#as unfortunate as it is - this is the reality

[biggisdickis]

as i grow older i realize just how flimsy and ridiculous societal hierarchies are and how acceptance and normalization are things we do to ourselves. It's apathy, it's a lack of community, it's a lack of good old fashioned ability to communicate effectively that all becomes a cocktail the people drink and say 'that's just the way it is.'

No it isn't. We did this. Just us. And falling back on the faults of the dead is meaningless, or the opposite which is to say that because people lived and died having accepted a certain reality that we should to.

No we shouldn't, because the only people who matter are alive right now. Every single day we wake up and choose to say 'that's just the way it is', it's because we've given up. And it's easy to do it when you have no idea how to get out of your situation, and nobody to tell you how.

But the first step is just to choose to embody what you want to see in the world around you. For me it's positivity, calm, patience, and radical understanding. But embodying values isn't enough unfortunately. Being an immovable object doesn't do anything to stop the forces swirling around you. So you have to acknowledge that apathy, selfishness, nihilism, and condescension are not passive, these are also forms of aggression because when you aggregate this feeling across millions of people who live it daily, it becomes a tidal force that washes over and disastrously erodes good progress, and actively facilitates oppression and suffering. This is true, whether people choose to believe they are culpable or not.

So if you want to see a better world, you have to push. You have to push with an explicitly verbalized and acted on desire to make peoples' lives better, but you have to push and keep pushing.

Brennan Lee Mulligan arguing for the primal nature of morality on Ep. 40’s Fireside Chat is one of the funniest and realest things I’ve ever heard. He once again put into words what I have been trying to say for what feels like forever.

EDIT: No, I actually need to quote this out for myself.

“One of the things that happens a lot in philisophy that is, I think, a point of failure, potentially, in it, is that philosophy contains a lot of formal logic studies, and there’s a degree to want to sort of explicate, logically, everything, and go like, ‘What are the reasons and rationalities behind all of this?” But I think ignoring the primal origins of morality- You don’t need- If you watch someone kick a small animal, you don’t need an explanation for why that’s bad. It’s a first- It’s a primary thing, right? And you get into weird positions when you’re like, ‘I believe that humans should have good- be flourish and be happy, and have safety and joy!’ And someone can literally just go ‘Why? To what end? To what end should they have joy?’ And you’re like ‘Not to what end. I’m saying this is the end for me. The end for me is joy and safety and peace.’ And I get to say that because I’m a weird brain monster living in the universe and I can create meaning with my mind. You’re doing the same thing right now, but I just choose joy. Are you choosing something else? Because if you are, then we’re in conflict!” -Brennan Lee Mulligan, “Fireside Chat for WWW ep40 ‘Aid and Comfort’”

Choose joy, motherfucker! If you’re not, we’re in conflict!!!

[mingi-s-dimples]

Strictly Confidential - San

~"Hiii❤️Can you pls write one where you are the mafia San’s lawyer, but since you are kind hearted and innocent ( not naive) he got his eyes on you??Corruption kink, (iffff it’s ok with you reader can be a virgin), dirty talk (including how much he was longing for you and waiting to take you), mild bondage, possessiveness, (reader has a crush on San too but wouldn’t think San would even look at them), pampering reader while ripping them into half <3 thank youuu❤️" ~ sweetie you also added sth about pregnancy but unfortunately I don't write those😞 but I loved the idea so I just didn't add the pregnancy talk ^^ hope you like ittt 🤍

pairing: ceo!san x lawyer fem!reader

genre: filth, 18+

summary: your outfit is *just* a little bit too revealing for San to not react.. and later that evening, he drops on his knees for you, then he ruins you.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: ceo!san, possessive san, slightly controlling san, corruption kink *just slightly*, reader is a virgin, restraining/light bondage (her hands tied up with san's belt), office sex, he doesn't even bother to take her skirt off, san's desperate, he eats her out, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk/degradation (slut), praising (good girl), ass spanking, face pushing (into the desk), pounding *literally*, vaginal sex, teasing, unprotected (booo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: why do I feel like this one is written better than my last San request..? either way y'all will see I DAMN enjoyed writing this one 😂 the detailssss sjsjshsuushs controlling san sjshshshs possessive san ajsjshhs and so on I'm biting my knuckles as we speak. I hope you all enjoy it ^^ ly guys 🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You should’ve known the outfit would push him too far.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. The silk blouse, a shade too light, clung in ways that weren’t entirely professional, the top button left undone just enough to hint at something softer underneath. The skirt hugged your waist, cutting off at mid-thigh when you sat, revealing just a sliver more skin than usual. It wasn’t indecent. It wasn’t against the rules. But it was enough.

Enough to make Choi San snap.

You’ve been his lawyer for months now—long enough to know that he watches you more than he should. Long enough to catch the way his gaze lingers when you speak, dark eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up as if he didn’t mean to. Long enough to hear the shift in his voice when he says your name, the slow drag of it on his tongue.

You’ve known, and you’ve played along—just a little. Just enough to keep things interesting.

But today, something is different and you feel it the second you step into his office.

San is already standing, a rare thing given that he usually prefers to remain seated behind his desk, lazy and composed, as if the world itself is something he can toy with at his leisure. But now, he’s braced against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes pinned on you the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

His silence is thick, crackling with something dark and unreadable.

Slowly, you set your leather portfolio onto the desk, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Something wrong, Mr. Choi?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. It’s something sharper. “Come here.”

A demand, not a request.

You raise a brow. “I thought we had business to discuss.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

It’s a warning. A test.

And you should say no. You should keep things professional. You should sit in the chair across from his desk like you always do, open your portfolio, and get straight to business. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward. Then another.

San stays perfectly still, watching, waiting, as if savoring the moment. When you finally stop in front of him, barely an arm’s length away, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around you like a slow-burning fire.

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to dismantle. Then, his eyes drop—slow, deliberate.

Your blouse. Your throat. The delicate slope of your collarbone. The soft curve of your chest where the undone button reveals just a little too much.

His jaw tightens.

And just like that, you realize—he’s been holding himself back.

For months, he’s played this game with you, circling, waiting, indulging in stolen glances and veiled innuendos. But today, you’ve tipped the scales. Today, you’ve worn something that makes him forget to be careful.

San exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused, almost like he’s irritated with himself. Then, without warning, he reaches out.

Fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up.

“You did this on purpose.” His voice is low, rougher than before.

You don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Instead, you smile—slow, knowing. “Did what?”

San laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Cute.”

His thumb brushes over your jaw, barely a whisper of a touch, but the intent behind it is unmistakable. He’s testing. Measuring.

And you let him.

Because for all his power, for all his control—he’s the one unraveling.

His gaze dips to your lips, lingers there. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, dangerously smooth.

“You walk in here looking like this and expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to be professional,” you say, and you make sure to let the words drip with teasing, with something that is not quite innocence but plays at the edges of it.

San hums. “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail down, brushing the column of your throat.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, just enough for his thumb to press against the hollow of your throat. Just enough to let him feel the pulse beneath your skin.

San stills.

Then—he moves.

One hand splays against your hip, gripping, tugging you closer until you’re barely a breath apart. His other hand trails up, slipping beneath the loose collar of your blouse, fingertips skimming over bare skin. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all—yet it sets every nerve alight.

“You’re not as innocent as you look.” His voice is dark, laced with something dangerously indulgent.

You smile, lashes lowering just slightly. “I never said I was.”

San’s grip tightens.

And for the first time since you stepped into his office, you think you might have miscalculated.

Because you’ve been teasing him for months. Playing at the edges of this, knowing he wanted you but never letting him have enough to tip the scales.

But now?

Now, you can feel it—the shift, the moment he decides.

He isn’t going to let you play anymore.

You should resist.

You should step back, put distance between you and the man currently pressing you into the edge of his desk like he has every intention of keeping you there.

But you don’t.

Not really.

Instead, you let your hands press against his chest, the silk of his dress shirt warm beneath your fingertips. It’s a flimsy excuse for protest, a barrier that does nothing because you both know—if you really wanted to stop him, you would.

San catches the movement, and for a moment, he stills.

Dark eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, scanning your face for something—hesitation, uncertainty, anything that might make him reconsider.

You arch a brow, lips curling just slightly. “A little desperate, aren’t we?”

San exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he laughs.

Low, rough, almost wrecked.

And then he moves.

Faster than you expect, pinning you between the hard edge of his desk and the even harder press of his body. His hand slides up, fingers catching your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his chest. The other settles low on your waist, fingertips digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Because you’ve had a crush on him for months.

Ever since you first met him, ever since you realized the sharp-edged CEO persona wasn’t just for show. He was powerful, ruthless, magnetic in a way that made people obey without question. And yet, he’d always been just a little different with you. Always watching, always waiting.

But you never let yourself believe he actually wanted you.

Not like this.

Not enough to snap.

San must see something in your expression, because his grip tightens. “You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it—something rough, something frayed. “You think I haven’t seen the way you play with me?”

His lips brush against your cheek, not quite kissing, not quite touching, just a slow, maddening drag of heat.

“You walk into my office every week, looking like you don’t belong in a place like this, looking like you shouldn’t be anywhere near men like me.”

His mouth ghosts over your jaw, just shy of where you want him.

“And yet…” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over the fabric of your skirt. “You always let me get too close.”

A slow, teasing exhale against your skin.

“You’ve been testing me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an immediate response.

So instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, forcing him to drag his lips against your skin in the process. “Maybe,” you whisper.

