#The optimism is less understandable now

[amerasdreams]

Jason being full of optimism yet bc that's him

And Jason crashing and burning bc that's also him

I love you 💕

[occamstfs]

Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all. 

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace. 

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake. 

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself. 

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning. 

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault.  Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right? 

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

 Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it. 

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him. 

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates. 

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord. 

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate. 

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model. 

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow. 

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

[hearts-are-connected]

Dang it, I love this ship and I love the enemies to lovers trope. I get that a lot of people see them as a surrogate father and daughter relationship, but it feels like a been there/done that kinda thing.

As much as I love that trope, I'm also a little tired of it. There's only so much Last of Us style found family I take after seeing it for so many years.

The thing I love about VaultGhoul or Ghoulcy is the idea of Lucy breaking down of Cooper's walls while he helps build hers up.

Is he incredibly cruel to her and those around him in the first season? Yes, extremely

Does he need to chill out and find some of his humanity that's been buried under 200+ years of wasteland survival and bitterness? Yes

Who can bring that needed direction to his life while learning the ways of the new world she finds herself in? Lucy MacLean

I know that the canon ship of the show at this moment is Lucy and Maximus, and as much as I love him, I find the pairing obvious and kind of boring from a story telling perspective. I loved it on my first viewing, but upon re-watching the series, I wasn't as behind it as before. I see their relationship, kiss and all, as a kind of first fling for the both of them.

While it doesn't diminish the care they show one another, there's not a lot behind them as a couple. Now I know that some people might turn around to say how she and Cooper spent less time together than her and Max, but I guess the thing I look forward to is seeing what their relationship brings with the second season.

I feel like Max and Lucy will have a great friendship and I'm interested to see where the Brotherhood fits into their dynamic as well.

With Cooper though, I find his story so tragic, as it's supposed to be. He's your standard hardened survivor who only looks out for himself that's now stuck with the happy-go-lucky main character, however, she's not that character anymore by the end. She's still going to be the Lucy we love, but she's changed by the end. While not losing her compassion and some optimism, I think Cooper is going to bring out a harsher side to her as we saw when she bit off his finger.

I want to see her building up her walls and learning when to let them down. How to truly survive while still bringing her own energy to the wasteland and people around her. I want to see Cooper regaining some lost humanity while learning to truly care for another person again. To see the two of them as eventual equals in one another's eyes as they continue on their journey as reluctant allies.

I also want to say that I'm personally kind of tired of the 'age gap' argument. We have stories of teenagers falling in love with hundred year old vampires. So can we just drop the age gap thing?

As long as they're both consenting adults who understand what they're getting themselves into, who cares about an age gap.

Does it truly matter in the scheme of things when we're talking about a world with cryo-stasis and super mutants?

I personally don't think so.

I don't know if anyone will even bother reading this entire thing, and I know I went on a little long, but I wanted to write down my thoughts on the whole shipping situation with the Fallout TV show fandom at this moment.

I'm a VaultGhoul shipper and I can't wait to see where the second season takes our main trio of characters.

[emilys-bangs]

I have a request but I’d understand if you’re getting too many and you don’t want to do this one. I wanted to request a super soft fic like you wake up Emily in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep and you keep asking silly questions like ���would you still love me if I was a worm?” And she is super sleepy but tries to comfort you into falling asleep again and answering you as you want

This is the cutest thing ever I giggled

----

Midnight whispers | emily prentiss x reader

Tags: established relationship, reader being kinda annoying, fluff, endlessly sweet fluff u guys, no use of yn, use of petnames

Word count: 1.2k

It’s 3:47.

You know because it’s been less than two minutes since you’d last looked at the clock before closing your eyes, fruitfully hoping for the sweet relief of sleep. 

Shockingly, it doesn’t come.

Which doesn’t make sense, really, because you can feel the exhaustion in your bones and pressing down on your eyes. You’d been tossing and turning ever since you’d climbed into bed with Emily, your girlfriend falling fast asleep after she gave you a chaste kiss goodnight. You can hear her deep breathing right next to you and you’re slightly envious.

The room is dark, only a sliver of moonlight creeping in through the curtain providing sparse illumination. It’s reasonably cold, a light chill that has you covered beneath the blanket, and the air is still with the silence of midnight hours—all optimal conditions for you to comfortably fall asleep in, but it still evades you. Emily’s sleeping body provides warmth, too; her head is halfway onto your pillow, her slow breaths fanning across your neck.

Your eyes slide to her and you bite your lip. Should you wake her? You’re tired of wallowing in this misery for over—3:48 now—5 hours on your own, even if your sluggish brain struggles to justify how she could help. 

Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, her lashes dark and resting gently on her cheeks. She needs the sleep, you know she does, and some part of your heart resists waking her for your own selfish reasons.

But company is nice, even sleepy company, so you push aside the guilt and shake her gently.

“Emily,” you whisper.

Her brows furrow.

It takes a few more shakes and whispers of her name before her eyes crack open. Deep brown irises stare into yours, tired and hazy with sleep. 

“What?” She mumbles. Her hand clumsily reaches for yours; it’s cold. “You ’kay?”

Is it wrong that the rough warmth of her voice already makes your muscles relax? You bring her hand up to your lips, pressing an apology to the ridges of her knuckles.

“I’m okay.” You say, kind of feeling like the worst person in the world right now. “Just can’t sleep.”

Emily frowns deeper. “Nightmare?” She whispers, her eyes growing more alert.

“No, no,” you’re quick to reassure. The concern above her brow loosens, and her lashes flutter closed again. “Couldn’t sleep to begin with.” With her hand in yours, your lips find her temple.

“Drank too much coffee?” The rasp of her voice is muffled into your neck as you trail a few kisses to her cheekbone. You’re probably being insufferable, but she doesn’t pull away—though you begin to think that’s from the sluggishness of sleep more than anything.

“Just as much as you.”

Two cups, hers with an insulting amount of Splenda and yours with decidedly less.

Emily doesn’t reply. You lean back against your pillow and find her eyes closed again. The large t-shirt she’s wearing slips down her shoulder, exposes her pale skin that looks moonlit, smooth as ivory.

Your heart thumps softly against your ribs as you smile. “Hey Emily?”

She hums sleepily.

“Do you love me?”

The corner of her mouth curls upward. “You’re sleepin’ in my bed, amor.” The combination of her sleepy voice and the Spanish makes you melt into the mattress, a stupid heat in your cheeks.

You tuck your joint hands beneath your jaw. “But that could mean nothing.”

“Means everythin’.” She whispers. Her eyes are still closed, her mouth barely moving. You should leave her alone now, but you just want to talk to her when she’s like this; sleepy and lovely, her body warm in some places and cold in others, the hushed timbre of her voice calming your restless mind.

“So you do love me?”

“Mmhmm.” Emily hums. Bless her patience. Her fingers flex between yours and you lift them from their hiding place under your jaw, bringing her hand to your lips instead. Emily exhales through her nose, the sound lazy and content as she digs her face further into your pillow.

She’s drifting again, and you’re still wide awake. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You blurt, squeezing her fingers.

Emily’s eyes crack open. “You’d be a cute worm,” she slurs, the small indent of a dimple digging into her cheek. You grin and she shuffles closer, her shoulder touching yours, your heads softly knocking together, “You’d be a cute anythin’.”

Again, she avoids the question. “But would you love me?” You persist. Leaning further into her, you nuzzle your nose against hers, a stupid smile forming on your lips when she scrunches her face adorably, her eyes fluttering open again.

“I’d be head over heels for you.” Emily states, now leaning into you to nuzzle her nose into yours. “Our romance would be no less epic,” her words drift into a mumble as exhaustion takes her again, forcing her eyes shut.

Even half asleep, she’s a charmer. You stare a moment at her relaxed face, letting the warmth of it rush through your whole body. Her slow breaths fall against your upper lip, warm and rhythmic. 

“Do you think we’re in love in every universe?” You whisper. What is it with all these questions about love? “If I was a barista maybe, and you’d be enchanted by the color of my eyes as I gave you your coffee?” You muse, playing with her limp fingers. “Or if we’re both butterflies taking naps in the same flower—”

“Baby, please go to sleep,” Emily mumbles, her words slurring together adorably. She never calls you baby; your grin stretches wide. She untangles her fingers from yours and wraps her arm messily around your neck, bringing you into her chest. “I’ll hold ya, jus’ please sleep.” The words are lost in your hair.

You smile into her warm neck. “Oh, well, if you’ll hold me.” You tease softly, but there really is something so magical about feeling Emily’s chest rise and fall beneath yours. Hearing her steady pulse, her slow breaths, feeling her cold hand sleepily tangle in your hair. It’s easy, closing your eyes, and as she starts to drift, you feel yourself drift with her.

“Can I have a kiss?” You ask softly.

Emily nuzzles her lips into your forehead.

She’s so much softer like this, when she’s half awake. Emily is never harsh with you, but like this she’s completely unfiltered, stripped bare of her walls and her inhibitions, and you��re drunk on it, on her, on the fact that you get to see her like this.

Your eyes finally begin to grow heavy. Lashes fluttering shut, you breathe in Emily’s scent—the expensive lotion she’d rubbed into her skin before bed.

“Emily?” You whisper.

Silence rings in your ears. You try again.

“’Mily?” 

A breath comes out of her, exhale or sigh you don’t know. “Yeah, hon.” She mumbles.

You bury your face deeper into her neck, until you feel her slow pulse. “I’m so in love with you.” You admit to the softness of her skin. Think it might kill me one day.

“Mmm, ditto.”

It’s disgustingly cliche, but in her arms, her lips still against your forehead, it takes no time at all for sleep to finally steal you away. 4:00 comes and you’re both fast asleep, your body curled around Emily’s, her hand still in your hair.

Taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[petday]

your art is so so so so inspiring to me which is strange bc my style isnt very similar to yours at all. but it makes me happy to see your art, especially when you make art from things from childhood id forgotten about💫💫💫💫💫🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thanks. Your message and similar messages from others over the years inspired me to try to put into words why I draw 'nostalgic things'. I ended up writing a lot.

There was a period of time when I became cynical about being seen as an 'artist who reminds people of childhood' or a 'nostalgic artist'. I no longer feel that way but I will explain why. Some artists, who I like and respect, will sometimes mention 'nostalgia holding artist's growth back' and 'nostalgia causes learned helplessness.' But I feel differently.

Maybe I perceive time differently. I have lived long enough to witness cycles of 'what is valued, and what is not valued' repeated. For example, I loved what is now called 'Y2K' style, but during mid 2000s, for whatever reason it was derided as something to be left in the past, something embarrassing. "Aren't we glad we optimized things now, and they are 'sleeker' and less complex? Old things were childish, an embarrassing weakness for humans, we must advance and reach our ideal evolution." That became the common attitude. I felt pressure to have the same thoughts. I just couldn't make myself feel that way no matter what, though. Even with the increasing threats about, 'keep up with others or you won't ever develop positive social relationships!' I couldn't change my mind.

