#but i firmly believe that they still do that

[starstrucklucky]

The post text in case the link ever breaks.

The great Stop Fucking Him post

Mar. 4th, 2005 at 9:30 AM

Demure or something

This post won't be for everyone. If you're uncomfortable with hearty leftist political opinions, you might want to skip it. I've gone ahead and lj-cut it out of consideration for (a). people who'd rather pass on it and (b). people who are at work, and might prefer to skip repeated derivations of the word "fuck" in bold face type. That having been said, feel free to keep reading or move right along. I promise not to take it personally.

Edit: Yes, yes yes -- feel free to link

this wherever you like. I don't mind.

This is not about abortion.

If you read the article in its entirety, I think that much is obvious -- this is not about abortion. If this were about abortion -- specifically, about fewer abortions being performed -- then those interested in reducing that number would hop all over this bill. So I'll say it again, this is not about abortion.

This is about women having sex, and who gets to be in charge of that sex.

Well, really -- that's what it all comes down to, isn't it? At present, there is a movement in place to make sure that (to lift a phrase from Dan Savage) men have orgasms, and women have babies.

There are people in this world who very firmly believe that this is the natural order of things: men have orgasms, and women have babies. This is a sacred balance, whereby a man is made happy for two minutes and a woman spends the next nine months serving as host to a life-threatening parasite, then the next eighteen years held legally, morally, and fiscally responsible for the health and well-being of that parasite ... while the man is free to wander off or stick around at his leisure.

This is a balance that many, many people -- many of them in positions of power -- are willing to go to great lengths to enforce. Never mind that many (but not all) of these people are men, and are therefore unlikely to be held accountable for any parasite more complex than a tapeworm ... for some strange reason or reasons, these people want to make sure that it is very, very difficult for your average American woman to manage her reproductive system.

Most of the people who object to the wide, easy availability of birth control are men. These men have the luxury of assuming this position because they have no reason to believe that they, personally, have anything at stake. I find this baffling.

The solution is so obvious that it can be boiled down to three words: stop fucking them.

That's right. Stop fucking them.

If your man doesn't understand that if he's entitled to an orgasm, you're entitled to an unoccupied uterus -- stop fucking him. If he can't get it through his thick skull that his fleeting pleasure poses a mortal threat to you -- stop fucking him. No handjobs, no blowjobs, no orgasms for him whatsoever except by his own hand, until you can be completely assured of a baby-free future, at your discretion.

These men do not deserve access to your pants. Stop fucking them.

I don't know what you think you owe them, and I don't care how badly they whine or beg. I don't care if they're wonderful boyfriends otherwise. I don't care if you're married to them. Stop fucking them. It is still your body. It is still your call. Clearly, they do not understand this. So stop fucking them.

They will not die if you do not fuck them. Stop fucking them.

Remember: You can hold out longer than they can. I promise. Your sex toys are better,* your self-control is superior, and your stakes are higher. Stop fucking them. You deserve better. You deserve someone who is aware that your body is your domain, and who respects that. If he doesn't respect that, stop fucking him.

Just stop. Stop it. You deserve better, and he deserves a cold shower if he thinks he is entitled to control over your vagina and how you manage its daily operation. Stop fucking him if he thinks that someone other than you should determine what hangs around inside you. Stop fucking him, because he would sooner masturbate with a corkscrew than let you dictate how he receives his prostate exams.

Stop fucking him if he refers to birth control as your problem, then helps vote in legislation that makes it your really big fucking problem. Stop fucking him if he thinks that your inability to prevent conception should in no way prevent him from having sex with you.

It's not that complicated.

Stop fucking him.

Stop it. Seriously.

Christ.

* And illegal in some states. Coincidence? I think not.

Attn: conservative men

[xinganhao]

🧵 minghao x translator!reader.

the one where minghao falls for the group's translator ☆ some accompanying texts for my minghao birthday fic, lost in translation. sent over a span of nine years. excerpt under the cut. happy minghao day! 𓇢𓆸

⌗ ┆i published eight days worth of minghao content leading up to his birthday a.k.a the(8) days of minghao, and this verse is the conclusion! i'm happy so share an excerpt from my monster of a fic [which is also admittedly an origin story for my username lol]. happy myungho day. <3

The words stay unspoken. The red thread of fate, the one that Minghao so firmly believes in, draws out for another moment more.  

As you go to shoot back some drinks with your team, Mingyu sidles up to Minghao's side. The older man presses a sweating bottle of beer into Minghao's hand.  

"Still not tonight, huh?" Mingyu asks with no shortage of amusement.  

The beer in his hand is cold enough that it would be a little uncomfortable to hold onto if Minghao weren't so used to it, but he simply wraps his fingers around the bottle and takes a half-hearted sip from it.  

His lips purse as he hears Mingyu's question, a frown crossing his face.  

"No. We didn't talk about anything," he says, somewhat regretfully, because tonight just felt like it could have been the right night to say something. To finally admit how he feels, to finally ask what he wants to ask.  

And maybe you would deny him, tell him that you just wanted to be his friend, but he'd take it. He'd take anything if it meant he could stay in your life—  

Or maybe you'd even say yes, and he could finally have a chance to prove himself to you.  

"Are you going to try again tomorrow?" Mingyu asks, taking a sip of his own beer, his eyebrows raising a little.  

Another sigh falls from Minghao's lips and he nods, his gaze softening as he looks in your direction, watching you smile in spite of the way he aches to be by your side.  

"Of course I'm going to try again tomorrow," he whispers, and he'll do that for the rest of his life if he has to.  

FULL FIC:

COLLECTION:

[tricktster]

Hey so I just voted, and friendly reminder to my fellow Americans that it’s your civic right (and frankly duty) to do so as well, and I GET it if you’re not crazy about your presidential options but as a utilitarian I firmly believe that if you have a choice between a cookie and an endless stream of diarrhea going in your mouth, you pick the cookie even if you don’t like the flavor because if you choose nothing that’s one less vote against a eternal mouth full of diarrhea.

If I wasn’t perfectly clear before, in this analogy, Donald J. Trump is the diarrhea.

Also holy shit downballot is so important too, and roughly half of the people down ballot are all in on Team Diarrhea, which manifests in the usual book banning, gay bashing, irrational hatred towards anyone outside a particular demographic white Christian nationalism you’d expect from them, but specifically localized in your home town. Don’t lose your chance to vote against that bullshit through inaction.

Anyway, I moved counties in September back to the county I’ve always been registered in, and when I went to check where my polling place was yesterday, I noticed my voter status was listed as inactive. You know, the thing we kept being told to check so we had time to reregister back in October that I totally failed to do. But you’ll notice I still started this post with “I just voted.” That’s because I picked up the phone, called my Board of Elections, asked what to do, and was instructed to vote by affidavit - in practice, that just meant filling out another form to say I’d moved and this was my new address etc at my polling place and then voting like normal.

