#and the one who lives never says that they're not

[arueshalaetablebuildingsociety]

Earnings aren't usually the best way to tell who is truly part of the bourgeoisie, since different States, states, counties, cities, et cetera will have different average rent prices, different grocery prices, different utilities costs, different renters protections,...

And, at the end of the day, bourgeoisie has never been about earnings, it's about wielding Capital (power gained through wealth, through fame, through connections, through politics) as a weapon to stratify society with you at the top.

Don't ask, "who makes $X/yr," ask, "who acts like someone who thinks they're untouchable?" Someone can be an asshole or genuinely shitty, and not be a class traitor.

But the car mogul who owns every dealership across two counties and uses that to ensure their workers NEVER unionize, drive up the cost of cars and maintenance, and to campaign against Right to Repair? Class Traitor, unless they inherited it, in which case they're just Bourgeoisie.

The repo agents who knowingly and willingly break the law to enforce unconscionable debt contracts that they KNOW would likely not hold up under challenge and deny people their rights to contest an otherwise unilateral decision, and know they'll never be sued for it? Class traitors, each and every one of them.

Someone who uses massive amounts of political lobbying to allow themselves to end prescription drug subsidies, drive up prescription drug costs, and then force everyone who now can't afford the medicine or procedures to live or die only by their whims? Bourgeoisie Tyrant.

The 9-5 News Anchor who uses their position of media influence to say people should just boycott healthcare (translation: die) instead of protesting or resisting? Class Traitor.

Okay, so, friends. Occasionally I see an American post on here about “guillotine the rich,” and it turns out that “rich” means “anyone making over $50k.”

We need to clear this shit up REAL fast, because otherwise it’s gonna wind up like the French Revolution, where more middle class and poor people were killed for being “class traitors” than actual nobles. (Did you know that France has more nobles today than during the French Revolution? While there were a few showy executions, many nobles did just fine or experienced minor setbacks.)

If someone makes $60,000 a year, they are making about twice as much as a full time worker making minimum wage in California, Arizona, Colorado, Connecticut, DC, Hawaii, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Oregon, Rhode Island, or Washington State.

Brian Thompson, the CEO of United HealthCare who was just assassinated in New York City, earned $10 million a year, which means he earned 333 times minimum wage in those states. Basically, he cleared an annual minimum wage salary in just over a day. And that “rich” person making $60k/year that you want to guillotine? He made their salary in a bit over two days of a year.

So he was rich, right?

Well. Tesla is trying to give Elon Musk a pay package of $101 billion. That is 10,100 times what Brian Thompson earned and 3,366,667 times more than a minimum wage worker. (Tesla hasn’t been successful yet because of a complicated lawsuit from a shareholder, but they’ll get there.) If you are a minimum wage worker, Elon Musk makes more every SECOND than you do in a year. And that “rich” person who you want to guillotine? He makes their salary in about 1.6 seconds. Even when he’s sleeping.

Now, remember. The Muskrat also is the head of SpaceX, the Boring Company, X.ai, and X.com, so this is just ONE pay package for him.

What I’m saying is — you have much more in common when it comes to economic grievances with someone earning $60,000 (or even $200,000) than the ultra wealthy that have real power. They are not the people you should expend your energy on.

[peachylynnie]

old

word count: 800 (unintentional)

synopsis: in which you ask rafayel a question he isn't prepared for.

contains: rafayel x mc!reader, established relationship, they're at the beach, reference to rafayel's lore (the part where mc doesn't remember him), fear of age, fluff to angst to even more angst (not a bad ending), and kissing.

a/n: this is a result of me listening to algernon by yorushika on loop, especially the part, "we're losing our memories slowly." enjoy! reblogs and comments are always welcome. do NOT copy or translate my work. rafayel does NOT endorse plagiarism.

"will you still love me when i'm old?"

"what kind of question is that?" rafayel pouts at you, scrunching his nose. "of course, i will."

you chuckle mirthlessly. bringing your knees to your chest, you don't look at him. instead, you stare off into the sun who is eager to finally embrace the waves after a long day. sighing deeply, you wonder if it is happy even though it no longer shines. "i'm serious, raf. i'm going to have wrinkles and all."

"pft, did i ever tell you i have a thing for wrinkles?"

"raf!"

"okay, okay!"

with a bright smile, rafayel cups your red cheeks and turns your face towards him. you can't help but tear up when you meet his eyes. no one has ever looked at you with so much love. there is no doubt he loves you now. but what about in the future? will he still look at you like this when you have aged? grayed? no longer able to hold a candle to a ripe rose?

shaking your head, you try to turn away, but rafayel doesn't let you. he turns you to face him again. "yes, i will still love you when you're old."

unable to stop the tears from flowing, you bury your head in rafayel's chest. you don't deserve him. no one does.

but rafayel wants to convince you otherwise. he wants you to see what he sees. he wants you to trust he will love you until your dying breath. he wants you to know he dreams of a moment in the future when he can truthfully tell you he lived a good life thanks to you and draw his last breath in your arms. he wants to grow old with you.

"cutie," he calls for you, trying to pull you away so he can look at you properly. "look at me. please?"

you could never say no to rafayel. you tilt your chin up, allowing him a peek at your swollen eyes. he can't help but giggle at how adorable you are. "there you are, cutie."

"it's not funny, raf," you whine as you tilt back down. "i won't be beautiful to you anymore. heck, i won't even be able to talk or move anymore. how could you possibly still love me then?"

"woah, woah," the lavender-haired man reacts as he pulls you by the shoulders. "you're afraid of a natural process all humans go through and not the terrifying, monstrous wanderers you face every day?"

"yes." you grumble.

rafayel chuckles and kisses your forehead. "trust me on this, cutie," he kisses your nose. "no matter what you look like," he kisses your cheek. "or what you do," he kisses your chin. "i will always love you." he kisses your lips, finally saving them from the cold ocean breeze. "always."

he deepens the kiss, wrapping a hand around your nape and the other around your waist. shutting your eyes, you relish in his lips and allow your tears to fall. as the sand beneath you grows wet from your tears, your fingers find refuge in rafayel's clothes, with you desperately hoping this moment could last forever. two lovers, seeking each other's presence on the beach and promising to love each other no matter what the world throws at them, including time—the very thing people fear yet want.

as your fingers tighten around his attire, rafayel can't help but push himself more into the kiss, causing you to fall backward with him on top of you, his arms planted at each side of your head. opening your eyes, you gasp at the sight above you. there he was, panting with his sweet lips parted, his cerulean and coral eyes dazed, and his broad arms trembling.

he wants more. he always does. but there's one more question you have to ask.

"will you still love me," you swallow shakily. "even if i forget about you?"

his breath hitches.

"r-raf?" you stare at him in concern, raising your hands to hold his face. flinching at the chill of his skin, you rub his cheek with your thumb. why is he so cold? he's never cold, ever. his evol makes sure of that. and his eyes… there was a flash of sorrow in them. "are you okay?"

rafayel inhales deeply before burying himself in the crook of your neck, his arms now tightening around your waist. his voice muffled and the wind strong, you don't hear what he says. "raf?" patting his head, you ask him to repeat what he said.

slowly, rafayel rises, his now-watering eyes meeting yours. you immediately return your hands to his face, trying to wipe his tears away. "raf? what's wrong?"

"nothing," he replies hoarsely. "it's just…"

you gaze at him worriedly, your eyes imploring him to answer quickly so you can take away whatever was paining him. but rafayel doesn't say anything. instead, he brings a hand to your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. "it's just?" you repeat softly.

a moment of silence passes before he finally answers.

"yes, i will love you even when you forget about me, my beloved bride."

[grimaldiapologist]

Hi, my freeranged and appropriately enriched audience. I need to talk about something real big bad and I think I've already ended all of my friendships for this reason, so I'm doing it here instead.

This scene? After Colosseum?

There's so many things going on in this scene, and for the love of everything that is holy, in order to talk about any of it, I've clipped Macrinus out of the picture because he doesn't exist.

I'll start with the fact that, while these two are described as somewhat pathologically paranoid, this is the first day we see them living through that gives them significant reason to be worried. Most days, they seem to coast by being both terminally naïve and endlessly isolationist in terms of their company, focusing solely on each other and themselves, particularly their hedonistic pursuits, while assuming that everybody they surround themselves with loves them, for whatever reason. Everything is going great for them as far as they're perceiving it. They don't know the audiences are not cheering for them - they take every cheer as if it was aimed at them. Presenting Acacius at the Colosseum for the first day of the games? They receive no applause beyond what the audience is already dishing out upon their introductions. But producing Marcus Acacius has the audience heated, and these two somehow think that's for them. They're idiots. Morons. They're so stuck in their own delusions of grandeur that yes, while they do recognise they're in Rome and Roman emperors have a terrible tendency to catch a blade, they don't seem to be actually living that reality at all.

What we know from the script is, however, that they have never truly known stability or safety: his whole life, Geta has been shielding Caracalla from their father's explosive anger. Caracalla, presumably, has witnessed this if nothing else, though I'm curious about that golden tooth within this context. I'm sure he's caught some inbetween there, too, because Geta can only afford so much shield from a grown man. And they've never had any protection from any of that. Nobody would stand up to an emperor to protect a prince; they were his rightful property. He could do with his boys whatever he pleased, and Geta's sole duty has been, it seems, not to survive, but ensure that his brother does. His pain has never mattered. His rights, needs, wants, wishes have never mattered. Caracalla's have.