(If what is currently valued becomes devalued and then it becomes valuable after that… that's an odd cycle to me. For example, if we like bananas, even when bananas cannot be harvested, we still like them even though they occupy a smaller space in our minds but we don't deride them. Going even further, though, I sometimes wonder if it is possible for humans to eventually remove the 'devaluation' stage, particularly in art 'trends' as I am an artist. Whatever is considered valuable remains valuable. A counter arguement would be, 'no, the devaluation of the previous thing is exactly what causes the next thing to be valued, and then the cycle flows beautifully: X was valued -> Y is valued, X is devalued -> Y is devalued, X becomes valuable again. If you want X to always remain valuable, just develop better patience. Like we cannot pick fruit we like all year, we cannot simply keep adding onto the pile of things we like, something has to be seen as inferior by the majority of humans.' I disagree. I might explain my thoughts against this argument more in the future.)

Anyway, what people call 'Y2K style' or 'art that emulates how things commonly appeared in early years of 2000s' is popular nowadays. Even someone who did not grow up with it can become attracted to it. That 'desire' itself is a communication between past and present. Something can make someone feel 'lighter' [in sense of, "wow, the crushing weight of my circumstance feels not so crushing when I look at this'] -- a similar 'light' to how someone in the past was perceiving it when it was the present and not the past. So, even though two people were born in different eras and may not become friends or even meet, they're still connected by that 'lighthearted' feeling they both like. I know it will be seen as 'lower value' soon, but I truly cannot care because as I mentioned earlier, I might perceive 'time' weirdly.

When I started playing video games, a family member would point out, 'those games were made before you were born, interesting!' but that statement confused me at the time since my perception was, 'well, if these games are from before I was born, I don't understand why she is bringing attention to it. Why is it interesting? It's just regular. They're alive in the present now, because I'm in the present and so are they.' That was when I was a very young child. I subconsciously kept the same feeling even as I was reaching teenage and adult years. The feeling echoed when people liked to ask the question 'why are you still playing games from long ago?' as I got older but still played the same 'old' games. The answer: they are beautiful and will remain beautiful, and something made in the past is still communicating in the present, so are they really truly 'outdated inferior games'...? Just because the cycle of valued and devalued happened to be in a different position and those old things were seen as an embarrassment? (Now there are popular games inspired by the era of games many people ridiculed me for consistently enjoying, lol. Similarly, I was using 'crappy' old versions of programs even through 2017. Now people from wealthy upbringing and background use 'crappy' programs willingly. lol)

The present talks to the past all the time, nostalgia is not a dead end. In that sense I cannot see nostalgia as a death trap but rather a connection made from past to present. A string between the past and present that feelings can crawl across and communicate. Feelings such as 'I wish my life took a different direction. I can't make things like how they were back then, it won't ever be the same again, so I'll do nothing.' The criticism of 'nostalgia' is towards that last sentence. But there are things you can do with those feelings. 'Doing nothing is boring. And I keep thinking of that fun drawing I saw... I kinda wanna try to make something.' Making something while thinking of the past and present at the same time, so there is a communication between past self and present self. Pure bitterness communicating with slightly light-hearted view, the 'end result' is artwork/creation.

*I used light-hearted feeling as example, but nostalgia can exist for any feeling, and not just for people who were nice when they were younger. If someone was cruel as a child/teenager, after the person has been an adult for a while, they can communicate with their younger self about what was it about the cruelty that was enjoyable, and then extract a small part from the cruelty that they wish to bring back into the present -- example, the attraction to 'high speed activities, playful mischievousness' can be extracted from 'hurting people on purpose so they will acknowledge/react to you'. The dialogue could be something like, "'honestly, you and I both know spamming people with bad things felt pretty fun at the time, so let's just keep the 'high energy mischievousness' feeling and leave behind the crap that hurt people deeply, and let's make an animation while thinking of that high energy feeling.

^ I don't answer questions or reply to messages often because of giving answers that aren't too long or too short is tough for me. lol. Thanks for liking my art. I like a lot of art that doesn't resemble mine as well. It's fun! Like appreciating different flavours in the same meal even if you cannot make the meal yourself.

[luna-rainbow]

On Steve Rogers, loss, and loneliness

Unlike some of the other characters, Steve's hurt isn't as plain to the eye. His demeanour is usually one of stoicism and optimism, and it is easy to forget that his story is steeped in loss and loneliness.

Steve's introduction highlighted how alone he was - an orphan, armed with a list of ailments, and hiding behind a newspaper to avoid small chat with other recruits. When rejected by the recruitment centre, Steve shrugs and heads to watch a movie - alone.

Steve is a loner, we are shown, and then just as abruptly - perhaps just like the way it had happened many years ago - Bucky crashes into Steve's world and hooks an arm around his shoulders and noisily talks about an expo and dispels all of Steve's melancholic air. Steve is a loner, except for Bucky.

But Bucky is now leaving to go to war.

Steve is used to being stoic, because there were no adults around him to spoil him. He is used to being buoyant, because Sarah taught him how to pick himself up and carry on. Steve is used facing the empty house and lonely silence -- except for Bucky, who filled his room with chatter, "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids."

So when we hear the anxious strain in his voice as he is informed by Bucky that he is leaving -- it also becomes plain that Steve is also used to loss, or the threat of loss shadowing him, everyday.

In his short life, he has already lost so much. He has lost his health (my thought is he was probably healthier in his early childhood until he caught scarlet fever, and then his health got a lot worse after that). He has lost his father, and all the security of having a family breadwinner. He has lost his mother - to long hours of work and eventually to the disease she was battling against.

What he dreads would happen, does happen. Life seems to have a way of chasing him down like that. Sarah gets sick, and his fear of coming home to find her gone...one day inevitably comes true.

At his darkest moment, Bucky squeezes his shoulder and promises, "You don't have to do it (alone). I'm with you to the end of the line."

It's just enough for Steve to square his shoulders and push on, as Sarah had always taught him to do. Deep inside - possibly buried so deep that he can barely put it into words, he knows that he pulled through because "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

I'm going to pause here and emphasise how deeply lonely (and young) Steve was, and how, naturally, the only stable presence — ie Bucky — in his life, through periods of terrible grief and uncertainty, is going to be such a deep-rooted emotional foundation for him (regardless of how you ship).

When the draft does come for Bucky, it's not just Bucky who's unhappy, it's Steve who's also aghast. Suddenly, the possibility of losing his last bastion looms over him, and he remembers the fear and anxiety and the devastating grief of losing Sarah. But it is also a war that needs fighting - so he comes up with a solution: sign himself up. He can't keep Bucky from the war, but he wants to fight alongside him. Besides Bucky, what else does he have to lose?

"Men are laying down their lives, I have no right to do any less. That's what you don't understand, Bucky."

He says this angrily, because the words he can't say aloud are, "You are laying down your life, Bucky, and I might never see you again, and I can't go through all that again, not by myself."

When he hears about the 107th being captured, he has to go. He is saving Bucky, sure, but he is also saving himself, because the pillar, the lifebuoy, the harness that has kept him afloat all those years is Bucky, and he's terrified of sinking.

The serum makes him taller and more women pause to smile at him, but he is still incredibly alone. He sits alone during break, he draws alone in his book, he runs off alone and none of the USO girls even notices until it's his turn on stage.

But Bucky notices him immediately, and says, "I thought you were smaller," and, "Did it hurt?"

Steve doesn't really believe in miracles. His whole life feels like one bad luck after another, even if he forces one foot in front of another and keeps marching on. But maybe at that moment, he feels like Bucky is his miracle. Bucky, who always seems to notice when he's alone and pulls him into his social circle. Bucky, who had seen him lose his dad and Sarah and promised him the end of the line. Bucky, who he - and all the commanders - thought was dead, pulls through and gives him another promise - that he would follow the little guy back into war.

When Steve is finally thrust into the frontline, the losses keeps mounting, man after man are falling, condolence letter after letter is being written. And then towards the end of 1944, the tides seem to finally turn. German forces are waning, the Allied forces are advancing, and quietly, secretly, Steve dreams of home.

And that dream dies with Bucky.

"Honour the dignity of his choice," he is told, but he can't shake off the guilt.

He pushes himself forward, step by dragging step. Nazi Germany is falling. He is taking down Hydra with his own hands…and at the end, he buries them all in the ocean with himself.

His is sinking, but he isn’t afraid, because he is going where all the people who mattered are waiting.

And he is denied even that.

He opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognise. They tell him they had won the war.

But no one wants to speak with him about what was lost.

A folder of old photos, the museum of unmoving murals, the silent movies of a smile he would never see again.

He thought he had lost all there was to lose, but somehow life always seem to find something else to take.

What we see of off-duty Steve in the modern world is once again a figure of loneliness. He goes to the gym alone, he goes for a ride on the train alone, he sits at the cafe alone, he goes for runs alone, he goes to the museum alone.

Only during those solitary moments he could truly be Steve Rogers, instead of trying to meet everyone's expectations of Captain America. He is just shy of 27 years old, but suddenly, he can no longer lay claim to youth. Only a dream ago he was "just a kid from Brooklyn", and now he's an "old-fashioned" (as per Coulson) "older fellow" (as per Tony).

He's in the history books, he's on the television, he's in the classrooms; everyone knows of Captain America, but Steve Rogers is lost.

He had been willing to lose his life on the Valkyrie, but what he lost was every living connection and his own identity.

"Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing," the friendly man says to him on their first meeting, but Sam only knows half of it.

The too soft bed and the too quiet room is one thing, the unshakeable nightmares another, but the worst of it is -- this isn't home.

He is marooned in a place that bears eerie resemblance to the world he knew, without being familiar.

Until the moment Bucky's mask comes off.

It's like the anchor dropping. He's now got a connection tethering him to this strange place, someone with "shared experience" that means he is no longer alone, and he is no longer a ghost forgotten by the seventy years of lost time.

"He doesn't know you."

"He will."

He has to believe that Bucky will, because Bucky is proof that Steve Rogers exists.

And once again, Bucky is his miracle. On the brink of killing them both, Bucky reels back from his brainwashing and hauls them both to safety.

Even if Bucky leaves after that, he's left behind something Steve hasn't had for a long time -- hope, and belonging.

"Family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago," he says to Tony as he prepares to meet the ragged team of enhanced people that is to become the Avengers. "I'm home."

Stoic and buoyant as he has always been, Steve sets to work building that home for himself. Gradually, we see Steve open up. He forms new connections and new friendships, he talks about his vulnerabilities with people he trusts, and he reclaims his own identity. He looks for Bucky, and waits until Bucky is ready to build that home for himself.

Until it is once again blown apart by the end of Infinity War - he loses not just Bucky, the anchor to his past, but the new family he has made apart from Natasha.

That's why it makes sense that Steve, not Tony, is the one working so hard to reverse the Snap. His family was 5 years ago, Tony's family is now. The people who rallied behind Steve and not Captain America, the people who followed him after he dropped the shield, the people with whom he no longer needed to be endlessly lonely and tirelessly stoic and who loved him for who Steve Rogers was, they all vanished in the Snap.