San curses under his breath.

And the next second he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate.

It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s months of restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand slides up, tangling in your hair, angling your head back to deepen the kiss, to take more. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

He kisses like he owns you. Like he’s been waiting for this, for you, for far too long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling, clawing, needing more.

San groans against your lips, and then he’s pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red from kissing you, and he looks completely, utterly wrecked.

“I’ve waited for this.” His voice is rough, frayed with something unspoken. “You think I didn’t notice you? That I didn’t feel it every single time you walked through that door, acting so fucking innocent, knowing damn well what you were doing to me?”

His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I wanted to ruin you the moment I met you.”

Your breath shudders.

San notices. Smirks.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower, teasing. “You want me to take what you’ve been tempting me with?”

You shouldn’t say yes.

You should make him work for it.

But the way he looks at you—the way his body presses against yours, the way his fingers trace slow, maddening circles over your hip—has you completely undone.

So instead, you breathe, “Yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

San makes a sound—something dark, something pleased—before his lips crash back against yours, hungry and unrelenting. His hands are everywhere, gripping, pressing, mapping out every inch of you like he wants to memorize it.

He kisses down your throat, sucks a mark into your skin, groaning when you arch into him. “Mine,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “You don’t get to tease me anymore. Not after this.”

You shudder, nails digging into his shoulders.

And then, finally, you surrender completely.

San doesn’t hesitate.

One moment, you’re standing against his desk, breathless from the force of his kiss, and the next—his hands are gripping your waist, lifting you with ease. A gasp slips past your lips as he sets you down onto the cool wooden surface, the shift in height making you acutely aware of how much he towers over you.

The movement sends half the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. A pen rolls somewhere unseen. Papers scatter in a careless mess. He doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

Not when his hands slide up your thighs, spreading them just enough to make space for himself between them. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and teeth, breathy and desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

It’s overwhelming.

The way he kisses you—possessive, unrelenting, like he’s been starved for this, for you. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if he’s anchoring himself to you, as if letting go isn’t an option.

And you—

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

Your hands find purchase in his suit jacket, tugging him closer, needing more, gasping softly when he presses flush against you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him consumes you.

Then—

You break away.

Not because you want to, but because there’s something you need to say.

Your chest rises and falls, lips kiss-bruised, head spinning. San doesn’t move away, his forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your lips.

“What?” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

Your fingers tighten against his jacket.

“I—I’m a virgin.”

San stills.

Completely.

You watch as his expression shifts—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerous. His grip on your waist tightens for a second before he stills again, as if forcing himself to process what you just said.

Then—

He exhales sharply, running his tongue along his bottom lip, and the slow, wicked curl of his mouth makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck.”

The word is low, rough, dragged out like he’s savoring it.

His hands move again, sliding over your thighs with newfound purpose, fingertips teasing against your exposed skin. He leans in, lips grazing over your jaw, down the column of your throat, tracing the shape of you with agonizing precision.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs against your skin.

You swallow hard, nodding.

San lets out another rough exhale, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dark with something unreadable, something deeply, deeply pleased.

“You have no idea,” he says slowly, deliberately, “what that does to me.”

Your breath hitches.

His lips find yours once more, but this time, the kiss is different. Slower, more calculated, yet no less intense. He kisses you like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you respond to every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

His fingers trail up, reaching the buttons of your blouse, and he undoes them one by one, exposing more of you with every slow, deliberate flick of his hands. He doesn’t rush.

No—San takes his time.

And you let him.

Your breath stutters when he pushes the fabric aside, revealing bare skin, delicate lace. The cool air makes you shiver—or maybe it’s just him, the way his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of you.

He curses under his breath.

His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, to claim, to devour.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent, something wrecked.

And then—

He starts undoing his own buttons.

The sight alone has you utterly mesmerized.

You watch, transfixed, as he shrugs off his jacket, as he unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, sculpted skin. He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as if drawing out the moment just to watch your reaction.

And you—

You can’t help but stare.

San is unfairly gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, toned muscles, a physique that looks like it was carved by gods themselves. The way the soft glow of the office light catches against the lines of his body, the dips and curves of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbones—it's intoxicating.

And then, your gaze drops lower.

And you freeze.

Oh.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full weight of his cock straining against his pants and pressing on your body.

San catches your reaction, and the smirk that pulls at his lips is nothing short of devastating.

“Mesmerized?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement and something else—something darker.

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when the heat of his body is so close, not when his fingers are still trailing over your skin, slow and deliberate.

And then, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers—

“You should be.”

San watches you like he’s already won.

Like you’ve been his from the moment you walked into his office, oblivious to the fire you were playing with.

His fingers trace along your exposed collarbone, slow and teasing, barely touching, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His eyes drag over you, dark and ravenous, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your thighs are still parted for him, your skirt hiked up from how recklessly he had pulled you onto his desk.

Then—he smirks.

That slow, knowing smirk that makes something in your stomach coil tight.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” His voice is deep, smooth as silk, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

You swallow, fingers curling against the desk, but you don’t answer.

He tilts his head, almost amused. “Showing up dressed like that—” His hands slide down, fingers skimming the fabric of your skirt, teasing at the hem. “Looking so damn innocent but wearing something like this? You were begging for it.”

Your breath catches, a slow heat creeping up your spine.

San leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Such a little whore, dressing like this just to test me.”

A sharp inhale leaves you.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His tongue flicks against your pulse point, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Or were you hoping I’d lose control?”

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Because you got exactly what you wanted.”

Your head spins.

He’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you in ways you never even imagined.

San pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and something dark flickers behind his eyes.

Then—

He gets an idea.

His smirk deepens as he looks over your shoulder at the discarded mess on the floor. Then, before you can question it, he steps back slightly, reaching down.

A soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of leather—

And then you see it.

The belt he had discarded with his pants that pooled at his ankles.

Your stomach flips.

San runs his tongue over his bottom lip, holding the belt loosely in one hand, testing the weight of it. Then, he meets your gaze again, and for the first time since this started—you shiver.

Possessive.

That’s the only word for the way he looks at you now.

Like you belong to him.

Like he’s about to make sure you never forget it.

“You’ve had too much freedom tonight,” he murmurs, stepping back into your space, the belt dangling from his fingers. “And I think it’s about time we fix that.”

Your pulse spikes.

San reaches for you, his hands trailing down your arms before he gently—so gently—grabs your wrists.

“Give them to me.”

It’s not a request.

It’s a command.

Your lips part slightly, but when you don’t immediately respond, San hums, tilting his head. “Oh?” He smirks. “Are you hesitating now?”

He presses closer, making you lean back slightly, making you feel the solid weight of his body.

“That’s cute.”

You swallow hard, the heat between you becoming unbearable.

San’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists. “I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart—” His voice dips, eyes locked onto yours. “If I tie you up, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then, he leans in and whispers against your lips—

“You sure you can handle that?”

Your breath is shallow, chest rising and falling as San watches you, waiting. His fingers tighten around your wrists, the belt still dangling from his hand, ready to bind you, ready to claim every inch of control you’ve willingly given up.

And you—

You should hesitate.

You should resist, tease him a little longer.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Do it, then.”

A flicker of something dark—dangerous—passes through his eyes. Then, his smirk returns, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The leather is cool against your skin as he pulls your wrists behind your back, looping the belt around them with practiced ease. It’s not too tight—just enough to hold you there, to remind you who’s in control.

He tugs once, testing the restraint, then hums in approval. “Perfect.”

Before you can process the way your body reacts to that single word, San moves.

His hands slide to your thighs, gripping firmly as he pulls you forward.

Hard.

A gasp leaves your lips as your body jerks, dragged right to the edge of the desk. Your legs part instinctively to accommodate the shift, your breath catching as you feel the undeniable heat of him between them.

San watches your reaction with a lazy smirk. “That’s better.”

Then—

He drops to his knees.

San doesn’t even look away from you as he does it, his movements deliberate, dripping with control. The sight alone—his broad shoulders between your legs, his dark, hungry gaze looking up at you like he’s about to devour you whole—leaves you breathless.

And then—his hands move again.

He doesn’t bother with your skirt.

No.

He slides his fingers along the inside of your thighs, parting them further, his grip firm—possessive. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls.

A soft, humiliatingly wet sound follows as he drags the fabric down, exposing just how ruined you already are.

San freezes.

And then—

He chuckles.

A low, deep sound that sends heat shooting straight through your spine.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his thumb against the now-soaked fabric before tossing it somewhere behind him. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, but the way he’s looking at you—with pure, unfiltered hunger—makes shame the last thing on your mind.

Then—he leans in.

And without another word—

He dives in.

San doesn’t hold back.

The moment his mouth touches your folds, a wrecked gasp escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt as your body jerks from the sheer heat of it.

He groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens—bruising, possessive—as he presses you further against his mouth, like he’s determined to ruin you.

And he does.

His tongue moves with devastating precision—slow, languid strokes, teasing flicks, then firm pressure against your clit that makes your head spin. He eats you like a man starved, like he’s waited his entire life to have you like this, legs trembling around his shoulders, breathless and undone.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips glisten with your arousal, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, wrecked with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”

Your face burns, but before you can process it, he’s back on you, his tongue pressing in deeper, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

A broken whimper leaves you.

San chuckles—dark, teasing. He pulls back again, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, pressing slow, wet kisses against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement and something deeper. “Fucking soaking. And all for me?”