I'm sure they used to be at each other's throats like the wolf pups that they are when they were younger. But what you can see with them in their early adulthood is that this is something that does not apply anymore. They'll hurt anybody else, particularly anyone they perceive as hostile to them, and most often it's done just for fun and pleasure. This makes Caracalla's fetish for watching violence particularly interesting - what with the complex relationship kinks and fetishes can often have with prior trauma, feelings of powerlessness, and attempts to regain control - but that's for a wholly different meta there. What I'm getting at is that it's always others they inflict cruelty upon, and enjoy, but never each other; there is an absolute dynamic between them, it's them against the world, them for one another. Geta's first duty is to protect Caracalla, and Caracalla trusts him implicitly. At least before this scene.

While script!Geta has less patience for his brother than Quinn's Geta does, there is never any doubt there who and what his priority is. Caracalla comes first to him. So, it's safe to say that with Dondus screaming, when he flings his water in Caracalla's face, it's never with the intent of hitting him. I have sensory issues and I'll be the first to admit I've thrown things when my processing threshold is violently crossed and it's something you just don't second-guess, like someone hitting your knee joint with a hammer. But regardless of intent, the consequences are so very interesting. And I'm sure Caracalla, even, knows that this wasn't intentional. Dear gods though, look at his reaction.

This is the face of someone telling you you have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

And, for the sake of my sanity, I need to make sure everybody understands that Caracalla's way to emphasise just how much things have broken here is to say absolutely nothing, leave the room, and go cry under a table. Terrifying. But I digress; what is terrifying is Geta, after this has happened.

This is the face of a man who has crossed a boundary of his own, and it has quite little to do with the previous. Yes, Caracalla is angry at him, and there will be consequences in some form. Again, for now, the consequences are that he's chosen to become inconsolable and hide under furniture, likely much as he did when their father had his rages. But Geta, for the first time in his life, broke out of his role of a protector, and the one to be beaten.

He's realised that Caracalla is not untouchable. And for ages, he doesn't move, because his whole world has shaken here; and what he does then to justify his actions is blame his brother for them. Caracalla did absolutely nothing to earn what he did to him, but it's now his fault, for being so unstable. A liability. How could Caracalla make him do this to him, truly.

This evening, Geta's been brought face to face with his reality: he is not loved. He is not untouchable. While he can mandate the word of gods, he is not, himself, regarded as a god. Not like he deserves. Not like he should be. He's suffered so much - but he is a great man, and he knows this. He's not stupid, and he's a conqueror, albeit from his comfortable seat at home. But he deserves better.

And what, pray, is standing in the way? What is holding him back? His brother is. Caracalla, who is always embarrassing him. Who is his first and last responsibility each day and each night, who needs him to watch his every move, to keep him safe not only from the world but from himself and his own instability, his insanity, his unpredictable actions. Without Caracalla, Geta could be focusing on being an emperor. He could be achieving so much more than he is, if he wasn't his brother's constant, eternal keeper, his babysitter, his court jester. And he deserves more, doesn't he? He deserves to be remembered.

So, let Macrinus (who doesn't exist as you can see from the screenshots) handle Caracalla this time. Geta has an empire to think of.

And this, this is what interests me about this scene more than anything. For Caracalla's part, things seem at a glance much more benign, though no less broken: the one thing he took as certain as air has fallen apart - that his brother would always stand for him first, and would never lay a finger on him to hurt him. His brother, who bled for him, protected him from their father, and has ever since looked after him, elevated him to the highest status, aside from some... minor symptoms of hubris, of course. But while all of this hurts him, deeply, fundamentally, it isn't enough to make him immediately see Geta as his enemy.

And I can't stop asking - should he? Should he now regard Geta as his enemy? His whole world is collapsing. It's from this very moment onwards (yes, this one, specifically) that he begins to show symptoms of acute psychosis: delusions, paranoia, severe lapses in reality, memory, and continuity. He doesn't look like he sleeps either, but of course, other factors come into play with that part. (And gods know I don't blame him for that.)

Geta was his foundation, his bedrock. They were in this together, whatever happened. Yes, they bicker, but they've always known how that goes: Geta's patience is endless with Caracalla, and Caracalla's thirst for violence is not turned towards him, even at its worst. Geta has no issues turning his back to Caracalla in the state that he is while the man is wielding a sword and doing god knows what with it in the background. Not for one second does Geta flinch when coming between Caracalla, his sword, and a man he's already condemned to die, because Caracalla would never harm him, either.

But after this? After the first blow, however small? What then?

I'm just asking questions here. This could lead onto the next subject - the way Caracalla's whole demeanor changes when he inflicts the first wound on his brother and finds that he bleeds just the same - but I'm keeping that to me for now.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3])

the river flowing. mushrooms and lichens growing from a fallen tree. nicky's other mom is always with them.

agatha clearly loves teaching nicky all she knows about magic, because she is a teacher at heart! and he's literally the first person she gets to pass her knowledge on to, she's relishing every minute of it.

meanwhile poor nicky is just hungry. because the fucker makes him live in the woods.

and I guess she finds it easier to be honest when it's about explaining how magic works.

oh no the way they're whispering is so cute??? and she'll keep calling it her purple long after nicky's death.

and this has been pointed out many times, but when nicky smiles you're sure reminded of how they went out of their way to find a kid who looked like aubrey plaza too

another thing that has been pointed out ad nauseam and it will be repeated again, because it's so good: I cannot heal you, like jen would. I cannot protect you, like alice would. and I cannot divine, like lilia would.

could a real coven have healed nicky, protected him, saved him from his fate? did she kill him sooner than necessary by keeping him cold and starving in the woods? agatha will never know, because despite all her love, she put her own fear over his safety. maybe nicky would have died anyway, but it's still cruel and unfair that he had to spend the little time he had on earth in such a lonely way.

agatha, despite all the mind tricks she plays on herself and on others, is simply too smart to not see that what she's doing is selfish, harmful to nicky, and ultimately futile. this is why she'd rather blame rio, and it's why she can't go to nicky in the afterlife: she can't face her own guilt.

(also, she's afraid she'll find a version of him that can now understand what she did and will hate her for it.) (and I imagine that a grown up nicholas would have had a hard time coming to terms with his childhood too.)

and still. and still. this whole mess of a person doing a terrible job at raising her son? she's also the daughter of an abusive mother who is trying to be better, she is trying to give him what she never had - love, support, knowledge. her selfish choices don't negate all the love and joy she gave him too.

and on top of everything else, nicky is about to freaking die! in modern times we'd say he has a terminal illness, she doesn't know how much time she has left with him. that is an impossible lot to navigate, especially for a person alone and carrying with her so much baggage and trauma and unhealthy coping mechanisms. keeping nicky so isolated is the only way she feels like she has an illusion of control over the inevitable.

agatha is not only denying nicky a coven, she's denying herself a community that would have helped her carry this burden, that would have taught and encouraged her to do better, that would have ultimately shared her pain in mourning. isn't that another tragedy within the tragedy? knowing what could have been?

agatha teaches him magic, even though he doesn't have any. maybe he was still too young, maybe he really was just a regular kid. still, she teaches him.

NOT THE DANDELION. i'm about to bite my screen in anguish

sure, sure, the time has come to go. I'm fine, I'm totally fine.

aaaaaand some more scamming!!!

agatha the ham is one of my favorite agathas. but wait, I'll make you sad again now! they're doing this shit because they don't have any money to eat. and nicky is clearly sick, and agatha is still making him do it. because they don't have any money to eat.

meanwhile witches everywhere are getting curious about the Ballad. (doesn't she look a bit like sadie sink?)

for the THIRD TIME a witch notices nicky coughing / how sick he is and offers her coven's help.

nicky looks agatha straight in the eyes and refuses to lure witches to their deaths. he stands up for himself. he disobeys.

and yes, the obvious double meaning: my other mother needs me home.

agatha forgets all her scheming and runs after him in a panic. she is losing control over him. she is losing him.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

We all know that the real reason you hate Veilguard is that non-white people have agency and power in the story, unlike your precious BG3 fetishizing racism. Imagine you giving a shit about the fact that Karlach's story is incomplete because Sven Vincke believes that oppressed minorities deserve racist abuse.

Okay so obviously this ask wasn't sent in good faith (and bizzare considering Karlach, Lae'zel and Wyll are my favs in Bg3 and I've been outspoken about disappointment in their treatment by Larian compared to Astarion but I digress). But it has prompted an interesting thought because....

What agency do characters (any, but especially our non-white as anon has pointed out) have in Veilguard? I think of any RPG (maybe even any videogame?) the Veilguard companions have the LEAST agency I've seen.

All RPGs involve an element of helping to decide your companions fate; will Merrill smash the mirror or keep it? Will Isabela come back? Will Alistair become a warden, a king or a drunk? Will Leliana let ruthlessness or compassion rule her? And how you play does effect this; often there are important choices at certain moments.

I think these decisions in general work better when they're slowly built up over a number of choices (e.g. Leliana in DAI, who will be divine) or come from approval/disproval (Merrill smashing the mirror if she feels she has nobody on side vs. keeping it if she feels she has you at her back). This is because in these situations the characters are not just asking what to do to the player they are influenced by numerous situations and circumstances and that effects the decisions they make.

But veilguard...well. the approval system doesn't exist. None of the companions can hate or dislike Rook, they can only like you to various degrees of intensity. So that doesn't effect anything. They have no agency over their relationships and whether or not they like someone. And there is a total of one choice which I would say truly affects the game long term (maybe you can argue two if you say a meaningful decision with long reaching consequences can happen an hour before the game ends) and even making that choice won't really sour Lucanis or Neve against you fully.

I've mentioned a few times that veilguard companions have no line in the sand; they're very maluable to just...whatever Rook tells them. None of them have strong opinions about magic, religion, race, culture, society. Is that agency? Is it agency to water down a character so they have no stance on anything? Can a companion HAVE agency if they don't have any real negative opinions ever? If they never truly get to be influenced by the world to make decisions for themselves?