So even if there was only a small hope, Steve wants them back.

And that's why his decision to leave everything he had built, the sacrifices he had made to bring them back, in order to go into a life of incredibly loneliness and deception is still the dumbest narrative faux pas in the MCU.

[ovaryacted]

Honestly just imagine RE2 Leon accidentally slipping out saying mommy and now you cant let him hear the end of it so now it's something that happens regularly. And then eventually it grows on you as your relationship progresses and it's literally just a turn on for both of you at some point. Plus I bet older Leon would love being called daddy and would eventually just want to call you something too, ykwim? Anyways, I LOVEE your writing so much and i hope you have a great day/night 🫶🏽 🩵

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Thank you so much for ask anon! And thank you for the compliment, I hope you’re having a good day/night as well! 🫶

RE2 would definitely let the mommy title slip, and honestly, I headcanon that it would slip out of him with all of his versions. Leon in RE2 would just be less sensitive to feeling ashamed of saying it.

It’ll happen when he’s feeling too good, when he can’t think straight and you’ve been pleasing him for much longer than he originally anticipated. You always take such good care of him, tending to his needs and bringing him a sense of stability he’s never experienced before. He can feel his release twisting in his gut, pushing his hips harder against your body and feeling overwhelmed by your heat.

He cums with a few more thrusts against you, fills you up nice and deep, and presses his pelvis harshly against yours, not letting a single drop of him slip out of you. That’s when you hear the word fall from his lips in a weak mumble, a broken high-pitched whimper of *“Mommy”* said against your skin. You weren’t expecting him to say anything like that, clenching hard and your walls pulsing around him as you came after him.

There’s an awkward moment of silence that follows, Leon is a bit too nervous to lift his head and look at you in the eye. You let him stay there on top of you, rubbing his neck and shoulders and letting him enjoy the comedown from the intense but relieving moment. He wraps his arms around you, not wanting to part from you just yet, and sighs, but you can already read his mind.

“I’m sorry about that”, he says against your collarbone, hiding his embarrassment and the red in his cheeks.

“Don’t be, I was just surprised”, you tell him, pushing his hair back and kissing his temples. “But I didn’t *not* like it…”, his hazy blue eyes looked into yours full of understanding and what you believe is optimism.

“So it doesn’t bother you? To call you that I mean?”, he asks you, and you give him a chuckle.

“Nah, it doesn’t. I take care of you, don’t I? I don’t see anything wrong with that”, you rub your thumb against his cheek, noticing how he was about to fall asleep any minute now. He gives you a hum, nuzzling into you before dozing off, knowing it’ll be a topic for another day.

After that night, you tease him constantly for calling you mommy and letting it slip, but he knows it’s endearing more than anything. Sure, it gets him hot and bothered sometimes because he knows you’re right. You whisper things in his ear like “Mommy knows best” or when you praise him and verbally call him a “Good boy” that’s enough to make his pants tighten. In the bedroom, he calls you that as he gets more comfortable, and you can feel how it makes your body warm up when he does. Your chest tightens, desire pools between your legs, and all you want to do is make Leon feel good the way he deserves, the way he can feel only with you.

I also think the same applies to older Leon, who would be a bit more reluctant to admit he has this kink but once it’s out in the open it’s unavoidable. He may have a daddy’s kink once he grows into it (especially RE6 & DI I think), but that mommy kink will come and grab him by the back of his neck like a dog. To him, he doesn’t believe in any of that patriarchal bullshit, if he wants to call his partner mommy, he will, and he’ll do it with a damn smile on his face.

It’s a win-win situation, you get to have him wrapped around your finger, and he doesn’t have to take charge anymore. He obliges to calling you mommy without shame, especially since he knows it’s something you both like.

[loquaciousferret]

Heat Waves

Gif: @serenaxpedro

Summary: A heatwave and a broken air conditioning unit in the office leads to tensions running high between you and your partner, Javier Peña. What lengths will you consider going to, seeking relief?

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, no minors etc etc . fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in an office), maybe more, just please don’t read if you can be sensitive to any kinds of sexual content

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: credit to @tightjeansjavi for the prompt, this was delightful to write hehe

You check the wall thermometer again. The needle is creeping just above 30°. You groan loudly.

For a building full of people whose work visas list them as being employed in “Janitorial Services”, the US Embassy in Medellin had a shockingly poor maintenance and janitorial department.

The air conditioning had broken yesterday, towards the end of the work day. It was bearable because it was already beginning to cool down into the evening, but today, in the mid-day sun, in a July heatwave, it had been too much for most of your colleagues to bear.

Anyone who was able to work from home had scurried off with boxes of files to catch up on paperwork in their air conditioned apartments.

But you and Javi couldn’t move the entire wall of the office where you were mapping out trade routes, connections, linking suspects together and desperately trying to find a pattern that would let you understand where exactly the evidence was that you so desperately needed.

You had probably consumed your body-weight in water. You had already shed as many layers as possible. You had even removed your tights. All that was left was a tight skirt and a blouse that was sticking to your skin all over. Plastered to your lower back, your chest. Nothing was cooling you down.

“Are you evening listening to me?” Javi sighs.

Your gaze snaps up to him, he is watching you with an expression that is more defeated than irritated.

“I’m sorry Jav, can’t think straight. This fucking heat’s making me crazy.” You say sincerely.

“Yeah, you can say that again.” He responds sympathetically.

He wipes sweat from his brow.

“Just… take a break. G’nna go outside to smoke, hopefully catch a breeze.” He mutters.

As he leaves the room, a disturbing thought crosses your mind. The shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and his back muscles flexing as he reaches for the door handle makes you question… Is Javi attractive? Well, obviously, he is, to every other woman in Colombia. But is Javi attractive to you? Not up until now, his personality thoroughly put you off. But the way he looked from behind, even with those patches of sweat staining his shirt… or, maybe, especially with those patches of sweat…

“What the fuck.” You mutter.

This heat really is making you insane. You physically shake your head to try and rid yourself of the thought. Javier fucking Peña. Yeah right.

You return your focus to the document he was attempting to discuss with you before. It was a transcript of an intercepted communication, between two parties who you couldn’t understand a reasonable explanation for them now working together. The whole thing sent your head into a spin trying to piece it together.

You knew you were on the edge of a breakthrough. You could feel it. Javi knew it too, and you were both pushing each other to your limits. He was an excellent partner. His job was the only thing he cared about. That might be the only thing you and Javi had in common. As different as the two of you were, the job was where you found mutual respect, and that was all that mattered.

Heat creeped up your chest and around the back of your neck. It was practically choking, consuming every single sense and causing a layer of impenetrable fog to settle in your mind. Being off your game at a critical point in your investigation was less than optimal.

Javi entered again and you analysed his features. If the heat was affecting him as much as it was you, he was doing a good job at not showing it.

“How are you coping with this? I feel like I’m about to be swallowed by the sun.” You groan exaggeratedly.

“Grew up in Texas.” He shrugs.

“Really?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He says, meeting your eyes. “Is that surprising?”

“Yeah. I thought Southerners were gentlemen."

“Maybe I am.” He responds, holding a bottle of water to his forehead.

You scoff and then clear your throat. “Anyway, I’m reading this again. I can’t help but think this is a code name for some kind of object or thing, not a person. If it was a person they would have come up before now. There are only so many people that run in these circles, I just don’t think we could have missed someone this important.”

He tilts his head from side to side, considering your suggestion. As he does so, the tendons in his neck protrude and you see how his tanned skin sparkles as it glistens with sweat.

Finally, he responds, “Maybe. But for what? These guys aren’t geniuses. Think we can work out the code?”

“I don’t know.” You say. “Not any further forward on that part.”

You fan yourself with some scrap paper you have folded and concertinaed carefully. You throw your head back in your seat and sigh deeply.

When you sit back up and open your eyes again, you think you find Peña’s gaze trained on your chest, but he quickly looks away.

You feel yourself equally irritated and intrigued by his staring. You had never noticed him look at you like this before.

“Everything OK, Jav?” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah- Yeah. I’m good. Just- Yeah.” His eyes linger on yours for a moment and he runs his hand across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat.

You both continue to work, but you feel his eyes continually flicking back to you, telling you he is not focussed either.

You feel as though the tension continues to build as you both try and work, and you want to tell yourself it’s not just because of the heat. But you are worried this is one-sided. Even if that would mean you were the only woman in Colombia Javi wasn’t interested in sleeping with.

As the day goes on, painfully slowly, you find yourself more and more distracted by his presence and frustrated with your lack of progress in your investigation.

You curse loudly.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his gaze intense.

“I’m just… I’m so frustrated, Peña. I don’t know what to do about it.” You sigh.

“I’m sure I know how I could help you deal with it.” He says, with a glint in his eye.

You scowl at him. Now that had to have been intentional flirting.

“I feel like no matter what we do we are always running in circles chasing our own tails. How do they always stay one step ahead of us. Like you said, these guys aren’t geniuses.”

“Hey.” He says, his expression stern. “Don’t talk like that. We’ll get ‘em.”

“Every day that goes on we are losing more. I feel like I’ve already given all of myself and more to this investigation.”

He had closed the distance between you, and placed his hand over yours where you fiddled with your pen on the desk. The touch burned.

“Let me take your mind off it.” He says, something unfamiliar behind his eyes.

You ignore him, and slide the memo on your desk over towards him. “Can you assign someone else to the stakeout tomorrow. We have to be in for the meeting with-“

He cuts you off, grumbling, “You always use work talk to distract guys hitting on you?”

“Hitting on m- Jesus, Peña. The heat makin’ you fuckin’ stupid?” You shoot back.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. But he doesn’t step away from you.

“You believe in shitting where you eat?” You continue.

“Not usually. But I can see how frustrated you are. I’d be a bad partner to let you suffer like this.” He smirked.

You raise an eyebrow at him. You know the answer to your question but you want to hear him say it. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, “I’m suggesting I help you forget work a while, let me relieve some of your tension. Maybe it’ll force a breakthrough.”

“Yeah right.” You say. You turn to face him, looking for any sign in his dark eyes that he isn’t being serious in his proposition. Any sign of hesitation or doubt. Any sign that it is all some joke. But you don’t find it.

His moustache tickles as he whispers in your ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine. “You know you want it. Let me help you.”

You want to say no, but your body betrays you as you find yourself being acted on by what seems like a magnetic force, drawing you closer to him.

You manage to produce one more protest, but it comes out weak, as though you are trying to convince yourself for a reason to say no. “That would be unprofessional.”

“Who’s gonna report us?” He taunts. “You?”

You find yourself shaking your head in response to his question, and he pounces on you, connecting his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

An oppressive heat continues to suffocate your body, but this one isn’t from the conditions in the office, this is a fire that is coming from within, a burning flame stoked by the attraction and desire that has come over the two of you.

You give in to the feeling of him as his hands roam all over you, unbuttoning your blouse hastily and discarding it. A mixture of excitement and guilt nags at you. This is your partner. This is wrong. And not just any partner, it’s Javier Peña. He has screwed at least half the women in Medellin. This is not how you should be behaving.