You whine, shifting against his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

His teeth graze your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “You pretend to be so innocent,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, “but look at how filthy you are. Spreading your legs so easily, letting me taste you like this.”

Your breath stutters, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable.

San hums, satisfied. “I bet you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” He flicks his tongue against your clit again, making you jolt. “Bet you’ve thought about me bending you over this desk. Tearing you apart.”

His words wreck you.

A high, needy moan spills from your lips, your bound hands clenching behind you.

San groans against you. “That’s it,” he breathes, his tongue moving faster now, pushing you closer, higher. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds you down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he’s drowning you in.

Your body tightens, the pressure coiling in your stomach unbearably, winding, winding—

Until it snaps.

A sobbed moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your back arching as you cry out, utterly wrecked.

San doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re whimpering, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation.

Only then does he slow, his tongue giving you one last, languid stroke before pulling back.

He looks ruined.

His lips are swollen, his hair slightly disheveled, his breath ragged as he stares at you, utterly transfixed. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh before standing.

Your dazed gaze drops—

And your breath catches.

His briefs are painfully tight around his cock, the sheer size of him making your stomach flip.

San curses under his breath, yanking them down in one swift motion.

And then—he’s on you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you further as he aligns himself, the heat of him pressing against your still-sensitive core.

Your breath stutters. “San—”

He doesn’t wait.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside—

And you break.

A cry rips from your lips, your body arching at the sheer stretch, the way he fills you so completely, so overwhelmingly. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he buries himself to the hilt, not moving, just feeling you.

San groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands tightening on your waist. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You feel so—” He exhales sharply, dropping a kiss against your lips, almost tender.

He soothes you.

One hand trails up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Breathe,” he murmurs, voice soft, but his body trembles against yours, barely holding himself back.

And then—he moves.

Destroying you.

Every thrust is deep, dragging against your sensitive walls with devastating precision, pushing you to the brink of insanity. Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto, but there’s nothing.

Nothing but him.

And he knows it.

His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls back, making you feel every inch of him, before sinking in again—so deep, so full that you can’t stop the moan that spills from your lips.

San groans, the sound low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, kissing—nipping. “You hear yourself? You're a fucking whiny mess just for me.”

Your face burns, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure worse—makes your body clench around him, desperate for more.

San feels it. And he looses it.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his pace stays agonizingly slow, but his words turn filthy, raw. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, rolling his hips deep, making you cry out. “Like you were made for me.”

You are.

The thought is dangerous, but it lingers.

San notices.

His fingers trail up your stomach, his touch warm, teasing, possessive. His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, ravenous.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Wearing that little outfit—acting all innocent when you’re dripping for me.”

His hips snap forward, a little harder, and you gasp.

San smirks. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

The teasing should make you flinch, should make you want to shy away—but you don’t.

Because you love it.

Because you love him like this—feral, corrupted, completely obsessed with you.

Your moans break into whimpers as his thrusts turn deeper, sharper, but still so slow, so cruelly controlled that your body starts trembling. “San—”

He shushes you.

His lips brush over your temple, soft in contrast to the way he’s utterly wrecking you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And yet—

It’s not enough.

For him.

For you.

San curses under his breath, frustration clear in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. “I can’t—” His breath is ragged. “I can’t fucking hold back.”

Before you can process—

San moves.

His grip locks around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the desk, but before you can fully catch your breath, he flips you over.

Your palms slam against the your back, the belt still binding them, your cheek pressing into the cool surface as San forces you down, arching you for him.

A sharp sound echoes in the room.

You gasp.

San’s palm stays on your ass where he just spanked you, rubbing over the heated skin, his breath heavy behind you. “Mhm,” he hums, dark, pleased.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body is trembling—wrecked, pinned under San’s weight as he presses you against the desk, his grip firm on your waist. His breath is heavy, hot against your skin, his patience fraying with every second.

And then—

You say it.

A teasing little whisper, breathless, barely a murmur—

“San.. you can go- harder.”

A guttural growl rips from his throat, and then—he ruins you.

His grip tightens bruisingly on your hips as he slams into you, deep and relentless, each thrust sharp, overwhelming, making you choke on your own moans.

He pounds into you, his cock pushing impossibly deep, so deep that— He hits your cervix.

A sharp cry tears from your throat, your bound hands clenching behind you as the intense stimulation sends a wave of pleasurable pain crashing over you.

San hears it. Feels it. Loses it.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked, his pace punishing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He thrusts harder, making you wail. “Wanted me to break you?”

The way he’s holding you—gripping your waist tight, pressing you down deep into the desk, his chest flush against your back as he fucks into you like he’s starving—

It’s too much.

He feels the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body clings to him, drawing him in, taking everything he gives.

His breath is ragged, his groans turning into curses.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his thrusts becoming desperate. “So fucking tight, so fucking wet—”

He grips your wrists, still bound behind your back, and pulls, arching you further, making your back bow into him, making you yake him deeper.

A wrecked sob escapes you.

San curses. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Fucking take it.”

He pounds into you, hips snapping, rhythm frenzied, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you’re a mess beneath him—whimpering, crying, begging.

And you could swear he fucking loves it.

“Listen to you,” he pants, his lips brushing over your ear, his breath ragged. “Crying for me—so desperate.”

You are. But he’s no better.

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning frantic, his moans growing shaky, and you can inly feel how damn close he is. And he knows it.

His pace falters for half a second—just long enough for him to lean over you, his lips grazing your ear as he breathes, voice dark, rough, possession dripping from every word—.

“I’ll fill you up just like you’ve probably been fantasizing over for a while, you little slut.”

And then—

He breaks.

A deep, wrecked moan tears from his chest as he thrusts deep, his body shuddering violently as he spills into you, warmth flooding your insides as his grip on your wrists turns almost bruising.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even as he comes, he keeps moving, keeps pounding into you, pushing you over the edge right after him.

Your body shatters.

A high, sobbed moan rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening, pulsing around him, drawing out his own orgasm, making him groan, curse, whisper filth and praise against your skin.

You gasp his name—

And San loses himself all over again.

His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides both of you through your highs, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your spine, soothing you while still wrecking you.

You could barely move.

Your arms are still bound, your body limp against the desk, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

San finally stills.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his grip on your wrists loosening, his breath hot against your skin.

And then—

A satisfied, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

San exhales, his grip softening as he slowly lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hands are gentle now, his touch the exact opposite of how he just wrecked you. With careful precision, he sets you down on the desk, his fingers immediately moving to untie your wrists.

The moment they’re free, he brings them to his lips, kissing the delicate skin as if to soothe away any marks left behind. His gaze meets yours, still dark, still possessive, but now filled with something softer.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Can’t have you walking out of here looking like this, baby.”

Before you can respond, he grabs your blouse from where it was discarded, slipping it over your shoulders, his touch slow, careful, reverent. His fingers linger as he buttons it up, his eyes roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Then, he leans in, kissing you.

Deep, slow, lingering. Like he’s still not ready to let go.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your lips, his voice a low murmur. “Come on,” he says. “We’re taking a shower.”

Your brows raise slightly. “Here?”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the office, baby.” He eyes you, his woman, his masterpiece, before smirking. “And I’m sure as hell not letting anyone see you like this on our way there.”

You laugh, amused by his protectiveness, and his smirk widens.

“Laugh all you want,” he muses, scooping you up again. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[eddiesghxst]

hellow, i’m officially done with school for the next year or so which means (if u haven’t already noticed) i’ve started to write 50 wips <3

so anyway, here’s a snippet of something im writing about dom!eddie who’s also a tattoo artist who just so happens to own a tattoo parlor that’s right next to a ballet studio which just so happens to be owned by ballet instructor!reader

18+ — MINORS DNI

It was a series of unfortunate events.

You had spent the last five years of your life building your ballet school from the ground up, but when your old studio was sold out from under you, you were forced to find a new home for your students.

It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many options for you to choose from and most buildings either needed an immense amount of work that your pockets couldn’t afford or were too far away and would inevitably cause you to lose students.

But then you stumbled on a dream. The new studio was perfect— freshly installed tiling, beautiful acoustics, and the fee to install the mirrors wasn’t all that bad— except for one small detail: the tattoo parlor next door.

For the months that you spent preparing the studio for your students, you were tormented with the constant buzz of needles and the faint scent of ink lingers in the air all day, mixing with the sharp fragrance of floor polish and irritation that comes with summer heat. It nearly drove you insane.

But what started as a nuisance soon flourished into something else entirely. The tattoo shop’s owner, a tall, inked-up man named Eddie, was there every morning, the storefront always open to the bustling world outside. Your first conversation had been brief— you introduced yourself, explained how you ended up here and he wished you a good start to your new building.

It wasn’t until a few months down the line that you finally caved and complained about the noise, telling him it was difficult to focus with the loud sounds from his shop and Eddie— surprisingly, since you had somewhat painted him a villain in your mind— apologized and said he’d try to keep the noise down— “I can’t promise the same on the days I don’t work, though. My team tends to never listen to me.”

And so then you and Eddie formed a very nice, casual, and polite relationship. Something like a work relationship. A nice smile and wave in the morning, small and quick conversations about the week— and sometimes, he would get you a coffee and slide it on your desk while you’re busy with your morning class.

But as weeks passed, your casual exchanges became… something more— quick morning greetings turned into full blown conversations and free coffees turned into free lunches— “The deli down the street always gives me an extra sandwich.” And you almost think he’s lying about that, but he never really leaves you room to further pry about it. Lingering looks, shared laughs, and an unspoken connection grew deeper with each passing day.