In conclusion, if you noticed something was up with your registration and you’re a last minute Linda like me, maybe even a procrastinating Polly, it’s probably not too late to fix it. Call your Board of Elections, ask them what needs to happen to vote, and then go do the damn thing. It’s annoying, it’s time consuming, but you’d take a few hours out of your day if it meant helping ensure that you and your loved ones don’t have an endless stream of diarrhea shooting into your mouths, right?

Please.

[severinageto]

When the night stripped him of his leader’s attire, when the day began to sleep, and when stillness reigned around him, Suguru always returned to the same photographs. Like every hipster teenager of the 2000s, the curse manipulator had his analog camera. A Zenit E, to be precise. Always by his side, it was his faithful companion through countless journeys around the world that his strange and curious profession took him on. Well, the camera and…him.

“A photographer is nothing without his muse,” Satoru would say flirtatiously, posing casually, his head resting on his hands, his long legs stretching nearly the full length of the bench, and his lashes, violet curtains shielding the depth of that gaze from any unworthy mortal.

Suguru lit a cigarette and studied that photograph intently. Summer or…spring? His mind blurred the intensity of the sunlight that reflected, scorching and fierce, in those eyes.

He sighed. It couldn’t be any other way, because Suguru firmly believed that Satoru’s eyes were the most captivating and bewildering thing about him. With a blue so intense it seemed to defy the laws of nature, they had an almost supernatural glow, as if they held a fragment of the sky itself or of some impossible ocean. When he looked at them up close, Suguru felt he could get lost in them—no, he could drown in them, as if those two blue abysses could pull him into another world, one where time stopped, and only they existed, sharing a truth that only their gazes could express.

“Come on, Suguru. Is it that hard to click?” Satoru would say, feigning annoyance, while he watched with satisfaction the lovestruck look his best friend wore behind the lens.

“The hard part is something else,” Suguru would mutter, trying to focus on that small pair of galaxies.

Inhale. Exhale. The smoke drifting toward those impossible eyes that stared back from the worn-out paper.

He held the photo up to the light as he lay back. There was something deeply seductive in the way Satoru looked at him, with that blend of curiosity and certainty, as if he didn’t need to say a word to make Suguru feel understood and, at the same time, completely exposed. It was a disarming gaze, light and playful on the surface, but with a latent intensity only Suguru could recognize. In those moments, when their eyes met and Satoru gave him one of those glances, part teasing, part serious, Suguru felt he could see him as he truly was, beneath all his jokes and arrogance: vulnerable, filled with secrets and shared dreams.

Someone only he could truly know.

“Come on, what could be so difficult?” Satoru would ask, opening one of his countless candies. “Do you need my help?” He would chuckle, moving closer to Suguru’s lens.

Suguru swallowed. Satoru knew exactly what he was doing. Satoru, just as he had the first time Suguru saw him, was mesmerizing him with the colors of his irises.

Clicking his tongue, Suguru set the photograph aside. It no longer made sense to think about it. He was there, and he was here. There was a reason, a purpose. No, it was best not to look at it again.

But his eyes couldn’t resist their blue call. He was always astonished by the stubbornness of those eyes, which seemed to shift hues with every emotion. Windows to an unknown universe, they could be mysterious and vibrant, yet also warm when his pupils dilated slightly, reflecting an immense affection. He knew most people felt intimidated by the intensity of that gaze, but to him, it was his refuge, his safe place.

“The hard part is capturing them,” he murmured, as his finger clicked to capture the moment.

“Why, Suguru?” Gojo whispered, pressing his unforgiving face even closer.

Suguru of that time hadn’t answered him. He couldn’t find the words. But ten years later, a longing leader caressed what remained of an image as fleeting as that spring.

“Because, beneath all your energy,” he murmured, recalling those two daring teenagers, “you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.”

And in those moments, Suguru understood why those eyes, beyond their beauty, were the most captivating thing about him.

🧿🧿🧿-🧿🧿🧿

Art by instagram.com/may_illustman

[majinbangus]

Gonna sound weird but can you do something where after soap gets shot him and the reader meet up again during that and the reader sees his arm wound and licks at the blood. She doesn’t have to be a vampire but she just happens to be a little weird.

doesn't sound weird, nonnie, i like this a lot! i actually had a similar thought here (our brains must be on the same wavelength ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)) and another one where soap licked up reader's blood here

》 18+

He's not a medic, but he's pretty sure—given common sense and his basic first aid training—that wounds are typically cleaned with an antiseptic of some kind. So to say he is a little caught off guard to your unique approach is an understatement. In all his experiences with wounds and getting them treated, never has he experienced a more unorthodox method of cleaning them.

"Uh, lass?" His voice is unintentionally raspy, Scottish brogue a little bit thicker, but he can't help it. Not with you doing what you're doing. Soap doesn't blink as he stares at you, swallowing thickly. The muscles in his bicep spasm, but it has nothing to due with the bullet wound he suffered from. He's barely aware of it. "What're y'doin'?"

You don't answer him right away, too focused on your task, eyes closed and cold fingers holding his warm forearm to keep him still. The caress of your tongue, wet and warm, dragging against his skin and lapping up rivulets of blood is something he never knew he needed to feel. He can't look away from the intense concentration on your face, unaffected by the taste of iron, nose not even crinkling in disgust. He feels a little twitch in his pants.

When you pull away, the look on your face doesn't help the sudden tightness pressing against his zipper. You look beautiful. Chin and lips smeared lightly with his blood, you appear almost drunk, the adorable drowsy blink doing nothing but enhancing your intoxicated appearance.

"Sorry." You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and suck it into your mouth to lick it clean. "I know we gotta meet up with Ghost soon, but that looks like it hurts. Hope you don't mind I cleaned it a little; I know it's still kinda messy, but I don't have anything to wipe it with."

"It's okay," He croaks weakly, doing his damnedest to ignore the raging hard on in his pants. "I don't even feel it."

"You sure?" You squint at him as if you don't believe it, but it's true.

He's too high strung on the phantom feeling of your tongue on his skin. On the near blissed-out look you had after tasting him. He wonders if that's how you look when you—

Soap clears his throat and gives you a tight smile, resisting the urge to adjust himself and firmly keeps both hands planted at his side as he stares at the blood still smudged on your face, imagining a more milky white color to the fluid. "I'm sure."

[star2fishmeg]

more luke x inexperienced reader thoughts/situations please😩😩😩 you just capture it so well

The second his tongue flicked over your clit you were gone. But he was sweet, instantly pulling back when you gasped and jolted onto your elbows, telling him to let you have a few seconds before you both started and your reassurance that it was just a new kind of bliss soothed his nerves. After all, as he'd said, if you wanted to stop, all you had to do was tell him to stop and he would. He couldn't fathom why no man had ever wanted to go down on you, if your lips tasted so sweet and addicting, your words heart-throbbing and your heart so warm it challenged the purpose of the fireplace, Luke believed that the rest of you was just as exquisite.

Now he's devouring you like he's been starved for months. One thigh over his shoulder, hand flat on your lower stomach where his thumb settles above your throbbing clit, ready to pull those whines from you when you're suppressing them. His lips run along the inside of your other, long fingers firmly holding it open to allow his tongue to run over the purple bruises littered over the soft skin, kissing them tenderly as if he'd left them to mark his territory.