But at the same time, you can’t deny the intense chemistry between you in this moment. The way your desperation and hunger perfectly matches his. The way he whispers dirty words in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His cock is already straining against his tight jeans, and you reach a hand up to palm him through the denim.

He sighs at the feeling and puts his hands on your waist, pulling you up and guiding you to sit on the desk. A strong hand parts your thighs and creeps upwards, pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. You moan into his mouth, and then blush, embarrassed by the affect his touches are having on you so quickly.

He continues to rub gently against the fabric and you reach towards him to release his belt buckle. You fumble with it and he pushes your hands away impatiently and takes it off himself, unzipping his jeans and taking out his erect cock.

He strokes himself a few times and you watch, transfixed, your breathing shallow.

He stops and gathers the hem of your skirt, pushing it up to your hips to release your thighs. He spreads you wide and pushes your underwear to the side, not bothering to remove it as he plunges two fingers inside you.

You gasp and he starts off with an already quick pace, hammering in and out of you and curling them inside you to reach the most pleasurable spots. It doesn’t take long until your legs are shaking, your hands gripping the edge of the desk to steady yourself. You were already sweating from the heat but now you feel as though you are melting, struggling to catch your breath and releasing desperate whines of pleasure.

His thumb reaches up to rub your clit and you moan, “Javii-”

“You like that, huh?”

He attaches his lips to your neck, sucking lightly before moving down to the valley between your collarbones, licking up beads of salty sweat that have gathered there. He moans into your skin and the sound goes right through you, you twitch and start to feel an orgasm rising inside you.

“You gonna come for me before I even fuck you, huh?” He taunts, “More desperate than I thought.”

You ignore his cocky commentary and focus on the feeling of his hands on you. You can’t deny he is skilled and knows exactly the right pace and rhythm to bring you your release quickly.

The pressure on your clit increases and he rubs faster circles around it. Tension builds in your stomach.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out.

His other hand has reached back to stroke his cock roughly, and he lets out small sounds of pleasure into your ear. You didn’t expect him to be this vocal but it turns you on.

Your pleasure is reaching its peak and he senses it too, toying with your clit unrelentingly as you writhe on the desk beneath him, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat inside you. Your legs tense up as your orgasm washes over you, you lose your stability and fall backwards atop the papers and documents strewn across the desk. Your back arches and his movements don’t slow down, unashamed cries of pleasure streaming from you as you ride out your orgasm.

He shifts slightly and there isn’t a moment of rest until he removes his fingers and replaces them with his hard cock. He plunges deep inside you on the first thrust, the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit, almost driving you to overstimulation with your orgasm barely subsided.

He sets a punishing pace with his haps, snapping against you hard and fast, your cunt greedily clenching and tightening around him every single time he buries himself inside you.

“Feel so good. Don’t know why I waited this long.” He mutters.

You whine, unable to form a coherent response. One of his hands is squeezing at your chest and the other is gripping your hip, pulling you down on him harder to intensify the force of every single thrust.

He is everything you thought he would be, hungry and passionate and clearly practiced in the art of both giving and taking pleasure.

Your sounds echo around the room. Neither of you worry about this, knowing the office was nearly empty. Even then, your desire for him clouds your mind so far to the extent that you don’t think you would mind being caught anyway. It was worth the risk.

He takes both of your legs and manoeuvres you, bending them and lifting them up so they lazily rest against his shoulders. Thank god for yoga, you think.

The new position tightens you up and somehow allows him even deeper access. You moan shamelessly and he grunts with every single thrust. His pace is unrelenting and you feel him becoming more and more forceful with each one, chasing his climax.

“Can I come inside you?” He asks through gritted teeth.

You are unable to form words, you nod, your mouth hanging open but no sounds come out other than strangled gasps.

“Fuckkk.” He grunts, turned on even more at the prospect of filling you up and it sends him over the edge.

He spills into you, your name thrown in amongst the curses he mutters as he comes. He keeps a tight hold of you as he steadies his breathing.

Moments after he releases inside you, you feel the relief he had been promising. You close your eyes and let out a deep, contented sigh.

And then, suddenly, they fly open again.

“Move!” You almost yell, pushing his chest away from you.

“Move. I’ve got it.” He pulls himself away from you and you leap up, pulling your skirt back down. You grab a pen and begin scribbling frantic notes over the transcript.

“I’ve got it.” You repeat.

“Worked even better than I imagined.” He teased, smirking as he buttoned his jeans and re-fastened his belt before coming to join you and see the revelation you had come to.

“Good to know.” He adds, “Nice tactic for the future.”

You roll your eyes at him and thrust the paper towards him with satisfaction. He might be right, it might have been the sex that did the trick, but you would never admit it.

More Javier Peña oneshots:

Over and Done With | Partners | All Work, No Play | Little Games

[shadowtraveled]

In your Mithrun analysis, when you say “maybe it's also particularly gentle that, in the end, there was someone who refused to even consider giving up on him.” who is the ‘someone’ in your mind? Milsiril? Kabru and the canaries? I loved your analysis, so I’m curious

OH kabru absolutely

milsiril spared him and, decades later, helped him with his physical rehabilitation, but it seems like she more or less gave up on his personhood. no more desires -> no more mithrun as we knew him -> no more mithrun. she spared him because he wasn’t completely devoid of motivation to live, and she used the single motivator he had left to eventually get him to keep himself alive, and she briefly even seemed to want to try and instill some of his old mask (even with the understanding that that’s what it was) back into him, but that fell through immediately and i think with it went her optimism that mithrun would ever… be a person again. “too late now, i guess.”

then the canaries are on good enough terms with him, but they’re practically instructed to treat him like a weapon or a tool they’re maintaining. i believe it’s cithis that tells kabru to take care of mithrun but clarifies that really what that is is just making sure he eats. ensuring his baseline needs for survival are met. and really, that’s all she was ever tasked with. when it’s all over and mithrun is cataleptic, the canaries stay physically near him, but they seem to have accepted that he’s gone—without the demon to chase, he has nothing to live for. cithis, though, seems to be closer to mithrun than any of the others, and i don’t think it’s a coincidence that she’s the one who calls lycion off and encourages kabru to try engaging with him when she hears the beginning of what he has to say.

this post caught a lot of my opinions regarding mithrun’s relationships (linking to my reblog of it because i dumped some thoughts in the tags) but tldr i do think milsiril and the canaries fall short of thinking of mithrun as a person, and that’s why their relationships with him fail him somewhat. i don’t think that’s their fault, because it seems like they were taught to think of losing your desires as a complete loss of self and humanity, but it does mean they see mithrun as someone who has already been lost. kabru is demonstrably different in that he’s able to help mithrun see a future beyond the demon, and he’s able to do it because he deals with mithrun like he’s human. because he is. and all of that stems from the specific aspect of kabru’s personality that is his obsession with people

[ihaveverything]

Limitless manifesting for beginners

part I - basic concepts

part II - states, techniques, change

ʚ part III - mental diet, sats

part IV - daily life, time

part V - resistance, faith, the ''real'' world

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

On your journey to success, you may find that manifesting does inevitably come with an art of discipline and persistence. However, this is not to say it’s tiring, draining, difficult, or effort based at all. The discipline comes naturally, and persistence is without resistance. As the creator of your reality, you are met with infinite probable selections. Infinite states you may occupy, therefore leading to infinite possible realities you could experience. Taking responsibility for this and making the decisions that align with the life you wish to live is being, not doing or trying

Mental diet

The process of mental dieting can be quite confusing at first because there is a constant nagging reminder that you are supposed to return to fulfillment as frequently as you can. However, this is not about setting a schedule or reminders throughout the day to try to slip into the state a certain number of times an hour. Even though returning to states should be easy and the goal is to truly embody that new identity as much as you can, it is common for people to get distracted from being, and focus too much on trying.

It’s understandable to experience some good days and some bad days. There will be days when it’s easier to feel optimistic about the Law in general, and days where all you want to do is give up and spiral. The key point here is that positive thinking and optimism isn’t the reason why you can maintain a more stable mental diet. Mental dieting is to help change your beliefs. Each moment you return to the state of the wish fulfilled is to identify with a different probable reality where you are experiencing your desire. It is a choice you are making to feel what it would be like to have your desire. It is not thinking about your desire with little conviction. There is a difference between “okay I have my SP back. did I feel it right?” vs “I accepted the feeling of being back together, therefore I am experiencing aligned thoughts and emotions due to my conviction in knowing this will reflect into my 3D.” Acceptance is always the first step in this equation. Trying to do anything, whether it be forcing the state of the wish fulfilled, forcing the 3D, or using effort based techniques such as robotic affirming are all less efficient than accepting what you want to be true for a moment.

“Stop trying to change the world since it is only the mirror. Man’s attempt to change the world by force is as fruitless as breaking a mirror in the hope of changing his face. Leave the mirror and change your face. Leave the world alone and change your conceptions of yourself. The reflection then will be satisfactory.” ― Neville Goddard, Your Faith is Your Fortune

Additionally, there is no such thing as waiting to feel fulfillment. It’s understandable to have fear or doubt around feeling like you are unable to fulfill yourself whenever you want, but the truth is everyone needs to stop waiting. Make the decision now. Don’t tell yourself you’re gonna go all in tomorrow or next week or after the next motivational video. You occupy a state of awareness every single moment of the day. There is no excuse not to give yourself your desire now, because of the following quote:

“I will be” is a confession that “I am not “ The Father's will is always “I AM.” Until you realize that YOU are the Father (there is only one I AM and your infinite self is that I AM), you will is always “I will be.” ― Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness

When you are feeling down on days where you’re not so confident about your manifestation skills, it’s at core a reminder that you are still viewing life as someone who is “trying” to obtain a desire that seems separate from you. We have been manifesting and creating our whole lives. Even your personality is based on the beliefs that created your environment starting from when you were born. We often let our mind run on autopilot and allow it to entertain negative possibilities that we expect to unfold even when nothing has been seen in the 3D yet. We place such faith in expecting the worst when it is unseen, but we rarely do the same for the positive best outcome, because society has taught us all about probability, things going wrong, luck, and every other reason which implies there is something or someone outside of ourselves that can control an individual’s reality. Expectation of the negative, whether it be you’ll never get that SP back, they are in love with someone else, you will lose that job, or overall the Law just doesn’t work will often lead to feelings and emotions of fear, lack, anxiety, etc.

