#anti-despair plans

[whilomm]

okay you know what. how about this. lets post our Anti-Despair Plans. what actual actionable things, big or small, voting/organizing/charity/getting yourself together/whatever related are you gonna do.

My list only has 3 things so far cause I only want to put specific exact things on here (no "look into local groups...." on my list until i have the names of the local groups)

reup my Volunteer Deputy Registrar certification, which'll mean I can register people to vote. I had several coworkers when I was reminding them about voting say "oh I forgot to register" or "oh I can register day of, right?" (not in texas). In real life, I encountered FAR more people who didnt vote just cause they didnt know about deadlines/forgot to register/didnt know they HAD to register than I did anyone abstaining out of protest. So, thats my project, reup my VDR and register people. Get annoying about it, eavesdrop, someone saying they need to register? pull out my folder and do it.

instead of randomly donating when I feel like it, actually make a charity budget and set aside a lil from every paycheck. I'm awful about budgeting just in general, and have a "well if im not donating like $50 it doesnt matter" complex so. get better about remembering even $1 helps, and actually budget for it.

craft more. this ones just for me, but take that roll of leather and actually use it. I have patterns, I have plans, Get To It.

anyway. what specific, non-vague small actions are you planning on?

[pseudowho]

Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

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It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

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It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

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"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

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Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

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You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

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The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

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Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

[femboycatofmystery]

Hey folks let me anti-doomscroll you for a quick second:

Batteries and Solar have been getting cheap very quickly for a long time now and not only is it not stopping, but even at the rates it's at the economics of energy are shifting rapidly. The costs of decarbonizing all forms of electric power are now more down to infrastructure and planning than bulk cost. Compare and contrast to the turn of the century when Solar was so prohibitively expensive that saying we'd meet any meaningful fraction of our needs with photovoltaics would have gotten you laughed out of the room.

Meanwhile, although there are lots of complicated moving parts and a surprising amount of gross politics attached, gas cars are now less good in most ways than electric. Again, at the turn of the century this would have sounded laughable.

Many industries have specific needs that prevent direct conversion to electric, but hydrocarbon fuels are not intrinsically fossil fuels and can be made as a storage medium for solar. Hydrocarbon fuels made in this way are intrinsically carbon neutral. The technology is relatively young, but from a basic math perspective looks very doable.

Inflation actually has more to do with the above than it does with whatever it is the federal reserve does, and pulling down a supply of energy from the sky that requires less infrastructure to get (which is true because that's why it's cheaper now) directly helps.

The current "business as usual" scenarios with global warming are lower than they used to be, because the solar transition is just sort of happening because of economics without a lot of government help. All of the above lower the amount of friction and pushback we face when trying to get the government to do something.

By the way, the Inflation Reduction Act, passed by Joe Biden a couple years back, is explicitly designed to accelerate these trends.

As disastrous as the current projections for global warming are, it's important to keep two things in perspective: first, that they are exactly that, disasters, not the end-of-the-world kind but more sort of the hurricanes and floods kind, and second, while they certainly will get worse before they get better, they can and will get better. What we do now from a policy perspective has an outsize impact on how much flooding, droughts, and other weather-related costs we will face in the decades to come, but "human civilization ends" is not actually particularly likely. It is much more realistic to say "we could have a huge number of climate-related disasters or a moderately increased number, and every little bit of policy work helps move the needle".

We can and we will solve global warming, the question is not if but when, and how many lives can we save or improve by acting as soon as possible. Imagining this as an almost-certain death sentence for the future of humanity and nature is not merely unrealistic, but wildly counterproductive. It is paralyzing and enervating when what will do the most good is planning, policy, and communication.

Remember, despair is not a tool for positive change. Hope is the real language of revolution.

[spectralreplica]

Uhhhhhhhh Sburb AU!! This was more of an excuse to classpect and make sprites, so don’t ask me questions about plot details because I put like zero thought into it. Tsumugi probably had something to do with setting up the session, and she’s hiding her real title and the fact it’s not her first session. Baby Kiibo is a robot baby because I thought that was the funniest option.

Drawing with anti-aliasing off really brings me back...

Classpect thoughts under the cut if you really want:

Immediate caveat: I mention speculative stuff here like unconfirmed active/passive class pairs and inversion theory. If you don’t like those things or otherwise disagree with the titles I gave people that’s fine but just know I’m not super interested in debating about it and won’t reply.

So, to start out with I wanted to make the 8 of them a session, so I needed no overlaps in class or aspect and one Time + one Space. I also wanted to have Kaito and Kokichi as opposing aspects. In general, I think of a Title as kind of the end of your assigned character arc, so depending on your level of maturity/introspection at the start, it can seem either really obvious or really unintuitive. I tried to base them off of the hypothetical chapter 6/survivor versions of characters, since those (plus maybe the chapter 5 deaths) of the ones that get a full arc in DR canon.

Immediately Tsumugi seemed like a deadringer for Space, not so much because of the literal physics-related stuff but because of its associations with creation/narratives and setting things up for other people to act. I made her Sylph of Space here, but that's a facade. She's actually a Muse of Space who participated in past session(s) and wants to watch how things play out.

Based on the Extended Zodiac description, Kaito or Kaede has to be time, but Kokichi CANNOT be Space by any stretch of the imagination. I made her Heir of Time with the interpretation of Heir as someone who invites change/influences of/through their aspect. Time is also associated with music and death, which is both fitting and a little mean. (I can also see Kaede as Breath outside of having to have someone be Time.)

So moving onto Kaito and Kokichi, I was considering Hope vs Rage (belief vs doubt, possibility vs restrictions), but 1) Rage is defined partially by hatred of lies despite otherwise sounding Kokichi-ish (that alone could be interesting, with the possibility of a negative/reverse title or else giving him Hope and Kaito Rage for the unexpected swerve........) 2) I really wanted to give Hope to Kiibo. So instead I went with Heart and Mind (emotion vs logic, intuition vs planning, identity/motivation vs action/decisiveness).

Kokichi is Thief of Mind for taking away other people's decisions for his own purposes but also for generally "stealing" things (e.g., the Mastermind Role, narrative importance in general, along with literal items) through his own cleverness. Vs Kaito, a Knight of Heart, who uses his constructed identity as a weapon to face challenges. I'm also a fan of inversion theory, so I think at low points they'd both trend towards Page of Heart (grows powerful late in the narrative based on his own ego/identity) and Rogue of Mind (taking choices/agency/logic away from people for their own good), respectively.

I always wanted Kiibo to be Hope since 1) Ult. Hope Robot 2) big on possibilities/faith but can be a little self-centered. I went with Bard at least partially to make a "guess we know whether he has a dick or not now!" joke, but I also think "inviting destruction through Hope, inviting destruction of (false) hope" is pretty spot on for chapter 6 Kiibo. Like, as the camera/audience surrogate, he's been forced into passively leading the others to despair, not to mention how the audience takes him over to destroy the hope of ending the show. But Kiibo ends up reversing this and helping destroy the audience's faith in Danganronpa, destroying the whole academy in accordance with the vote. (Sidenote: I wonder if Kiibo gets taken over by Horrorterrors and goes grimdark? Or if he's just really, really susceptible to orders from his Exile)

Shuichi, Page of Void, was another one that immediately came to mind. Like, "starts off weak but becomes really strong/important by the end" is Shuichi's thing! Also, counterpart to Kaito's Knight. And Void is all about secrets, mystery, etc. From the Extended Zodiac: "Where others might be compelled to go out and seek answers, the Void-bound lean more toward casting doubt on what is already considered understood. They don't take much on faith and would rather live in a state of confusion- than believe something that might be untrue or bow to intellectual authority... At their best, Void-bound are wise, intuitive, and vibrant. At their worst, they can be dismissive, indecisive and apathetic." 

I had considering Light, for seeking out knowledge/truth, but Shuichi's character arc ends on "fuck you, I refuse to play. You all get nothing more from us" and learning to live with ambiguity, so I think he's way more Void. But, again, inversion would be Thief of Light, so selfishly taking away knowledge/importance from others.

Speaking of Light, I made Miu Mage of Light. Mage is like, active Seer, seeking out knowledge for yourself (vs advising others) and Light is luck, knowledge, and also importance/plot relevance. As an inventor, Miu keeps innovating and figuring things out, plus she's very motivated by her own importance to the world. She wants to be seen more than anything else and loves being smarter than those around her. Also: "At their best, the Light-bound are resourceful and driven. At their worst they can be fussy, pedantic, and insensitive." Inversion is Heir of Void, so "inviting change via hiding things" or "changing what's kept secret", which suits Miu when plotting murder.

Finally, Maki is Prince of Blood. Blood is trust, bonds, relationships, stubbornness, duty, obligation (vs freedom, change, choices) so "someone who breaks bonds/destroys relationships" but also "someone who destroys using/motivated by duty/relationships". Like, Maki is inherently a fracture point in the group because of her talent and then directly breaks the group apart and sabotages her relationships with the others in chapter 5, but also she's deeply motivated by her bonds to others in all of her destructive actions (protectiveness for orphanage/friend, love for Kaito). This sound super negative, but I think this is also the Maki who commits to destroying the institution of Danganronpa in chapter 6. Sometimes you have to be decisive and cut bad relationships out of your life.