Each companion has a choice of two endings and Rook makes them for the companion in question. DA has done this kind of decision before (Bull comes to mind) but they've never followed such a formulaic system in which everyone looks to Rook at one moment and decides the fate of their lives (and in Bellaras case their people) from one decision the player makes. The companions don't push back against Rook for making a choice they dislike or regret letting Rook make for them. When you chose to kill Avelines husband for her she is pissy at you YEARS later for making that decision for her in the moment. In veilgurd there is just. Nothing. They lack any real agency in the narrative at all that can last beyond the scene they're in.

This I think is particularly aggregious with Bellara and Taash; Bellaras agency in the narrative is completely bulldozed by the fact that Rook is allowed to decide whether or not she keeps the archive spirit; something with deep significance to the Dalish/her culture. There's an excellent post about how this is akin to book burning even if DA didn't mean for it to be. You can just tell her to get rid of it and she does! No regrets! Because her culture is never truly at the forefront of her storyline it's viewed as something tangential to who she is; something she can easily discard if you tell her to. Is that agency? She doesn't get mad at you for any particular decision, is that agency?

And then Taash...God Taash deserved so much better. They're living a story about lack of binaries and yet every single choice is about forcing them in one. Taash says they're happy being multicultural at the beginning of the story and you slowly but surely strip that from them and you're FORCED to do so. Is that agency for them? Is that what you think giving characters agency Is? Is that not one of the more racist/insensitive options Bioware has EVER placed before a player.

Davrin spends the narrative learning there is more to him than having to die at the end of a hard fight; he becomes a father, and allows his love of Assan to guide him in the sense that Assan acts as a mirror; just as the griffins can be reframed as protectors of Arlathan rather than just wardens doomed to die so can Davrin...but then they decided that Davrin should be up as the choice of who dies and not only that but they made that decision because they thought players would find it hard to chose between ASSAN and Harding not Davrin and Harding. Which. Is gross. I do think Davrins storyline is handled the best out of everyone which is why he's my favourite, but the ending just adds a bad taste to my mouth.

Neve, Dorian, Mae and the Black Divine are happy to leave their countries future political situation to a complete outsider no questions or disagreements mentioned. Is that uhhh. Is that agency?

Even Solas is stripped of any agency in this narrative; Mythal made him do it! If she says he can stop he will! What? Where did THAT come from? How uninteresting does that make Solas?

As for if the Veilguard companions have power or are in positions of power....I guess? Maybe? Neve can be the leader of a smuggler gang (don't think too hard about what they might smuggle in the slave capital of the world) which is a position of power. Or an...inspiration? Which gives her very little concrete steps towards actually helping docktown. Lucanis can lead the crows I guess? That's powerful...altho he doesn't seem to want the position or be able to refuse it or even complain about it. We have no idea or clue what happens to Harding, Davrin, Taash after the game but hey maybe that's because they could all be dead.

The characters ARE powerful ill give you that. We have some immensely powerful mages in our party and I LOVE every scene where Neve throws up a sheild or places herself as a shield to protect her friends. I wish we'd got to see more of Bellaras science and tinkering smarts but what we get is GREAT. But having a powerful character isn't the same as a character having agency in their story or being able to effect meaningful change.

So yeah. I mean. Obviously bad faith anon straw manning me because I dared to have an opinion about a game they happen to like (and liking the game is fine! I like parts of the game! I think the characters deserved better but hey ho). But I think it's interesting to think about agency and power in this narrative because....I don't think anyone actually gets much of it. Certainly not in comparison to previous DA characters like Blackwall, Leliana, Viv, Zevran, Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela etc.

[rivertalesien]

A lot of ideas can co-exist.

There are activists on Tumblr. Some have been "activated" online. They've grown up on Tumblr. Tumblr is a default location for so many to try and urge others to act on their own best interests. There's no better way to use Tumblr than through fandoms.

That means the bad faith operators use them, too.

We've seen radicalizing in fandoms for years. Terfs do it, fascists do it.

One of the ways they have been particularly effective is in shutting down any conversation they don't want people to have. And it has worked. There are outcroppings in every social media sphere where people are: NO POLITICS. NO LGBTQ TALK. NO GENOCIDE TALK. NO BAD STUFF. PERIOD. No one wants to go through the drama of sorting it all out. It's been traumatizing for a lot of people. Cutting everything potentially problematic back is one way of dealing with the problem and making sure nothing toxic starts to take hold again.

There's upsides to that and some downsides: how people have been radicalized says a lot. I know some folks just want to get the revolution started and think banging heads together out here will do it.

So there's folks who have grown up here to reject that, fight against it and try to push others toward "action" without ever really being able to define what that "action" should be. There's folks who don't even realize they're desperation for "action" turns them off the folks who do not want anymore trauma. When you're deep in that mindset, you're not much better than a troll, really, and about as effective.

Yes, mental health/physical trauma is a real and valid reason some folks will not engage with political content of any kind.

Want to be an effective activist?

Online is never where it is at. You are simply not going to move people here. It won't happen. The need for the protective bubble is just too strong. You can use your platform to spread information, activist activities that are happening offline or specific ways people can help themselves and others, which people can then choose to participate in by sharing with their circles. That's it. That's what you can do here. If something goes viral here, it won't be because you pushed it on folks, judged them. Made them feel bad. People have to walk by themselves. They can't be forced along.

If you really need to feel some movement in the world, get involved locally. Join a school board. Library board. Volunteer at food banks, community gardens. Setup a booth at the mall or other community location and learn how to engage with people directly. More people will just walk on by, but once in a while, someone will come up to you and really want to know what's up. It doesn't feel rewarding or cinematically revolutionary, but that's how it's done. You can't start with a massive audience from day one. It's one to one to one to one until there are ten. Until there are twenty. Until there are a hundred.

If you need to go a step further, help a labor union. Join the picket lines. Encourage others to join unions. That's big right now and an effective way forward.

And don't forget that a huge part of what is going on in this world is a lack of compassion. A lack of humanity toward others. Everyone needs it. We need love and gentleness and kindness. If your activism doesn't start there, it won't end there. You may not believe it because you live in your own bubble of Rightness. If you think other people's suffering justifies you being a dick, you're not helping them. Donate to their GFMs. Encourage others to. Kindly. *That* helps.

Online is where we archive. Where we keep track. Where people find solidarity in the things that keep them going. That keep our humanity intact. That's the best of it. The worst is when we stomp around on it and tell others how they should feel and how they should live. That's not activism. That's policing. If there's one thing activism should never involve, it's policing others.

I'm a good twenty-odd years in this game now. I work in my community and my state and I'm telling you: you're not going to change the world online. The movements you have seen that seem to arise and build awareness? Online was incidental. It wasn't what made it happen. Bitching at people for "not caring enough" not sharing enough trauma posts or what not, is not what makes change happen. Nobody knows you. You're a stranger who walked into their house and told them YOU'RE DOING IT ALL WRONG and only added to their own trauma. It's not helping anyone at all.

PS: people talk politics all the time. They just might not be talking about it with you. For a very good reason.

Humble yourself a little. It won't hurt.

We need all of us in this time. Set a better example. Let people come to you. Go out and meet your neighbors. People need connection, not judgement. That's how this works.

I am actually begging some people to just let some spaces exist untouched by real-world issues and horrors.

Like I've lost count of the amount of times peaceful game or fandom servers have been ruined by people stampeding in with political rants, bitching about world issues, demanding internal activism, demanding vent channels so they can whine about their shitty parents, ect.

Like. Respectfully. Not every single space has to be inclusive of and welcoming of outside topics. The real world sucks. We don't needed to be reminded of that absolutely everywhere.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Oh the Guilt

Sam Carpenter x Reader

One-shot

Summary: no

Warning(s): major character death and mourning/grief

Notes: Based off of this request: hey! i saw your requests are open (i am indeed busting). i was wondering if you’d do some angst with either sam or tara? maybe sam/tara spending the holidays alone because they falsely accused reader of being gf and pushed them away/broke up w them. but it only ended up putting r in danger and leading to their death? love me some good ol angst if you’re up for it! have a great holiday season :)

The Christmas lights blur through her tears as Sam clutches your photo to her chest, fingers trembling against the worn edges. Her apartment feels too quiet, too empty, the silence broken only by the distant sound of people celebrating that makes everything worse. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sam stares at your sweater draped over her couch - the soft blue one you always wore when it got cold, the one that still holds traces of your perfume. She doesn't deserve its comfort, but she pulls it on anyway, drowning in fabric and guilt and memory.

"We’re specimens to you, aren’t we?" Sam's voice had cracked like breaking glass, fear masquerading as anger. "I’m not letting Tara get hurt again!"

You'd reached for her, confusion and hurt painting your features. "Sam, please. You know me. I would never-"

"I thought I knew Richie too," she'd snarled, backing away from your touch. "Get out. Get out!”

The door had slammed with such finality. She'd thought she was protecting herself, protecting everyone. Instead, she'd handed you to them gift-wrapped - alone, vulnerable, perfect prey.

By the time Sam realized her mistake, she was cradling your broken body in the rain, red seeping into puddles around you both. Your fingers had weakly brushed her cheek, still trying to comfort her even then.

"Not your fault," you'd whispered, but those words haunt her worse than any ghostface ever could.

Now Tara brings food she doesn't eat, Kirby tries to coax her out, but Sam remains suspended in amber, preserved in the moment she lost you. Your clothes hang in her closet like ghosts. She wears your sweaters to sleep, buries her face in the fabric and pretends she can still feel your warmth.

The Christmas tree in the corner - the one you'd insisted on buying together - stands half-decorated, just as you'd left it. Tinsel dangles like broken promises. The star you'd picked out remains in its box, because finishing it without you feels like accepting you're gone.

Sam traces the words of your last text message: "I love you. We'll talk soon." Her phone screen has cracked from how many times she's dropped it, hands shaking too hard to hold on.