“Sensation precedes manifestation and is the foundation upon which all manifestation rests. Be careful of your moods and feelings, for there is an unbroken connection between your feelings and your visible world. Your body is an emotional filter and bears the unmistakable marks of your prevalent emotions. Emotional disturbances, especially suppressed emotions, are the causes of all disease. To feel intensely about a wrong without voicing or expressing that feeling is the beginning of disease – disease – in both body and environment. Do not entertain the feeling of regret or failure for frustration or detachment from your objective results in disease.” ― Neville Goddard, Feeling is the Secret

When manifesting anything, the key to being is knowing how you and your desire are one. Everything already exists within you, and that combined with how creation is finished should be a powerful understanding that brings you to realize there is no such thing as “doing” this or that to make your 3d change. Your awareness of being is enough. By conditioning yourself into an identity / state you become one with it and manifest that state into reality. You, while far more than the state you are one with, have to become it by placing your awareness on it. Doing this is as simple as the decision to be something, you choose to become aware of being that state, and it manifests when it is natural. It should be noted that the time it takes to make something natural is dependent on the frequency, not the length of time, so do not expect months or years to yield results. In fact, such a long time with no success is a blatant mistake that you are either lacking discipline in your mental diet, or a failed approach due to more effort than being.

“The future must become the present in the imagination of the one who would wisely and consciously create circumstances. We must translate vision into Being, thinking of into thinking from. Imagination must center itself in some state and view the world from that state.” ― Neville Goddard, Awakened Imagination

“To move into another state or mansion necessitates a change of beliefs. All that you could ever desire is already present and only waits to be matched by your beliefs. But it must be matched, for that is the necessary condition by which alone it can be activated and objectified. Matching the beliefs of a state is the seeking that finds, the knocking to which it is opened, the asking that receives. Go in and possess the land.” ― Neville Goddard, Awakened Imagination

Everyone has their own choice for what method they prefer to use for manifesting. Some people like affirmations because it feels like a solid statement that helps them feel into the state. Others may choose visualizing since scenes may help them get their imagination running. Ultimately it does not matter what you do as long as you are focusing on the end result while patiently knowing that it will become your reality. We all gained interest in the Law because of what it promises us, but if you aren’t being the promise first, then results won’t come to you no matter how much “effort” you put in. As Yoda once said in Star Wars:

“Do or do not, there’s no try.”

SATS

Your sleeping hours are just as important as your waking hours of life. Your sleep plays a major role in your manifestation, so the last waking state you occupy is crucial. “You must be in the consciousness of being or having that which you want to be or to have before you drop off to sleep. Once asleep, man has no freedom of choice. His entire slumber is dominated by his last waking concept of self.”― Neville Goddard, Feeling is the Secret

A method of aligning your state with the wish fulfilled while you are drowsy is commonly known as SATS. Although SATS is often done right before falling asleep, there is nothing special about the time of day you do this. It is equally effective to do SATS as soon as you wake up or during the day. It is an extremely helpful way to manifest, but it differs from techniques such as affirmations, visualizations, scripting, etc because it’s a state. Affirmations themselves hold no meaning, and the scenes you visualize aren’t what manifests either. State Akin to Sleep refers to the deep state of consciousness during meditation or just before falling asleep. The reason why Neville recommended this method is because your last waking state is what dominates your entire sleep, and it sets the ground for your next day. You will often find that falling asleep in the state of the wish fulfilled vs in a state of lack can be very different for how easy your mental diet is the next day.

There are 2 different ways to go about SATS, but ultimately they both aim to achieve the same goal: making sure your last waking state is aligned with having your desires.

The traditional way is what many people know. Finding a comfy position, visualizing a short 10-15 second scene that implies your manifestation is fulfilled, looping that scene until you fall asleep.

The second way is simpler because some people feel like looping a scene puts too much emphasis on trying to “make it work” or “do it right” instead of focusing on the feeling and being part. There will always be people who don’t enjoy doing that, but because the goal is to fall asleep in the state of the wish fulfilled and not necessarily how perfect your scene is, so an alternate way is to enter that state right before you knock out, and it will be just as effective.

Your SATS scene does not have to be perfect at all. It doesn't matter if you visualize in first person or third person or how you go about this, because your only goal is to focus on the intention you set for your scene. Just like your daily mental diet, knowing and conviction is what brings about your desire. This is also why it's not absolutely necessary to loop the scene and even beat yourself over it not being a perfect cycle.

source tba

[annymation]

The Kingdom of Wishes- A “Wish” Rewrite

Chapter 17- To Give You Even More Than... This.

Chapter 16

"... I gotta go now" Aster's voice cracks, though his smile remains, as his eyes try to hold back some heavy tears.

"... Now?" Asha's voice vacillated.

She watched as Aster's dust floated up to the sky, slowly making them disappear, as if bit by bit the star is returning to the sky...  Asha understands what this means, but she doesn't understand why. Why now? After everything, why can't they have one moment of peace?

"You can't leave now" She pleaded "W-we just WON! We got to celebrate, we can finally relax and..." Asha's nervous smile melted into a frown, it takes one look for her to see how he's just as heartbroken as she is. "... You don't have a choice, do you? Now that my wish is granted..."

Aster just nods slowly.

"... Hey! But that's okay!" Asha's smile returns, her eyes lit up with an idea "I can just wish upon you again! Then you'll come back-"

"I won't be allowed to come back." Aster blurts out the bad news as fast as he could, like ripping off a bandaid, thinking maybe if he says quickly it will hurt less... That didn't work.

Asha's hopeful smile disappears "Wh- What!? Why not?" 

"I broke too many rules..." Aster murmured, watching himself slowly disappear "I let myself be seen by other people, I helped you WAY more than any star is supposed to... I fell in love." a bittersweet smile grows on his now almost transparent face "Heh heh pretty sure that last one wasn't a rule before, but now it sure is." He joked playfully, as a single tear ran down his cheek.

Asha didn't think that was funny at all though, she felt anger bubbling up inside her "You helped me grant my wish, and now you get punished for it? How's that even fair?!" She vociferated in frustration.

She's not angry at Aster, but rather at the world itself for keeping them apart.

A few people from the crowd finally notice what's going on with Aster, including Asha's friends. The 7 teens approach the pair. They already knew this was coming since Aster told them back in the forest, but they too weren't ready to see him go.

"It's not..." Aster lamented, but even then, he still tries to comfort her, with that same everlasting gleam of optimism in his smile "But hey, at least we got to enjoy our time together the best we could, right?" The star took a few steps forward, so he could be closer to her, or at least what was still left of him.  

They both know that no time in the world would ever be enough for them.

"I... I wanted this to last forever..." Her big brown eyes already had tears threatening to fall "There's so much I wanted to show you, so much I wanted to tell you..."

Aster is just sketch lines now. He tries to dry her tears with one hand, but now he's translucent, he can't physically interact with anything. Aster frowns as her tears go right through him, he cannot comfort her anymore. The star's body is more in the sky than on land now, so he gives her his last words before leaving completely 

"Up there, I'll still see you, and hear you... It won't be the same, but I'll always be there for you-"

"Even if I can't see you." Asha finished his sentence, that notion does comfort her. 

"Heh... That's right-"

Asha leans forward to kiss him.

Aster gasps, but before he can react...

He's gone. His sketch lines erased, as he returns to the sky against his will.

... Asha's wide eyes stare up to the sky.

With her head looking upward, those heavy tears begin to flow down freely. A pained sob that was stuck in her throat finally comes out.

Asha feel's Dahlia's soft and warm hand on shoulder, and Asha immediately turns around to give her a hug, the other teens join in to comfort her.

"... How can we help?" Dahlia asked sympathetically, determined to comfort her friend in any way she could.

Asha lets go of the hug with her head low, glancing at the wand in her hand, it still has Aster's magic, and now, she can use it to draw anything out of thin air. She takes a few deep breaths and dries her tears. Looking around, she sees so many people staring at her, they stopped celebrating just to know how she feels, all concerned and sad for her.

She turns her attention to the buildings around them, some are entangled in giant thorny vines that the king and queen created to destroy the kingdom. The kingdom's gorgeous architecture is now practically ruins. Asha thinks of all the families that now have no homes to rest in after all this... And she concludes this is no time to cry, for her wish is not granted yet.

"Well... We can start by getting hid of those vines," Asha began, surprising her friends with her half smile "Only then we can start rebuilding."

The 7 teens are taken aback by how quick she dried her tears... But that's just who Asha is, ready to step forward to help those around, and they all happily follow suit.

"I can get some gardening tools to help with that hihihi" Bazeema is the first one to chime in, which is quite rare, but it seems she just can't contain her own excitement

"Yeah!" Asha agreed, now with a beaming smile despite her teary eyes "And I can use my wand to draw temporary houses for everyone." 

"Woah woah woah EVERYONE?" Gabo cut in, motioning with his arms that she should calm down, though his smile is encouraging "Asha, you might get a broken wrist from drawing so much, chill." He warns cheekily but with a genuine worry she might overwork herself.

"You don't have to do so much" Simon reassured, his tone a lot more cheerful than ever before, and the bags under his eyes are gone "I mean, you already did A LOT for us heh heh" 

"He's correct" Comes in a voice from the crowd.

Asha turns to see who it is, and it's the same street performing jester that sang to her (chapter 2). The jester gives her a formal bow, while holding something she feared she'd never see again

"And I believe you've dropped this, young lady." He says as he hands to her-

"My Saba's mandolin!" Asha exclaimed in relief.

Asha gently holds it. Last time she saw the instrument was when she threw it on Magnifico's head to save Aster, from that moment on, the girl worried he might have destroyed it, but thankfully it was in one piece... Well, sort of, she quickly notices parts of the mandolin have bandages to mend it, and some of the strings are new.

"You fixed it... Thank you." Asha gives the jester a grateful smile.

"Consider it an apology for disrespecting your point of view that day..." The man says feeling quite ashamed, but then he bows his head respectfully "And thank YOU for everything, miss."

The people from the crowd nod in agreement. Some gratefully curtsey and bow their heads slightly to her, almost as if she was a princess.

Asha gives them a gentle curtsy in response.

"Sooo how about some music to lighten the mood while we fix this whole mess?" Hal asked her, encouraging Asha to play the mandolin.

Asha was about to, but she remembers Aster's magic that made her able to play at all would only last a day

"Oh... I don't actually know how to play it anymore" Asha laments, her smile wavers when she reminisces of the time her and Aster played together.

Dario nudges her so she looks at him signing "That's alright" The blonde has a huge smile as he reassures her "You'll learn in time, just gotta practice it."  

Safi adds on, or at least tries to "Just like we all- A- we AAAA- AAAAACH-"

Dahlia places a finger under his nose to stop him from sneezing, then finishes what he was about to say, probably.

"Just like we're all going to learn how to grant our own wishes." Dahlia says with a smile, giving Asha a wink.

Asha's smile is as bright as the sun rising, as she holds the mandolin ready to play it, regardless if she knows how to or not. We turn our attention closer to the cords as she begins to play them, which transitions to a song sequence with no lyrics.

In this sequence, we see the people of Rosas all work together to rebuild their kingdom. They cut down the rose vines, make bricks for reconstruction, carry the equipment and so on. Basically we get a sequence like the "All of You" song from Encanto, but without lyrics because we already had TWO LYRIC FILLED SONGS one after the other a few minutes ago and I think we had enough. Also I don't have the will power to write lyrics for this.

Anyway, Asha uses her wand to help everyone, drawing things such as a dragon to get all the giant vines out of the kingdom. She also draws houses for people to live in temporarily. Although the people are very grateful, they reassure her they can do a lot even without her help, which makes her really happy, both because it shows how the people are learning to not rely on someone else's magic to make their wishes come true, and also, not everything should fall on her shoulders, she has done more than enough.