Inversion would be Sylph of Breath, so "healing via change" or "encouraging growth towards freedom", which you can argue is sort of the way Kaito wants her to go? But she just doesn't. Idk, for better or worse, I think Maki is very aware of who she is and how people related to her, so even at her worst she's true to herself, vs, say, Kaito or Kokichi, who act "ooc".

[raayllum]

So I always meant to do a little meta about Rayla and sleep (aka sleeps sitting up in S4, lying down but fully dressed + with her weapons in S5 — and now in PJs without weapons in s6) and it never happened (to my memory), but it did make me think about how I wanted to talk about Callum's whole thing with sleep in S6, namely how bad it is, as well as a bit about Viren and Rayla by proxy.

So in S6 we see Callum have two nightmares (the pearl sleepwalking nightmare and dark magic nightmare, shall we see) in 6x01 and 6x03. He wakes up once in 6x01 and then stays awake all night coming up with the decoy plan and sewing the anti magic blanket. He's still seemingly catching up on sleep days later in 6x03, with Rayla letting him just as she did before, and he has his second nightmare. In the Frozen Ship he struggles to sleep at first because of the cold, as he won't share the blanket, and then wakes up again naturally in the night, but won't let himself kiss Rayla. All except the cold is ultimately rooted in Callum's concerns over Aaravos and his susceptibility to Aaravos because of dark magic.

We see this sleeplessness and concern return in 6x06 as well, before it's 'resolved' (for the season). This nightmare and restlessness is something Viren experienced a bit of in S4 (namely 4x07), but we see it more consistently in S6, specifically with nightmares and fears of Aaravos using him as well, him waking up fitfully twice in 6x05:

Most of this fits with other aspects of the series. Dark magic causes you to fall into a coma-like state that persisted even once Viren 'woke up,' the comas themselves involve nightmares / tormented dreams, and Janai directly cites Aaravos' influence over them (5x03, 5x09): "Aaravos taunts me in my dreams with visions of destruction and despair" (6x02). Dark magic and sleep can both be associated with death, and are both interwoven with passing out, the actual possession, Aaravos' hold over you being a canonical fate worse than death (restful eternal sleep), hence why both Viren and Callum choose it over continued control.

The thing that I thought was interesting that was not only how frequent is Callum's lack of rest in S6, after seasons of routinely sleeping fairly well, as an overarching consequence leftover from 5x08 and everything going on... but also that his insomnia isn't exclusively because of Aaravos or dark magic guilt either, as in Viren's case, but also (more positively) because of his bond with Rayla.

Of course to begin, there's the subtext that Callum feels safe sleeping beside / around her (your partner should give you rest from the horrors of the world, etc etc, particularly with her continued opposition to Aaravos' hold on Callum that S6 is going to make direct text after seasons of subtext). But in the vein of Rayla's hold on Callum being 1) equally powerful and 2) can overlap with more circumstantial qualities (sometimes good, sometimes bad) for his.

For example, Callum is sleepless in 6x05 because he's trying to figure out the ice heart spell in order to defeat the 'behemoth':

We later learn (though myself and many others already suspected) that his fixation on it through the night was because he knew the reward for defeating the 'monster' would be quasar diamonds, and he wanted them for Rayla's family.

Then, just as 6x06 opens with Callum being sleepless, the episode also closes in a similar manner. Whereas before it was anxiety and Aaravos keeping him awake, this time it's Rayla and the promise of full reconciliation. A redo.

What does this all mean, though? Well:

Sleep (+ nightmares) are used to further link Viren and Callum in S6 with mirrored fears of being used by Aaravos

It strengthens the connection between Aaravos, dark magic, and dreams/nightmares, as well as bringing Janai into the loop

Like Callum and Rayla, Janai is also sleepless in 6x02, but is seeking Amaya's story, and lets her partner in. Callum does the same with and for Rayla throughout S6

Callum's relationship with sleep being influenced in a negative manner by Aaravos (anxiety, insomnia, nightmares, puppetting) and a positive manner by Rayla (comfort, thoughtfulness, love, mutual devotion) is another way the two elves are put in opposition to each other for Callum's fate and wellbeing without making them complete opposites

and I think that's all pretty cool

[roosterbruiser]

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐟𝐟

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It doesn't feel like you're getting ready for a first date.

Really, this doesn't feel like a first date at all. It is--technically and logically--a first real, physical, true date.

But between you and Jake there aren't many firsts left. The two of you have done things entirely out of order. You fucked before you even liked him as a person, you somehow became friends between Plan B and lemon-lime Gatorade, you had meaningful sex, you fell in love, you became an official couple, he took care of you when you grieved, and now you've told each other that you love each other. It's been a whirlwind, really. It's what precisely no little girl's dream off--least of all you--but when your mind wanders and lands on these past few months, the ones that were marked not only by your grief but by the sudden and overwhelming love you have for Jake fucking Seresin, you know in your marrow that this is the way things are meant to happen.

When you lean back, away from the heat of your love with Jake and away from the grief of your father's demise, you still feel winded by it all. You're still catching your breath from that first encounter in your shower cubicle on base. You're still trying to bite that breath of yours that's bated, the one that's been stuck behind your front teeth since your father took his last breath against your cheek.

But things have happened this way and for no certain reason (other than Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake), you're happy. You're the kind of happy that people talk about in anti-depressant commercials; when people play frisbee in golden sunlight and throw their heads back laughing and meet their friends for a glass of wine over lunch. It's an almost synthetic kind of happy when you're with Jake, like you should be wallowing in despair and mourning, but he just makes you too giddy.

So now you're here, a week after you and Jake confessed that you love each other in a stupidly romantic moment on the beach with fucking Mazzy Star playing (sometimes you feel like you're literally filming scenes for an anti-depressant commercial of your own), and you're getting ready for your first date.

If this was a first date, like actually a first date, you'd be more nervous than you are right now. You'd be wringing your hands together and trying not to pick at your fresh manicure and checking your hair in the hallway mirror until your own reflections skewed. You'd be downing a whiskey shooter with your sister as you waited for your date to pick you up and obsessively Googling the menu for the restaurant you're eating at.

Right now, though, you're completely and utterly fine. Maybe it has a little bit to do with the fact that you already know this date is going to end with sex. Maybe it has a little bit to do with you already being head-over-heels, stupidly in love with your date. Or maybe it's just because your date is getting ready alongside you.

"What time should I pick you up?" Jake says as you stand beside him, running a brush through your hair. He's grinning at you in the mirror and you're chewing your own smile, too. "How's seven sound?"

"Seven's good," you tell him. "Let me know if you have any trouble finding the place, okay?"

Jake nods, dabbing a bit of gel on his fingers and sculpting his blonde locks carefully.

"It's just down the stairs and take a right, yeah?"

"Yeah, that'll take you straight to the front door. You could turn left into the living room, too, and we could meet each other halfway in the foyer if you want?"

Jake scoffs.

"Are you one of those girls that's gonna want to split the bill, too?"

"Oh, no," you tell him, furrowing your brows. "You're absolutely paying for my dinner because I'm putting out tonight."

Jake laughs, wiping his hands on a towel before he moves behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. He's very docile with you, letting his hands rest on the bottom of your belly, resting his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing warm kisses to your jaw.

He has grown used to you standing here in his bathroom most every morning and night, which is something he was always certain he'd never get used to. Before you, Jake didn't think he was the type that would bask in the intimacy of domesticity.

But now he can't remember what life was like before you padded your way into his bathroom and wrote him love messages with your finger across the steamy mirror while he showered after his morning run. He can't remember a time before your mascara was sitting beside his hair gel or when your hairbrush didn't set just beside his comb. He can't remember a time that your smiling face and tired eyes and messy hair weren't staring back at him in this mirror at Too Fucking Early In The Morning. He didn't realize how lonely he looked as a solitary figure in this mirror until you stepped in place beside him. The two of you fill it up mighty fine now, tooth brushes hanging out of your foamy mouths or palms pressed to each other's cheeks when you insist upon washing each other's faces.

Even now, the two of you washed up nicely and getting spiffy for a date that neither of you are nervous about, you look good. You two just look like you belong here.

Jake takes a deep breath of you--that sweet scent that's always lingering on your skin, the one that he would truly bathe in if he could. And he keeps pressing his lips against your jaw, his heartbeat steady as you melt into his embrace. It's something you can't help now; he just makes you feel held. It's as simple as that.

"I love you," he whispers and his tongue still tingles when he says it. His chest grows warm, the tips of his ears glow pink in the lowlight.

You smile at him, minding the lipstick you've just applied and are waiting to dry.

"Already said I was putting out," you tease, resting your head on his shoulder. "You don't need to try so hard."

But then you turn and meet his gaze in real life, not in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. And his nose brushes yours as he laughs, his chest rumbling against your shoulder blades, and you are so completely and totally in love that you feel dumb.

"Maybe if I try really hard, we'll stop for a Plan B on the way home?"

And that's another thin you love about the two of you--you make each other laugh. Like right now, he's holding you and you're lying against his chest, and you're both in stitches over each other.