She knows she should let others in. Knows you'd want her to live, to heal, to forgive herself. But every time Tara hugs her or Kirby offers support, it feels like betraying your memory. Like she doesn't deserve comfort after what she did to you.

Sometimes, in the depths of night when the walls feel like they're closing in, Sam swears she can feel you. A whisper of movement in her peripheral vision, the ghost of your touch against her shoulder, the way the air shifts as if accommodating your presence.

"I see you everywhere," she whispers into the darkness, clutching your sweater like a lifeline. "The coffee mug you chipped is still in the cabinet. Your stupid action movies are still in my queue. I can't… I can't delete them."

The apartment creaks, settling into winter's grip, and Sam lets out a broken laugh. "Remember how you used to say these old buildings had character? God, you'd make up stories about the noises - ghosts having dance parties, you said." Her voice catches. "Is that what you're doing now? Dancing without me?"

Sam reaches out, fingers trembling in the empty air where she imagines you might be. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I was so scared of losing everyone that I pushed away the one person who…" She chokes on the words. "The one person who never gave me a reason to doubt them."

The Christmas lights flicker, and for a moment, Sam's heart stops. She's learned to find meaning in these small disturbances, these tiny rebellions against reality. "I know what you'd say. That I need to forgive myself. That I need to let people in." Tears track down her cheeks. "But how can I? How can I when every time I close my eyes, I see you bleeding out in my arms?"

Something shifts in the room - maybe the heating kicking in, maybe something more. The tinsel on the half-decorated tree sways gently. Sam watches it, transfixed. "If you're here… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I should have trusted you. Should have protected you. Should have been there when…"

The star for the tree - your star - sits in its box on the coffee table. As Sam watches through tears, a draft from somewhere catches the lid, lifting it slightly. Her breath hitches.

"You want me to finish it, don't you? The tree?" Her laugh is wet, broken. "Always so stubborn about traditions." She reaches for the star with shaking hands. "I don't know if I can. It feels like accepting you're really…"

The room grows impossibly still, as if the very air is holding its breath. Sam could swear she feels the phantom pressure of your hand over hers, guiding her toward the tree. The sensation is so vivid she gasps.

"Okay," she whispers, standing on unsteady legs. "Okay, baby. For you." She clutches the star to her chest, your sweater hanging loose on her frame. "But I'm not ready to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

As she reaches up to place the star, the Christmas lights seem to glow a little brighter, and for just a moment, Sam swears she can feel your arms around her waist, your chin on her shoulder, just like before. Just like always.

"Stay with me?" she asks the empty room, knowing the answer, dreading the silence. "Even if I don't deserve it?"

The lights flicker once, twice - like a heartbeat, like a promise - and Sam breaks down sobbing, sliding to the floor beneath your half-finished tree, beneath your star, beneath the weight of a love that even death couldn't quite end.

———

A/N: first request filled, ob-la-di (sorry if this sucks, I’m half-asleep)

[fuctacles]

Dude, That's My Ghost!

A @steddieexchange fic for @hellfireloserclub !! I hope you like it. The whole first chapter is up on Ao3.

E | ~9k | no cw | Soulmates AU, Supernatural Elements, Magical Bonds, Ghost Sex, No UD, Magical Bonds | more tags on Ao3! | beta read by @blasvemous <3

Disappearing Act

The Universe is an amazing creation. In its vastness, it gives you a Soulmate, so you don't feel alone despite your brief and meaningless existence. It may not be perfect, but it's thoughtful, and that's more than you can say about its inhabitants.

And yet, in this benevolent Universe, there is Steve Harrington.

"Ah."

He's standing in front of a guy, their hands outstretched and bare, their Soul-marks visible. At least what's left of them. 

Steve watches in horror as the swarm of bats moves around his skin in panic, vanishing one by one as if sucked into his body. They've been with him for years and now they're just... gone.

When he looks up at the man he's just met, the nail bat on his forearm has vanished as well. He looks more surprised than terrified, though, twisting his arm curiously.

"Well..." He purses his lips. "I'm sorry, mate." He shrugs. "It was nice meeting you."

And before Steve can grab him, or collect himself at all, the man disappears into the crowd. He doesn't feel anymore the tether that helped him find the man in the first place. It's all gone. The Soul-mark, the connection, his Soulmate. Who was clearly right in front of him just a minute ago.

What the fuck had just happened?

Nobody has an answer for him. As far as he knows, it has never happened before, ever. Steve Harrington must be just a special kind of fucked up, hated by the universe. Destined to be unloved. Even though for a brief moment, he wasn't. For a second, he felt whole, with his Soulmate right in front of him, within reach of his hand, but as soon as their palms touched... it disappeared.

There are people without them, but no one whose mark would vanish, like a candy yanked out of a kid's hand. And every day Steve wonders, why him? In a world where everyone was leaving him, where having someone tied to him was his only hope, the only chance for love, why him?

He had left that music festival, where he met the man supposedly destined for him, right after, to grieve his loss in the solitude of his apartment. It felt like a piece of his soul had been torn out and something inside him ached, open and bleeding, with no way to patch it up.

The taped boxes of Robin's stuff were like an additional kick in the gut. She was leaving him soon too, off to live with her soulmate, which she gets to have. He loves it for her, of course he does, but it was easier to do knowing there was someone out there for him as well.

To not think about it, he finally focused on what he's been putting away ever since Robin said she was moving in with Vickie. Looking for a new place, a one-person apartment for himself, and nobody else. It takes over a month, but when he finds it, he finds it. He knows it's the place he wants to call home.

It's shit. 

A small apartment carved from an unused attic space, perfect for a desperate single student. The bathroom barely fits a shower and a toilet and doesn't have any space left for a sink. He has to wash his hands in the kitchen, or the space that he's supposed to call one. It's a little far from college but in a pinch, he could cash in on Robin's promise that he's always welcome at her new place, which is just a short walk away from their school.

It's perfect.

Even if Robin asks him once if he's punishing himself for something that's not his fault, like a really weird interpretation of a martyr. But he just opens his tiny window and lets her listen to the birds from the park below. All she can hear from her windows are the honking cars and yells of the students trying to get the best parking spot. And that's a point for the 'you rule' column as far as he's concerned.

The place has one more perk she doesn't know of and he's not sure which column it would classify in.

Because he's sharing it with a ghost.

It's almost alarming how quickly he accepts it. One day he's listening to music to unwind, and the next he finds a note on his desk telling him his taste in music is shit.

"Hello?" he asks to the room as a whole. Nobody could hide there. There simply wasn't enough space.

His eyes widen when his pen moves.

You won't see me, it writes. Can you play a rock station?

Steve only blinks.

"Uh, sure," he says, staring at the pen. "Do you know the frequency?"

He gets a few numbers in response and reaches for the dials of the radio to set it up. Soon, a song he doesn't recognize fills out the cramped space.

"This okay?"

Yes. Thank you so much.

Thoughtfully, Steve pulls out a notebook and opens it on a blank page.

"Are you a ghost?" he asks, staring at the faint blue lines.

What's a ghost, Steve? appears the message, slightly crooked despite the clear guidelines. The handwriting somehow fits the vibe of the music playing from the radio. 

"How do you know my name?" he frowns at the words.

It's all over your books?

"Fair," Steve huffs, sitting heavily by his desk. "I don't know, a dead person?" he answers the previous question.

Well, I didn't die. So. Not a ghost I guess.

"Then what?"

What's left when your body is taken away from you?

Steve's frown deepens. What is this, an impromptu quiz test?

"Uh, a soul?"

Then that's what I am, probably.

"So where's your body?" Steve asks, perplexed.

Some asshole demon took it.

"A demon?" he asks flatly, raising his eyebrows.

You're talking to a floating pen and the demon is what's unbelievable?

"Well, I'm sorry I'd rather not believe demons exist!" Steve scoffs, throwing his arms up.

Sorry to break it to you buddy but they do. And I've learned it the hard way.

"Yeah, I can tell," he murmurs.

Don't be sassy with me, I'll break all your mugs.

"We're not summoning a demon."

"Okay, sheesh. No need for violence." Steve rolls his eyes. "So, what happened?"

"We're not summoning a demon because they don't exist," Jeff elaborates.

"How about some make-believe, hm?" Eddie puts his hands on his hips, clearly disappointed in his bandmates. "A bonding activity to boost morale?"

"You know what would boost morale?" Gareth points his drumstick at him. "Band practice."

"Fine!" Eddie throws his hands in the air. "I'll do it myself, but don't cry later when I'll be the only one blessed by the metal gods!"

"We won't," Doug assures him dryly.

"So it's gods or demons after all? Can't pick a side?"

Eddie flips them off with both hands before grabbing his guitar. He knows they are right, though. Only practice and improvement can give them a chance at the next battle of the bands. They were already so close to winning this year and were slowly becoming recognizable in the city. Getting there was slow but reachable, which was not how Eddie usually does things.

That's why, even if it's just for the peace of his own mind, a spiritual placebo, if you will, he grabs himself a beer and pulls out his D&D notes. He did way too much research on demons for his last campaign not to have some fun with it.

The instructions are cheesy, but it's exactly what he needs—something in good fun and on theme, even if it was supposed to be a group activity. He copies all the symbols, and chants, and draws blood. With his eyes squeezed shut, he makes his wish.

"Whoever is listening, help my band make it big."

The old wooden beams creak with their age. Nothing happens.

He opens his eyes, blinking to clear his vision, and realizes he's relieved. Summoning an infernal being to his little attic apartment didn't sound as thrilling as he had been selling to his friends earlier that day. To be honest, he just wanted to do some weird metal shit with his band that they could later talk about in interviews. "We sold our souls for this album," would be a bonkers headline for the front page.

"That can be arranged."

Eddie shrieks.