We see the people painting over the illustrations of Magnifico and Amable that were everywhere. On top of it, they paint colorful and creative works of art that reflect who they are. The kingdom that was once all painted in tones of white and blues, so shallow and lifeless, now is filled with color, bursting with personality and life all around.

They destroy all the statues of king Magnifico and queen Amable, well, at least all the ones that were made by hand. They use the remaining pieces to make new building material.

Days and nights go by, imagine like a timelapse shot, and the kingdom is rapidly rebuilt to it's former glory, perhaps even better than before.

The song sequence ends with us seeing everyone celebrating that their home is restored, Asha and her friends front and center as they cheer together.

We fade into a scene of the kingdom now at night time.

The stars are shinning brightly and there's no clouds in the sky. Everyone in Rosas seems to be asleep... Except for one person.

Asha walks with Valentino through the kingdom's alleys. It's worth noting the baby goat has bigger horns now.

As she wanders, Asha admires the new paintings on the walls of the buildings, lighted by the gentle glow of the full moon.

She's not awake just for sight seeing though, she actually has two very important tasks. The young girl and and her goat make their way to... The statue of King Magnifico and Queen Amable. The only statues of them left in the whole kingdom.

The statue is on display, yes, but not to be admired or to show respect, but rather as a reminder of what they did, and so the fallen king and queen can see how the kingdom is prospering, now that they're gone.

But Asha is not going there for them neither, she's going to the lynx laying down on the statue's feet.

"...Hi Bravo, it's me again." She chimes in, getting the attention of the big grumpy feline, she has two bowls on her hands "I got more food and water for you." she says, as she cautiously places them next to him.

The lynx growled and hissed at her angrily, and yet he didn't get up, just kept staring at her with eyes full of resentment. She understands the message and backs away slowly. Valentino is surprisingly calm, as he knows the wild cat won't attack them, he hasn't done so in the past few days they've done this.

"... I'm going to the forest" Asha sighs, pointing to where they're going "Would you like to come with us this time?" She asks the feline, hoping today will be a different answer... But all he does is lower his head, curling up closer to the statues. Asha looks down disappointingly, but also understanding "I get it. You're not ready yet." She goes on her way, giving him a small wave goodbye "You can take all the time you need, okay? I'll come back tomorrow with more food... Good night."

As she and Valentino walk away, the feline's green eyes follow them. His grumpy face morphed into a sad one, and he turns to the bowls of food and water in front of him. The big wild cat seemed conflicted, as he gazed upon the water inside the bowl, he could see himself and also his petrified owners behind him... Bravo then rubs on the queen's dress and the king's legs one final time, as if to say goodbye, before he begins to walk away from them, following Asha to the woods where he belongs.

The statues are now left all alone.

So now... We cut to Asha on the tree. That same tree she climbed to make her wish.

She lays down on the large branch, holding her sketchbook full of notes. Valentino sleeps soundly on her lap. She gazed upon the stars, or rather, one specific star, as she talks about all that has been going on lately, and from the looks of it, she has already been talking for a while.

"- It's better than I could've ever dreamed of! I thought everyone was happy before, but- now they truly FEEL happy! Like, not just smiling ya know?" She rambled to Aster, her eyes sparkling with excitement "And- OH OH yeah! Dahlia's parents have been making the BEST meals we've ever tasted! In fact, everything in the kingdom just tastes better, and looks better too... I'm sure you'd love it." Her eyes become downcast for a moment, as she looks to a sketch of Aster on her new sketchbook. It has a star on the cover, different from her previous sketchbook that had a rose. "Then again, I guess you can't taste the food, right? Heh heh... And you're already seeing how much things changed from up there... But still." She stared at the drawing longingly for a moment, before snapping out of it and smiling to the small star above her once again "Oops! I'm rambling again heheh I should wrap this up, wouldn't want to stay here until sunrise... Again hahaha" She laughs it off, recalling a previous night she went to talk with him and stayed up the whole night long. She flips her sketchbook to a page with a small list of thing she wanted to share with him "Let's see what else, what els- Oh yeah! This morning a little girl called me "princess", that was pretty cute. I tried explaining to her we don't have a monarchy anymore, and she just looked at me like "huuh???" hahah... So I kinda just rolled with it." the girl shrugged, as she nudged Valentino to wake him up, so they could go home. The goat slowly opened his eyes as she continued "I'm no princess, never wanted to be one, but... I guess that's what people see me as now... And I don't know, I'm happy with that... At the end of the day, who they're seeing is just... Me. Just some girl who didn't give up on them... Maybe that's what being a princess is all about, right? Hehe" She chuckled as she got up from the tree branch, and carefully climbed down the tree. "Anyway, see you same time tomorrow!"

Asha begins to make her way away from the tree, back to the kingdom she goes... But then her eyes lit up, for she just remembered something really important

"I ALMOST FORGOT!" She once again turns her gaze to the star "Hahah wow I really am tired- Well, I don't know if stars even celebrate it but anyway... Happy birthday, Aster." 

She knows it's his birthday, because it's the date her parents passed away, the date her grandfather wished upon a star, and Aster gained his purpose. That was 18 years ago.

However, when she turned to look up at him again... The small star is not where it was before.

Asha was smiling a second ago, but now she looks puzzled, she squints her eyes trying to find him, but it's like the star simply vanished. The girl was about to ask herself where they were, but her answer comes sooner than she thinks...

"Yeah, stars don't celebrate it actually" Aster's voice chimed in, with the usual cheerfulness she missed so much.

...

Asha felt her heart jump out of her chest, not believing her own ears. Her face is astounded as turns to the source of the voice...

Lo and behold, Aster is sitting on the tree branch, happily dangling his legs with his trademark cheeky smile. 

"Buuut they decided to make an exception for me today, I even got a pretty neat birthday gift heh heh" The star added, trying to hold in their own giddiness, almost as if he's "playing it cool" 

Asha stared at him, her jaw dropped and her eyes were so wide it's like they'll pop out of her face... She blinks, squinting her whole face a few times, like she's making sure this is not a dream.

"Maaa!" Valentino snaps her out of her daze, as he happily hops back to the tree to greet Aster.

Asha realizes this truly is not a dream. She feels her heart pounding as she sprinted back to the tree, almost tripping on the grass as she does so.

Aster let their emotions overtake him as he eagerly flew to her embrace, giggling with childlike joy.

The two lovers hug like they haven't seen each other in years, even though it's been only a few weeks.

"You're back! Did they finally agree on letting you stay here?!" Asha was overjoyed, as her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and she felt that same warmth and safety she missed so much.

"Hheeheh Agree is a strong word" Aster chuckled, with his eyes pointed upward while he embraced her warmly "There's so many of them, I'm pretty sure they can't unanimously agree on something" He concluded with a smile as the two parted from the hug to look at each other, Aster admired the gleam in her eyes as he added "But I did make a deal with them."

"... A deal?" Asha still smiled broadly, but she raised one eyebrow at that comment "What kind of deal?" 

"Heh it's a long story" The star admitted looking to the side. He hates to say it, but pretty much what he did was wish upon all the stars above to help him be with her, and after a lot, as in, A LOT, of convincing, they finally had a compromise. Luckily, Aster knows just how to summarize that story "... I think I can explain it to you... In my own way." Aster quotes the same phrase he always tells her before he begins to sing a song.

And sure enough, he leans forward, his forehead gently touching her.

As begins to sing.

And we get the song:

This Wish (Star Reprise)

So I looked up all the stars, just like me And I told them just how bright is your light "Her heart is bigger than any galaxy Her bravery outshines us all in the night"

(Asha blushes, as Aster describes what exactly he told all the stars about her, she hugs him tighter and so does he, he begins to fly with her in his arms, as he sings the second verse)

So I made this wish Asking for our everlasting bliss So I made this wish To give you even more than...

(Aster moves his head to look at her in the eyes as he caresses her face gently, Asha smiles at him expectingly to know what he's gonna say... Aster takes a deep breath)

*breathes in* *breathes out* ... This.

(They kiss.)

(Asha is stunned for a second, but quickly melts into the kiss, shutting her eyes as they slowly go round and round on the air. Valentino is jumping excitedly on the ground bellow them. With her eyes closed, Asha doesn't see that Aster and her are being enveloped in golden magic flowing around them. The music swells, with orchestral instruments being played triumphantly. The stars are shinning brighter.

Aster's magic is leaving his body, and we see that as they kiss Aster slowly turns from a 2D animated drawing to a 3D model like Asha. But not only that, his clothes also begin to change, as his long flowing cape is dissipating into star dust, floating around them like a gentle tornado.

Once they slowly and gently land their feet back on the ground, Aster's magic shoots up like a firework (That also happens in beauty and the beast but I couldn't find any gif with that part))

(Asha and Aster softly separate from the kiss. Asha still has her eyes blissfully closed, so she's yet to see how Aster has changed...)

So I made this wish To stay forever with you like... This

(Asha still has her eyes closed while Aster sings the first line. She opens her eyes during the second line, and her face grows into astonishment and wonder, as she sees Aster's new form... The focus turns to Aster when he says "This")

(Drawing by @uva124 I cannot stress this enough: GO. FOLLOW. HER! Aled is so talented!!! AAAAAAH!!!)

Aster is now a 3D character, but that's nothing new, we've seen him like that before in his human disguise... What actually changed was his clothes, because now, Aster is wearing a white shirt similar to the ones worn by any citizen in Rosas, with yellow embroidery on the sleeves. However, the most noticeable change by far is their hair...

It's brown.

With subtle curls forming on some hair strands.

Asha blinked in amazement. Her hand slides down to his chest and she realizes... He has a heart beat now, she can feel it beating fast. Asha smiled at him warmly as she notes 

"You're human..."

Aster is just awestruck, as he looks to his own hands and new clothes with eyes wide and mouth agape. He feels so many sensations:

The cold air getting in his new lungs

The smell of the woods at night

The feeling Asha's hand on his chest, in a way that feels completely foreign to him, because now, he can finally feel her warmth too.

"How do you feel?" She asked curious, as the boy seems a bit overwhelmed with everything all at once, he takes a moment before he actually manages to speak

"I- I never felt better!" Aster blurts out, thrilled beyond words as he tries to describe all these new sensations "I can feel the wind, the ground under my feet, the air filling chest I-... I can feel you." Aster looks at her lovingly, and hugs her tenderly "You're warm." He sighs, like he's about to melt into her arms.

Aster's legs shake slightly like he's getting used to standing up, so Asha helps him while also hugging him back, feeling how the now young human's embrace is just as comforting as it always has been, somehow even warmer than he was as a star.

"You too." Asha says softly "So this is your birthday gift from the stars, huh? That's quite a gift heh heh" Asha giggles, now looking into Aster's brown eyes.