He presses his lips to one of the larger hickeys, closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale, his eyelashes fluttering over your nerves, sending those little bursts of ecstasy to your stomach.

"All mine, all fuckin' mine," he murmurs lowly into your skin, voice husky and you watch him visibly exhale and turn back to your pussy, eyes slowly opening to become half-lidded and his breathing tickles over your clit. He's thriving in the way your chest rises and falls deeply, still catching your breath from how he's already run his tongue through you. "You wanna keep going?"

"Yeah...please." You nod, your voice airy and quiet.

The pad of his thumb circles your clit, eyes burning into yours reassuringly as he lowers lips into your folds, eventually breaking the contact to bury his face and lap at your arousal, hot tongue licking through your folds languidly, "No one's gonna know how fuckin' delectable you are, taste like heaven."

His voice vibrates, and you lull your head back, your mouth falling open as if you've lost the ability to control the muscle. Luke removes his thumb and lets his nose bump your bundle of nerves rhythmically. You let little elongated whimpers slip from your throat, hands balling into fists as you adjust on your elbows.

"You like that?" Luke looks up, curls almost shading his eyes, "Baby I can stop, just tell me you wanna stop and I'll-,"

"-Don't stop! God, don't stop," you desperately interrupt with the deep-rooted lust you've been pushing down breaking through, "feels so fuckin' good, Lu,"

He nods and his head dips again, lips pressing against your clit tenderly and sucking, finding pleasure in your wanton moans that ring through his ears.

"Make such pretty noises," you feel his smirk against your cunt, "can't hear you, baby, you're allowed to enjoy it."

And gradually, with every lap your whining becomes louder, needier, freakier until you aren't holding back anymore, especially when his tongue slips deeper inside of you. Your fingers slide into his curls automatically, tugging harshly a heat surges through you, sweat forming on the back of your neck and the sight of him between your thighs, nodding as his hand presses down on your stomach, suddenly creates a tightness inside.

"Do that again, fuck, please." Luke's voice breaks your trance.

"Huh?" you pant.

"Pull my hair again, like when you do that, doesn't hurt m'kay." He rasps before returning to plunging his tongue inside your pussy insatiably.

So, you do. You tug, pull, grip, let your nails rake through his scalp and you push his head further into you and he's relishing in every second of it, his hips rutting into his own mattress to give his dick some sort of friction. You can't believe that you probably would have never known this kind of paradise if it wasn't for Luke. It's his favourite place to hide, to refuge and if you tasted bad, he wouldn't be so close to pulling an orgasm from you.

Throwing your head back with a lazy smile, you close your other thigh around his head, "Yours, all yours, Lu, feel s'good."

"Mhm, pretty pussy's all mine."

He's right. The first and last man to ever taste you, make you ascend with just his tongue alone and God, you could die like this, and you wouldn't be mad. Luke, the only man to have your arousal and cum drip from his face shamelessly, beg for more, a round two on the first time.

[zenithofstories]

i didn't do a post last week cause i didn't have many thoughts; it was a pretty chill session. people got frustrated about the food situation and they set up bases *shrugs*

But this week...

snail week was fucking crazy

-first of all; Etho and Tango's predictions that the session would have seven deaths and end with three people on yellow—lolololoollolololol. three people on red and who knows how many deaths total. Jimmy died four times in the first like ten minutes 😭😭😅 also, how many individual times did Skizz turn red? three? in one session? hilarious

-the snails put them all in such peril that for the most part, they forgot who their allies and enemies were and just talked to everyone and anyone, sharing info. Tango and Joel, Tango and Skizz (admittedly after Skizz killed Tango), Skizz and Scar, Grian and Jimmy (Jimmy just straight up warned Grian that his snail was coming mid argument), Tango and Joel and Gem, Bdubs complimenting Skizz for his kill on Tango. And everyone just mourning everyone who died, even if they should have been rejoicing. They all just forgot they were playing a death game

-Martyn, Mumbo, Jimmy and Scott recognised the 'theory' or 'thought experiment' (meme lol). (i'm pretty sure Lizzie recognised it too, she just didn't want to say it so explicitly) Now we know who our meme lords are 🤣 (plus Grian chose the wildcard 😂) (the complete contrast to Etho who just let it walk right up to him lol) (and Jimmy who let it walk right up to him and then recognised it 😭😅)

-Pearl has an interesting habit of dying early each session and discovering wildcard mechanics in the process, helping her team to survive. I firmly believe that Jimmy still has the canary curse, but Pearl appears to be the wildcard canary

-we got this season's (first??) Tango Rage™ and it was because Scar burnt down his base lol. fork found in kitchen

-a whole lotta shitty assassination attempts lolololol. Skizz vs Impulse and Big B with the cobwebs without any snails close by, Jimmy trying to blow up a light green (illegal) and putting Skizz on red (very illegal), Ren vs Impulse (which was admittedly successful but only just, and didn't follow the plan), Skizz chasing Lizzie down, Bdubs trying desperately to convince Gem and Joel to sacrifice themselves to their snails so they would know their names, Jimmy trying to set Scott's snail on fire, Jimmy with all his tnt minecarts, probably more i've forgotten

-also a few pretty good ones, to be fair. Impulse distracting Etho from the creeper, Skizz vs Tango, Skizz chasing Scar into an underwater ravine, Scar and Jimmy drowning Bdubs' snail in a hole so he had to get close to free it,

-everyone just loved their snails lol. a bunch of people said they would miss their snails, and called them cute. Tango was overjoyed that his said 'yahoo' and stated it could kill him any time lol. (admittedly a few {Ren, Bdubs} called theirs freaks)

-i really love this series. i love when people are obviously having fun, and I love the sound of laughter. This series is honestly one of the most fun things on the internet. Joel's giggle especially is fantastic

-Lizzie: "i better not walk off a cliff in f5 mode. rookie mistake" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I can't tell if that was shade for Scar's first death or just a coincidence 🤣🤣

-so many snail cams 😂

-Skizz had better get credited for Scar drowning; it didn't register automatically and i desperately hope that they don't forget to give him a life for that. he totally killed Scar

-Grian, Mumbo and Lizze with absolute mega amounts of courage (or stupidity) and going underground. like just incredibly dangerous adventures to go where they have so little options for escape. massive respect for all three of them. also Martyn and Etho going to the nether to be fair

-the plot to turn snails invisible was so devious, and i'm so glad it worked, but pretty sad it happened to be Scar's. Ren should still get the credit for it though

-we ended the session with three people on red: Skizz, Scar and Tango, and four people on yellow: Ren, Jimmy, Pearl and Mumbo. i desperately desperately hope that no one gets eliminated next week. four episodes would be a devastatingly short season.

-Joel's shock at all the deaths was pretty funny lol

-Joel and Lizzie organised a meet-cute for their snails?? omfg!