He grabs tighter the knife he's still holding from his blood sacrifice and turns around. There on his bed, criss-crossed and relaxed, sits a creature of nightmares.

"What the fuck?!" Eddie's voice doesn't sound as deep and intimidating as he'd like it to.

"You summoned me," the intruder deadpans.

"Oh. Oh, right." It doesn't make him any less terrified. "Uh, what do you want?" he stammers, hoping to get the demon out of his space as soon as possible. He wants to call the boys, would love to hear Gareth's annoying voice right about now, actually.

"For your wish? I want in."

Eddie frowns.

"In?"

And then I held up my guitar and told him to hop in but he hopped into my body instead and here we are.

"You ever heard of a cursed instrument?"

Steve stares at the string of words. And stares. And stares.

I know I'm stupid you don't have to tell me.

"Oh thank god, because I didn't want to make you feel even worse."

He looks around the place and slowly points at the bed.

"So, that demon, was sitting on the same bed I slept in last night?'

Not on these covers, obviously, but yes.

"Holy shit." Steve feels himself shudder with cold dread. He knows all of this might be a lie, since there is no way for him to fact-check it, but the idea is disturbing enough. "And the summoning circle?" He looks down at the floorboards below his socked feet.

It was about here, but I guess the bastard cleaned it. Took all my shit with him too.

"So he's just living your life now?"

I'd guess so.

"Have you looked for him?"

Buddy the first thing I remember since then is waking up to you moving in

Steve frowns.

"What?"

Shit. What year is it?

"1986," he answers, his frown deepening.

Thank gods. Summer?

"September. The new semester just started. What the fuck, man, when did this happen?"

Spring break. Just a few months ago, apparently.

"That's half a year!" Steve points out. "And you were what, just, unconscious this whole time?"

Yeah. Maybe you helped, I don't know. Was someone else living here?

He shakes his head.

"I was told the previous tenant left without a word and they haven't even noticed at first."

Can't imagine a demon knowing the intricacies of renting an apartment.

It's normal for about two days, as far as living with a ghost can be. But it all spirals one night when Steve feels something touch him when he's trying to fall asleep.

Wait. What about my deposit?!

He jerks back in alarm and pulls back the covers but sees no stray items left there. Takes another look around, checking if something fell from the mattress, but sees nothing. He settles down against his pillow.

"Eddie?" he asks quietly.

He almost faints when the radio cracks to life. The dials switch and rotate and through the white noise of static, come bits of songs and voices until one breaks through.

"...what?..."

"This isn't happening..." Steve mutters to himself, eyes wide. "You could talk this whole time?!"

"...had no idea...you just...annoy me so much...had to speak up..."

"What the fuck, man?!"

"...let me sleep..."

"You sleep?!" He's fully awake now himself. "Why? What for?"

"...maybe you...drain my energy...with George Michael..."

"Fuck away from George Michael!" his voice cracks, now on the edge of hysterics.

"...you fuck away...was here first..."

"Yeah, and you fucked it up!"

Right after he says it, something falls on his chest, pinning him to the mattress.

"...low blow Steve..."

Steve blinks at the nothingness around him. On top of him. He feels no weight, no touch, but something isn't letting him move. His confused senses make his brain overheat.

"You can touch me?"

He feels the sting of a slap on his cheek, but he's too confused to feel pain.

"Ow?" is all he manages to say.

"...yup..."

The thing on top of him shifts, now off his chest but pinning him from the waist down, like someone is straddling him. He reaches up with his hands, searching for an invisible person.

"...don't...it feels wrong..."

"Sorry." He retracts his hand. Blinking rapidly as if it could give him an insight to the soul realm, he searches for any sign of thighs splayed over his body. "This is weird."

"...no shit..."

His palm, still raised, feels something soft and tingly, and his fingers spread like someone is slotting theirs in between. Steve feels something tighten in his chest, a longing he's been trying to bury deep inside.

"...can we...go back to sleep?..."

Steve lets out a short, surprised laugh.

"Are you kidding me? I don't think I've ever felt more awake than right now." Then, he frowns. "Have you been sleeping with me all this time?"

"...yeah?...there's only one bed..."

"Unbelievable," he murmurs to himself. The first time he shares a bed with a guy and it's a fucking ghost. Soul. Whatever.

"...you want me to...sleep on the floor?..."

"No," Steve groans, falling back against his pillow. "Just get off me and go to sleep."

Eddie doesn't leave, but he lets go of his hand. Something presses against his abdomen.

"...how about...I get you off?..."

"What?"

There's a pressure against his groin, someone's phantom butt cheeks grinding down on him. So much has been happening, that he hasn't even realized he woke up half-hard.

"No, it's alright—"

"...you sure?...you'll sleep like a baby..."

Steve lets out a surprised snort.

"That so, nurse Eddie?"

"...roleplay?...already?...you change mind quickly..."

"I was joking." Steve rolls his eyes, but Eddie grinds against him again.

"...I would make...a great nurse...I'm very caring...attentive..."

"That so?" Steve quirks his eyebrow, simultaneously telling his brain that he's not going to seek care and attention from the ghost in his apartment.

Though, on the other hand, he doesn't have a Soulmate anyway.

He just wishes there was a waist he could grab onto, a body he could feel, a smile he could see. But as Eddie brings him to completion, he realizes this is all he might be getting from life.

read more

thirst squad tags: @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP6-EP7: "You think I'd go on living if you died?"

I'm sure everyone is still wiping away the snot from their face thanks to Episode 6's brutal ending. I want to talk about how next week's preview shows we're leading into the best invitation for reconciliation as far as Bison and Kant are concerned. Let me explain.

In the wake of Bison being confronted with the awful truth, he will likely assume (in the immediate instance) that everything - every single thing Kant has said and done was a total lie - a strategically crafted fabrication to get him hooked, including Kant's feelings. That Kant never loved him at all, it was all an act. We as an audience know that's not true but Bison doesn't.

With Bison getting shot next episode, this forces Kant to drop his mask in the most revealing way possible. In the face of losing Bison, this becomes the catalyst for Kant turning the tables, and proves twofold:

Kant's panic over Bison possibly dying indicates he genuinely cares about him. His entire demeanour during this incident will be under the eyes of everyone present including Fadel and Style. If there was any doubt about Kant's feelings, there won't be now.

Kant can no longer lie to himself. He can't live without Bison (by his own later admission). Throughout EP6, Kant's been trying to assure Style he will move on once this whole situation has blown over, but Kant's simply telling his best friend what he wished he could convince himself of. He tries to believe that he can give up Bison and be okay, that it will all be worth it if it means protecting Babe. But deep down he knows he won't be. This confirms it.

So firstly, Bison will witness just how much Kant cares about him. It doesn't deny the fact that Kant lied to him, but the truth is Kant has also undoubtedly fallen in love with him. The man sits by Bison's bedside sobbing and inconsolable, and I anticipate Kant may well confess why he did what he did whilst Bison is 'unconscious', who may recall some or all of what he says when he wakes.

Secondly, Kant will decide that he can no longer put Bison in any kind of jeopardy and that means: 'fuck the mission'. He's going to have to turn on Chris, and aid Bison and Fadel to escape the pursuit from the police that he helped them gain progress with. Chris already suspects that Kant has fallen for Bison which makes him a huge liability. Sealed by either by his own active choices to defy the police, or in Chris' eyes, Kant has effectively chosen to put a huge target on his back. By extension Babe is no longer safe either.

In the preview, we also see Bison disappear from the hospital, just as Chris plans to apprehend him. It's likely that the next time they meet, Bison has been in hiding (probably watching Kant from the shadows) before he intervenes to help. It could be that Kant is being hunted down by the cops or Mother. For Bison to do this shows he's already on the road towards forgiveness, having observed Kant and processed what he now knows. It's far more complicated than he first assumed, and he's willing to hear Kant out. They're ready to start the path to reconciliation and face what's to come together.

On a final note, I've been speculating who may be the ones leading the attack at the bowling alley. The obvious guess would be the police. But for some reason, I have a wild feeling it could be Keen. (I remember Pepper being on set when these four were filming for this scene). It's possible for example that Mother finds out it's Kant and Style who are the informants and Keen tries to score some brownie points by taking them out. In the heat of the moment, Bison protects Kant on instinct and gets shot. Now that would make this all the more heart-wrenching wouldn't it?

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[real-isaac-clarke]

1. Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

I personally call myself nonhuman, if I refer to my nonhumanity at all. I only really use alterhuman as an umbrella term for myself; it's not something I awakened to, or have ever felt awkward for. At least right now, I'm not human.

2. What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

Fused-to-armor and living action figure. I just happen to also be Isaac Clarke; less as a type and more of who I inherently am. When I was still forming, one of the materials in the metaphorical headmate printer was an Enderman, so that's why my RIG glows purple.

3. Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Nope. Depending on the definition one uses, I'm either always in a shift or never in a shift. I'm a non-canon version of Isaac, but I am him, so I act like him.

4. How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

Trying to engage in my old hobbies (welding, wiring, construction, some other general engineering work). Doesn't work well, but I like learning about them when I can.

That, and... Okay, this might sound funny. But I also experience it by being attracted to people who're like Nicole. Just about everyone in the system has a type, and apparently mine is my fiancee.

5. What do you think of the community?

I try not to judge as a whole, you're gonna meet bad apples everywhere. That being said, fuck Therian Territory (not for the reasons you might think either. Those too, but holy shit they're fatphobic. Violently and oppressively so.) If you're alterhuman and fat, go anywhere but there.

6. What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Knowing I'm not the only Dead Space alterhuman out there. Engaging with my source helps a lot too.

7. Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

Yeah, but on a really low level. This body bothers me; in my source I was fused to my RIG through some... unpleasant but thankfully unintentional events, making me technically part Necromorph. I really want my suit back.