"Yup, and it was NOT easy to convince most of them, let me tell ya ahaha" Aster laughs cheerfully, till he looks up and notices something new in the sky, he smiles once he sees it "But they decided that if I managed to give you a true love's kiss, they'd make me human... Not only that, but they'd also use my magic to create something really, REALLY, special."

Asha looked puzzled, and turns her head up to look at whatever Aster is staring at... And she gasps, perplexed by what she sees...

Up in the sky, there's the brightest, biggest and most beautiful star Asha has ever seen... The North Star.

Asha and Aster are holding each other closely, as they look up to the brand new wishing star in the sky, both admiring the awe-inspiring sight.

"It's so beautiful..." She breathed softly, leaning on Aster as she looked up "I bet a lot of people will wish upon them." 

"Yeah... Wanna make a wish?" Aster asks.

"Hmm... No need." She says, as she turned to Aster and placed a hand on their cheek "I got everything I could wish for, right here."

She kisses him on the lips once again.

The music swells as we pan out away from them.

We can see Aster lift Asha up and spin her around in the air, while Valentino hops happily around them, and we can hear their laughter as the perspective goes away from them and into the night sky.

We focus now on the night sky, the north star shinning brightly on the corner as we see the stars writing something, like a constellation forming the words:

The End!

End credits roll, with the song When You Wish Upon a Star sang by Sara Bareilles playing

(Thank you so much to @frogcoven88 for recommending the song and following this story from the start, you were right, it really fits the end credits!)

The credits end, and we get a post credit scene.

It's Asha playing "When you wish upon a star" with Sabino's mandolin, she's playing it perfectly. Aster is sitting next to her. They're both gazing upon the North Star.

"You're getting really good at this." Aster compliments softly once she's done playing.

"Thanks!" She replies happily, leaning her head on his shoulder, and he leans on her head, as they look up to the sky.

The screen fades to black and the last thing we see is the wishing star blinking.

The End.

Final Thoughts

... So... That was something, wasn't it?

Before I gush over how writing this whole story was an unforgettable experience for me and all that emotional stuff, let me list off my thoughts about everything in this chapter.

First, why did I make Aster leave and then come back a few weeks later? Well initially I was just gonna have him and Asha kiss and he turns human cause the stars were like "Fiiiiiiine you two are cute, we're convinced" but then I realized that would mean having their whole kiss and emotional goodbye IN PUBLIC, and I just felt very uncomfy with that idea, so I thought "TIME SKIP!" and so we get them ALONE kissing and confessing their love in the same place where it al began, sweet.

Also I wanted Asha to have a moment with the people of Rosas, having the jester represent all of them, with the gesture of fixing her grandpa's mandolin as an apology, but also as thanks for everything she did to save them. Initially I was gonna have a child give her the mandolin, but I think the jester from the first song returning is a nice touch.

We see how most of Asha's friends, or at least the ones that needed personal growth changed, Bazeema is less shy, Gabo is more caring, and Simon of course isn't sleep deprived, yay!

The Bravo scene broke me ya'll, I have a soft spot for animals, and truly I don't think Bravo was even evil, like, sure he wanted to eat Valentino... What predator wouldn't? He just wanted to please his mama and papa, and now they're gone and he kept waiting for them to come back like one of those dogs waiting for their owners at a train station and WAAAAA- WHY DO I MAKE MYSELF FEEL BAD FOR THE VILLAINS?! Anyway, Bravo went on to live in the forest and he's fine.

Asha was called a princess a lot in this story. Sabino said she was a princess because her dad was a "Prince" and her mother was "A fairy", she was called birthday princess by her friends, the villains wanted to make her a princess so they could control her, Aster said she was pretty like a princess, and finally, the people of Rosas see her as a princess because she saved them. In conclusion, there are many ways to be a princess, but at the end of the day, Asha is just herself.

And I'm sure ya'll are gonna ask me how Aster managed to convince the stars to let him be human, right? Well, like he said

"So I looked to all the stars, just like me And I told them just how bright is your light "Her heart is bigger than any galaxy Her bravery outshines us all in the night""

Which is a fancy way of saying he fangirled about how amazing Asha is to all the stars like

"YALL DONT GET IT! She's deeper than the universe itself! If happiness was a tangible thing, it would be her! I love her so much guys! I need to go back, please! Her eyes shine brighter that all of you combined! People search for a wonder like her all of their lives! Her smile is warmer than the sun! Her laugh is like-"

And the stars are just staring at Aster like "Sir, this is a wendy's" "We've talked about this child, it was decided you're to be in time out remain in your corner of the galaxy for the next 1 million earth cycles, so you may reflect on why you should've listened to us."

But eventually some stars that were already sympathetic to Aster and other ones that weren't before but slowly start to feel bad for him realize even though Aster didn't do what they thought was best... His way of doing things worked, and if it wasn't for his love for Asha they wouldn't have ever won.

So the stars discussed it, and they agreed that they could bend the rules for Aster this time, to do something that was never done before.

I think of it like that scene in The Little Mermaid when Triton turns Ariel human and he's like "Then there's just one problem left... How much we're going to miss him." because like, although they gave Aster a hard time, they really were just his family, his family with more than a billion people but still family.

Soooo Aster got Rapunzeled lmao.

Brown hair Aster my beloved, I've waited so long for this, the plot point of Magnifico saying all wishing stars have blonde hair was just for THIS.

And we get a proper origin story to THE wishing star, aka the portal to Neverland, aka Evangeline, aka The Blue Fairy.

It was kinda what Disney promised us, wasn't it? To tell us where that star came from... Well now you know.

And now... I honestly don't know how to express how grateful I am for everyone who has been following along on this journey, I never thought this would become something so special, I never shared a story before, and seeing the art, the comments, the creativity and inspiration that sprouted out of this makes me feel so happy that I did step out of my comfort zone to put this out there.

The story is over but the journey has just begun, as I still plan on expanding the lore by sharing backstories from the villains and short stories of what happens to the protagonists in the future. Fell free to send your asks to get more ideas flowing out of me hehehe.

And, for the last time... At least in this chapter of the journey...

Thank You So Much For Reading!!!

[sushisocks]

Thinking about Lenny and Sean.

Thinking about how Sean, representing the liveliness and optimism of the gang, has to be unavailable in Colter, just so that we, upon arrival in Horseshoe & his return to the gang, can really remember Colter as a dour opposition to the light, fun, easiness that is Horseshoe Overlook.

Thinking about how Sean is the last to be introduced and the first to die; how he HAS to be the first to die, as the most light-hearted, easy-going, fun-loving one of them. Every camp after Clemens Point is decidedly more dour, less light, mirroring what they have lost with his death. Even the two parties are noticably different, from Sean's party in Horseshoe being genuinely fun and full of hope, to Jack's party, while starting as well as one could hope, being marred by anger and sorrow; fights, and sadness, and quiet. It ends in a storm which cuts the party off; sends everyone inside and to bed, where Sean literally stays up singing and drinking until light. The game is telling us that things are no longer the same, through the environment. Things have changed, irrevocably, and they will only get worse from here on out.

Sean dies at the game's halfway point; end of chapter 3 of 6. He is the first to die of the gang members we truly get to know. It is surprising and jarring and grotesque. The effect is IMMEDIATE, although subtle, but absolutely there. Sean dies, and the dread starts creeping in. His death is the underlining of Arthur's kidnapping; Arthur might be fine for now but that doesn't mean things aren't getting worse.

Then Lenny, who alongside Jack represents the future, and the gang's hope. Note how they're both acknowledged as exceedingly smart; Jack for his age, and Lenny just in general (though he is also young by everyone's standards), and that Hosea is fond of both of them. The critical difference is that Jack represents youthful innocence in a way Lenny doesn't; Lenny is fully aware of what the gang is, what it does, and why it exists. He is seen talking about and understanding the societal factors that have led him to this way of life; specifically pointing out the impact of slavery and its abolishment on his quality of life as a black man.

Lenny is the only one who can be seen challenging Dutch at an intellectual level. Lenny dies, and there's little rationale left in the gang. And we are immediately treated to watching the start of Dutch's more rapid decline in Guarma. Lenny is buried next to Hosea, the (arguably) oldest gang member, with the most experience to guide them. There goes the future and past of the gang; the only voices which arguably could've made a difference.

He is also, notably, the only death who is not given a cutscene. Blink and it's done, and you're left in shock and disbelief, watching Arthur stay until the last second to not let the youngest member of the gang die alone.

So what's my point here? Well, I think it's worth pointing out that these two, alongside Molly, are the ending notes of chapter 3,4, and 5, all setting the tone for the chapter to come. Each signify the further detoriation of the gang -- they lose something with each death; a life and gun, sure, but also what that person in part represented. Optimism, reasonability, compassion. And each death is brutal; sudden; jarring, in distinct ways. Then, at last, Arthur is the final death, at the end of chapter 6. The gang is already done, by that point.

I also in part think it's interesting that part of the reason Sean and Lenny die is their own flaws. Sean's easy-going inattentive nature leaves him wide open, too busy making a quick-witted quip to keep an eye out -- even when Arthur, the most senior member among them, makes it clear something is wrong, which SHOULD put one on guard in that situation. Lenny, who believes himself lucky and intelligent, also has a sense of arrogance and recklessness which has him running headfirst into danger without looking.

I love them a lot, but I think their survival inherently would mean a very different story from the one RDR2 is. Also think they absolutely would have sided with Arthur in the end, but those are both completely different rants I'll save for another time :'^)

[warningsine]

Living online means never quite understanding what’s happening to you at a given moment. Why these search results? Why this product recommendation? There is a feeling—often warranted, sometimes conspiracy-minded—that we are constantly manipulated by platforms and websites.

So-called dark patterns, deceptive bits of web design that can trick people into certain choices online, make it harder to unsubscribe from a scammy or unwanted newsletter; they nudge us into purchases. Algorithms optimized for engagement shape what we see on social media and can goad us into participation by showing us things that are likely to provoke strong emotional responses. But although we know that all of this is happening in aggregate, it’s hard to know specifically how large technology companies exert their influence over our lives.

This week, Wired published a story by the former FTC attorney Megan Gray that illustrates the dynamic in a nutshell. The op-ed argued that Google alters user searches to include more lucrative keywords. For example, Google is said to surreptitiously replace a query for “children’s clothing” with “NIKOLAI-brand kidswear” on the back end in order to direct users to lucrative shopping links on the results page. It’s an alarming allegation, and Ned Adriance, a spokesperson for Google, told me that it’s “flat-out false.” Gray, who is also a former vice president of the Google Search competitor DuckDuckGo, had seemingly misinterpreted a chart that was briefly presented during the company’s ongoing U.S. et al v. Google trial, in which the company is defending itself against charges that it violated federal antitrust law. (That chart, according to Adriance, represents a “phrase match” feature that the company uses for its ads product; “Google does not delete queries and replace them with ones that monetize better as the opinion piece suggests, and the organic results you see in Search are not affected by our ads systems,” he said.)