"Hey, buddy," you tell him, still coughing up a few giggles as you carefully blot under your eyes, "you buy me steak and a lemon-lime Gatorade and you can so whatever you want to me."

He kisses your temple, gentle enough to not disturb your hair and your makeup, and smiles against your skin.

"I love you," you tell him, your voice quieter. It feels unfamiliar on your tongue still, but not in a bad way; just a new way. For just a moment, you think about your father. You think about the ferocity in which he loved your mother, then your sister, then you. You think about how short his life seemed despite all those years you had with him, all those kisses he pressed against your hair and all the times he carried you against his chest. He loved good. He lived well. You feel that there is not a moment to waste. Fuck it. "I love you a lot, Jake."

Even though it's only the two of you, Jake makes a show of your grand appearance down the staircase. It's something you've grown to adore about him: he makes the small moments in life big. You used to overlook moments like this, but he never has. So before you slip into your dress and put on your heels, Jake exits the bedroom and tells you to call down to him when you're ready.

It's silly, really. And honestly, if some other guy tried to make you do this, you'd tell him to grow the fuck up. But besides the fact that you're downright enamored with Jake, you find that there is a want deep in your gut: you want to do this. You want to do silly little things like this, these boring parts of life that he makes exciting all on his own accord. You want to play along, you want to be involved.

"Okay," you call to him. "I'm ready, stud!"

"Wait for your cue!" He calls back, his voice echoing off the tile in the foyer where you know he's waiting in his nice slacks and button down shirt.

You're biting a grin, careful not to smudge your lipstick. And you just can't help yourself--you have butterflies right now. The good kind, the kind that seem to be a good omen. There's giddiness crawling up the column of your spine and sitting thickly on your tongue.

Then the music starts.

You laugh out loud, your cheeks pink. He's such a sap.

After a moment, you recognize the song. It's My Girl by The Temptations.

You've never been one for grand romantic gestures. But when you walk out into the dark hallway and see the stupid red rose petals littering the stairs and the dim lights in the foyer, your heart almost bursts right out of your chest. It's the highest form of melodrama Jake has ever displayed--cheesy at best--but you don't think you could love him any more than you do right now. The love is choking you.

I guess you'd say / What can make me feel this way

You start down the stairs, hating and loving simultaneously that you feel like you're descending some sort of grand staircase at a fucking ball instead of the foyer of your boyfriend's house.

And because he has probably times this perfectly, playing the song over headphones while stepping down at the pace he thinks you'll step down, your heel clicks against the petal-covered tiles as soon as the chorus begins.

My girl, my girl, my girl / Talkin' 'bout my girl / My girl

To be completely honest, Jake hasn't ever been one to make moments like this matter. He's never done this before--he hasn't even done anything close to this before. Not for any other woman, not for himself. But you make him want to do cheesy things like this. He reckons that he would do just about anything to see that toothy grin on your face, the one that makes your eyes dwarf and your cheeks expand.

It's been a hard couple of months for you--he'd do anything to make it easier for you and he does frequently.

Now here you are, standing there in your pretty dress and your pretty heels. Your toenails are painted that charming blueberry color again and your cheeks are pink and there it is--that toothy grin, those little shining eyes, that flush in your chest. You're happy. You're so happy that he can read it on your body as if it were written across your forehead.

I've got so much honey / The bees envy me

"Oh, baby," Jake croons, clutching his heart. "You're a vision!"

He's even holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, the bastard.

"Fuck off," you laugh. "You're so ridiculous."

He's grinning even wider now.

"Or romantic?" He says with his brow perched.

"You're an idiot," you say, but you're nearing him with that delicious perfume on your skin and that giddiness sitting in the middle of your chest. "Like, really, Seresin. This is so stupid."

You encircle his neck with your arms and he lets the flowers fall to the floor as he presses his body against yours, basking in your heat. He lets his fingers trail up and down your bare arms as he presses his forehead against yours.

I've got a sweeter song / Than the birds in the trees

"This is really stupid," he agrees, nudging your nose with his, letting his eyelashes kiss your cheeks. "You still wanna be my girlfriend after this?"

You sigh, shaking your head. You can't shake this smile that's eating your face.

"I really, really do," you whisper, pressing your lips against his. "How dumb does that make me?"

Jake pulls you closer, hands cupping your ass in a most delicious way.

"So, so dumb, baby," he whispers against your lips, grinning.

You keep kissing, keep letting his lips make you lightheaded. And Jake lets his hands wander all along your backside and the sweet curve of your spine.

Well, I guess you'd say / What can make me feel this way

"Did you time my entrance to the song?" You ask, not pulling your lips from his.

"No comment," he breathes back.

"Jake," you whisper, giggling. "No, you didn't!"

He pulls back from your lips finally, letting his forehead rest against yours. He thumbs a smudge of your lipstick and grins, shrugging.

"I can neither confirm nor deny."

Of course the date goes perfectly.

You two go to a nice steakhouse, one right on the water, and sit on the patio. He buys a bottle of the white wine you like so much and then another when the two of you accidentally drink the entirety of the first.

He watches the pink sun dip into the sea behind you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin as you sip your wine and cut your filet mignon.

You watch him as he looks up at the sky, the one he is so frequently inside of. And you watch his aspen-colored eyes drink in the white-rice moon and the stars that are beginning to sprinkle across the horizon.

The two of you reach out for each other beneath the table--most of the dinner is spent with your feet resting in his lap with his hands on your ankles.

The food is good, the wine is great, and his company is even better. You ring in the evening with your bellies full, with laughter in your throat, with your heels in his hands, with the crashing waves guiding you back towards the car you rode in together.

And it's there, in the car, with the windows rolled down and the radio turned up that it dawns on you: this is the kind of love that your parents shared. This tipsy grin on your lips and that fond grip of his on your thigh: it is familiar because it's how your parents would fall through the front door after bedtime on date nights. Already, Jake has given you so much comfort; has held you the way only your father ever had, has made you laugh instead of weep, has been so gentle with you. Now he's embodying the best man that's ever lived and settling into this comfortable life with you.

You reach over and comb through his hair. He loves it when you do that--it always elicits an mmm from him when you scratch his scalp or tug on his clean hair.

"You know," you say, your eyes glassy, "you might just be one of the best men to ever live."

Jake Seresin, for all intents and purposes, is an egotistical man. One would maybe expect him to respond with a snort and an eyeball as if to say well, yeah, duh. But this Jake in the driver's seat, the one that's listened to the soft sounds of your breathing each night for weeks and gone out to lunch with your sister to talk privately about her drinking, doesn't roll his eyes. Because to him, it's not a well, yeah, duh thing. It isn't often that people tell him--genuinely tell him--that he's a good man. Especially not someone who had Tom Kazansky as a father.

"You're tipsy," he says, choked up.

You lean across the seats, the center console digging into your side. And very carefully, you press a kiss to the peak of his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you agree, stroking the edge of his jaw with a gentle thumb. "And you're still one of the best men to ever live."

That is the closest Jake fucking Seresin has come to crying on a first date.

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!

guys pls don't be mad that there isn't smut I promise I will write more smut as soon as my classes are over today!!! but I thought you guys deserved some good old fashioned fluff after what I put all of you through the last couple of parts!!! I love all of you!!!

tags:

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

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@guacala

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@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

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@roosterforme

@myfaveficrecs

[eowyntheavenger]

Hi! I saw your post on telling Americans to vote, and I was wondering what you think of posts from people from other parts of the world who are calling Americans evil for voting for Biden because of his support for Israel. I've seen a few already. They seem to be completely convinced that Americans deliberately voted for Biden specifically to side against Palestine and no other reason, and spread the general (pretty ignorant and hateful) message of "Americans are evil because of the actions of their government and because they collectively refuse to vote for a president who is good and not simply 'the lesser of two evils'". It frustrates me because they seem to think they're experts on US politics, culture, and society and have all the answers, but it also makes me concerned because it reminds me of the whole Russian bot thing from last time. Like, I'm 99% sure the people reblogging these posts aren't Russian bots (don't know about the OPs though), and they unquestioningly believe this. What do you think of this and how would you go about addressing this issue? Do you think it's possible to get them to understand how little they actually know about the US and how they're actually promoting a message that makes things worse for everyone? I've also seen less scathing posts that are just disheartened and don't seem to believe the democrats are truly better to vote for than the republicans and so it's just two sides of the same coin. To be fair, I think that sort of feeling is only further encouraged because there didn't really seem to be much if any progress made with Biden, not even back to square one after Trump moved the country so far backwards. I think most Americans really wish the elections actually had good candidates and they could pick the best of two goods, but are frustrated and stuck with the current system and don't know how to actually get to the point where there are good candidates. (Though personally I think voting for the one who isn't actively trying to make themselves a king with unlimited terms is a decent start. I can understand the frustration though.)

Hi! Thanks for the ask. This stuff worries me too. I've gotten comments on my posts like that too, telling me/other Americans that we're evil for voting for Biden.

But I've seen a much larger number of comments and posts from people outside the United States BEGGING us to vote for Biden. I literally get tags like that on my posts EVERY DAY urging Americans to vote blue. So I think that's valuable context, even if it doesn't solve the problem of the "I hate everybody who votes for Biden" crowd.