8. What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

Form your own opinions and don't be afraid to be wrong about your types. Practice thinking with your mind and heart together, and don't be afraid to piss some people off - though that's the life advice we'd give in general.

10. Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

It's because I'm part of a system. Everyone who gets introjected in our system usually gets some form of nonhumanity attributed to them.

Fun fact, we don't actually have a host; Marlin is just the default. We belong to the subconscious itself, not any particular alter, and are all whole people, not parts of one.

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[bioethicists]

Do you have any thoughts on the idea of enablers? I'm struggling to find anything online analyzing the idea, rather than just chastising people for like, giving an alcoholic loved one money.

i do! i wrote a course paper about it once lol. gonna bullet point my thoughts for ease

first of all, i want to both point out that the concepts of enabling/codependency are deeply shitty + originate from toxic, abstinence-only spaces-- that being said, there is absolutely a painful dynamic that can crop up in relationships with ppl who are chaotically using which sometimes takes the form of: giving more than you can/want to give without receiving anything in return, burning yourself out trying to 'save' someone, breaking your own boundaries for another person, doing whatever another person asks without question even when doing that thing makes you feel bad, + more

personally i believe that codependency + by extension, "enabling", has caught on due to the total lack of infrastructure or public resources for ppl in chaotic use, alongside prohibition which tells us that all 'illicit' drug use is inherently bad. obsession with individual responsibility ensures that we treat ppl in chaotic use as irresponsible (but perhaps Sick, Helpless) ppl who need to Choose to Get Better (which will happen if they Hit Rock Bottom). except rock bottom doesn't usually produce healing + with today's toxic drug supply, they're liable to fucking die on the way down.

as someone who has loved + does love many ppl who use drugs to various degrees of danger + someone who absolutely fit(s) the definition of a "codependent" or "enabler" in many ways (sometimes proudly, sometimes in ways i want to change): what matters is, are you breaking your own boundaries for this person? are you giving them things then resenting them when they don't receive them in the way you expected (e.g paying for rehab, then they leave)? are you refusing to hold them accountable for mistreating you bcuz they 'can't help it' or 'that's not them; it's the drugs'? are you expending massive amounts of resources you don't have on someone who doesn't want those resources? are you acquiescing to every request for resources, even when those requests are clearly shortsighted or unfair? do you have a vision of how your loved one Should live + are you harming yourself trying to actualize it?

some examples of boundaries i have which help with this, some of which might be considered enabling lol: i won't give money if i expect it back; if i give you money, i've already accepted i may never see it again. i won't use a substance with someone if they have a recent history of using it chaotically. i won't offer a substance to someone much younger than me if i know that it isn't already part of their regular substance patterns. i probably won't offer a substance with high dependency potential to someone if i know that it isn't already part of their regular substance patterns. i will make requests for my loved ones to be a certain level of sober at certain key moments (e.g driving me somewhere, an event, to be emotionally present with me).

there are a lot more + i have a lot more to say abt this + have been considering writing an essay abt this actually but i hope this helps!

[faynthearted]

a/n: a drabble for @beautifulboysbeingbusy, who requested tianshan talking about loved ones they've lost during the holidays, and @faery-moss, who requested morning cuddles and tianshan's first Christmas together. enjoy! <3

----

When he was younger, Guan Shan never slept on Christmas Eve. He’d try, but the excitement, the anticipation, would fuel him the entire week leading up to Christmas. He’d lay in bed until the first rays of sunlight fell into his bedroom, then he’d race to wake up his parents. They always woke with a smile as he climbed into their bed.

Now, He Tian smiles as he lies in Guan Shan’s bed.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs against Guan Shan’s lips when he wakes, still sleep heavy. “I think your mom is already up. I heard the sink running.”

“Yeah,” Guan Shan mumbles, wrapping around him. He’s warm and too big for a twin sized mattress. Guan Shan has never complained about it. “She likes to make breakfast right away on holidays."

“It smells sweet.”

“It’s stuffed french toast. Fresh fruit on top. Since you’re here, she’ll probably pull out all the stops and make muffins, too.”

He Tian hums, pleased. “I must admit I feel awfully special whenever I come over,” he says. “I should’ve brought her another gift.”

“God, no,” Guan Shan tells him, because he already helped He Tian wrap two presents for her the other day: a gold necklace and a scarf. They're sitting under the small tree in the living room. Anything more and she would begin to ask Guan Shan more questions than she already does. Guan Shan is beginning to run out of ways to tell her that yes, He Tian is a very good friend, and no, Guan Shan doesn’t know what his parents do for work.

He Tian huffs a laugh. He’s in good spirits already, eyes bright and hands warm as he shifts their weight, settling on top of Guan Shan.

Guan Shan lets him kiss him, but a few moments in, He Tian pulls back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Guan Shan shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. He Tian’s touch lingers on his side. Waiting.

Eventually, Guan Shan breathes out. There's an awful dread building in his throat. He says, “Tell my mom that breakfast was good after we’re done eating. Even if it wasn't, tell her it was."

“Of course I will,” He Tian says and Guan Shan doesn't doubt it. “I’m sure it will be good. I’ve had her cooking before. Is she— is it usually not good?”

Bringing up his hands, Guan Shan presses them into his eyes. “No,” he mumbles, “it’s good. But just tell her that it is anyway, okay? Don't make a big deal out of it, but make a point of it at least."

“Okay.” After a moment, He Tian’s fingers wrap around his, pulling them down. “What’s wrong, ah-Shan? What’s this about?”

Guan Shan swallows. He’s had an awful pit in his stomach since yesterday, though he’d done a well enough job of hiding it. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe He Tian saw right through it the entire time. Maybe that’s why he’s looking at him like this.

He Tian's smile is gone now and Guan Shan feels stupidly selfish.

“My dad used to be in charge of Christmas breakfast," Guan Shan says, looking away. "He always made the same thing. The french toast. Breakfast was the first thing we'd do once we all woke up. And it— it’s fucking impossible not to be reminded of that every year. It ruins everything for me. My mom got the recipe from him and she’s always done a good job since he’s been gone, but…”

He doesn’t know how to put it into words. If he was a better person, he’d be able to say that the breakfasts are now a tribute to his father. That they're a piece of him that Guan Shan and his mother get to honor and carry with them, but it's always felt more like a gaping wound that never closed. When it’s just him and his mom sharing breakfast each year, they make light of the situation, but there’s always an inevitable lapse of silence that’s impossible to ignore.

Today will be the first time in nine years that there’s a third person at the table. Guan Shan wants He Tian here — he asked him to be here — but he doesn’t want to endure the suffocation of another holiday. He doesn’t want He Tian to see the evidence of Guan Shan’s broken origins, laid out on a tablecloth with ceramic plates and silverware.

It’s Christmas. They’re supposed to be grateful; happy. Bright and in good spirits, like He Tian.

After a minute, He Tian brings Guan Shan’s fingers to his lips.

“I didn’t want to tell you this,” He Tian starts, speaking against his skin, “because I didn’t want to… ruin the day, or make it about me. But I understand, Guan Shan. The impossibility, I mean. I got your mom the scarf because you said she’d like that color, but I got her the necklace because that’s what my mom asked for every year. A gold necklace. My brother would either get her matching earrings or a charm to add onto it and we’d wrap them in the same box. She loved it, but she died a couple weeks before Christmas one year. I was never able to give her that last necklace.”

He turns Guan Shan’s hand over, pressing a kiss to his palm. There's a pause, his eyes gone distant. Eventually, he lowers Guan Shan's hand.

“Christmas fucking sucks, sweetheart,” He Tian continues, offering a small, closed-lip smile. “I hate it. It's ruined for me, too. But that’s because I usually wake up alone, and I’m not expecting a nice breakfast, and I don’t have a mother to give a necklace. It’s different this year even if it’s not exactly what I had as a kid. It won’t get easier, but it can get better. You’re showing me that. I want to do the same for you.”

They hold each other's gaze. A pot clangs in the kitchen, muffled through the walls. Guan Shan thinks he can hear his mother humming a holiday song. It makes his eyes sting.

He pulls He Tian back down to him, and they lay in bed as the smell of blueberry muffins wafts under his bedroom door.

[kpop---scenarios]

Whispers Of The Night (4)

Pairing: Stray Kids x Reader

Genre: Vampire! Au, College! Au

Warning: Not much, next chapter will be smut. This is an 18+ ONLY story; MDNI

Summary: You just want to live a happy life, but currently, that wasn't happening. It's not until you meet 8 strangers who turn your life upside down and you discover what they are.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: as always, thank you @skzdust for putting up with me sending you paragraphs all the time and giving input. I'd be lost without you!

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

Taglist: @steddie-steddie @hongtyong @purple-bell @deadpool15 @purplelady85

Everything Taglist: @wife2straykidss @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon

@dwaekkiiracha @silly250 @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

@satosugu4l @gabriellamarie @tsunderelino @iovecb97 @1810cl @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse

@yaorzu-blog @anskiiz @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan

@skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @ayyonoona

@31maze13 @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited

@hoesheez @stayatinykatsy @catlove83 @jeonginstulip

@kaleigh-2002 @honeycombbaybee @hyuneyeon @flylis

@kpop-choco @chloe-elise-2000 @eastjonowhere @stephanieeeyang

@nightmarenyxx @0325tiny

“I was…there…then…Jeongin…” you mumble to yourself, pacing around your room. “And then I was here. Ugh!” You groan, throwing your hands up in the air. You distinctly remembered standing on the front porch with Jeongin, staring into his eyes, but why were you staring into his eyes? What happened after? How can you not remember the rest of the night? Did you black out? Can weed even make you blackout? No, you were sure that wasn't even a possible thing.

There was only one thing you could possibly do. Confront Jeongin. You skipped getting dressed, leaving your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, practically stomping down the stairs.