Gray told me, “I stand by my larger point—the Google Search team and Google ad team worked together to secretly boost commercial queries, which triggered more ads and thus revenue. Google isn’t contesting this, as far as I know.” In a statement, Chelsea Russo, another Google spokesperson, reiterated that the company’s products do not work this way and cited testimony from Google VP Jerry Dischler that “the organic team does not take data from the ads team in order to affect its ranking and affect its result.” Wired did not respond to a request for comment. Last night, the publication removed the story from its website, noting that it does not meet Wired’s editorial standards.

It’s hard to know what to make of these competing statements. Gray’s specific facts may be wrong, but the broader concerns about Google’s business—that it makes monetization decisions that could lead the product to feel less useful or enjoyable—form the heart of the government’s case against the company. None of this is easy to untangle in plain English—in fact, that’s the whole point of the trial. For most of us, evidence about Big Tech’s products tends to be anecdotal or fuzzy—more vibes-based than factual. Google may not be altering billions of queries in the manner that the Wired story suggests, but the company is constantly tweaking and ranking what we see, while injecting ads and proprietary widgets into our feed, thereby altering our experience. And so we end up saying that Google Search is less useful now or that shopping on Amazon has gotten worse. These tools are so embedded in our lives that we feel acutely that something is off, even if we can’t put our finger on the technical problem.

That’s changing. In the past month, thanks to a series of antitrust actions on behalf of the federal government, hard evidence of the ways that Silicon Valley’s biggest companies are wielding their influence is trickling out. Google’s trial is under way, and while the tech giant is trying to keep testimony locked down, the past four weeks have helped illustrate—via internal company documents and slide decks like the one cited by Wired—how Google has used its war chest to broker deals and dominate the search market. Perhaps the specifics of Gray’s essay were off, but we have learned, for instance, how company executives considered adjusting Google’s products to lead to more “monetizable queries.” And just last week, the Federal Trade Commission filed a lawsuit against Amazon alleging anticompetitive practices. (Amazon has called the suit “misguided.”)

Filings related to that suit have delivered a staggering revelation concerning a secretive Amazon algorithm code-named Project Nessie. The particulars of Nessie were heavily redacted in the public complaint, but this week The Wall Street Journal revealed details of the program. According to the unredacted complaint, a copy of which I have also viewed, Nessie—which is no longer in use—monitored industry prices of specific goods to determine whether competitors were algorithmically matching Amazon’s prices. In the event that competitors were, Nessie would exploit this by systematically raising prices on goods across Amazon, encouraging its competitors to follow suit. Amazon, via the algorithm, knew that it would be able to charge more on its own site, because it didn’t have to worry about being undercut elsewhere, thereby making the broader online shopping experience worse for everyone. An Amazon spokesperson told the Journal that the FTC is mischaracterizing the tool, and suggested that Nessie was a way to monitor competitor pricing and keep price-matching algorithms from dropping prices to unsustainable levels (the company did not respond to my request for comment).

In the FTC’s telling, Project Nessie demonstrates the sheer scope of Amazon’s power in online markets. The project arguably amounted to a form of unilateral price fixing, where Amazon essentially goaded its competitors into acting like cartel members without even knowing they’d done so—all while raising prices on consumers. It’s an astonishing form of influence, powered by behind-the-scenes technology.

The government will need to prove whether this type of algorithmic influence is illegal. But even putting legality aside, Project Nessie is a sterling example of the way that Big Tech has supercharged capitalistic tendencies and manipulated markets in unnatural and opaque ways. It demonstrates the muscle that a company can throw around when it has consolidated its position in a given sector. The complaint alleges that Amazon’s reach and logistics capabilities force third-party sellers to offer products on Amazon and for lower prices than other retailers. Once it captured a significant share of the retail market, Amazon was allegedly able to use algorithmic tools such as Nessie to drive prices up for specific products, boosting revenues and manipulating competitors.

Reading about Project Nessie, I was surprised to feel a sense of relief. In recent years, customer-satisfaction ratings have dipped among Amazon shoppers who have cited delivery disruptions, an explosion of third-party sellers, and poor-quality products as reasons for frustration. In my own life and among friends and relatives, there has been a growing feeling that shopping on the platform has become a slog, with fewer deals and far more junk to sift through. Again, these feelings tend to occupy vibe territory: Amazon’s bigness seems stifling or grating in ways that aren’t always easy to explain. But Nessie offers a partial explanation for this frustration, as do revelations about Google’s various product adjustments. We have the sense that we’re being manipulated because, well, we are. It’s a bit like feeling vaguely sick, going to the doctor, and receiving a blood-test result confirming that, yes, the malaise you experienced is actually an iron deficiency. It is the catharsis of, at long last, receiving a diagnosis.

This is the true power of the surge in anti-monopoly litigation. (According to experts in the field, September was “the most extraordinary month they have ever seen in antitrust.”) Whether or not any of these lawsuits results in corporate breakups or lasting change, they are, effectively, an MRI of our sprawling digital economy—a forensic look at what these larger-than-life technology companies are really doing, and how they are exerting their influence and causing damage. It is confirmation that what so many of us have felt—that the platforms dictating our online experiences are behaving unnaturally and manipulatively—is not merely a paranoid delusion, but the effect of an asymmetrical relationship between the giants of scale and us, the users.

In recent years, it’s been harder to love the internet, a miracle of connectivity that feels ever more bloated, stagnant, commercialized, and junkified. We are just now starting to understand the specifics of this transformation—the true influence of Silicon Valley’s vise grip on our lives. It turns out that the slow rot we might feel isn’t just in our heads, after all.

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[metamatar]

$200k seems like quite a reasonable cost for a small sterile lab. It's not a plan to make it at home, it's a plan to make it in your town. As of now, there are so few insulin plants that the economies of scale aren't optimal for distribution (but they are for profits!)

did you miss the part that it was speculative? that it has never been demonstrated? also no, the economies of scale are fine for distribution cold chain distribution it is a solved problem. people aren't struggling to get insulin bc it can't be delivered, they're struggling bc its expensive.

im not sure you understand what economies of scale means, it means when you try to do things at larger scale – you are generally able to deploy productive technologies and innovations in organisation (specialisation) which make things easier to produce (less labour and capital input) on average. things become cheaper to produce. it is cheaper to weave cloth at a factory than in a loom you install in your backyard. that's why open insulin can only hypothetically get a vial down to the price of for profit insulin in the uk. big pharma is able to profit from insulin at 7 dollars a vial, ie it's even cheaper to produce. this is like, adam smith pin example.

the existence of a big factory or doing things at scale doesn't create destructive megaprofits... this is such a bizarre worldview of the world. you have to make a very sophisticated argument to prove this, which imo is immediately debunked by the reality of worker organised cooperatives in factories or even state run industrial production. profit tends to be a function of factors like labour relations + market dynamics like supply, demand and competition. us healthcare sucks bc your workers don't have rights, private insurance colludes with hospitals and competitors and the govt doesn't regulate pharma companies who are providing an inelastic good (medicine.)

also addressing this bc some people are mad at me but the only part of my argument that cites a piece hosted on RAND corp is the extremely high price of US insulin compared to every other country in the world. its like 30x. i don't think that is a fact that's a capitalist conspiracy, the data can be confirmed with other sources too, it just illustrates how dysfunctional US healthcare is. like, when your enemies agree...

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs

So today I want to talk a bit about what this game wants to be. In particular, I'm going to go over its key technical and artistic goals.

The Far Roofs focuses on immersive hidden world fantasy adventure. It's intended to offer the experience of a grounded, emotionally real base world attached to an idealized, fantastic "hidden world" setting.

One might say, the streets and buildings and houses of the game's world are basically our own. Above us, though, is a stranger, more idealized, and more fantastic place. It's hard to get to. It's dangerous. It's less grounded. It's full of wonder.

Those are the Far Roofs.

This divide exists to make the game feel as real as possible, if you want to go that way. That's part of what hidden world fantasy is about, after all---the idea that magic is here. That it's not in some distant alien land or mythic future or past.

It's here, if you want to reach for it.

(Now, the game is flexible enough that you can play "protagonist" types instead of realer people, and many traditional gaming groups will probably prefer that, but that'll mean getting less of that immersive effect.)

The mood the game is interested in is that feeling you get when you take a huge risk---move to a new place; try a new thing. The feeling you get in those times in your life when everything is alienated and wondrous and terrifying but there's also so much more *hope* than there was in the still times before.

It's a mood of being swept up and called forward.

This is, among other things, meant to be a game for people who've been beaten down or exhausted by the ... everything ... to feel that sensation of moving forward again.

To remember what it's like, why it's worth it, how to reach for it again.

It's meant---and I do understand that I am finite and flawed and this can only go so far---as a tonic and refreshment to the soul.

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Rules

The Far Roofs uses a 5d6-based dice pool system for day-to-day task resolution. It's relatively traditional and optimized for fast, fun dice reading. There's a loose consensus I've seen in RPG design circles that dice are for when outcomes are uncertain and both options are interesting, and I don't disagree ... but there's also this thing where rolling dice to decide is intrinsically interesting and fun, where it's fuel for a certain part of the brain.

This game tries to get as much out of that side of dice as it can.

You'll also collect letter tiles and cards over the course of the game. This is for bigger-picture stuff:

To answer big questions and to complete big projects, you'll either assemble representative words out of those tiles, or, play a poker hand built out of those cards. Word and their nuances express ideas and shape how outcomes play out; poker hands, conversely, just give a qualitative measure of how much work you do or how well things will go.

In keeping with this, the campaign is represented principally in the form of questions or issues your words and hands can address. Player/GM-created campaigns would be the same.

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Physical and Electronic Product

I wanted to put the print version within the range of as many people who might need that tonic as possible. That means that for this particular game, I wanted to cover the full territory that I'd normally cover in a two or three volume set (core rules, setting, and campaign) in a single 200-250-page volume.

In practice this means there's a guide and examples for constructing the setting, rather than a deep dive into a fully-detailed world; that there's a bit less in the way of whimsical digression and flourish than in the writing I'm known for; that there's minimal "flavor" text on abilities; and that the campaign presentation is pretty fast-paced.

Conversely, it means that the game should be easy to absorb and to share with other possible players, and, that the game and campaign in this one relatively small volume should provide enough content for five or six years of play.

The book will be 8.5"x11" with grayscale art, available in a limited hardcover print run and a print-on-demand softcover form.

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On the Rats

You'll see a lot of talk from me and others about the talking rats in this game. They're one of the jewels of the experience, and I think they're probably a significant draw just for being talking rats that are core to the game.

... but I'm going to hold off for now, because, to be clear, this is not a game of playing talking rats. It's just a game where talking rats and probably one of the top three most important setting elements.

I couldn't get that feeling I wanted of ... the base world being grounded realism; of the hidden world pulling you up and out and into a world full of magic ... with your playing rats, with your playing something so distant from the typical player.

So this is not a game of playing them.

They're just ... I like rats, and so I made the rats in this game with love. They're great ... whatever the equivalent is to "psychopomps" is for a magical world instead of for death ... and a way of talking about how in the face of the world, we're all pretty small.

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I'm really excited about this game; the playtest was lovely.

I hope you'll enjoy it as well!