But it started and ended at work— there on Blackburn Avenue where your ballet studio and his tattoo parlor share a sidewalk— and it never left. And you never expected it to be more— Eddie is more of a work crush anyway. You talk and flirt for the few hours that you share a wall, and when you go home you watch your reality TV shows, eat dinner, and think nothing of it.

But what the hell do you do when you walk into a BDSM club and see your work crush on a stage, knuckle’s deep in a pretty girl, with a bunch of strangers watching— including yourself?

What do you do when the pretty boy that owns the shop next to your studio is on a stage, whispering dirty praises in a girls ear and finger fucking her until her thighs shake? What do you do when you realize— oh fuck, I should probably leave since I actually know this guy and we’re kind of coworkers, but you stay like the idiot you are?

And what do you do when his pretty brown eyes (which look even dreamier when they’re blown out and dark with lust) glance up from the woman below him and just happen to immediately land on you?

What the fuck do you do?

[metranart]

My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 13)

(Sukuna centric chapter)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert, slight! Megumi x reader, slight! Sukuna x reader..

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

𖦹 Warning tags: Sukuna centric in this chapter. Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship (everyone is an adult).

-

"...If I recall correctly, you and I have some unfinished business, pookie."

Ryomen Sukuna.

You had no chance against the King of Curses, much less now that he came to collect. The way he licked his lips made your skin crawl, his grin sharpening when you gulped hard.

“Oh, I see,” he smirked, “you actually thought I would forget,” his tongue tsked, head slowly denying. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our ‘deal’, not even for a single second.” The words were stitched against your cheek, still being inside his possessive embrace allowed him to abuse the closeness with borrowed lips. Kissing each word against your soft skin. “I want what you promised me for my silence…” an impertinent hand slid unceremoniously under your skirt, those sharp black nails leaving a red trace on the tender skin of your inner thigh in their path, “so… spread these pretty legs for me.”

Your breath caught inside your lungs, today was pay day, and you weren’t ready.

It didn’t matter how much you pushed against him, desperately searching for a glimmer of breathing room, it was like trying to move a freaking wall. The more you tried the more he stuck to you. His amused features almost unbearable.

With a desperate growl, you slapped a hand against his mouth and felt the sharpness of his canines as he laughed at your pathetic attempt. Was this your attempt to escape? Your fight or flee response? Such laughable actions.

"Are you suddenly shy, pretty?" his mockery deliberately accurate to bruise your pride, your cheeks painted but the curse couldn't identify if it was anger or shame, ".... it's not that I don't find your pathetic resistance adorable, but unfortunately, I have not a minute to spare, so..." he gestured with his fingers, spreading out the index and middle for you to imitate with your legs and your head shook out of your control.

"It doesn't have to be there," you tried not to make it sound like a pitiful plea, "...I agreed to let you put your cursed seal on me, Sukuna-...but you can put it on my arm, or my ankle-"

"It has to be hidden so he doesn't destroy it..." Sukuna explained with a hint of apathy, before his tone sharpened with mockery at your amusing confusion, "...you know, your six-eyed lover."

Gojo, you thought, but soon a more alarming thought invaded your mind, something you should have questioned before even making the deal, but at that moment you were so desperate to keep your skeletons inside the closet, out of Megumi's sight, that you were careless and stupid...your lips trembled, and the obvious question you hadn't asked came urgently out of your mouth.

".... What’s the seal for?"

Sukuna smirked, your eyes flicked from his eyes to his mouth, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his smile, indicating the information was irrelevant to you, he didn't have to tell you since you owed it to him, but just for the fun of it.

"It gives me control." 

Was all he said.

"-control over me?"

That smile twisted his mouth again, his silence frustrated you, and you seeped, glancing away from him as the reality of what you have accepted finally set in.

"That's for me to know," he muttered, "and for you to find out."

Before you could protest, his attention shifted to maneuvering you through your fighting, a shot of adrenaline pumped through you, maybe, you landed a few blows but regardless of your effort it felt like caresses to him. Those little hands of yours grabbing his wrists without success while he calmly lifted your skirt and slid two fingers under the straps of your panties, his sharp eyes ogling you as he -without breaking a sweat- rolled the fabric down your thighs despite your protests. Wicked attention drinking in your every expression.

"S-Sukuna... please-"

"We made a deal, princess." Sukuna reminded you, "I did my part, now behave like an adult and spread your legs for me."

Right then, you were grateful to be alone with him, the position he had you in was going to take a toll on your self-esteem. Curled up like a ball between his strong thighs, one strong arm around enough to immobilize you, while his other hand waited for your defeat. You had two choices before you: You, could fulfill your part of the deal and spread your legs…. or you could keep fighting and have him spread them for you.

Sukuna smirked pleased, and somewhat amused when resignation took you and you obeyed. When you came to terms with your own choices. Even he must admit, it tasted like glory, that without even having to insist, your body relaxed against his.

"Good girl." He praised, and his free hand appeared in front of your face, "open up."

After a scarce second od hesitation, you did, and his index and middle fingers breached your wet cavity. "Lick them," your tongue reluctantly obeyed, and Sukuna snickered low, this time deigning to give an explanation. "My fingers need to dwell deep inside you for the seal to… endure."

Despite your furrowed brow, your tongue glazed his digits and once your saliva coated each patch of skin, you watched in anguish as his hand travel down, sliding under your skirt, between your legs, up, up, where he greeted your bare pussy by tracing your slit, warm and dry. Not for long.

"Dammit, if we had more time-” the growl he emitted sounded too lewd for your taste, “-I would dethrone Gojo Satoru from your mind." 

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his smirking lips made an amused picture of his otherwise calm face and that flustered look of discomfort on your face, instead of amusing him, sent delicious shivers down his spine.

With a frown you kept your knees spread, as he explored, parting your folds playfully, making a V-shape of your slit with two rough fingers, enjoying the feeling of control before finally sliding his digits inside you. You mewled like a wounded cat and Sukuna held you tighter to him, his warm breath against the shell of your ear, his pleased growl tattooing itself on your brain.

"Relax for me, girl..." Your knee twitched, which he took as encouragement to keep going despite your loyalty to silence. His fingers crawled deeper until was knuckle deep, and there you felt it, heat, agonizing heat that felt inappropriately amazing. You end up biting your lip and soon, heard him snicker. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

The shape of his dick more noticeable against your ass by the second and you swore you could feel it throb under you. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought he was prone to fuck you. But apparently not. 

“…...—Damn this brat and his quickness to recover.” 

The King cursed under his breath and somehow, you knew he was referring to Yuuji, his vessel. Yuuji’s sudden unconsciousness granted Sukuna this slip, quick slip that now he was regretting for not being longer.

“Spread wider, princess.” 

You glanced up at him, nevertheless, did as instructed and not a minute after, his thick, thumb pressed against your clit, which was already swollen just from the residual sensation of his cursed energy, his rough pad against your bundle of nerves almost made you cry out, almost.

Sukuna shut his eyes in concentration, mocking grin pressed against your feverish cheek, trying to find the perfect pace for you—apparently his was too soft for your likings. Fuck, you were turning out to be more entertaining that he expected.

He made his thumb vibrate, easily breaking the, hard-earned, calm rhythm of your breathing, you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling around his pants, and yet, another twitch in your leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver.

"You're close, I can feel it."

You felt his toned stomach shudder beneath you with the motion of your coming orgasm, and fleetingly considered inching a bit closer to him, maybe rubbing your ass against his hardon: If Sukuna came, would Yuuji wake up?

You took the chance, and smeared your ass hard until you heard him grunt and breathe more stiffly than before. A sudden kiss hastily came to tame you, an impossibly soft and tender smooch, came from this monster accompanied by a vivid threat. 

“I know what you're thinking... it might work," Sukuna conceded, but all hope faded away when you felt him smirk against your ear, "but what's worse: me, finishing my seal on you while making you have the most glorious orgasm of your pathetic existence or you, waking the brat while you are half-naked, him, shirtless and you at the verge of cumming inside his arms?"

That stopped you cold and with a macabre snicker, and a faint ‘smart girl’ he picked up speed. The adrenaline of being discovered putting more heat into you, as Sukuna made a purposeful attempt to drag his thumb down hard on your swollen clit with every jerk of his hand.

He had you singing pretty in mere seconds. The King of curses actually preferred you like that, all giddy and needy, even he admitted that nothing, absolutely nothing, turned him on more than watching a female come undone under his masterful touch. 

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes drifting closed again, finally satisfied with your body response. “Just like that.”

Sukuna trapped his lower lip between his teeth just imagining how much fun it would be to see you go stupid on his cock. If only he had more time, but the brat was promising to be a party pooper.

Your pitiful and embarrassed moans made the King of Curses chest tight with excitement, as your legs fidget, out of the most sublime pleasure. Shit, he loved to see his lovers fight before submitting. Actually, lived for the moment when he witnessed her mind go slack, giving in to him—

Ryomen Sukuna was big in control, so much, that his own arousal was wetting the inside of his pants by now but was able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving your needs and his plans.

“Aww, you like when I apply more pressure here, don’t ya sweet thing?” 

At some point your hips stuttered up to start meeting his fingers, fucking yourself in a much slower rhythm than he was fingering you. Sukuna had to use all his remaining will power to not bend you like a pretzel, then and there, and fuck the living out of you. How dare you drive him this needy with just some lazy pumps up into his fingers?! You, damn minx!