And yes, it's definitely a shitty argument on their part to claim that people voting for Biden are specifically siding against Palestine. Literally every single person I know in real life and online who plans to vote for Biden has been criticizing and protesting his policies on Palestine.

In terms of convincing the anti-voters that they're wrong, honestly, I don't know. They don't listen to reason and they seem intent on spreading despair. Some of Biden's policies have been terrible (Willow oil-drilling project), some of them have been downright evil (military aid to Israel), but I'm a rational person and I know that Trump is worse in every respect.

I've tried debating them. It's been pointless every time. They genuinely don't know how the government works, which scares me. Common takes include: 1) a genuine lack of awareness of how pro-Israel Trump and the right wing are, combined with magical thinking that a virtually unknown third party candidate can win the presidential election, 2) truly impressive mental gymnastics blaming Biden for the overturn of Roe v. Wade, and 3) continuing the mental gymnastics to blame Biden and the Democrats for anti-trans policies...

I guess my advice is to either ignore them and move on, or debunk things when you have time/energy? It's easier said than done, I know. There's nothing more annoying than someone being stupid on the internet, especially when they accuse you of stuff that just isn't true, and especially when they're spreading dangerous misinformation or voter-suppression rhetoric.

Like you, I'm highly suspicious of anyone who advocates AGAINST voting, or against voting blue. And I agree, many of these people are not bots, like you said, but I call them useful idiots, because they're doing the bots' work for them.

The one thing you said that I'm going to push back on is "there didn't really seem to be much if any progress made with Biden." Biden's actually made lots of progress on a variety of issues, and reversed some of Trump’s damage, it just doesn't get a lot of fanfare and it’s unfortunately happening at the same time as Republican gains in state legislatures and while they control the Supreme Court. But Biden and his administration have:

• invested billions in green architecture and clean energy, including making sure federal investments benefit low-income communities

• introduced new fines for companies' methane emissions

• introduced a plan to cut the federal government's greenhouse gas emissions by 65% by 2030 (that includes the military, which is a huge emitter)

• passed a huge bill for improving the country's infrastructure, including bridges, roads, broadband and more

• introduced first-ever national strategy on gender equality and equity and pushed Congress to pass the Equal Rights Amendment

• fought for women's reproductive rights after the overturn of Roe v. Wade

• put more women, people of color, and women of color on the federal bench than any of his predecessors combined

• nominated Kentaji Brown Jackson as the first Black woman to serve on the Supreme Court

• boosted funding to historically Black colleges

• ordered the DOJ to end the use of private prisons by the federal government

• pardoned thousands of people convicted on federal marijuana charges

• created a White House office of gun violence prevention

• passed the Respect for Marriage Act, guaranteeing federal rights and benefits for same-sex couples

• rolled out a series of actions to protect the rights and safety of the LGBTQ+ community, including protecting queer and trans foster youth, improving access to mental health services, and addressing the rise in hate crimes

• challenged discriminatory state bans against gender-affirming care and trans athletes

• called to support trans youth in State of the Union address and restored the White House tradition of recognizing Pride Month

• changed passport rules so that people can obtain a passport with no gender marker

• examined efforts by each federal agency to advance LGBTQ+ rights around the world

• reversed Trump's transgender military ban

• protected the rights of incarcerated trans people

• forgave billions in student debt, repeatedly, and introduced penalties for college programs that trap students in debt

• slashed bank overdraft fees

• expanded guaranteed overtime pay for millions of people

• made union-busting harder

• prevented discriminatory mortgage lending

• made efforts to expand the child tax credit, which could lift hundreds of thousands of children out of poverty

• cracked down on agriculture monopolies to support farmers and small businesses

• made it so the government is going to start taking drug companies' patents away if they don't make affordable drugs

• made over-the-counter birth control pills available for the first time

• lowered the cost of hearing aids and expanded access to them

• spent millions of dollars on students' mental health

• reversed discriminatory healthcare rules

• reinvigorated cancer research

• announced plans to replace all leaded pipes in the next ten years as well as combatting lead exposure abroad

• changed rules for how people can get aid after disasters so they can get more protection and immediate payments more easily

• introduced new data privacy rules protecting people from tech companies

• pushed the federal government to monitor AI risks

• maintained steadfast support for Ukraine in the face of Russian aggression

• maintained steadfast support for Taiwan in the face of Chinese intimidation

• strengthened ties with allies in Asia and the Pacific Islands

• pledged climate change assistance to low-lying Pacific Island countries

• literally IMMEDIATELY after being elected, Biden fortified DACA, rejoined the Paris Agreement, and ended Trump's discriminatory "Muslim ban", ended the Keystone XL Pipeline and fossil duel development in wildlife monuments, (same as last link) rejoined the WHO, strengthened COVID-19 response measures on a variety of fronts, re-included non-citizens in the U.S. census, and passed executives orders on racial equity in the federal government

And I'm sure there's more I left out.

There are also things Biden does that literally don’t make the news, but matter a lot, like funding the Postal Service, and continuing to have a State Department so we can conduct overseas diplomacy (Trump tried to defund the USPS and wants to purge the State Department and fill it with loyalists).

[dairy-farmer]

More Cult's of Gotham nonsense! You know what happens when you let unsupervised tots wander around Rich Folks area Gotham in the dead of night? They stumble into old Weird Shit that some kinky dead Rich Folks left over! Like sex cults!

It was a fad!

And it may have been brief, but that MAGIC sure lingered! Whoops! Lack of street lights and recent rain? Mean one Timmy falling through a dirt ceiling into a Suspect Magic Circle(tm)!

He has Succubus Powers now.

The cost? Succubus dietary needs. Also he has hit puberty yet and is pretty sure he's Trans. He did not WANT the Succubus powers, creepy dead people! But here he is. With them.

The extra durability and extreme flexibility are nice. Food being basicly a "I mean, if you FEEL like it" sort of thing? Not great! He's HUNGRY. Luckily? Prostitutes. He can sit on the roof and... eat? He guesses? Not very filling, but it works.

Then! Jason is dead! D:>

The dramatics that follow! Bruce is a DICK but Tim's durability means no broken Timmy bones. But also... he never stays for dinner, dispite Alfred hinting he should. Goes of patrol route sometimes for odd "vantage points". Bruce notices him going BACK into the city, once or twice.

Eventually? He can't ignore Tim any longer. Has come to care for the Doll like little Robin. Obviously, he figures Tim's haunts out immediately. But why? Is he going there? It's clearly not to spy. Hmmmm...

He "accidentally" leaves the Bat computer unlocked.

Tim hasn't learned enough yet to spot the obvious trap. He takes his chance to look up anyone with Sex powers like him, how they feed. Bruce watching as he grows more despairing and frustrated with every Villainous match. Bruce is a Detective. He can put two and two together.

His dietary plans go right out the window. New concern. Pervs molesting his Robin. Or his Robin STARVING. Luckily? Brucie is hot shit. Gala time. But first, lessons on spotting obvious traps.

Tim gets dragged to Gala after party after swanky yacht get together. Rooms picked ahead of time. Tim hiding under desks as Bruce fucks someone onto of them. Snuck under the couch, as Bruce fucks a socialite against the wall right next to it. In the dresser, as Bruce and his conquest take the bed.

Tim most certainly does not go hungry.

But the longer this goes on? The more AWARE Bruce is of him. His little listener. His back up. His Robin. Is he watching through the cracks? Enjoying what he hears? Is it making him wet? Squirm and wish he could do something about it? Is he fantasizing it's him out here, under Bruce?

Bruce bets he would feel so good. Tight and perfect. Take him so WELL.

Bruce is trying very, very hard not to think about it.

Failing.

His fantasies getting filthier. His lust stronger. But he controls it. He DOES. Until some knock off Pollen nearly kills him. Doesn't respond AT ALL to their anti-agent. And Tim... magnificent, perfect boy that he is... is awkwardly, sloppily, taking him right to the root. He barely stops from bucking.

It's perfection.

He has to guide him through it. Teach him what make him feel good. God, he learns so FAST. Bruce is almost delirious by the time Tim scrambles into his lap. Balances carefully and starts to work his way down. He rolls them both forward and help him. Rutts and pants as works himself DEEP.

Tim is perfect for him.

And really, after that? Why bother with substitutes? When Bruce can feed him directly? Morning and night. Every, single, day. Pumping loads nice and deep, over and over, until he whines he feels like he'll burst. The a few more, because Bruce truelly can't resist. Tim needs to eat after all.

He's a growing boy.