-the snails are voiced by Oli (theOrionSound)? 😂 lololololololoolol

-i hope y'all have seen @rusty-courage's in a Nutshell this week; it's the cutest thing i have ever seen and perfectly encapsulates the vibes of the session

-hilarious how much Bdubs regrets the 'tuff guys' bit

-Martyn referring to Joel's 'forty-second obsidian' 🤣🤣🤣

-the family-friendly insults are great 😂 'jerk' is always fun, and Pearl's 'stinky butt' is hilarious

-the G's racing their snails up bam mountain was pretty funny

-Pearl saying 'i can see your sparkles, sir' and Ren not being able to help laughing. my beloveds

-Poor Jimmy is so determined to win, or at least break the canary curse, and he was so disappointed when he died so many times. he almost rage quit when the second creeper blew him up 😭

so i've just finished watching all the first episodes, so i wanted to give my thoughts on the first Wild Life session:

-so much fun i love it so much. i'm so glad they're all still having fun and continuing the series, and that Mumbo and Lizzie came back, despite dying early in Secret Life (i was a tiny bit worried they might get a bit dejected and pass on this one). also thrilled Ren is able to play this time; he's a blast

-there is a lot of mistrust going around which is very curious to me. most of it stems from previous seasons and has no bearing on what was happening at the time. Pearl straight up telling Cleo she expected her to betray her; Mumbo and Skizz not trusting Martyn, and then Grian; and then not trusting that Martyn just wanted to use their enchanter; the huge immediate aggression towards Scar when he came out of the mountain into Grian, Skizz and Mumbo's base; Mumbo not trusting Skizz (his teammate!) when he asked for someone to pass him a diamond; Scott, Cleo, Pearl and Impulse assuming Joel stole their cows, probably more i'm forgetting. it's definitely obvious to me that these people have learnt how the games work and learnt from the pain (as we do). i'm very curious to see if the general server mistrust grows, and the impact it has on everyone and the people

-i love JImmy, Big B, Lizzie and Ren forming a dnd party and Ren (in true bardic fashion) has a guitar within reach and is willing to break into song at the first campsite (this honestly might be my favourite moment from all the life series at the moment. the guitar within reach, Ren's beautiful voice, how much the others thought it was great. fantastic vibes all around)

-i really want Scar and Martyn to team up. they are both instantly mistrusted, to the point that both of them (in their first episodes, no less) expressed that if people are going to treat them like a villain, then they may as well act like it. if the two of them team up to take revenge on everyone being mean to them in a new series i think they would be a force to be reckoned with

-Skizz and Mumbo is a fantastic team-up. both very genuine people who are so funny together

-i hope they get the lag fixed, or that it was just from the size-changing mod and they don't have to deal with it for the rest of the series

-Gem and Joel's partnership - in the early days Gem is going to be a fantastic counterbalance for Joel; help keep him calmer and curb his wild ideas. But once Gem gives in to her own urges... oh boy

-does Big B know that he can go caving with people? cause he seemed to be under the impression that he had to get geared out before he could make friends and it would suck if he ended up alone all the time because it hasn't occurred to him that he can go caving with people right at the start

-double life thought: i know most people count Pearl as the winner, but did Scott technically win as well? cause they were the last pair alive, and died in the same tick. it probably doesn't matter at all, but i wonder about it sometimes (especially in how it would affect Martyn's lore but that's not canon)

-i don't think Jimmy has broken the canary curse. i subscribe to the theory that cause Lizzie died in the End, the Watchers weren't able to perceive it and then he was the first to die in the Overworld (i'm not counting Real Life as canon; it happened and i enjoyed it but it wasn't a full series and they were deliberately playing it silly as an april fool's joke. very glad that Cleo won though. hope they get a full series win as well)

-i'm glad that Tango and Skizz (deliberately) didn't team together, but i kinda wish Tango had ended up in a different group. him, Etho and Bdubs are fun, don't get me wrong, but a whole lot of the fun of the series is seeing people interact and work with people they don't usually. Tango and Jimmy was a top tier pairing in Double Life, and Tango is hilarious. i would love to see him branch out more and work with some more people

-there is more than just the wild card. Grian said he wasn't going to explain it, and i didn't notice anything else happening (but i'm also not expecting it to be much until they get to the late game). i think that there will be a wild card that affects the players, and then also something that affects the world? we'll see, i guess

-now that everyone who has played is playing (i'm pretty sure? if i've forgotten someone i'm gonna be sad) who is gonna sub in if needed?

-i love Mumbo's "that was sub-one intelligence mate" when they all fell 🤣

-i'm not sure what the purpose of including the creakings or whatever they're called? nevermind i just looked it up and they're going to be in the game at some point. weird. i'm not sure how i feel about creakings coming to minecraft though

-very glad they've got six lives this time. it will both allow them to not worry so much about mistakes and accidents (as evidenced by Pearl) and encourage them to take risks, which will be fantastic

[stoopidpigeonxx]

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝑶 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑴𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏. ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

CAPTAIN CURLY SMUT HEADCANNONS !! NSFW under the cut. MDNI.

(These are all completely random, not tied to any prompt. I just want more stuff about this guy cuz I love him) Fandom/characters: Mouthwashing, Captain Curly, other characters briefly mentioned.

Content warning: Smut (obviously), p in v, curlys packing, title kink, thigh-riding, face-sitting, size difference, manhandling, reader is AFAB, creampie, multiple rounds, riding, cursing, J*mmy.

-He's a grower, not a shower.

I firmly believe Curly is a distinguished gentleman, unlike J*mmy who would most likely brag about how big he is and end up only being like, 5 or 6 inches. Curly, however, will not mention his size until you see it for yourself. And when he sees your face, he panics. "Oh-shit, uh- i-is it gonna be too big for you? It's okay if it is, I should've warned you.."

He's four inches soft, uncut. I think he keeps himself decently groomed. He's not completely bare, but it isn't a forest. He's got a little v-line that's only visible when he wears sweatpants that you go absolutely feral over. When he gets hard, whoo boy. 9 inches, throbbing. He's got a cute little vein near his tip that you like to attack when you're sucking him off because it makes his thighs shake. He's got a little bit of a mushroom tip, maybe more rounded. Perfect for hitting all those good spots inside you. In short, he's big. (he tucks it, that's why he doesn't have a bulge in his sprites. Also I'm sorry trans-Curly headcannon people ;-;)

-"Need a seat? I'll volunteer."

VEEEEEERRRYYY into face-sitting. Very. Like, the first thing he wants when you guys get freaky is for you to sit on his face. He's not exactly sure why he likes it, to be honest, he just loves the feeling of you absolutely lose yourself on his tongue. He isn't worried about suffocating or anything, since he's a lot bigger than you, so don't be afraid to ride his face! he can handle it! But seriously, use this guy as a seat. He'd give you a few licks up your slit at first to warm you up (again, gentleman) before going for your clit. And when he gets it, he sucks. Hard. He'd also probably sneak a finger or two inside you to add extra stimulation, because he really wants you to come on his face. He desperately yearns for the sound of you screaming his name as your juices cover his face and tongue, letting you ride your orgasm out before lifting you off his face and setting you down. "Alright, sweet-stuff, my turn. On your knees, please."

-Save a Polle, ride his big ass thighs.