Instead, he snarled, low and deep, frustratingly digging his teeth against the line of your tense jaw, other hand hot on your breast. “No one's ever fingered you properly, I can tell-”

Your moans rose in volume to your horror, and Sukuna got a little lost in the moment, loving the feeling of overpowering you so completely, having you so willing just for him. Now, he understood Satoru Gojo, he still thought poorly of him, but… now he almost felt sorry for the bastard as well, since your mere existence felt like lust embodied. Not being able to touch you must feel like torture to him.

It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan. “—What do they call you?”

Sukuna ought to know, he had never paid you attention but now he couldn't look away, he wanted to know more, everything about you.

Babbling out a name, his name, your name? probably not.

“Try again.” He insisted, it was not usual for him to be this gentle while looking for answers, but he did it. He spared you more than a thought, more than a gasp, he felt hypnotized by the way you were coming undone. 

“Those pretty tears pricking your eyes, FUCK! —” 

Sukuna was forgetting his own schemes. The more he pressed his fingers against the inside of your stomach, that hidden button inside every woman that turned them into putty, the spot of pleasure swirling inside your gut. Hell, you couldn't even complain anymore, being so far gone—

“Fuck,” Sukuna sounded vaguely amazed, pleasantly thrilled at how well your body accepted him, “this slutty little pussy’s squeezin’ my fingers so tight. Sucking them in—”

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was driving you crazy with just his fingers and his sporadic kisses, but your body was betraying you, it had taken his side. Sucking his fingers and throbbing your walls around them, making you cum, one after another, after another. You were already a fucking squirting mess, sliding down your thighs and between your ass, so immersed in this sinful pleasure, that Sukuna had to use another method to get your attention again.

The King of curses smacked your throbbing clit as he bullied yet another finger inside you, smirking wildly at the fucked-out whine that fell from your lips.

“I asked you a question-….” Sukuna grunted displeased, “give me your name, princess… you still know how to speak, right?”

That infuriating smirk on his face, coupled with the way he squeezes another orgasm out of you is too much, if you were honest, you refused to give him your name, you wouldn't, at least you would keep that.

“Stubborn little thing, time's up.”

His fingers come out of you and the sound was too vulgar, that frustrating sucking sound, like a suction cup being pulled from a pane, your greedy pussy annoyed by the absence of his fingers and be forced to having to squeeze the cold nothing. 

A feral grin spread on Sukuna’s face while admiring his work of art. 

You, collapsed on yourself, sweaty and flushed, still spasming at the memory of the ravishing orgasms. Trying with all you might to calm your breathing and the excited beating of your heart. Almost didn't notice Sukuna crouching down, ogling you, thoughtfully analyzing you, drinking up every last sensation you have to give him, leaning down and uncovering your shoulder, to press his teeth into it. Your pained growl was expected, amusing him to no end, making him even more proud of his mischief.

"A souvenir of our meeting for your beloved Satoru Gojo, (Y/N)."

Your eyes widened in surprise that he knew your name, the amusement on his face nothing new as he held your ID between his fingers.

"(Y/N)(L/N), such a pretty name." It sounded more like a taunt coming from him, ".... by the way—"

He crossed his fingers, and an almost withering heat coiled inside your own body, it was scorching and unusually painful, leaving you numb for an instant. A bright light with a strange symbol traced itself across the skin of your tummy.

"The seal is activated."

Sukuna cocked his head to the side giving you one last look before spinning on his heels and saying.

"The brat is about to return; you have mere seconds to make yourself presentable... I recommend you use them.... (Y/N)."

He took a couple of steps, giving you some distance before Yuuji slowly took over, you quickly stood and fixed yourself as best you could, watching in despair as the tattoos abandoned Yuuji’s skin. You buttoned your shirt, fixed your hair and clothes, but you still felt exposed-....and that's when you noticed, where were your panties?

COMING SOON PART 14....

➡️🔞👀 NSFW art sneak peek

➡️ FULL NSFW ARTWORK OF THIS STORY

@dazzlingakaashi @bambiimani111

[theflatbrokeoldguy]

Does ‘ trans ‘ actually exist in reality, do some human beings just unfortunately suffer a brain cell fart/malfunction at an early age in their growth, from the pre verbal, baby stage.

It’s quite possible that they are not in the wrong body, it’s just a misunderstanding, they could just be homosexual rather than straight.

The biological reality is that at birth their body is only either male or female, their brain cell’s could develop to be distorted to believe something different as they evolve and grow.

The human brain cells have only minimal basic preprogrammed functions at birth and subsequently gain information as they grow.

Lady Gaga winning Best Pop Duo/Group Performance for “Die With A Smile” at the 67th GRAMMY Awards

[msabs]

(artist: @nautls11)

The first month of 2025 has come and gone, and MSABS has been officially under development now for six months. What an incredible milestone - half a year has passed, and yet the people involved in this project are still as passionate as ever. Despite our setbacks and busy schedules, the MSABS team has tinkered away on this game bit by bit, and hopefully, a demo will be available at some point this year.

The MSABS dev team has also decided upon a real, official name: we are DESTIRE. It is a combination of desire and destiny; both important themes in JRWI: Riptide and two major driving forces behind our determination to finish MSABS.

As for our actual game development progress, let's first check out the art department. Some ideas for the "loading" screens have been drafted, a fun way to transition between character POVs.

(artist: @nautls11)

In the writing department, further exploration of one of the many doorways on the 1st floor of the stronghold has been written. Here's a few snippets:

(writer: @ralexsol)

As has become our unfortunate reality, many of Destire have already returned to school and are facing insane schedules that hardly allow time to contribute to MSABS. Our passion is still there, though; this game is on our minds often. If you or anyone you know has free time and experience in pixel art, writing, and/or coding in ren'py, please join the Destire Discord! The more volunteers we have, the faster this project will move along.

May the spring semester bring joy to you all, despite the recent troubles the world is now facing and will continue to face for the next few years. In dark times, it is community that enables us to survive in spite of oppression. Be loud, be brave, and most importantly, be kind.

[ranpazz]

FOOL ME ONCE, FOOL ME TWICE. ft. Fyodor Dostoevsky

synopsis ; Fyodor kept telling himself that he only kept you around for your ability. But how many times can he keep saying the same thing when you show him such genuine tenderness?

cw ; angst if you squint, mostly fluff, mentions of self-harm (fyodor biting his nails), you're his little nurse tbh, IT'S PROOFREAD FOR ONCE!!!

Beneath the Silken Dreams – An ability that allows whatever the user imagines to come to life. Fictional entities, objects, and living creatures. As long as there is a clear image in mind, it will become reality. However, this power cannot manipulate timelines, outcomes of scenarios, or the world.

Fyodor was a complicated man– one with a cryptic goal. Only a handful of individuals were aware of his status, his intellect, what he could do, what he would do. His goal was a tedious one, eliminating all ability users from this world. You knew his priorities better than anyone, he had reminded you countless times. He also didn't hesitate to remind you why you were still by his side. "Your ability is useful," he'd say, and that cold yet mocking tone was all you needed to hear.

You truly should have known this from the start. People that were subordinates of Fyodor were exactly what they were called. Subordinates. Disposable, replaceable, pawns for him to strive closer to his desire of a promised land. However, even with those painfully clear facts, you wanted to believe you were treated just a bit better.

In fact, it was rather noticeable. You've always been near Fyodor even before you became a part of this organization. Throughout the silence that filled the air when you were in his presence, there was always an unspoken conversation between the two of you. Perhaps you were delusional, or maybe you were right. He'd never inform you of the answer either way.

He noticed it though, how he allowed you to easily wander around like a stray cat, you were never too far away from him. He told himself that it was due to your awareness of your usefulness in his plans, yet, even he knew that there was more to it than that. This –whatever this was– was certainly a relationship that he couldn't figure out. Fyodor, for once, did not want to piece this together. Growing attatched with someone in this world was a mistake– a grave one for the reciever.

How can he push himself away when there's something so alluring about you that even he cannot overcome?

"Fyodor-kun," you called out. "your tea."

This was a tradition of sorts for the both of you. Everyday, at a certain time, you'd bring him tea along with a few snacks. It occurred without fail, and he noted it. Fyodor refused at first, he didn't want to accept your generousity. Eventually, he gave in just to indulge in you, after all, you continued insisting to the point where he cannot comprehend his next thought.

Fyodor looked away from his set of monitors, turning in his chair to face you. He then took the teacup you had prepared– the same one as always. As he took a sip, his eyes softened the smallest bit at the sight of you. You looked tired. Had you not been sleeping well? How come he had never noticed this before?

"{♡}, you should attempt to receive proper rest," he began. "You're of no use to me if you're surviving off of mere winks."

Honestly, he knew that the part involving your usefulness was not necessary, but he would rather remind you of your place rather that sound like he cares. Unfortunately for his emotional constipation, you caught on. It warmed your heart to see the subtle concern he expressed– it meant you were getting somewhere.

"Try these. They're delicious." You ignored his suggestion about your rest, pointing to the thumbprint cookies on the small tray. Fyodor enjoyed jam with his tea, you learned, so you decided to make cookies to test his palette.

He gave you a neutral, almost unimpressed, look. You mirrored it, albeit with a silent plea in your eyes. 'Please please try them,' you thought, and as if he could hear your mind racing, he sighed, setting down the teacup before reaching for a cookie. You noticed the teeth marks and dried blood near his nails– he'd been biting them again.