-🐼🐼🐼

succubus tim is SO fascinating because tim is, unlike the other bats, not so deeply interested in sex- when he's propositioned by his first girlfriend he refuses and says its because they're young and that ariana is sort of vulnerable at the moment and doesn't really mean it. but this is a thing that happens over again for him whereas dick and bruce will frequently fuck people they're attracted to or have some running storyline in their comics over a girl they work with/are sleeping with/ etc. i mean even jason gets plot lines that are about how he fucks- but tim? not so much.

so HIM being a succubus out of all of them presents a really interesting scenario where he HAS to have sex or be near it in order to survive, where he's biologically compelled to seek it out, where (since its part of his being) he has an other worldly advantage over it because evolutionary speaking tim being so good that his prey keep coming back to him makes perfect sense.

but bruce trying to figure out solutions and help tim while avoiding letting anyone know or touch him and landing on forming a voyeuristic relationship with tim so he can get fed! hiding him in the room and choosing out partners that are nice and sturdy and capable of taking hours of fucking. the papers are exploding about bruce's 'renaissance' and how he hasn't been this sexually active since he was in his 20s. and unlike when he was in his 20s these articles making the rounds mean the other leaguers make a few jokes about it, not fully understanding why bruce is doing all this and committed to making sure his robin isn't starved or forced to seek out other ways to survive. ways that might involve strangers getting their hands on him which may not be an issue because bruce has noticed how as tim has grown older his appearances has started...drawing people to him.

more than once when out running errands with tim bruce has picked up on men following them around, their eyes fixated and locked on tim's form. bruce theorizes that similar to sex pollen, tim releases a kind of pheromone that will draw the sexually starved to him sort of like a plant releasing flows of sweet nectar to draw pollinators. tim's body is an unconscious hunter, aching to help provide and keep him alive by sending out a wave of pheromones whenever tim is the slightest bit hungry.

so bruce makes it his duty to make sure tim is well satiated, its the only way to keep him safe. and at first bruce treats it like just another duty. he seduces women, brings them to the prepicked room where tim is set up in, warms them up, listens to their little whines and presses his nose to their perfumed necks. it's not that bruce has never had mindless sex before- he has. and when he first started there had been some part of him that was so deeply humiliated and unnerved about having to...to perform with his robin in the room in listening distance. but bruce had NEEDED to do it, he'd had a purpose for fucking and needed to see it through. its not like it was all terrible anyway, he did get SOMETHING out of it. but...it was the afterward that really started getting to bruce. when he'd help the woman fix her dress then send her away, he'd wait 15 minutes then lift up the table cloth, look under the desk, or open the closet where tim was hiding and he'd find tim looking so flushed it was like he was feverish, he'd be softly panting with his soft mouth parted and little tongue visible, and he'd be lying there with his thighs pressed tightly together, a sweet wetspot visible between his dark slacks. often times bruce would need to reach in and pick tim up because he was so weak and loose limbed with his head rolling around seeming like HE'D been the one fucked. tim's skin would be lightly perspiring and when tim's legs moved and he made that little hitched breath sound, bruce would be able to hear the squelch of his little cunt, so desperately wet and wanting.

bruce's awareness of tim grows even while he's in the act he finds him self thinking more and more of tim, his eyes eventually drifting to his hiding place and wondering what tim's state would be, wondering if tim would be staring at him from a little crack in the door. bruce has to stop himself from grunting out a growled 'tim' more than once and just knows how close he is to crossing a line he can't come back from.

logically he knows it can't be all his fault, that the blame must lie with tim as well. that maybe proximity to him is warping something in his brain, that perhaps being the one responsible for 'feeding' tim has meant his body is slowly overwriting all of bruce's 'desire' neurons to fire off more and more at the sight and thought of tim. that it isn't REALLY bruce who is developing an attraction and desire for his young robin.

part of bruce believes that and maybe that's why the pollen anti-agent doesn't work. that this is tim's fault and so its tim's responsibility to fix it.

bruce, if he was lucid, would probably be horrified at his own actions or barging into tim's room and startling him awake by climbing into his bed. bruce had dismissed tim almost an hour ago since him getting dosed had made him unsuited for duty. typically the anti-agent worked immediately but now an hour later bruce had broken into drake manor and was now pawing at the bottom of tim's sleep dress, bunching the fabric up and pushing it away to reveal the little cotton panties protecting a pink little cunt.

bruce is murmuring something, panting hard from the pollen-venom in his bloodstream as he tugs the crotch of tim's underwear to the side and shoves in two fingers that slide in like a hot knife through butter. tim's little cunt stretches around him, already dripping wet and bruce holds back a groan because he knows this is going to be good.

tim is whining under him, bucking his hips and pressing them as close as he can get. bruce can see the cloudy eyed desire in his eyes, his cheeks pink, and his prefect little mouth parted. tim makes the sweetest sound when bruce crouches over him and presses their mouthes together.

tim's mouth is uncoordinated and unsure but he learns fast, meeting bruce's kisses eagerly and wetly, humming when bruce presses his tongue in. tim's little hand scrambles for bruce's cock, reverently touching and stroking it from where bruce has pried it out of his suit's pants.

bruce might be drugged up to the gills but he's not cruel and he knows tim has never had a real cock in him before. so he settles on his back, rests his head on tim's soft pillow, and plants tim on his lap. tim's underwear is soaked through and a little tug with a crooked finger and tim is hastily stripping it away leaving his cunt bare and naked an grinding desperately on bruce's cock.

bruce holds back groans at the feeling and sight, tim's chubby cunt lips are kissing both sides of bruce's cock, tim's hips grinding down and dragging it all along the length- back and forth and back. bruce can feel as his head presses the slightest bit deeper whenever tim's hole drags over the head.

bruce starts it with steady rolls of his hips, grinding up and meeting tim's stuttered rhythem, pressing up slowly, working his cock more closely, coating himself in tim's natural stickiness until- finally.

bruce breathes shakily through his nose when he feels his throbbing cock head pop into tim, as tim's hips tremble and he starts making gutted little noises while bouncing slightly and working his way down to swallow more of bruce's cock into him. it's almost comical how much bigger bruce's cock is compared to the little baby cunt tim is working down. the lips are a furious red, his cunt stretched fully open while steaks of wetness beaded up along where he and tim were joined.

bruce's palms almost wrap fully around tim's waist where bruce is holding onto to guide tim's descent and movements. tim doesn't know how to fuck, how to make bruce feel good, but that's okay because bruce can teach him. can carefully instruct him on how fast to go, how to bounce, when to tighten his insides, and how to roll his hips so he could grind his little button against bruce's pelvis.

it's good- there's no other way to phrase how it feels when he and tim fuck but it's good. bruce feels like an animal, some wild thing out in the meadow plains rolling around in the grass during mating season and just rutting hard and deep into a hot, wet hole. tim is grinding back against him, palms scrambling against his chest, around his neck, over his back to hold on as they mash their parts together.

tim is gasping into bruce's mouth, whining and making the sweetest little animal sounds as bruce uses his grip on his waist to slam him down to the root of his cock and grunt at the hot, twitching around him.

bruce doesn't let tim stop until the sun is peeking into his bedroom and even then tim keeps begging, asking in a desperate voice if they can still keep going. bruce's stamina has always been a problem- he's never been able to keep going to his full satisfaction.

...but that was with regular people. not succubi like tim.

it's not until afternoon that bruce and tim finally taper off. tim, for lack of a better word, was glowing. his skin looked soft and plump, his eyes looked clear and crystal- something about him just seemed to scream good health.

bruce hadn't even noticed how different tim looked until that moment. but he wasn't the only one.

bruce's body wasn't aching. at all. there was no twinge in his lower back, no cracking sound from his knees, his elbow wasn't clicking, and his back molars that he had a habit of grinding didn't ache. but also bruce wasn't tired.

he'd spent nearly a full day fucking his robin and he wasnt tired from the loss of sleep.

tim was whining under him like a puppy, trying to kiss him and press bruce's cock back inside him. to pacify him bruce does that, thrusting in and lowering down on top of tim, letting him feel plugged with his cock and comforted by the weight of bruce.

there clearly is no real substitute to this. bruce had been naive to think just letting tim listen in and watch was enough- especially since he clearly did so much better like this, they both did.

so they'd keep it like this. it was the better of the options but most of all it was what tim needed. and that's what this was all about. tim and helping him the best way bruce could.

[nowimjustastranger]

Somebody to Call My Own Lore | Part 2

This was too big to fit in one post so I had to split it into two parts, you can find part 1 by clicking on the AU tag! Please feel free to pop into my askbox if you have any questions about any of my AU's, I'm itching to ramble about them.

Trigger warning for suicide. Also, 77/H Ford's relationship with his brother is mentally & emotionally abusive.

Ford has far more advanced technology than what earth is capable of, taking inspiration from the dimensions he's visited to design a tattoo made of nanobots that allow him to teleport short distances, he still has to use the gun for long distances. But if he can see his destination, he can teleport there using the tattoo. The ink is red and the tattoo is the outline of the Stan o' War.

When Ford comes across dimension 77/H, he is pushed to the breaking point. Stan’s fate is to eventually take his own life after his brother guilt trips/emotionally manipulates him into staying by his side while Weirdmageddon swallows the world. Stan wouldn’t even be an official part of Bill's freaks, seen as akin to Ford’s pet by the group (Bill included).

Stan would end up suffocated with survivor's guilt and the worst self-esteem ever seen in a Stan, regarding himself as Ford’s loyal dog instead of a person. His hopelessness and despair wear him down until he is driven to take his own life, Ford wiping their dimension out entirely in his grief. The kicker is that Bill could’ve stopped it but didn’t because he wanted Ford all to himself, jealous that Stan got the majority of Ford’s attention and affection while Ford was reserved and cold with Bill. So Bill simply let Stan die, and that was ultimately his downfall.