So... we've all seen his sprite. He's thick as fuck. He's got a booty and bigger tits than me. But he also has deliciously large thighs.. so use that to your advantage, because he's totally down with it. He likes using it as foreplay to get you wet enough to take him, and he just likes the feeling. He'll probably give himself a hand while you're doing it, or he'll just watch and leave the touching to you.

He isn't much for public sex, but if you're really horny, he'll let you get high on his thigh over his uniform and gently praise you when you come. It gives him a little buzz to be doing something like that in a risky situation, like while he's in the cockpit sitting at the control panel, or even in the commons of the ship with Daisuke in a few rooms away. When you do come, which isn't that long after, he'll kiss you all over your face and head and twirl your hair in his fingers, using his other hand to rub your ass or back.

"There you go, sweetheart, that's a good girl. Good job."

-Sir yes sir.

I know, I know. He gets called 'Captain' and 'Sir' for his job. But if its coming from you when he's balls deep in you.. It's an entirely different reaction.

"D-did.. you just call me- mgh..- Captain?"

It makes him ferociously horny to hear that title slip from your lips, so pray you'll still walk tomorrow. "Ooh, fuck, yeahhh. Call me that again, baby. Call me that again.. Uh-huh. Captain takin' care of this pretty lil' pussy, huh.."

He doesn't dirty talk that explicitly, but you calling him captain gets his creative juices flowing. Oh, also his come. Yeah..

Its also perfect teasing material. You two couldn't even be getting it on, you'd just sneak up behind him and kiss him on the cheek and say "Morning, Captain!" In that tone you know drives him wild. Boom, hard. Poor guy.

-Yeehaw!

favorite position? Cowgirl. For many reasons. One, he loves looking at your face while you ride his cock. The noises, the facial expressions you make, the way your tits bounce up and down with your hips.. He wishes it was a renaissance painting to look at every morning. He also just likes being able to hold you easily. When you're on his lap, its easier for him to snake a hand up and hold your hair out of your face, or to give your ass gentle love taps (he would never spank you, unless asked to). He's a very hands-on guy and wants to touch you, everywhere he can.

Of course, he doesn't mind the occasional doggy, or missionary, or hell, even a Full Nelson, because you KNOW he's able to hold you like that. Manhandling comes naturally with Curly. Gently, of course. He would never hurt you.

-Gets a little messy.

Curly's no one pump chump. He'll go for hours. Even if he's came inside you at least five times, he'll keep going. He's got hella impressive stamina. His motivation? Seeing your cunt leaking his seed when he pulls out. He wants you to still find it in your underwear 3 days later. No hole goes unfilled. He's not exactly a breeder, per-say, though he definitely wouldn't complain about getting you pregnant, he just likes seeing you in a state. He thinks of it as artwork, leaving you so stuffed to the brim. The next day, he'd pull you aside and give you a quick finger-orgasm, just to see if his come's still in there. When it leaks onto his fingers along with your own, he's a very happy man. "Ahh, look at that. Still got it in ya. Should fill you up even more later, hm?"

oof. my hands hurt. ;-;

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obsolete

cw: nsfw themes/implications, abuse, manipulation, fear, brief emeto mention, choking. (this chapter can be skipped without losing out on plot, it's a bit heavy)

previous // T$$ Masterlist

~ ~ ~

Sahota slouches on the bed, both feet planted firmly on the tile floor as if that’s enough to keep him tethered, keep his thoughts from drifting too far. He holds the gag in both hands, turning it over and over and over, watching the metal sections that make up most of its structure catch the light. 

He doesn't know long Harbor had been there when he arrived, already shaking from the stress on his body, tension to his shoulders and core brought on by the heavy leather cuffs that secured him to the foot of the bed.

He'd tried to pull away when Sahota knelt to remove the gag.

“F-fuck off.”

“This isn't what you want, Harbor.”

“It's what Vic wants.”

He'd cursed and insulted and tried to elicit a reaction that wasn't get out from him, but in the end he'd left.

“You're jealous,” he'd spat as Sahota closed the door behind him. There was something desperate in his tone, like he hoped if he said it with enough fervor he'd believe it, like he wished a rivalry was the only thing to worry about.

Like he was willing to thrust his hand into a fire just to feel the warmth. 

“You're just fucking jealous.”

He isn't. Is he? Jealous is too simple a way of putting it. He wants Vic's gaze to linger on him the way it does Harbor, he wants the idle touches as they pass in the hall, the I'm proud of you's and I know you can do it's.

He needs his attention as much as he loathes it.

Shouldn't he be grateful his master's lust is being directed elsewhere? 

Doesn't it mean he isn't enough anymore? What then? If Vic is finally tired of him, what does that mean? Will he be thrown out, abandoned? Or will he become another loose end that needs to be tied up?

It felt like that during their mock interrogation. It's been months since he's seen Vic that angry, much less at him, he's been far too careful for that. He never should've tried, never should've given the others the hope that they could take an alternate path. He's the reason they're trying to salvage control, he's the reason Vic’s tightening his fist around them.

If he hadn't gone behind his back with the challenge, would they have been allowed to to go after Manak?

Would Manak even be lost in the first place?

Sahota can't fight a grimace. He's learned this lesson a thousand times over already; he should know better. 

You can't say no to Vic.

He knows that, knows the consequences, and yet here he is. He can only hope it won't be Harbor that suffers for it.

The handle turns. Sahota half expects it to be the belligerent trainee, back with more choice words and arguments. When the door reveals Vic, a part of him wants to curl up and hide, reduced once again to a terrified kid who should fucking know better.

He wants to shrink under Vic’s gaze as they meet eyes, silence drawing out between them, but he doesn’t, instead stiffening his spine against the fear that curdles in his stomach, instead daring to open his mouth.

“How long would you have left him here?” A safe enough place to start. Not an accusation, He lets his hands fall into his lap, the gag still held between them. 

Vic leans against the doorframe, arms crossing his chest. “Would've been going on six hours now, if you hadn't cut him loose.”

“Six hours,” Sahota repeats flatly.

“I've kept you for thrice that.”

“He isn't me.”

“And you hate that, don't you?” He pushes himself up from the wall, moving into the room, closing in. “Why? I know you don't care for him.”

Because Vic always knows everything, because Sahota can never hide things from him. He doesn’t care for Harbor. He doesn’t let himself care for anyone these days. Still, under the envy and the fear there’s a stark horror at the thought that someone else will take his place, will suffer as Vic's plaything, will render him pointless.

“Am I not enough for you?” he says.

Vic clicks his tongue, cupping Sahota’s cheek with a warm hand. “Is that what you're afraid of, little spy? Being replaced?”

Yes. No. “Why do you want him?”

“He's a flashy thing. Caught my eye.” Vic chuckles. “So desperate for any human interaction he'd disembowel himself for a pat on the head.”

Is that what it comes down to? Another person for Vic to hurt, another body in his control. He shakes his head. “Vic—”

He's silenced with a kiss. There's something foreign in it. A new excitement, amusement that he cares about this, that he's scared.