It was almost ridiculous how familiar you were with his habits, the little things he did or enjoyed. Though, the self-destructive habits upset you, and it didn't matter if he cared about your outbursts or not. He shouldn't have done them if he did not want to hear it.

"You've been biting on your fingertips again," you stated, a frown playing on your lips. "I keep telling you to find some alternative to that, Fyodor-kun." The Russian did not pay you any mind, bringing the small cookie to his mouth and taking a bite. You wondered if this was the first thing he's eaten today, and knowing him, it most likely was.

He let out a quiet hum of satisfaction from the taste of the dessert, the jam balancing the sweetness of the dough. It did not surprise him that your baking had been advancing, especially since it was always you who tended to him. "You did a splendid job baking these. Leave them there. I will finish the rest later on."

Your heart fluttered from his praise, but you quickly reminded yourself of the state his hand was in. Thankfully, you had prepared for these –reoccurring– situations. Fyodor observed with a subtle interest as you rummaged through one of the drawers in his desk, pulling a package of bandaids along with alcohol wipes, holding up the items with a knowing glint in your eyes.

The next sigh he had let out was one of resignation, extending his hand out to you with a look of something you couldn't quite name. Instead of dwelling on it, you tore open the little packet of alcohol wipes, placing the seal aside. You took his hand in your own, his touch cold yet familiar. Dabbing the alcohol pad against the tiny wounds, he didn't even react.

You wondered how people would react if they discovered that the 'demon fyodor', monster of the underworld who trampled anyone who opposed him, was getting the most insignificant of injures cleaned. People feared him –his touch– but you were never afraid of his ability, much less himself. Call it naivety or bravery, but you could never bring yourself to be fearful of him. To you, Fyodor was simply a man who wanted a pure world, to offer benevolence to the children and bring light. His methods were questionable, you knew that, but you'd do anything to help him achieve this dream world.

After cleaning the cuts, you opened a couple of bandaids and wrapped them around each finger delicately. He did not understand how you could handle someone like him with such care, as if he were the most fragile thing on earth. His piercing gaze trailed from your hands to your face, studying you. You were used to his habit of staring, so you let him be.

You tossed the wrappers and such away into the small bin beneath his desk, offering him one more smile before stepping away to tend to your other duties. "I'll see you later, Fyodor-kun." You said, leaving the room without another word.

Unbeknownst to you, a small yet noticeable smile had revealed itself on Fyodor's usual expressionless face when you left his office. If only you were aware of the genuineness behind it.

He supposed you were more important than he presumed back then.

[proshippers-against-censorship]

I think my whole issue with "parents just need to parent better" is because it's quite literally impossible to avoid or predict sometimes. GOOGLE isn't a safe webpage if you scroll far enough, even with safe browsing on. As a nine year old little girl in 2012 I shouldn't have been exposed to horse guts and horse pussy on the first page of google images sitting directly in front of my mother because I had the gall to... look up the names of my favorite my little pony characters? How on earth was anyone meant to predict that there was going to be something I shouldn't have been exposed to under that?

With how much blame people want to put on the kid or the parents, genuinely how are they supposed to avoid this? When do we reach the point that people try to say minors shouldn't be on the internet at all?

That is why it's vital the children have an adult they feel safe talking to whenever they see something distressing on the internet. Because, unfortunately, the internet will likely never be a safe place for minors. Especially very young minors. Even if every adult posting smut puts the appropriate warnings and shields on what they create, there will always be things that get past the filters. And it sucks, but it's reality.

[theambitiouswoman]

When i try to be positive , people tell me to be realistic. is being too positive or positive not realistic ?! what’s reality of life? is the world a dangerous place? is every man cheaters? what is life? i’m very confused

Adults have a serious issue with people who are happy, positive, have childlike wonder and don't look at life in a negative "realistic" lense. It is very unfortunate. Personally, I hate when people try to project negativity in my life. I find it incredibly disrespectful. I do not have negative thoughts. I am, by societal standards, very delusional. Because society has somehow decided that getting what you want is delusional. Seriously, stop being realistic. Ignore those people.

Yes there are bad people, yes bad things can happen. But not everyone is a horrible human being and if every man is a horrible man and a cheater then thats exactly what you are going to continue to attract into your life. A lot of things in life are learning experiences, and a lot of people do not choose to learn. They blame everyone else for their problems.

They cling to victimhood because it’s easier than accountability. It’s easier to say “life is unfair” than to admit they made choices that led them to where they are. But the truth is, your mindset shapes your reality. If you believe the world is against you, it will be. If you believe people are inherently bad, you will only see proof of that everywhere you look.

I can't imagine living inside such a negative mind.

Meanwhile, the people who win in life refuse to think that way. They don’t entertain negativity. They don’t sit around complaining about how hard life is—they figure it out. They take responsibility, they adapt and they move forward. They don’t wait for permission to be great. They decide to be.

Being “realistic” is the death of dreams. Realistic people live average lives. Realistic people settle. The most successful, fulfilled and extraordinary people in the world were never realistic—they were visionaries. They saw possibilities where others saw limitations. They believed in things before they existed.

So stop thinking like the masses. Stop listening to miserable people. Stop taking advice from people who have nothing you want. Choose your reality. Be delusional in your belief that everything you want is possible, and then go make it happen.

Stop being realistic.

End rant.

[alea-jottun]

On dissonance : saying you story did something vs making your story say something

A problem I have noticed with people defending s2 is that they take at face value what the dialogues say (or what the writers have said in interviews), as if it were a complete justification of what happens in s2. But a story cannot simply say it is something, it has to be this thing. Dialogue that is not backed up by the actual content of a story is worthless.

A few examples for instance :

S2 wants to pretend that it has something to say about forgiveness. But what does it do ? Have alternate Silco say that "the greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive" (one of the worst lines of s2 considering the context. I'm not even going to delve into why he was the worst possible character you could choose to prone forgiveness, but let's put aside his character assassination for now) yet never follow through.

That's just a line, said by a character. For it to have value, it has to be backed by the story. But s2 doesn't do that.

The problem is not that s2 wants to prone forgiveness (that was going to come up anyway, because you have to discuss forgiveness in order to put an end to a cycle of violence). The problem is that there is no well-written arc demonstrating the value of forgiveness in s2 : simply characters who suddenly feel bad for what they have done, and other characters who forgive them just like that. The justifications given for their changes of heart are either incredibly superficial (considering the gravity of the Arcane themes. We're talking about forgiving murder, attacks, etc), or absolute crap. The reason being of course that the writers did not bother writing organic, developped character arcs.

No, Caitlyn saying "I know" or fighting Noxus is not her taking responsibility or atoning for her crimes. No, her seeing Vi or being called Cupcake should not be enough to cause a change of heart this radical (and don't say that Caitlyn was feeling bad and was waiting for an opportunity to betray Ambessa, because that's simply not true. She absolutely supported Ambessa through s2. She just suddenly changed her opinion on Ambessa because the writers decided it).

Same goes for instance for the Timebomb subplot (which I have unfortunately seen heralded as another example of how s2 preaches forgiveness) : Ekko goes to an alternate reality and falls in love with an alternate version of a girl who murdered his friends and cursed Zaun, but in his reality Jinx is suddenly sad about what she did to the Council, so boom ! Forgiven with no proper redemption arc, and now Ekko tries to convince her that she can better herself. Even though throughout Arcane Jinx didn't give a damn about Ekko or the Firelights she killed. And no, fighting for Piltover and a fake sacrifice at the end do not count as redemption.

At this point, the writers really feel like a character being sad is equivalent to an entire redemption arc. But forgiveness has to be earned, and it never is in s2.

Another example of constant dissonance which I have evoked in another post, but also fits here :

Caitlyn saying to Jinx "no amount of good deeds can undo our crimes...." .... while the entirety of s2 does just that for several characters, including her and Jinx, ironically.

Again, that's just one line, said by a character at the end of a 9 episodes series. But that's not what s2 says in practice. The reality of s2 is that it keeps trying to downplay Jinx's past actions, it keeps trying to undo her crimes : she does whatever she wants and is seen as a symbol in Zaun, even though she literally prevented the Council from declaring Zaun independant. There is no problem to her presence in Viktor's commune, despite that fact that she killed him, and his dream, and again, cursed Zaun when it was about to be freed. She can literally talk to Viktor without the topic ever being properly adressed.  And then the writers remember that she is a bit more than a troublemaker, so in the last episodes you get half-baked excuses and a tentative to end herself to cause drama (which is incredibly insensitive, but that's not the point of this post).

Same for Caitlyn : despite being the one saying "no amount of good deeds can undo our crimes....", she has one of the happiest ending of s2, without ever taking responsibility for her actions, or going through redemption. She ends up with an even better social position, a girlfriend she mistreated, a victory for Piltover, and never any real punishment or coherent negative consequences of her actions. So yes, her crimes are pretty much undo-ed... and she didn't even do any real good deed.

The dialogue says something, but the whole series contradicts it.

And finally, you have lines that are absolute crap (in the context of s2) and that pretend that s2 was a completely different show : see the "trying to get rid of your imperfections" line (Viktor's so-called quest for perfection doesn't exist apart from a few lines of dialogues, it is never a proper plot point in the show itself). See the "If he had found the letter it would all have been different" line (not even going to go into details with this one because there is so much wrong with it, it's impressive at this point). Or Jayce's "All I want is my partner back" when Jayce is not shown caring about Viktor after he goes back to Zaun (and no, hallucinating him once in the fire does not count. Also it does not help that neither Jayce nor Viktor have much screen time) and then tries to kill him. So what does s2 do ? Have a cheap thirty second explanation in the last episode, introduce the worst "plot twist" of the series, and pretend it did the job.