419”3 Ford stays up for days in order to scour the timeline for a series of events that doesn't end with Stan killing himself, but most paths lead to the same destination while several others are decidedly worse and are immediately discarded. Ford gets more manic as his window to step in without catastrophic consequences to the timeline rapidly closes, his self-inflicted sleep deprivation and desperation pushing him to act rashly.

Stan had received the postcard like in canon, but the difference is that Ford had teamed up with Bill and opened the portal to bring Weirdmageddon onto earth. Ford had planned to have one of the freaks fetch his brother for him once they came through the portal, but the anti-weird barrier surrounding Gravity falls was an unexpected setback. So Ford opts to send his brother a postcard and work on finding a way to break the barrier while waiting for Stan to arrive, Bill doing his best to convince Ford that his brother would only be a distraction.

Ford didn't take kindly to Bill’s poor opinion of Stan, proving a point by ignoring his work for several days until Bill reluctantly apologized and agreed to spare Stan from the apocalypse by letting him live in luxury in Gravity Falls with Ford.

419”3 Ford steps in quite literally at the last minute, Stan’s car unknowingly approaching the barrier that separates the rest of the world from Weirdmageddon. Stan, of course, panics and yanks the wheel when a man dressed in all black and wearing a biker helmet darts into the road in order to avoid hitting the stranger. Stan’s car swerves into the ditch, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel when he hits a tree.

Stan is –understandably– disoriented as the figure pulls him out of the totaled car, Stan's awareness coming in waves. Stan thinks he sees a giant pink woman on fire watching them from the other side of the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign before the stranger adjusts his grip on Stan and his vision is overtaken by blue as he’s effortlessly hauled into a wormhole that deposits them in 419”3 Ford’s current headquarters in a different dimension.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Climate change is political but it’s “not the imaginary politics of universal consensus,” he writes in the book’s pithy prologue, nor the “anti-politics of miraculous technological salvation”. It’s also “not the end of the world”. Instead, it’s a struggle between “actually existing people over actually existing crises with actually existing differences, interests, and prospects. Climate change is about power.” Politicians in the global north rarely talk this way. They think of climate as an “on/off switch”. “‘We’re doing some climate’”, says Chaudhary, mimicking them, “‘would you prefer we do nothing?’”. But there are two large clusters of “doing something”, both of which Chaudhary examines. The first is what he calls “rightwing climate realism”. This encompasses a “broad spectrum”, from those who favour “slower climate mitigation and adaptation” to climate barbarism, but it’s ultimately about concentrating, preserving and enhancing existing political and economic power. That is why Chaudhary is insistent that, when we think of climate policies, we must pay attention to plans for borders and policing, too. He considers Joe Biden a type of rightwing climate realist. Among the US president’s most important climate policies is not just the Inflation Reduction Act but the US National Security Strategy, Chaudhary argues. “It is insanely jingoistic,” he says. It describes, for instance, out-competing China. If that’s the framework, he argues, we’re doomed, “because US-China cooperation is vital”. Ultimately, rightwing climate realists know there will be “instability” and “they are preparing for it”. That they will be successful is not only “plausible and possible, but probable,” he says. That is why the second avenue of “doing something”, composed of “the rest of us”, is so important. Chaudhary advocates for “leftwing climate realism”, which accepts the science, not because it’s a discipline “beyond impugning” but because it’s quite clear that there are ecological limits on this planet. We need a slower life, he argues; a circular economic system, where firms compete for the same amount of finite profit and the state dominates certain sectors. This will be good for the planet and for people, producing “a world relieved from social, economic, and ecological despair and exhaustion”.

[sad-outsider]

Aleksander loved Alina's power or Alina herself?

Anti like to throw around the argument that Aleksander loved only Alina's power, not her herself. They especially like to cling to the phrase "You're nothing now", which he said after Alina lost her power. Let's look at it point by point. Point #1 - The Darkling only needed Alina's power. And here are two reasons why this statement is wrong. First, in R&R, the Darkling could enter the Fold on his own and use it. And yet, he told Alina his name, asking nothing in return (except for a request to touch her) and continued to pursue her. Second, his reaction to the new Sun Summoners. If it was about power, why didn't he take a couple of newly-minted Sun Summoners and use them in his plan? Why, when Alina lost the supposedly only thing that made her valuable to him, he didn't laugh at her and call her a fool, why did he despair and essentially let himself be killed? Point #2 - He needed Alina to be his companion in eternity. And again, it's a miss. In Nikolai's dilogy (God forgive me for mentioning this wretchedness) another immortal girl appeared - Elizaveta, who was in love with him. An ideal companion, but Darkling couldn't stand her and kept asking about Alina - a powerless mortal. So, if it’s not about Alina’s power and her immortality, then what is it? Aleksander gave the answer to this question: "Because with her he was human again." The closest thing to a declaration of love that we could get from such a stubborn person (and from an author who hates Darklina shippers).

[dvchvnde]

excerpt. Father John Price x the hapless anti-Catholic he plans on wife-ing in the name of the lord.

bad touch with a rosary. distorting bible passages to snag himself a wife. blood of the sacrament. warrior of god John Price. Bastardized religious imagery. catholic corruption. catholic: guilt trauma horror despair

“You're wrong,” you're saying, but it's behind glass. Stuck inside of a snow globe. There's cotton in your ears. Your conviction is shaky. “You can't just do this—”

He seems to consider the weight of your words, pressing them flat between his teeth. Testing their hardiness. Their resilience. 

Then: Price bites down. They crack. Shatter. 

“I can,” is his decisive reply, entrenched so deeply in his own hubris it sounds like a full sermon in two syllables. “Because this is the will of God—”

He trails the beads of the rosary up your thigh. His knuckles are blanched white. Palm clenched so tightly around the metal cross that it digs into his skin, making him bleed. 

Something wet, molten, falls on your skin. You try not to shiver. The beads drag his blood along your flesh. A stain. A smear.

He sees it and hums. “the Spirit, the water, and the blood; and the three agree as one.”

You scoff to hide the tremor under your skin, and rake your nails across the thin membrane of your memories, your loose knowledge of the bible and its apocryphal stories until they are torn, shredded. It's there, in the harsh press of your desperation, the words he once rasped in the quiet of an endlessly black night, broken and shattered beyond repair, brim. 

Vindictively, you grab at them with broken fingers. 

“But God said to me, 'You shall not build a house for my name, because you are a man of war, and have shed blood.”

Price doesn't still in the way most might when having their own, broken vulnerability thrown into their face. Hot oil to fragile flesh. 

He has too much pyretic energy inside of him for that. 

But he does slow. 

The hand crawling up your thigh becomes rigid. Glacial. The same frigid bergschrund in his stormy eyes. For a moment, brief and fleeting but so terrifyingly tangible, you think he might just strangle you. His hands twitch. The Rosary beads clang together.

He doesn't. Price's eyes flutter shut. He takes a deep, shuddering breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. 

And then—

Peace. Calmness. Docile waters. 

When he opens them again, you see the eerie glow of a predator lurking below the surface. 

When he speaks, you know it's over. 

“Praise be to the lord, my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.” And if only for your benefit, he leans in close, lips brushing your cheek, and growls: “Blessed is your discretion, and blessed are you, that have kept me this day from bloodguiltiness, and from avenging myself with my own hand.”

It's a promise. A warning. A threat. 

The perfect panoply of this strange egotheism that gives him the right to shepherd you into a disciple. His saviour-god complex when he looks at you bleeds through. Unquenchable, and burning with the fever of obsession.

He will save you. This is absolute. 

But his version of salvation is having you beneath him, worshipping the human flesh he proffers like a gift for you to kiss. 

Consumption, you think, suddenly. Ravenous desire. He wants to feast on your sins until they fill his barren stomach, turning the weight of their perceived evil into permanent scripture, holy and good, on his flesh. Until you're devoured whole, and regurgitated into his most devoted idolater. 

You fight a shiver when the beads drop into the valley of your legs, squeezing them tight when they pool in the basin where your thigh meets cloth-covered mons. 

Above you, he rumbles. “There’s a simplicity to war. Attacking is the only secret. Dare—and the world yields. How quickly they forget that all it takes to change the course of history is the will of a single man. I fought hard to make a difference and realised one thing: the only truth I found is that the world we live in is a giant tinderbox. All it takes is someone to light the match.”

You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but considering the nature of his bastardised soliloquy, you can only guess. That night, when he revealed the nature of his sudden piousness following a life chasing wars in countries unknown to you. Places buried in smoke.

Found god in those trenches, he said. 

And you wondered what sort of god would set foot in a place like that. 

“Spent a long time in war. A lifetime.”

His hand drops, bloodied fingers pressing against the seam where his Rosary beads rest. 

When he looks at you, you find madness coloured blue. 

“But dove?” He rasps, swallows down a groan when your thighs tremble under his heavy hand. He looks at you with a renewed vigour. A purpose. “My war ends with you.” 

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Darkseid 

The dreaded New God known as Darkseid was the supreme ruler of Apokolips, would-be conqueror of the universe and one of the greatest enemies of the Justice League. He psychically fed on the despair and misery of others. Darkseid has conquered and subjugated countless planets throughout the universe in an effort to sate his hunger.  He additionally sought out the fabled ‘Anti-Life Equation’ a source of power that would enable him to dominate the entire universe.  