“He won't replace you. He'd make a good dog though, don't you think?” He nuzzles into Sahota's neck. “Once you warm up to the idea, maybe I'll even let you play with him.”

Sahota jerks away, a breath lodging in his throat. He couldn't, he couldn’t. The idea of Vic dragging Harbor into this stings enough. The thought of playing along—of holding the younger man down, hurting him, controlling him—is too much to hold. He wants to throw up.

“Is that a no?”

“Whatever you want to do to him, you know I can take,” Sahota says, his voice low and insistent. He’s nearly pleading. He doesn’t know why he’s pleading for this.

It should feel good, shouldn't it? To know he may never again take the brunt of Vic's affections, to be elevated to a place of control.

It doesn't. It burns like bile.

“I know.” Vic’s hand strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip. “When's the last time you cried for me?” It seems more a musing than a question he wants answered, but even if it were, Sahota doesn’t think he can speak to it.

He can’t remember the last time himself.

No, that's not true. Just days ago, he was crying, but not for Vic. It feels like such a potent secret he’s nearly purged it from his mind, and now he's afraid his master will see it on his face, the weakness he dared to show to these outsiders.

Ander, my name is Ander.

His own words echo back to him in a way that makes him shudder. By some stroke of luck, Vic doesn't notice, his eyes on the gag in Sahota's lap.

His hand falls away from his face, and he fixes him with a searching gaze. “Are you afraid he makes you obsolete?”

Sahota drops his eyes. “I… Yes.” It seems too simple an answer, but it’s the easiest explanation. One that might satisfy Vic.

“And you’d prefer it if I left him alone?” He tips his chin up with a finger. “If it stays just you and me?”

“Yes.” His answer is quieter this time. Vic hmms, and the silence seems to stretch for a long moment, every wordless breath drawing more fear into Sahota, pulling tension into his body. Then, Vic suddenly pushes him back onto the mattress, one hand curling in his hair, the other cupping his chin as he kisses him, hot and fierce. Sahota returns the kiss until he’s breathless.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeys without much thought. It’s been a while since Vic’s tied him up for this. Months, at least. Silky rope winds around his wrists, and then he’s rolled onto his back, heart hammering with anticipation. There’s fear there too, but he tries to shove it down. Isn’t this what he wants? Isn’t this what he just begged for?

He opens his mouth to say something, but Vic’s hands shoot out, locking around his throat, squeezing, cutting off air. Panic floods through him, but he has Vic's touch memorized. His body knows not to respond, to take it, no matter how much his mind wants to rebel.

“What if I did want to replace you, Ander?”

Sahota’s eyes widen at the words, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. His body spasms from the lack of air, heels digging into the mattress, but Vic doesn't let up.

“What if I am tired of you, hm? What can you do about it?”

His wrists burn, the rope digging into them as his arms shake involuntarily, reaching to remove the pressure. No… No, he can’t mean it, Vic can’t mean it, he’s his. He’s been his for twelve years, he can’t just be replaced, he can’t just let the fucking cycle start all over again. Tears sting his eyes but refuse to shed, his mouth opening wide, making soundless pleas.

It can’t end this way, it can’t end this way, Vic, sir, Shepard, please—

“You are everything I made you. Without me, you'd be nothing. If I want someone new, you'd better just be fucking grateful you still have a seat at the table.”

His lungs burn, body shuddering, vision blackening at the corners, closing in—

—And then Vic’s hands relax, slipping away from his throat. The spy gasps for breath, rolling onto his side and curling his knees in, unsure whether he’s shaking from the lack of air or the sheer fear, the knowledge that Vic could’ve done it, would've done it. He would’ve done it and not even batted an eye.

He's not allowed to hold the thought for long before Vic seizes him by the hair, jerking him into a half-sitting position, his face stony and empty when the spy looks up at him through blurring vision.

Something almost like satisfaction crosses his master’s face.

“There's the tears.”

~

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden ,

@snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes ,

@clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000 , @neverthelass

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 5 EPISODE 12 || NEVER MY LOVE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“I have lived through a fucking world war,” I said, my voice low and venomous. “I have lost a child. I have lost two husbands. I have starved with an army, been beaten and wounded, been patronized, betrayed, imprisoned, and attacked.

And I have fucking survived!”

My voice was rising, but I was helpless to stop it. “And now should I be shattered because some wretched, pathetic excuses for men stuck their nasty little appendages between my legs and wiggled them?!” I stood up, seized the edge of the washstand and heaved it over, sending everything flying with a crash—basin, ewer, and lighted candlestick, which promptly went out. “Well, I won’t,” I said quite calmly. “Nasty little appendages?” he said, looking rather stunned. “Not yours,” I said. “I didn’t mean yours. I’m rather fond of yours.” Then I sat down and burst into tears. His arms came round me, slowly and gently. I didn’t startle or jerk away, and he pressed my head against him, smoothing my damp, tangled hair, his fingers catching in the mass of it.

“Christ, ye are a brave wee thing,” he murmured.

“Not,” I said, eyes closed. “I’m not.”

I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes as I did so. I brushed my battered mouth across his knuckles, blind. They were swollen, as bruised as mine; I touched my tongue to his flesh, tasted soap and dust and the silver taste of scrapes and gashes—marks left by bones and broken teeth. Pressed my fingers to the veins beneath the skin of wrist and arm, softly resilient, and the solid lines of the bones beneath. I felt the tributaries of his veins, wished to enter into his bloodstream, travel there, dissolved and bodiless, to take refuge in the thick-walled chambers of his heart. But I couldn’t. I ran my hand up his sleeve, exploring, clinging, relearning his body. I touched the hair in his oxter and stroked it, surprised at the soft, silky feel of it. “Do you know,” I said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever touched you there before?” “I dinna believe ye have,” he said, with a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “I would ha’ remembered. Oh!” A stipple of gooseflesh burst out over the soft skin there, and I pressed my forehead to his chest. “The worst of it is,” I said, into his shirt, “that I knew them. Each one of them. And I’ll remember them. And feel guilty that they’re dead, because of me.”

“No,” he said softly, but very firmly. “They are dead because of me, Sassenach. And because of their own wickedness. If there is guilt, let it rest upon them. Or on me.” “Not on you alone,” I said, my eyes still closed. It was dark in there, and soothing. I could hear my voice, distant but clear, and wondered dimly where the words were coming from.

“You’re blood of my blood, bone of my bone. You said so. What you do rests on me, as well.” “Then may your vow redeem me,” he whispered.

He lifted me to my feet and gathered me to him, like a tailor gathering up a length of fragile, heavy silk—slowly, long-fingered, fold upon fold. He carried me then across the room, and laid me gently on the bed, in the light from the flickering fire.

~A Breath of Snow and Ashes

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

"Well, to begin with," Dieter says, "I already hold some influence in the formerly-Lyran sections of the Hinterlands. House Marten-Steiner has had a commercial interest in the region since the days of the Second Succession War, and those connections and longstanding loyalties have not disappeared with my loss of noble status in the Commonwealth. I still hold a controlling interest in no less than forty-five megacorporations and dozens of smaller ones across the Vesper Marches and Tamar Pact states. I can use these connections as levers and in-roads to bring Star League aid to the area, which will, given proper time, an extensive propaganda campaign, and a few... generous donations to the right people, have them signing membership by next July."