Add that to the terrible interview of the writer who said that they made the story as "economical" as possible (they genuinely thought that if they implied something once, then they never had to mention it again) when a good story is supposed to be the complete opposite : efficient (say as much as you possibly can).

S2 is all filler no substance. I know we're joking about the people defending it with the "micro-expressions" argument, but that's understandable : that's all there is in s2 : micro-potentials of what could have been a great series, drowned in an ocean of incompetence. 

[cloverapple]

hiii! i came across your blog yesterday, and i love your advice. that's why i feel like you would be the best person to ask these questions that I've been having for the longest time (sorry, long read ahead).

I've studied LOA for the past 2 years or so, and even though i have a good understanding of it, there are some things that always trip me up when it comes to shifting.

how do i deal with waking up to the 3d? yes, by assuming that you are in your dr and that you shifted last night. that's the most logical answer. but even though i know that, sometimes it is a lot easier said than done. for example, a few days ago i wanted to manifest shifting by simply deciding i could shift on command and that i am there. i could be 100% sure the day before that it would happen. the whole day, and even a few days after that I'd stay in that state of being a master shifter, and i would feel amazing because of it. but it's like there always comes a point where i wake up to the 3d and i get discouraged (yes, i acknowledge that i am manifesting that reality by saying this, but i finally have to get this off my chest). my thoughts get all messed up and i start spiraling, returning to my previous state. i start questioning myself a bit and feel down. the main reason for that being time.

it took me so so long to figure out this issue about myself. I'd be like: how long is it gonna take? when will it happen? i know i have it in the 4d but when will it appear in the 3d? having it in the 4d isn't enough, i need to have it in the 3d right now. stuff like that. i find it very difficult to formulate my thoughts, but basically I'm in a spiral of:

watching a video/reading a post about LOA/shifting that reminds me of how easy it is -> applying LOA to shifting/any desire in a way that feels good for a few days at most -> starting to question myself after a few days because it hasn't shown up yet in the 3d (which is caused by me forgetting the role the 3d plays and how LOA works) even though i did everything "right" (e.g. letting go of control or the outcome, deciding, not wavering, etc.) -> falling back into a state where i question how i can shift, what i am doing wrong, etc. -> repeat

how can i break out of this cycle?

i think the main problem here is time and in general the 3d.

i know that the 3d is not a measure of my success, only made up of my current assumptions etc. i know that. but it's like i forget it once i step into the state i wanna be in and stay there for an extended period of time.

i always hear people say that "time isn't real" but i still don't really know what that means, how to apply it or how to internalize it. i really need that mental "click" to finally understand it and use that concept in my favor. because my problem is that with manifesting/shifting, after a while i start asking questions about why it's taking so long the 3d. for example, most nights i fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my dr (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning. but when it doesn't happen eventually, i start to question why, because since time comes from consciousness aka me, it should work in my favor.

I'm honestly so lost right now and i would really appreciate some help because I'm spiraling again. I've known about shifting since 2020 but only realized how ridiculously easy it is after joining tumblr this year and yup, i acknowledge that i am desperate to shift, preferably right now. it's not something i admit to anyone or myself because that's basically continuing to tell a story i don't want to experience (a surefire way to fail), but it is unfortunately the truth as of right now.

thank you for reading, i know this was a lot to get through!! (*^^*)

So pause for a second, because I’m going to tell you something I hope to ingrain in the mind of everyone who sends me an ask—and that you need to remember before reading everything I’m about to say:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT. The ability is inside you right now. The moment you read this, your mind already knows how to shift. Everyone does.

The moment you accept this, you solve half of your problems.

And then you tell me, "But if I know how to shift, why isn’t the 3D reflecting that?"

Well, yeah. You painted the house, and now you’re sitting there watching the paint dry.

Look, watching the 3D closely and looking for results isn’t a problem for some people. Some can assume, “I’m already in my DR,” open their eyes, and BAM—they’re in their DR.

Some people assume, “I will shift tonight,” and just like that, they shift that night.

Some people let go of their DRs, stop putting them on a pedestal, and they shift.

Some people clutch their DRs close to their heart until their knuckles turn white—and they shift.

It sounds a lot like you’re forcing yourself into a method of applying the Law of Assumption that doesn’t serve you. Why?? If you recognize that your issue is focusing on time and constantly checking the 3D, work around it. Remove time from your shifting journey.

I don’t like assuming I already have something, then checking the 3D and not seeing it there. Hell, I can shift on command, and yet, if I were to lay in bed right now and tell myself, “I’m in my DR,” I guarantee you I wouldn’t shift. Why? Because that doesn’t work for me.

My dude, change the way you affirm. If affirming in the present (“I already shifted”) doesn’t work for you, change it! Say, “I’m going to shift.” If even that hasn’t been working, let go of implementing time into your affirmations.

Change “I’m going to wake up in my DR in the morning” to “I’m going to wake up in my DR at some point because I KNOW I can shift.”

Change “I’m in my DR right now” to “I can’t wait to be in my DR.”

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions, because that’s clearly the problem here. Instead of trusting that you’ll shift tonight, trust yourself because you already know how to shift. Or trust your mind because it knows how to shift. Trust your awareness because it knows how to shift.

“I fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my DR (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning.”

If this were completely true, you wouldn’t be sending me this ask. You wouldn’t be doubting yourself as much as you just did in everything you typed. Truly letting go means releasing the need to see results in the 3D.

So, take time out of your assumptions. From now on, say “I will shift.” Or say, “I already know how to shift.”

Your brain then goes: “……???….uh….” looking at the 3D all confused “When? We haven't shifted!”

And you tell it, “It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m going to shift eventually.”

Now, let’s say hypothetically, one week passes and you haven’t shifted. One month passes, and you haven’t shifted. Two months pass, and you haven’t shifted.

And then you come back and say, “Clover, why the heck haven’t I shifted yet? It’s been (insert amount of time). You told me to remove time as an expectation, so why haven’t I shifted yet??”

And I’ll smile at you and ask, “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Let me tell you something about letting go—and hypothetically, ignoring the 3D.

Treat your ability to shift like your fortune. You have a fortune sitting in your bank account right now, and you’re rich. Do you think a rich person checks their bank account every hour to confirm they’re still rich?

"Well yeah, Clover, because a rich person’s reality already reflects that, they’re sitting in a mansion with all their riches."

Your fortune, what makes you rich, is your ability to shift. You already know how to shift. Shifting isn’t something you learn how to do, just like breathing isn’t something you learn how to do. Just like chewing isn’t something you learn how to do. It is an integral part of every human being. If you have awareness, then the ability to shift exists within you.

You don’t learn shifting—you learn yourself.

You learn what makes you shift. What makes you manifest easily. What makes you assume easily. What kind of affirmations your subconscious doesn’t argue against. What makes your self-concept skyrocket.

Because everyone is different, everyone shifts differently. What works for Person A might not work for Person B. What works for Person B might not work for Person C, and so on.

Even my reply to you, it might not resonate with you. But that’s not my fault, and it’s not yours. If that's the case, your job is to look elsewhere—and, in the best-case scenario, look internally because that’s where the answers always are.

Let’s go over your fix options because I just yapped a lot:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT.

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions. Removing time from your shifting process makes it so you have nowhere in the 3D to look.

Stop paying attention to the 3D and pay attention to yourself because what’s going to shift is your awareness, not the damn 3D. Every time you catch yourself thinking, “Oh, but it’s not showing up in the 3D,” remind yourself:

A) You already know how to shift.

B) Shifting is something you can do.

C) It could happen at any moment, so why should anything else matter?

If you were promised a million bucks from a 100% trustworthy source, would you spiral?

One more thing before I wrap this up:

It could be that actively using the Law of Assumption isn’t what works best for you. Maybe you work better with visualizing. Maybe you induce the feeling of being in your DR or being a "master shifter." Maybe subliminals work better for you. There is a world of options out there, and it is completely useless to force yourself to do something that's only bringing frustration in the end. Because there is no singular way to shift. There is no singular way to manifest. And sometimes—for some people—while the Law of Assumption is always true, focusing on it directly isn’t what serves you.

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

I feel like there is a bit of nuance in what Mackie and everyone else who has responded to this is saying that you aren’t entirely getting.

I agree, hope, freedom, and justice ARE American values. Anthony agrees. That being said, it would be ignorant to ignore the realities of the world around us, both in the MCU and the real world. Just because those are American values, doesn’t mean our government or all citizens actually behave in ways that align with those values. They simply don’t. A lot of people, who don’t know the character well, think of Captain America as an extension of the American government. That because he has “America” in his name, it means that he represents the sort of conservative values that have unfortunately come to be associated with extreme “patriotism”.

Of course, that’s not true, and I think that’s all Mackie is trying to say. Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers embody the ideals of America, and they take on the title of Captain America to do that, but they will do what is RIGHT no matter what, even when it means going against the government itself. Captain America became a piece of propaganda with associations beyond what Steve wanted or could have conceived while he was in the ice, but he and Sam keep the title to fight against that and show what true patriotism is every day.