“Jeongin!” You yell, stopping in the kitchen. You look around, seeing him standing in the living room, alone, like a deer in headlights. “You!” You yell, stomping towards him.

“Yes?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“What did you do to me last night?” You asked.

“What are you talking about?” He chuckles.

“We were standing on the porch, I remember staring into your eyes… then I woke up in my bed this morning.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Yeah? You were talking to me, absolute gibberish by the way, and then you just, like, passed out.” He explains. “So I took you upstairs and put you to bed.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don't remember that.” You say.

“You were pretty high.” He laughs.

You never lost your memory from smoking weed, but to be fair it had been quite a while since you'd smoked so maybe it was because your body wasn't used to it anymore.

“Huh.” You murmur. You weren't sure if he believed him, but you'd accept it, for now. “Okay. Thanks.” You finish, turning around to walk away.

You headed back upstairs to get dressed for the day, needing to get to the library to study for your upcoming test. You needed the quiet. You had tried to study at the house the other day, but watching those 8 men walk around the house, sometimes shirtless, was extremely distracting.

Thankfully, there weren't many people in the library. You picked a table out of the way, setting up your laptop. You pulled out your headphones, your phone and your textbook, ready to get to work. You were going to fail this exam, you just knew it. You desperately needed to study. And you tried. But your brain could not stop racing about the men who you lived with. There was something off about them, their pale skin, piercing eyes, extreme strength. Not to mention they're much more rowdy at night time, and the fact that you had never seen them eat a single thing. Your mind immediately goes to vampires, but that couldn't be right. There's no way that vampires could be a thing right now and no one was talking about it.

With your brain spinning, you closed the empty Google docs tab, and instead opened up Google. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you heavily debated on whether or not you should actually type the word into the search engine. You felt stupid thinking that they could be vampires, but that was the only plausible explanation for the weirdness that was in that house. Taking a deep breath, you typed it in, and more information that you expected popped up within seconds. You clicked the first link, scanning the page, but it didn't give you much. You scrolled through a few other pages but there was nothing that hadn't been talked about before, until, you were just about to exit the page you were on when a single word caught your eye.

Compulsion.

Just as you were about to read more, a familiar voice calls out to you. “Y/N. Why are you reading about vampires?” He says. You quickly close your laptop, turning around to see Mark standing there.

“What do you want?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Why are you googling vampires?” He asks, pulling a chair out from the table to sit with you.

“Why are you sitting at my table? And why do you care?” You sigh.

“Because I love you. And I want to get you back. So I figured I'd take interest in your interests.” He grins.

“It's a little too late for that, Mark. I'm going to tell you right now, I won't ever be getting back together with you.” You laugh. “That's so far off the table, it's burning in hell. Now go away.”

“Y/N, come on.” He sighs. “There has to be something I can do to make you trust me again.”

“There's nothing you can do. I don't want you anymore. I'm not sure why you can't get that through your thick fucking skull.” You half yell. You can hear people turning in their chairs to look at you. You let out a breath, trying to calm yourself down. “Look, Mark. We tried, and it didn't work out. You're not ready for a relationship because you can't be faithful. So stop it and leave me alone.” You finish, starting to pack up your belongings.

Mark mutters swear words under his breath. “Y/N..” He starts. You ignore him, continuing to finish packing your things. “Y/N, stop.” He says. “Fuck, I asked you to stop.” He shouts, grabbing your arm. You stare at him, your eyes darting between his hand on your arm and him.

Before you can tell him to release you, you feel someone standing beside you. You look up, seeing Hyunjin standing there, clenching his jaw. “If you want to keep that arm, you better fucking let go of her.” He snaps.

“Oh yeah? She's my girlfriend, I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Mark says, standing up, his hand still on your arm.

Hyunjin laughs. “She's not your girlfriend. You fucked that up, so like I said. Let go of her, before you're down a girlfriend and a fucking arm.”

“Am I supposed to be scared of you, pretty boy?” Mark laughs, looking between you and Hyunjin.

“If I were you..” Hyunjin begins in a whisper. “I'd be fucking petrified.”

“Such bullshit.” Mark grunts, letting go of your arm. “I'll be back!” He yells, pointing to you before walking off.

“Thanks.” You say to Hyunjin, grabbing your bag.

“Can I take you home?” He asks.

You wanted to say yes, but you didn't want to accidentally blurt out what you were thinking or what you had been researching. Not until you read everything you could possibly find, and not until you felt sure of your findings. You can't accuse people of being vampires and not have the information to back up your claims. What if they laughed at you because it wasn't true? So embarrassing.

You contemplated the world you lived in on your way home. Could you really live in a world where vampires exist and no one knows about them? That's one part that was mind boggling to you. Did other supernatural creatures also exist? Werewolves? Mermaids? Your mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts, you hadn't realized that you already had made it home. You stood outside the door, part of you felt a little scared to go inside

but the other part of you didn't care. They were kind to you, they housed you, fed you. They took care of you and protected you. None of them had ever given you a reason not to trust them but you were just so curious about what they were hiding. It had to be that.

You walked into the quiet house, they must all be out. You walk through the living room, stopping in front of a door you've passed countless times but never had been through. You were always curious about what was in the room. You were all alone, so why not? You place your hand on the knob, slowly turning it to open. You pull the door, when suddenly there's a hand on the door, slamming it shut. You jump back, looking at Minho, who stands there, looking angry.

“No.” He deadpans.

“Oh. Is that…” you trail off.

“It's just off limits.” he says.

“I didn't know.” You murmur.

“Now you do.” He smiles, moving his hand and walking away.

You swore no one was here. He came out of nowhere. You take your things, going back upstairs to your room. Settling down on your bed, you pull out your laptop, the page loading to the one you were on before Mark so rudely interrupted you.

“Compulsion” you read. “the ability of vampires to control the minds of others, often through eye contact. Compelled beings typically follow the vampire's instructions, which can include erasing memories, developing new skills, or creating new personalities.”

You sit back. Staring at the wall. Breathing. “Erasing memories.” You whisper to yourself. Was that what Jeongin did to you? Did he erase your memory of that night? Did something happen that could have outed him? You turned your computer around, laying down on your stomach, determined to do more research on the subject as a whole. Hours pass as you click link, after link, after link. Finally you ended up on a blog page called “Just Vampire Things.” The entire thing was clearly not a legit page, it was cutesy, colorful and honestly not very vampirey. You were giggling at the photos as you scrolled down, now more so just enjoying the obvious photoshopped pictures, until you got to the writing.

“How to kill a vampire.” You whisper. “What the…” you pause, reading a little more. “This page is for vampire hunters, learning how to kill vampires. First you need a sharp oak steak.” You rolled your eyes and as you were about to close the page, your bedroom door burst open, with Changbin skipping into your room.

“How to kill a…” he trails off. He looks at you, worriedly before cracking a big smile. “Are you reading Just Vampire Things?” He laughs. You close your laptop.

“What do you need, world's worst barista?” You ask.

He puts his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” He hisses. “You hurt me. Right there, y/n.” He says, patting his chest. “A few of us have to go out, but there's stuff in the fridge for dinner. Help yourself to whatever.” He says, walking out of your room. You crawl off your bed, heading down into the kitchen quietly. You had thought they all left, but it wasn't until you heard whispers in the living room did you realize that you weren't alone.

“I don't know, Chan.” You hear Jeongin sigh. “I feel like shit. I lied to her, and I don't like it. I don't want her to be mad at me. She saw the blood around my mouth… I panicked.” He says.

“Listen, it will all come out in time. But she just got here. We can't bombard her with all this information right off the bat. She'll run so fucking fast. And that's the last thing any of us want, right?” Chan says.

“No.” Jeongin sighs. “None of us want her to leave.”

“We'll tell her everything. Okay? Just be patient. I gotta go meet the others, just stick to the plan for now.” Chan finishes. You hear the front door closed, and Jeongin letting out a sigh of relief. You don't hear anything else. You walk to the living room quietly, looking around. Jeongin isn't there. Your eyes land on the door again. Them telling you it's off limits only makes you want to go down there even more. You look around one more time, double checking to make sure that he wasn't around. Once you felt like it was safe you quickly and quietly wrapped your hand around the door knob, slowly turning it, pulling it open. You see a set of stairs, leading down into the dark. A strong metallic smell hits your nose, making you nauseous. Your stomach twists as you lift your leg, preparing to take the first step down into the dark. Before you can, you're pushed out of the way, and the door is slammed shut. Jeongin grabs your shoulders, pushing you against the door.

“I thought you were told his room was off limits?” He breathes.

“I didn't think anyone was home.” You whisper.

“You're never here alone, y/n.” He says. “When we tell you something, it's because we're protecting you.”

“Were you protecting me when you compelled me?” You blurt out. Jeongin's eyes go wide.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He says.

“Don’t lie to me.” You hiss, avoiding eye contact. “I heard you talking to Chan. All of you are hiding something from me and I know what it is.” You say.

“Y/N, you need to stop. You don't know what you're talking about.” Jeongin says. “Look at me.”

“No.” You say, looking away.

“Y/N, look at me.” He says again.

This time you don't answer. But you also don't look at him.

“You're going to do it again.” You finally whisper.

Jeongin grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I'm sorry.” He whispers. “There's things we need to talk about of course. And that's one of them. But I swear to you, it won't happen again.” He says.

You look him in the eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. Your eyes scan his face, your body heats up. Fuck. You want him. You know you shouldn't but how could you not? Your mouth parts slightly as you stare into his eyes.

He takes a deep breath. Smirking slightly before he leans forward. He looks to you for approval, you nod your head and he crashes his lips to yours. You've wanted this, from any of them since the day you met them. He slips his tongue into your mouth, while effortlessly lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you up the stairs, to what you can only assume is his room, that's never used, never once breaking the kiss. He stands at the foot of his bed, gently tossing you down. You look up at him, biting your lip, while he stares down at you.

