him about. His golden eyes darted around frantically, searching for the source.

Wukong flailed in the air, gasping as he was yanked about by an unseen force. His golden eyes widened in panic and confusion as he searched frantically for the source, eyeing flickering gold to seek the forces that was doing this. He bodily twisted and turn, unknowingly fighting Macaque’s tugging.

“Uh…” The Diyu collectors shrunk a little, pale and glancing at one another. “We should… uh- we should go,” they concluded.

Macaque turned to them sharply, “What??” he hissed. "Hey! You can't just leave!" Macaque barked at them, unable to follow due to the basic "Leash" around his waist, which only let him get so far from Wukong as he was tugging it. So he dropped it for just a moment, leaving Wukong to be confused.

They sheepishly shrug, having no intention of sticking around if Wukong was on the alert for them. Their powers and glamors would only keep them hidden for so long at this rate. Honestly, they had no doubt with enough patience, Wukong might even just see his mate- maybe even touch him him as they were soul mates, which was unheard of, but hey, Wukong had done the impossible before, "Well technically we can. We have no idea how long this might take. We got other souls we gotta check on to see what is holding them up." a scroll formed between their fingers, a long list of names written up on it. They had been eager to snag the soul of Sun Wukong’s mate, but they would have to cut their loses. They couldn’t take him if he had the tether. "We'll just mark you down as "In the process, needs closure" and we'll check in when we have the time. We'll sense when you are released from that tether so don't worry, we'll come get ya."

Macaque's face contorted in fury as the Diyu collectors began to fade away. How dare they-! All this and they wouldn’t even- well, not like he wanted to go with them, but stilL! "You can't just leave me here!" he snarled, lunging towards them. But his efforts were futile - his hands passed right through their dissolving forms.

"Sorry, pal," one of them called, their voice echoing as they disappeared. "Duty calls. We'll be back...eventually. Try to find closure or whatever in the meantime!"

And then they were gone, leaving Macaque alone with the thrashing Wukong. The Moon Monkey let out a roar of frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. The injustice of it all burned in his chest like molten lava.

Wukong was still dazed from the sudden pull that had yanked him out of the sky. As he struggled to stand, he tugged at the string between them, not realizing that it had tangled and shortened their distance.

Macaque let out a surprised yelp as he was tugged forward and lost his balance. The two of them struggled for a few moments, each trying to regain control of their own footing. To onlookers, it may have appeared as if Wukong was fighting against an invisible force. In reality, it was two souls unknowingly battling against the other's grip, connected by an unbreakable string.

“Let me go!” Macaque growled. Could Wukong even do that? Did either of them have the power to break the connection of a soul mate??

…Soul mate…

He was Wukong’s soul mate. It brought tears to his eyes, as much as he wished it didn’t. It hurt. Wukong was meant to be his, and in return, he was meant to be Wukong’s, so how did this happen?

He stumbled closer to Wukong, using the string to draw himself nearer. “Idiot… Idiot..I was yours. I was your Moon…!” he sobbed.

As Macaque stood before the King, he watched as the ruler searched and searched in vain. Little did the King know that his beloved Moon was right in front of his face. In that moment, Macaque resigned himself to never being seen by Wukong again. He stopped pulling, stopped fighting, stopped trying.

This was his life now, wasn’t it?

His punishment.

Did he want Wukong to see him? Did he not...? Even if Wukong could see or hear him, what would it change?

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[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life—the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[mickeym4ndy]

I know Mickey said he likes them sweet in season 1 and yes this is mostly true because Ian can be very sweet particularly in the early seasons.

but also Mickey never would’ve been so down bad for Ian from the get go if Ian wasn’t also a bit of a messy asshole who was able to give as good as he got and was just as flawed and fucked up as Mickey. and Ian wouldn’t have been as interested in Mickey if Mickey wasn’t also the messy asshole he was. Ian was immediately smitten with the wild angry guy in front of him.

I mean they literally started fucking because they were beating each other up and got turned on by it.

[triglycercule]

horror having crazy irrational thoughts about food,,,,, like bro thinks there's poison in the cupcakes. someone snuck razor blades into the bread and once he takes a bit it'll cut him up. somehow there's mold growing inside the bananas and when he eats it the mold colony is gonna start growing on HIM and then he'll become a moldy skeleton and oh god and oh god and he is paranoid but hes so hungry.... BUT WHAY ABOUT BUGS IN THR FOOD,,,, BUT HES HUNGRY.... a struggle it truly is

probably doesnt help that dust and killer could feed into it. killer could make off hand remarks on how he snuck razor blades into the meat horror's attempting to eat (to fuck around with horror. just some eeeever so slight psychological anguish. and also because killer would just be the type of casually carry those around. what for you may ask well decide for yourself) and then immediately horror's mood drops and he storms out of the dining room. dust and horror go on a sweet little picnic in a beautiful field and its all beautiful and inconspicuous but dust made the food and horror knows that look in his eyes. horror knows dust was muttering something about chemicals a day or 2 ago. the food is poisoned isnt it??? and dust just smiles and motions for horror to eat it