Dieter spoke nonchalantly, now firmly in his element as he discussed the fine minutia of pulling the strings of power, carefully

"The Malthus Confederation, wicked as they are, are a middling threat. I have a plan, not quite yet fully developed, that should be able to undermine the security of the Confederation and invoke its' collapse or destruction by its neighbors using only assets already in the field. One asset in particular is already in deep cover in the area for an unrelated operation, and ready to begin whenever I give the go-ahead." he wouldn't give any more unless pressed, but he had full faith in Samuel to complete the mission.

"As for Arc Royal... They will be a difficult sell. resentments run deep, there, and they've no love for Clan Wolf, as I'm sure you know. However, there is some chance that they can be brought into the fold, with proper diplomatic efforts and assurances. While Callandre's decline is an impediment to progress, I do not believe it to be a total roadblock. Once the others are more-or-less aligned with us, the AML will fall in line quickly. I have enjoyed the company of Syndic Marena on several occasions, and found her to have a delightfully keen political acumen. She will do whatever is best for the League, and soon, that will be Star league membership." As Dieter spoke, he looked around the room, scanning the faces of the assembled in excruciating detail, picking up every involuntary micro-twitch in their faces and building from it a picture of their reactions. When he was satisfied with the results, he leaned back in his seat once more, and simply asked,

"Any questions?"

The halls of The Court of the Star League were a strange place, Dieter reflected.

They were, on the one hand, much like the halls of an austere courthouse, off-white marble and soaring ceilings, vast windows placed high on the walls to flood the space with natural light and dramatic shadows.

On the other hand, however, were the details that made it feel more personal, warm and welcoming. The wood panels, all harvested from the local area. The warm, plush seats lining the hallway. The paintings on the walls, which were rumored to have been chosen by the First Lord personally.

As his boots click against the mosaic floor depicting scenes from the SLDF Exodus, he pats the sword at his belt, grateful for its presence. After all, he'd need it's reassurance for the meeting to come.

If he'd thought getting into the outer wings of the Court was a laborious process, he'd been wrong. To merely *enter* into the same wing of the building as the IlKhan, he'd had to undergo three security checkpoints, an interview, two X-ray scans, and a careful examination of all his credentials. All in all, it had taken more than an hour, but in due time, he was ushered back into the private wing of the First Lord, and told that Alaric Ward was expecting him.

In time, he came before the door to the sitting room he was told that Ward would meet him in, an elegant thing of dark wood, so dark as to almost black, engraved with patterns and carvings so fine as to be almost invisible against the dark finish.

For a moment, Dieter paused, his hand inches away from knocking on the door. For precious seconds he hesitated there, the churn of apprehension in his gut like a physical sickness in its intensity.

What would he say? What could he say? Face-to-face with his Father's murderer, with the man he now served, with the man who was perhaps the Inner Sphere's best hope for peace and prosperity-

Before he could let himself go into the maddening spiral that was sure to follow, he let his hand fall against the door, with the crisp report of knuckles on hard wood.

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[inkonparchment]

Class of '95

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

The tie rests in his pocket, feeling his throat constrict enough by the memories from a lifetime ago as Leon stands in his old high-school gymnasium. His breathing exercises carry him through the evening until his breath knocks out of him when he sees you again.

warnings/tags: older Leon. allusions to alcoholism. fluff. high school sweethearts.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i dont know if anyone has seen '10 Years' but this heavily inspired from that especially the song 'Never Had'. that and 'From Eden by Hozier'. also i know thats infinite darkness Leon in the banner but i had more death island Leon in mind. anyways, happy reading! this may be lame but its all i have to offer

Leon is glad he decided to forgo the tie, a last-minute decision he made sitting in the shadows of his car, staring blankly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The silence had been too loud without the car in ignition, occupied by a sudden itch to grip the steering wheel and drive off, daunted too much by the expanse of his old high-school. He feels like a fraud returning, no longer finding any specks of the person who used to wander down the halls, sit in the classes and occupy the benches in the cafeteria, his carefree demeanour carrying him through the days. 

He could hear the muted drawl of music bleeding from the doors, the balloons and décor scattered across the entrance with a banner reading ‘Welcome Back Class of ‘95’ in greeting. God, that made him feel old, the constant ache in his back a constant reminder of the toll the years had taken on him. 

The walk in isn’t so terrible, wiping the sweat from his hand as he comes across the registration desk, a kindly looking face asking for his name. He nearly laughs at the ‘hello my name is’ sticker, the marker squeaking as he scribbles on his name and pastes it on his jacket right above his heart. 

Leon feels his fingers twitch when someone shouts his name in disbelief, turning around to blink in the face of two men who were previously occupied with their own conversation. He recognizes them in an instant, his teammates from the football team. Youthful faces drowned by wrinkles, grey sprinklings in their hair and torsos full of muscle now replaced with a softening belly; but their smiles are still the same. He walks over to them, gripping their hands firmly in handshakes, disbelief on their faces when they register that it is Leon. 

Where have you been, man? We thought you were dead! Wow, it’s been so long. 

It’s all the same set of questions and remarks he gets when he tours the gymnasium floor. Yes, he can’t believe it’s been so long. No, he’s just been busy with work so no time for a missus or kids. Ah, what about work? He doesn’t want to bore anyone with the boring mumbo jumbo. Yeah, he’s disappointed the police thing didn’t work out but what can you do? 

His words soon start to feel rehearsed, like an actor on scene waiting for his cue, a smile plastered on his face to dazzle the audience. Leon does a fine job of it, relaxing when he realizes that it’s easy with these people who are more eager to talk about their wives, husbands and kids. He feels envy grow within him as his eyes get stuck on their greying features, the softness of their added age and the glittering bands of their rings. 

It feels disorienting almost seeing his classmates living the life he had pictured for himself long ago, a life he didn’t realize he wanted so much now. Maybe there was something about coming stunningly close to death as of late, not that it wasn’t usual for him. Perhaps the one too many knocks against his head had finally straightened out his disarrayed thoughts into linearity.  

The praises that are aimed his way are quickly dismissed by Leon, shrugging all the ‘you look really fit’s and ‘your hair is in great condition, between the kids and job I don’t have the time to dye it’ like bullets clattering to the ground, puncturing him in the aftermath. He has nothing to show for his life save for the scar marks and the unhealed bullet wounds littering his body. Their voices would not carry a tone of wistfulness if they truly knew his reality. 

Leon needs a breather. And like a dog to a bone, he retreats to the bar in the corner. 

It’s mostly empty, smiling politely at the couple that walks away with their beverages. He leans against the bar, grateful for the coolness underneath his palm as he orders his drink. Whiskey on the rocks with a twist. 