Darkseid’s evil was countered by the benevolence of his counterpart of New Genesis, The Highfather.  Apokolips and New Genesis had once been a signal world that was torn unsolder by war, ultimately splitting into two separate worlds.  The war continued between the New Gods of the two worlds until an uneasy peace treaty was forged by Darkseid and Highfather.  As a means of sealing this pact, Darksied and Highfather each traded their infant sons to be raised on each others’ respective worlds.  Yet Darkseid never intended on honoring this pact; as soon as he located the Anti-Life Equation he planned to decimate New Genesis and feed upon its misery.  

Darkseid’s obsession with the planet earth would prove to be his undoing.  He originally attempted to conquer this seemingly defenses world yet found his plans thwarted by the heroic Superman.  Highfather ultimately deemed Earth under the protection of New Genesis, thus further aggression toward it would be in breach of the pact.  While appearing to acquiesce to Highfather’s decree, Darkseid continued to plot means of either destroying of subjugating the earth.  With his efforts foiled time and again, Darkseid found his forces weakened and Apokolips was vulnerable when attacked by the malevolent Brainiac.  

The Justice Leagued ended up coming to Darkseid’s aid, unwilling to allow the innocents lives on Apokolips be snuffed out by Brainiac.  Darkseid took advantage of the League’s magnanimity, seizing on the opportunity to take control of Brainiac’s power and use it to destroy New Genesis.  A tremendous battle ensued and both New Genesis and Apokolips were saved whereas Darkseid perished.  

The villainous New God was later resurrected by Lex Luthor who was attempted to revive Brainiac.  Revived, Darkseid amassed his armies of Apokolips and invaded Earth.   The invasion was fended off by the Justice League aided by what was left of the Legion of Doom.  In the midst of this battle, Lex Luthor was presented the Anti-Life Equation by the New God mystic called Metron.  Luthor gave the power source to Darkseid and, upon touching it, both he and Luthor were transformed into raw energy and trapped for all eternity within the barrier of the Great Source Wall.  

Actor Michael Ironside provided the intimidating voice of Darkseid with the villainous despot first appearing int he twelfth episode of the first season of Superman: The Animated Series, ‘Tools of The Trade.’  

[least-carpet]

For the shipping ask game, Xicheng and Chengxian?

Hello, anon! This got wildly out of hand, so it's all going under a cut.

Xicheng: Could Ship It

Borrowing this additional option I saw floating around!

I'm not strongly opposed to it, but it's hard for me to see them making it work in a canon universe. The fanart is very cute, though! And I've read some AUs that I thought made a good case, but they involved some thoughtful interventions.

What potential do you see in the ship?

Honestly, like, I just want them to both have something nice, they've had such a hard time. They both understand the hard work and sacrifices involved in sect leadership. I think the argument for it goes something like Jiang Cheng gets a person on his side who is kind to him, and Lan Xichen gets someone who's very reliable and also pretty direct, to heal his presumed post-canon trust issues.

What aspect makes you hesitant?

It just doesn't seem to me that they really enjoy each other? Like I believe they get along just fine and have a comfortable working relationship. I don't think they dislike each other, even. But they don't seem particularly close, even though they're of a rank and have been working with each other for years and years. I want my blorbo (Jiang Cheng) to be loved for his bad personality, not in spite of it!

I also think they would really struggle to communicate—Lan Xichen prefers to smooth things over, but Jiang Cheng reads too much reserve or politeness as rejection and, uh, gets reactive (thank you Jiang Fengmian for giving him the MOST deranged daddy issues, for real). Actually, I think Lan Xichen has a lot of potential to push a lot of Jiang Cheng's dad-related buttons just because of his temperament. (Maybe that's a plus? CRUNCHY.)

It also has the potential to cause some new and exciting political problems for them, which they both prefer to avoid.

Chengxian: Ship It

[lies face-down on the floor and starts hollering]

These two make me fuckin' insane!

What made you ship it?

Two things:

Their mutually happy childhood relationship, their initially compatible dysfunctions (Jiang Cheng is easily embarrassed but secretly wants affection, Wei Wuxian is bad at boundaries and WILL die if you don't pay attention to him -> Wei Wuxian touching Jiang Cheng all the time and receiving his attention, making both of them happy). Their enjoyment of each other. I love a badly-boundaried and devoted teenage relationship, it's delightful. Even before chengxian completely rotted my brain out, there was something specifically appealing about the Lan summer camp era.

The double golden core reveal took me out. I found Wei Wuxian's decision completely appalling to begin with, like viscerally disgusting. (I find it interesting when antis accuse Jiang Cheng of pretending to be upset when he finds out, or of not caring where the new core came from, because I, reader who did not get nonconsensual magic surgery, profoundly Did Not Like It. If it was my own body, I would freak out.) It's a fascinating combination of obsessive devotion and total denial of agency. Wei Wuxian is just like, "Don't worry, I will invent new and unheard of methods of violation for your own good because I can't cope with your despair." That's deranged, my dude. That is Not Normal. And then you find out that Jiang Cheng lost the core saving Wei Wuxian, and he plans to NEVER TELL HIM ABOUT IT. God damn it.

I don't even really care if they kiss, although it's fun when they do. Just reconcile! Reconcile!

What are your favourite things about the ship?

In no particular order:

In a text that is largely pro-Wei Wuxian—not in the sense that everything he does is moral, but in the sense that he's the cool protagonist, and he gets to kick ass and solve mysteries and have a happy ending—this relationship is one that highlights his weaknesses and failures in a very humanizing way. And in order to reconcile, he would actually really have to challenge himself and grow as a person, which I love for him. (I also think Jiang Cheng would have to struggle for it, but, like, dude has demonstrated the capacity to do hard and terrible things even when confronted with his own weaknesses. He's not gonna be cool about it, and he's going to cry and bitch the whole time, but if he thinks it needs to be done and it can be done, he'll do it.)

The lack of boundaries within the relationship, which is a product of the lack of clarity of the type of relation to each other. Are they friends? Are they martial brothers or real brothers? If Wei Wuxian is Jiang Cheng's shixiong, but Jiang Cheng is also Wei Wuxian's sect leader, which takes precedence? (It's clear what should take precedence, but Wei Wuxian just straight-up does not Respect His Authority, even though—by all available evidence—Jiang Cheng is a really good leader. But that lack of respect is also a form of intimacy.) It's super, super messy.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

By lying to him so extensively, and then by failing to show up for any of his commitments without any explanation, Wei Wuxian really did betray Jiang Cheng a whole bunch of times, and Jiang Cheng's resulting betrayal trauma really is his fault.

You break it, you bought it, coward! Stop running away! (For legal purposes, this is a joke.)

[wooziorgans]

hi. as a queer person, especially a trans man, the results of the american election are genuinely terrifying.

i do not really talk about my political beliefs on this account, but in my personal life i am incredibly involved in local politics within my country and i have been keeping up with the election because its so close (geographically) to me.

there are genuinely no words to describe the despair and the pain i feel for all of my american friends.

the increase in anti trans legislation in canada has been rough enough as is, but to know that my trans siblings won’t have access to life saving medication and treatment for the next four years, that queer people will not have the right to marry, that women will not have access to abortion under any circumstances, to know that immigrants will have to relocate and people of colour will be segregated and hate crimed… its a lot.

to all of my american followers, friends and mutuals, i am so sorry. there is nothing i can say to comfort you other than that i am so sorry. im sorry that your rights were determined by an outdated voting system. i am so sorry that democracy failed you because of pure misogyny and racism.

these factors, these things that people are born into, identities that cannot change to fit the mold of a fascists ideals… people are going to die.

initially, my first thought was that “people survived him for four years last time, they can do it again” but then i removed the veil and thought about it for more than a second, put myself in that situation and realized it’s so much worse than i ever imagined it could be.

millions of people died last time he was in office. millions of people did not survive him. and millions of people will not survive him this time.

i am already living walking on eggshells in canada. anti trans legislation is at an all time high in the provinces, with only two provinces being low risk, and one province planning to ban legal name and sex changes altogether. but to be living that for the next four years?

to have to resort to unsafe versions of gender affirming care. to live in fear of your own body, of biological functions. to perform unsafe abortions because your access to safe birth control has been completely abolished… i cannot imagine the fear and the anger that all of you are feeling right now.

this is a very dark time. and if you voted third party or for the republicans, i hope you’re ashamed of yourself for putting people’s lives at risk. for voting for a convicted felon and rapist. for voting for a racist and misogynist.

i do not want anyone who voted or endorsed the republicans on my account. you are not welcome here.

“it’s not that deep” it IS that deep. people are dying.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Heart of Steel

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

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Summary: Maxson suffers through his hangover and makes preparations for the last evening before he'll need to let you travel to the Glowing Sea

Notes: a bit of an inbetween chapter, the next chapter will move faster through the story to finally move it up to Blind Betrayal :)

Warnings: smut (18+)

Chapter 9 - The morning-after-date

Maxson groaned, the throbbing headache along with knocks felt like a jackhammer demolishing the inside of his head. Despite the lack of response, Cade decided to enter and walked towards Maxson who buried his face into the pillow.