[demigod-shenanigans]

I’ll answer the Harley stuff first because I may or may not have a snippet for the Piper one ;)

So, I feel like in Fate verse (I’m just gonna call it that, series title for that series of oneshots is “fate and other technicalities”), Harley’s siblings (especially Nyssa) tried to make sure he didn’t see Leo when things were really bad early on. They let him know Leo was hurt, because the whole Leo blowing himself up and Jason carrying into the infirmary missing a leg and covered in ash was kind of a big deal that would have been hard to miss, and they let him know that Leo is going to be okay, but they don’t want Harley going to the infirmary while Leo is still out cold.

Harley insists he wants to see him and probably sneaks in. Curses at poor sleep-deprived Jason that he should have protected Leo better but Jason already feels like it’s his fault and him just agreeing that it’s his fault actually doesn’t help Harley feel better so he just kind of pats Jason’s arm awkwardly and apologizes. They just kind of sit there together for a bit and Harley squeezes Leo’s hand and tells him to wake up and that he’s stupid and then darts out again (it’s all a lottt for such a little kid)

I also like to think that the ring/fold-out crutches were Harley’s idea. Hc that maybe he had an injured leg at some point during the whole Hephaestus cabin curse business and remembers how annoying it was figuring out where to put the crutches when he wasn’t using them, so he didn’t want Leo to have to deal with that, and all of his siblings come together to help to make the crutches.

He’s the one presenting them to Leo totally claiming he made them all by himself and Nyssa lightly raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs and goes “I guess the others helped, too” and Leo just laughs and ruffles his hair

A lot of what you’re asking regarding Piper will be saved for tchig, and I can’t go into that too much for spoiler reasons, but I do have a Piper WIP that’s a sort of companion fic to tchig and takes place at the same time as Leo’s little… trip, so I’ll share a preview from that! (Obviously this takes place bit later than we are in the current tchig timeline, so there’s some slight spoilers in this snippet)

“The demigod you’re trying to reach is currently outside of my service area. Please try again later,” a tinny voice sounded through the rainbow.

“What do you mean, he’s outside your service area?” Piper asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.

She was trying not to cry.

Not being able to reach Leo wouldn’t have freaked her out on most days—he’d told her he needed some space to process things, and as much as she wished that wasn’t the case, she understood—but today of all days, it was just too much. “Thank you for choosing the Iris Messaging service,” the voice from the rainbow continued, ignoring her question. It was fucking recording. “If you would like to end the call, please press red. If there is anyone else you’d like to contact-”

Piper did cry, then. Forget not crying in front of the stupid rainbow goddess. She couldn’t help the sobs building in her chest. Couldn’t help the way her thoughts spiraled. What if something had happened to Leo? What if, after everything they’d been through, she’d lost him, too? If she’d gotten him back just to immediately have him ripped away from her again?

A little over three months ago, Piper had cradled Jason’s lifeless body in her arms after a mission gone awry.

She’d gotten better at dealing with the grief and the memories since Hazel and Frank had gotten her in contact with a therapist—a child of Bacchus that Piper didn’t have to hold anything back from. Talking to her helped. But a few months weren’t enough to heal the kind of grief that came with losing a section of your heart.

Piper hadn’t loved Jason the way she’d initially thought she did, but she had loved him. He’d been her best friend. When they’d lost Leo, having Jason to hold her through it had been the only thing keeping Piper sane. Jason, who was a terminal optimist and believed against all odds that Leo was okay—that he had to be okay, because he was Leo, and there was nothing he couldn’t do if he set his mind to it.

And Jason had been right. Leo was okay. But he hadn’t lived to be reunited with him.

Leo had taken it the hardest out of anyone. They were all grieving in their own ways, but Leo had shut down completely. Piper hadn’t seen him cry much before it had happened. Leo joked his way through most situations with worryingly practiced ease. To an extent, he’d still done that with Jason’s death. But he’d also sobbed into Piper’s shoulder until his voice failed him. He’d cried a lot during the weeks he’d stayed with her, and more in most Iris Messages after.

Piper couldn’t imagine what it was like to only realize you were in love with someone after they’d been ripped away from you for good.

But she was grieving, too. She would have held Leo through it all, if only he had let her.

So! If anyone would like to be distracted/cheered up a little please feel free to send me some short valgrace/lost trio prompt and I’ll try to write a drabble or do some headcanons or something. Sfw stuff only please but otherwise I’m good with pretty much anything request-wise