“You sure you want this baby girl?” He asks.

You grin as you nod your head.

“Fuck, yes.”

[abbulark]

It's still happening! I was obsessed with Law & Order in high school, and that's copaganda. Sometimes it's very bad at being copaganda, but it's very interesting to see how things changed over the years. In a season 5 episode of Law and Order that aired in 1994, S. Epatha Merkerson's character Anita Van Buren shoots a young black man who is mugging her at an ATM. It later comes out that he is intellectually disabled. The episode is about her trying to come to terms with the fact that she shot a child that isn't that much older than her own sons, and knowing that even if she gets in no legal trouble, she still did it. Dick Wolf definitely wanted to repair the reputation of the police in New York, but he couldn't go hard against public opinion. But then, public opinion has a tendency to shift.

Twenty years later, the year that Trayvon Martin was gunned down in the street by a civilian PRETENDING to be a cop, the episode ripped from the Trayvon Martin headlines was ALSO ripped from the headlines of Paula Deen saying slurs. It was watered down, had very little message, and was weak. This was clearly on purpose. They didn't even have to justify it, because it was already justified. They just wrote a story about how scary young black people are and called it a day. Here's Jezebel's contemporary review.

I definitely ate the copaganda watching Law and Order contemporaneously, especially when SVU was at the height of its popularity. But Law and Order has such a huge body of programming, some of which is less copagandic than others due to the effect of history. There are shows that came behind it that are straight up glorifying cops killing, like Blue Bloods, The Shield, and one of the worst of all, NCIS.

NCIS has a special place in my hate because it was a clear arm of propaganda for the Israeli military in the era of anti-terrorism task forces. They kill so many fucking people on NCIS, even when they're not doing it with Israeli secret police. Many people in America who justify the genocide in Palestine are doing it with vague memories of episodes of NCIS they've watched.

Anyway. Most of our parents are probably a loss when it comes to not thinking cops are cool and great. But my brother told me that when he watched the video interview our dad gave before his death, dad said he thought my brother would never become a cop. He was right. My brother wanted to save lives, and he never became a cop.

Public opinion does have a way of shifting, after all.

I have to admit it annoys me when folks talk like 1990s media was so daring for mildly disrespecting cops. "Oh, The Simpsons was ahead of its time" no, that was a completely normal level of contempt for the police at the time. There was a big wave of pro-cop media in the early 2000s from which we have yet to fully recover!

[the-voldsoy]

Alrighty it is almost the end of the year so, in no particular order, here are podcasts I recommend of the ones I've listened to this year! (let me tell you picking favourites for this was So hard) (Unfortunately I can't just do all of them because there are almost 50)

Hello From The Hallowoods: The world ended, but we're still here, and shit's weird. (Has made me cry; even the trees are queer; my comfort show<3)

Camp Here And There: Good morning campers! The time is 7:63AM and Cabin Magpie Moth has spontaneously combusted! Whichever one of you little woodworms can put it out first can come get a puffy sticker from me in the Nurses Cabin! (Is it a horror? Is it a comedy? I don't know, you'd have to check to be sure)

Wooden Overcoats: Funn Funerals used to be the only funeral parlor on the island. It isn't anymore. (Sitcom, the main characters are the most miserable wet cats you ever did see)

Re: Dracula: Maybe this year, they'll be okay. Maybe this year they'll all live. Maybe this year he won't go, and she'll be alright.

Magnus Protocol: TMA's louder, bolder, less serious younger sibling.

The Silt Verses: Oh boy. Let me tell you, you will look at crabs differently after this. (WET horror, genuinely the best pod I've ever heard)

Archive 81: Dan, a newly hired archivist, has to listen to and catalogue a set of old audio tapes. The tapes contain interviews conducted by someone Dan has never heard of. Dan is in an isolated bunker in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing will happen to our dear friend Dan. (What is it with archivists and getting snatched by The Horrors? Ignore the tv show it doesn't exist)

Red Valley: Just a couple of guys with an interest in research station Red Valley, whose focus was cryonics. It's completely defunct now. I wonder what happened. (Ethics? What's that?)

Woe.Begone: Some say it's about time-travel, some say it's about keeping yourself and those close to you alive, some say it's about online safety. All can agree on one point: What the fuck why are there cowboys now

Midnight Burger: Midnight Burger is a time-travelling, dimension-spanning diner. Dunno how it works or where it's going next. We open at six! (The episodes are an hour long minimum but it's worth it. Comedy sci-fi, lighthearted fun :)

Old Gods of Appalachia: The Appalachians are spooky y'all. (The narrator's voice is so comforting in this, it feels like campfire stories)

Dreamboy: Went into this pod being told it was made by the people who made WTNV and absolutely no other information. Let me tell you I did not expect the main character to tell us that he got a hard-on in the first episode. (The most sexually explicit pod I've listened to)

The White Vault: Nice little trip to Svalbard to check on the remote research station, surely nothing will go wrong :) (Holy Fucking Shit What Is That) (Recommend 1st season especially to The Thing (1982) enjoyers)

Camlann: Ever wished that you were apart of Welsh folklore or Arthurian legends? Or perhaps some of the last people left on Earth? No? Ah well, you'll pick it up soon enough. (Three idiots and a dog in Wales, fighting for their lives)

Breaker Whiskey: Imagine. Being the only person on earth. Just you. Just you, and someone on the radio. Just you, the radio, and a woman you absolutely do NOT have sexual tension with. (This one looks really long because it has 260+ episodes, but they're like 4 minutes long each so it's not really)

Ethics Town: Don't worry about it. (Cannot recommend enough, it is a mindfuck)

Tell No Tales: What if ghosts were a thing that could infest a place, like rats or roaches or mold? What if it was your job to exterminate them? And the million-pound question, do ghosts deserve rights? (I am waiting so so patiently for the rest of s2)

Remnants: You wake up in a place you recognise. You have always been there. You have no idea where you are. You see a stranger's life. You recognise them. You knew them once, you think. Discard or reshelve? You don't know what that means. It does not matter. Discard or reshelve, that is the question. (I am going insane over this pod)

Not Quite Dead: Vampires! Alfie is an overworked A&E nurse who does not have time for this shit. Unfortunately, he does not have a choice in this matter. (A really interesting take on vampirism, going into the biology. It is fascinating, and an exciting story)

Travelling Light: Space Quaker! Listen to the Traveller tell you about every new planet and civilisation they visit. Whattttt noooo they don't have a crush on one of their crew members what are you taaaalking abouttttt (Very comforting pod, beauty in the mundane in a way? But not mundane because yk. Aliens)

Someone Just Like You: Brilliant horror, just really well written. I don't even have words for it. So far there are only 6 episodes and the concepts/plots of each seem cheesy, but my GOD the execution.

The Bright Sessions: People with powers get therapy! Thank God, they need it so bad. (I love one particular antagonist so much, I need to put him in a microwave)

Poe: Evermore: It wasn't until I started this that I realised that Edgar Allen Poe would have had a Boston-ish accent. Reallyyy interesting story of his life, and I keep getting jumpscared by VAs I recognise. Faulkner Silt Verses what are you doing here.

Witherburn After School News: Your school radio host getting WAY more involved in the news than they should. Really hope they're still breathing. Love the folklore section though!

Before The Tone: Voicemails from someone who just got a job they probably shouldn't have. (Brilliant idea for the format, and great execution)

I Am In Eskew: What if you were trapped? What if you had a home, a wife and a child? What if they aren't real? Are you sure? Go and check. What if your city tried to kill you? What if it loved you very much, more than anyone else? (Horror but the narrator is the saddest wettest man you've ever heard)

Sherlock & Co: Modern day Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is a true crime podcaster. Dear God I did not think it would be as compelling as it is.

[vladdyissues]

saw your hc about how long itd take for Vlad and Danny to openly date. a detail occurred to me: how do you headcanon them explaining anything? besides the age gap, their biggest commonality has to do with both of them being half-ghosts, and even danny's mega-haunted hometown only stopped calling the fenton family delusional once the ghost attacks reached a certain, televised point

Explaining, like, to the public? Oh, I don't think they'd have a problem with that. By this point in his high-profile career, Vlad would have probably taken a page from the British Royal Family and adopted the motto of "never complain, never explain" in response to anything scandalous. And one of the richest men in the world suddenly not hiding the fact that he's

gay, and

dating a teenager

would certainly be a scandal, no matter how you look at it. But Vlad would have his PR guys all over this. He'd probably even pay the paps to leave him alone, or at least take only the best photos of him and Danny—enjoying quiet time on his private island, attending charity balls, going incognito overseas, always smiling, always smitten with each other—endearing him to the general public. He'd probably do the same with the news media, telling them exactly what to print and say while outwardly maintaining an appearance of complete indifference. Any non-compliant media outlet would be accused of trying to unfairly vilify them, and if public scorn doesn't get them singing a sweeter tune, Vlad's lawyers certainly will.

Oh, I expect after the initial sensation has cooled—after all, how many powerful celebrity men have dated, married, and had children with women young enough to be their granddaughters? This is not a new phenomenon—Vlad would "agree" to an exclusive interview, and he and Danny would sit down with a five-star journalist, hands clasped (a united front; optics are very important), and paint whatever charming backstory they like.

"Mr. Masters is so brave," and "So that's why he was single for all these years," would reverberate through the court of public opinion. People who once hated Vlad would change their minds. "That Fenton boy is a good influence on him. He's so mature for his age. Vlad needed a nice down-to-earth partner. I wonder if they're going to get married?"

Vlad and Danny would have to be on their best behavior for a while, but once the excitement fades—and it always does, especially if they don't feed it—then they could continue on with their lives as normal.

Well, as normal as two ghost hybrids in love can be.