"Not now", he grumbled.

"I'm sorry Elder, but I'm here on behalf of a worried Knight. I  don't care how she knew, but given the state you're in, it was the right call to send me."

Reluctantly, Maxson allowed Cade to pull him up to sit on the bed. His eyes, bloodshot and weary, met Cade's concerned gaze.

"What do you want, Cade?", Maxson asked, his voice tinged with both annoyance and despair.

Cade reached into his leather bag and rummaged around, searching for something. After a moment, he pulled out a glass bottle containing a blueish liquid and held it out to Maxson.

"My very own anti-hangover recipe", he offered a gentle smile, "as to what I want, you instructed me to keep track of every soldier's mental health, which includes you as well. So you want to tell me what happened?"

Cade grabbed a chair from the desk, pulled it up to the bed and took a seat, watching Maxson inspecting the liquid before taking a sip.

"This is horrible", Arthur complained, the disgust on his face evident.

"Worse than the headache?", Cade asked, chuckling as he saw Maxson shake his head.

The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Arthur's deep breaths. He looked at Cade, his gaze filled with hesitation, knowing the weight of his words as soon as they were spoken. With a resigned sigh, he began to recount the events around you that had led them to this moment. His voice quivered as he confessed that the weight of leadership and the constant struggle to balance it with his love for you had become almost unbearable. The responsibility of the Brotherhood's future rested on his shoulders while the desire for intimacy and love tore at him and it had taken a toll on him. Cade sat in attentive silence, his face a mask of neutrality, as he listened to the Elder's every word. When the Elder had finished, the doctor looked at him for a moment, a gentle smile forming on his lips before he spoke up.

"Arthur," he began, his tone gentle yet firm, "your burden is not yours alone to bear. We are a Brotherhood and we stand together, which also includes her now. I can assure you if you'd know what your soldiers are doing in their free time while still performing their duty with best consciousness, you'd be less worried about all this. Why do you keep torturing yourself? If you're in love with her, just tell her and see where is goes. It won't prevent you from being the Elder, you can still chase us all around."

Maxson chuckled at the last sentence. The doctor was right and it wouldn't matter that he had no experience on the matters of love, you never judged him for it, so all that held him back from gaining a little happiness in his life was he himself. He tapped the doctor's shoulder, thanking him for the advice and before he headed out, Arthur had to promise him to take care of himself and talk sooner next time.

You dedicated the entire day to enhancing and repairing your power armour. You had planned on checking in on Maxson but as you would head out to the Glowing Sea tomorrow and dying of radiation poisoning wasn't on your to do list, you postponed your visit to this evening. After a refreshing shower, you swiftly made your way back to your quarters. However, you came to a sudden halt when you noticed a neatly folded crimson fabric and a piece of paper resting on your bed. Intrigued, you examined the items more closely and discovered that it was a flared scarlet dress accompanied by a message. The hastily scribbled note simply stated: 20.00 Control tower. A grin danced on your lips as you had strong suspicions about who had left this here and you wasted no time slipping into the dress. Crafted from a soft garish red fabric, it hung snug around your chest, perfectly highlighting your cleavage, whereas from the hips downwards, it flared out gracefully, falling just above your knee. You put on some make-up, stepped into a pair of well preserved black ballerinas you found during your travels through the Wastelands and you made your way towards the control tower, excitement mingled with nervousness in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited you at the top of the tower.

Finally, the elevator doors opened, and the sight that unfolded before your eyes left you in awe. The control tower was transformed into an enchanting setting, bathed in soft glowing lights that illuminated the space with a warm, romantic ambiance. Countless candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ethereal atmosphere. And then, you noticed him. Standing there, dressed impeccably in a pair of black suit trousers and a tight white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, was the person you had suspected all along. Maxson awaited you with a gentle smile on his face. His eyes locked with yours, full of affection and a hint of desire as he took in the sight of you in that dress.

"Surprised?", he chuckled, taking a step towards you, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you into a hug.

You hummed in agreement, closing your eyes, inhaling his sweet scent before you took a step back again, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Do you remember yesterday evening?", you asked hesitantly.

"Why do you think I spent most of my day redecorating this tower?"

"Oh I don't know...perhaps you got up this morning and decided your grand plans to save the Commonwealth needed a more artistic flair?"

"I woke up with a pounding headache and Cade's disapproving glare thanks to a certain Knight", he joked, "I think said Knight may need to have a serious conversation with her superior."

The sultry tone of his voice went straight to your core. Placing a hand on his chest, a sly smile formed on your lips.

"Perhaps her superior should take care of that then", you whispered, your eyes darting between his and his mouth.

Maxson grew tired of the self-imposed restrictions, the desperation and fear, he only cared for you right now and he leaned in, his lips crashing on yours in a hungry kiss, finally letting go of all that was holding him back. His hands glided down your sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your butt. You gasped as he lifted you up, moving a few steps forward to settle you down on one of those faint blue pre-war machines. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

"So, you wanted to talk to me", a mischievous grin formed on your lips, "here we are and I'm all yours", you purred, your hand trailing over his chest, "Elder."

Maxson let out a deep groan, pressing his forehead against yours and you could feel his grip on your thighs tighten. He had never thought the sound of his title could ever arouse him like this but every word leaving that irresistible mouth of yours had the potential to drive him crazy.

"Knight", he breathed, his lips trembling ever so slightly, "I...I..."

He tried to ignore his lust, the sweet temptation of your hand caressing the bulge in his pants, he had to resist for the sake of the most important words he'd ever speak.

"I love you", he took a deep breath, "I want this to be more, I want us to be more, a future for us."

You couldn't help but smile, pulling him closer to hug him tight.

"Me too", you murmured as you trailed kisses down his neck.

You felt your dress shift up while something pulled your underwear down and as you looked up into his blue eyes you saw the endless desire within them. You swallowed a moan at the sight of him, his lips parted slightly, his gaze trailing over your body while he threw your panties to the ground. Your mind went wild, flooding with images of how he'd fuck you right there but he suddenly dropped to his knees, parting your legs and dragging his tongue through your folds.

"Arthur", you cried out, your hand reaching for his head, your fingers entangling in his dark brown hair.

His licks were sloppy but relentless, drawing you closer towards your orgasm each time his tongue circled around your clit. His lips wrapped around your sensitive bud, sucking gently as he pushed two fingers into you, humming satisfied at how wet you were already. Your head fell back against the window, wondering for a brief moment if anyone could see you from the Prydwen but all thoughts were washed away the moment he started thrusting his fingers faster. You were so close, a breath away from the ocean of pleasure you'd gladly drown in but you needed more of him. You pushed his head away, panting while trying to calm yourself a bit before speaking. He got up, worries written all over his face but you wouldn't give him time to voice them as you took his hand, bringing his fingers to your lips and licked them clean. It was the moment Arthur almost fell apart, feeling his cock twitch within his pants while watching you unravel him with such a simple gesture.

"Arthur please", you pleaded, your hands fumbling to unfasten the buttons on his trousers before swiftly pulling them down.

He growled, rubbing his throbbing cock against your wetness. It was almost too much but the threat of sending both of you over the edge became imminent as he glided into you, your walls clenching around his length while both of you moaned loudly. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, chuckling quietly upon seeing that you were as desperate as he was, pupils blown wide with lust. You wanted everything he would offer you, a burning desire to melt into him, nestled forever within his soul. Arthur began moving, slamming his hips into yours at a sloppy pace. Sinful moans filled the control tower as the shadows dancing on the walls bore witness to your intimacy. Your arms wrapped around his neck, lips clashing on his as you came, legs trembling as love and pleasure blossomed in a mind-shattering orgasm. Feeling your walls clench around him, Arthur promptly followed you, spilling his seed within you, moving away from you after a last few sloppy thrusts. Both of you were panting, broad smiles painted across your lips as you gazed into each other's eyes. Arthur took a rag, cleaning both of you up before taking your hand and leading you to the window, staring into the night sky.

"So what will happen now?", you asked, feeling his grip tighten at your question.

"Whatever we want to happen", he replied, "and after you return from the Glowing Sea we continue our plan to destroy the Institute and I will help you rescue your son."

He turned towards you, the sight of the affection held within your eyes made him weak. He delved into the knowledge of pre-war life, exploring the simple joys that people once experienced, the traditions they held dear—a glimpse into the life that could have been yours. In the harsh wastelands, where time showed no mercy, he yearned to bring you solace, even though romance and leisure were scarce commodities, especially within the ranks of the Brotherhood. Which was exactly why he had planned to ask you something important this evening but upon being in your presence, his courage faltered. Fear and uncertainty crept in, questioning whether it was too soon. He had no experience in such matters and was not long around his parents to grow old enough to ask them for their guidance in such matters. And although he valued Owyn's and Sarah's counsel, they never broached the subject of love with him. The connection that bound you two, it felt unique, a rare treasure he'd neither find nor share with anyone else, a truth he held close to his heart for now. He feared you might not be ready yet, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not at this moment. And so, he led you back to the Prydwen.

Chapter 10 - Institutionalized

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