And he’s RIGHT. Fuck everyone who is throwing a fit over Mackie speaking the truth. He and Chris Evans know this role better than anyone. Captain America is a figure of American propaganda both in the real world and in the MCU, despite how the characters Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and actors Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie feel. If you just see the red, white and blue, the propaganda, and not what these characters have stood for, that’s on you. And if you think that America represents honor and dignity for everyone, wake the fuck up. Honestly, just look out the window.

[radicalli57]

Different topic; Misogyny extended to other female animals.

Artificial insemination and forcefully breeding female animals is sexually exploiting an animal.

I work within the equine industry as a positive reinforcement trainer, and the treatment mares get is absolutely horrific. Almost everyone who owns a mare will breed them, and majority of the time the mare has no say. It is such common practice to tie a mare up so that she cannot move and force a stallion on her. Left to her own choice a mare is capable of killing a stallion if he refuses to leave her alone, she cannot even try to escape or deter him in the position she is forced in.

This is the reality for so many female animals in captivity, and the reasoning is always a misogynistic one which removes the female’s autonomy in her reproduction.

Mares and many other female animals in the wild pick the male, it is their choice whether they choose to breed or not, humans (majority males, I rarely see females preform these practices) take this choice away from them.

There are unfortunately a lot of women who engage in these practices with animals, and the disconnect they have to their fellow female animals is disturbing.

[lady-iskra]

I can’t get over the fact that Bryke decided Katara should believe she deserves no thanks in The Promise. I mean, they literally made her feel guilty for being uncomfortable spending the night with her bfs groupies fangirls.

I’ve seen people claim that Aang was oblivious to this. Don’t they get what this is about? His obliviousness doesn’t even matter. Katara's feelings are valid no matter what, and talking about it would have been the only healthy thing to do.

And don’t get me started on those who insist that this shows how both of them had grown since Book 1... This is no growth to me. It seems like Katara, who has always been vocal about her feelings, learned in this one year of her relationship to repress them instead. Either to avoid conflict altogether or because she's been told to 'control herself'. And unfortunately, this is the reality for so many women in RL.

If this is Bryke’s idea of a healthy relationship, I’m actually so glad that Zutara isn’t canon. They could’ve easily made up for the forced K@taang endgame in ATLA by showing a relationship where both sides are validated equally, but instead we got this bs.

If this wasn’t already a bad enough example for girls and young women of what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, Bryke took it even further: They made the very girls who openly flirted with Aang in front of his girlfriend the official Air Acolytes. In other words, unless Katara and Aang are off on their next adventure, they are surrounded by them almost 24/7.

Yeah, that’s right. Just keep smiling, Master Katara Avatar’s girl.

I mean, what does her life look like surrounded by those Aang-worshiping girls and her boyfriend, who remains oblivious? Constantly smiling, acting as though she doesn't hear the obvious advances happening right in front of her? Ignoring the catty comments directed at her by some of them? And, in general, adjusting to her boyfriend's—later, husband's—life while forgetting her own ambitions? Now, we could argue that she wouldn't stay with Aang if she eventually realizes that she has put up with too much and lost herself. But, I think, we all know that lifelong relationships like this exist in RL.

[carlarosenakilah]

I'm taking a break from The Osix Family and Wilted Ivory

Hi, you've read that right. I'll proceed to go into detail undercut

Warning that the following will be containing very sensitive topics such as su***idal thoughts, mental health issues, and whatever the fuck I went through to get me here and I don't know how to describe nor name them but overall its not pretty.

Getting straight to the point- im drained. I'm in a horrible place right now and I need to take a step back before it might escalate into something worse.

The Osix Family is always something that I will forever dedicate to. It has comforted me, carried me, and saved me from killing myself three years ago.

I asked myself, "If I'm not here, who will tell the story of The Osix Family?"

That made me stay alive, and im greatful for that because if not, I wouldn't have been where I am today standing with the coolest people I have ever met and my amazing partner in crime @alexusespido-dod.

I love Wilted Ivory too, and that's where it gets tricky.

My only plan for Wilted Ivory is to simply tell a story about growth expressed as a musical au. Hence why the art is so simple– not just to match the original Casino Cups style, but just to tell a story that I hope would inspire and comfort others. Of course, I'm happy it gained lota of love.

The Osix Family though is a different story.

Like I said, it means a lot to me, so I put so much time and energy into this series. I sacrifice time that could've been used to study for the next exam, but instead im working on the next few panels or planning the music and etc. Blood sweat and tears (literally) into making sure the art looks good, story is properly conveyed, scenes carefully picked. Even if it gained me bad scores in my exams that made me stress over about, in the end it was worth it to me. I didn't care if I'd be sick an unable to move, as long as I could at least think about it, then I would be happy.

Episode 3 was my worst.

I overworked myself for that episode. I was always in front of my tablet, I never moved out of my seat, I was just there, working on it even if it was 1 in the morning and that I should be sleeping. I told myself: "Everything will pay off! Sure you're in so much pain right now, but eventually it will all pay off! Episode 3 is looking good and interesting! This will FINALLY gain the audience and love the story deserves!"

I was proud.

Until I wasn't.

Reality hit me like a saw. The moment the episode was released I was hopeful. But nothing happened. It was all the same.

And it just hurt how something as simple as Wilted Ivory can easily gain attention and love because it was Cuphead related something well known. Meanwhile, The Osix Family–despite everything–is just barely seen.

I started to doubt myself. To question myself. Was I not doing enough. What more can I do. What should I do. Am I not good enough?

Is the story just not good enough?

That broke me. I began to have thoughts I shouldn't have. I wanted to end it all. I wanted to quit and disappear from the world. Because what was the point in pouring so much love into something only for it to dismissed.

Its not like I simply began having these thoughts.

I've had them over and over again.

As much as I hated involving him, my partner, Alex, had to deal with the many times I nearly ended it. To the point where even if he was in school, he'd go out of his way to stop me, I still feel guilty, even if he said it was fine.

I don't understand myself anymore.

Why do I even have such an attachment to this series? Its just a stupid silly series for funsies isn't it? Why does my life to depend on it?

Unfortunately, it just does.

It sucks. Pushing away my needs for the sake of this passion, only for it to just not go as I hoped it would go. Did I mention I'm also losing followers on the osix family blog? Thats so silly and coquette.

I'm so sorry if im coming off as guilt-trippy, please I don't want it to sound that way, I just want to express how deeply troubled I am because to me it actually DOES HURT.

I envy people who couldn't give a flying fuck about whether or not their stuff goes famous or gets love, I don't even understand why I am so dependent or hungry on whatever attention it gets. I hate that im like this. I want to be free from it but I just crave it.

So, for the sake of my mental health and whatever is left of my sanity, im taking a break, for good.

I will not be updating The Osix Family or Wilted Ivory at this very moment. For how long? It depends on how fucked up I have actually turned out to be today.

I might still post, keyword: MIGHT, its not any update but to just simply draw for myself, but the chances of me posting anything is horribly low.

I'm going to focus on myself, my needs, and whatever makes me happy or have fun with.

To those who supported The Osix Family or even bothered to check it out: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

It means a lot to me, you have NO idea. Every single like, reblog, comment, hype or even the silliest amounts of theories or thoughts, they make me so happy, it actually heals me.

I can't remember names im sorry, but there was a time someone expressed how they were invested in the lore and loved the world building, it really made my day. Or when someone pointed out some small details on my waiting in a miracle animatic, it warmed my heart.

I have troubles expressing it, but im so, SO greatful.

Especially when some of my mutuals started making OCS FOR THE SERIES?? Like– it felt like a HUGE compliment.

I cant believe im tearing up as im typing this haha im so stupid lmao, but

Thank you. A lot.

And to those who weren't really into The Osix Family, its okay, don't feel bad, sometimes things are just not our cup of tea, I just needed to express my grief, cause honestly bottling it up isn't going to end well for me (and it really didn't multiple times).

I apologize for any false hope or let down your hype as Wilted Ivory was just starting and The Osix Family was finally coming back– but this treatment is overwhelming me that I need to take a step back.

That's all for now.

Thank you for... actually reading, you listening means a lot to me too.

Goodbye.

[galatur]

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but this video is junk science.

Ancient scripts are a magnet for decipherment attempts because people want the fame of recovering a lost language. Which is good! We've had some spectacular success stories in the last 150 years.

Unfortunately it also gets tangled up with nationalist politics, as people want to assert their own connection with great antiquity. For those reasons, Linear A has been "deciphered" dozens of times. Hurrian, Greek, Hungarian, and Tamil are particularly popular targets but there are plenty of others.

The frustrating reality is that we simply don't have enough Linear A text for a really solid decipherment. Especially because the evidence we do have suggests that it's not related to any known language.

You might think having too little data means no one could claim a decipherment it but it's kind of the reverse. Think of it this way: if there was only one sentence written in a particular language, you could translate it however you wanted and no one could prove you wrong. So infinite decipherments are possible. On the other hand if a lot of written texts survive, then your decipherment has to propose a meaning/sound for sign X that gives coherent meanings for all the texts where X occurs.

I think the giveaway here is that the ring text proposed meaning is borderline gibberish. Note that the brackets are inferred meanings not actually in the text. So: "shine and gleam down happy love every day". What on earth does that mean? Why would someone inscribe that on this very expensive and prestigious object?

Gold signet ring inscribed with Linear A writing, Minoan, 1700-1600 BC

from The Heraklion Archaeological Museum, Crete