Leon struggled with the concept of autonomy for the majority of his 20s and 30s, anger rippling through his system with his teeth grit whenever he would be dispatched at a moment's notice. Every reverberation of his trusty Matilda was doused in casual rage of the irony of his helplessness in deciding his fate as he ensured the normalcy of those back home. Mission success after success that Leon paid for with his freedom, his aching body and greying years, mourning the naive version of himself that saw the world with a gleaming lense. 

He accepted his fate soon enough, made peace with the life he knew he was too much of a coward to leave, courtesy of his survivor's guilt or hero complex, he doesn't know. He really doesn't want to find out. Perhaps it’s the shift in his reality, a peek into a life outside where he isn’t vital to the national or global security. It tugs at the strings of his heart when he realises there’s serenity here. This thought does little to alleviate the deep ache within his chest as he watches his old classmates. 

This is difficult for the reasons Leon never prepared himself for, bitterness flooding him as he mulls over the possibility of the life he could have had. Would he be like everyone else here? Would smiling come easy, a wedding ring on his finger and pictures of his kids ready on his phone, proudly brandishing it out on a moment’s notice? What does he have to show for himself apart from the scars and wounds that litter his body? 

The bartender slides Leon’s drink in front of him, parting with a polite smile. He stares at the amber liquid, ice floating on its surface and the itch in the back of his head that he had tried hard to bury returned. Leon grabs the glass, swirling it for good measure and brings it up to his lips. The whiskey barely grazes his lips when a familiar sounding laugh freezes him in place. His pulse flutters, a statue in poise, back turned to the crowd when the sweet noise filters through again to his ear. 

And suddenly Leon feels himself thrown back to the year 1995 on his own personal time machine, bubbling up memories that he had long forgotten, evoking emotions he thought he didn’t know how to feel anymore. The laugh is light and airy, so gentle and delicate, encompassing his entire being, intoxicating him once again like it did when he heard it for the first time during chemistry class. 

He remembers the softness of your skin when you two had accidentally bumped hands reaching for the popcorn, blushing bright in the darkened theatre before he gathered the courage to hold your hand firmly, never letting go again. 

Leon swears he can taste the butter on your lips when you had bravely kissed him on the doorstep of your home, a grin permanently latching onto his face. His ears ring with the sound of your cheers from the stands, louder than anyone, wildly waving your homemade posters for his games, always present come rain or hail.   

Leon is almost afraid to turn, not wanting to disturb the way his mind has painted you in beautiful strokes, conjuring up a picture so vivid that he feels he can touch if he reaches out. But curiosity gets the better of him, lowering the untouched drink down with a thunk and slowly turning around. Leon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Is it in, in? Out in? No, it’s in and out. He tries to catch up to missed breaths, eyes hung onto you. 

You look just as beautiful as the day he last remembers seeing you. It overwhelms him. Time clearly passed you by but not in the same way it had him; brutish, barbaric and aggressively tossing him on the hard concrete. No, time had been gentle with you, tenderly caressing you in its palm, nuzzling you softly as it swept you with it. 

Your smile is still the same Leon fell in love with, proud at having being the receiving end of it quite often, adoring the way you still throw your head back a little when you laugh. There is an air of elegance about you, evidence of the years that you had culminated, experiences under your belt that had transformed you into the person that was standing just a little distance away from him.    

Leon watches you intently as your eyes flicker over to where he’s standing, words fumbling from your lips as you jerk your head back up and do a double take. Your eyes blink furiously, widening in surprise as though you never expected to see him in a million years. You stumble off an excuse to the people you were talking to, eyes not daring to stray away from him. 

His drink is long forgotten, hands both nestled in his pockets, heart thrumming in his chest as he waits for you to make your way to him. There’s a certain peculiarity in how you do; a strange mix of shyness and disbelief. Your steps are light and airy, features softening as Leon grows more vivid in your line of sight. There’s something familiar in the way you walk to him, something akin to how he watched you descend the stairs of your house as he had waited at the bottom, staring at you in awe with a corsage gripped tight in his hands. Even in the picture your mom had snapped, Leon was still looking at you.  

Warmth floods him when you come to a stop in front of him, glee on both his and Leon’s face, hidden beneath timidness. He takes the first leap.  

“Hey,” Leon smiles. 

You laugh and it is oh so sweet, stronger than a shot of espresso. “Hi.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

What do you say anyways to the most important person in your youth who you thought would be a constant? The breakup had been difficult but inevitable with the two very different paths you and Leon had picked out for yourselves. It was terribly heart aching with fingers gripping each other’s tightly, silent tears running down your face as you tried to inscribe every forehead kiss from Leon to memory with the sun setting in the far-off distance. Come morning he would be long gone, both of you deciding that it would be unbearable to start a new day without the sun shining on them both.  

What do you say after all these years have passed shaping you into different versions of the same person you once knew so long ago?  

“It’s really good to see you Leon.” Well you could say that for starters. 

A small puff of air leaves Leon’s throat, glancing down at the floor momentarily before looking back into your eager eyes. His heart clenches as he notices they still glow. “It’s good to see you too.” An understatement truly, it’s magical to see you again. He thought he never would again, his mind drifting to you in his moments of darkness, clinging on to the memories as they would rejuvenate him. His sentiment is a lot more loaded than yours, he realises, his guardian angel now materialised in front of his eyes.  

You flit about, mess with your hair, pull it behind your ears, trying to look at him whole with little glances. “I uh...I thought you didn’t attend these things.”  

“I didn’t know there were these things to attend,” He shrugged. Its true, it’s quite hard to reach him when none of his old contact numbers or emails work. Leon’s a hard man to reach. It was a surprise to him when Hunnigan had all but slammed the plane ticket and the print out of his old high-school reunion on his desk. He didn’t even bother asking how she got the information, feeling scrutinised under her hard gaze and her You need a break too, Leon. He’ll buy her favourite bottle of wine first thing back.  

“Well you know it is hard to reach you.” You tilt your head to the side, teasing glinting in your eyes. “No phone number, no address, no email either. Its almost like you vanished off the face of the earth.” 

Leon feels the tips of his ears grow hot, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed. You continue on with a casual shrug of your shoulders, “Every text or email I sent you bounced back so I just thought you didn’t want to catch up.”  

That turns him into a statue. What? “You tried to contact me?”  

A streak of blush colours your cheeks. “I mean not that frequently. Just like a couple of years back I guess? I don’t know I just did it on a whim. The text didn’t go through and neither did the email so...you know I thought you didn’t want to be contacted.” 

He didn’t know what to do with the information that you thought of him while he thought of you. He never imagined that you would actually try to reach out to him, why would you? Leon assumed you’d be well settled in your life now; husband, kids, the white picket fence. Isn’t that what the two of you would fantasise about, sharing whispered giggles huddled under the sheets?  

But there’s curiosity gnawing at his bones. He’s noticed the empty ring finger on your left hand about how you’ve spent ten minutes chatting with him here and no man has slipped his hand against your waist. You’re here, talking to him, in no rush to meet anyone else. Leon feels his fingers twitch, he would never let you out of his sight. 

He blinks, an easy smile settling on his lips, gazing at you softly at your confession. “I thought about you a lot too.” He wants to thread his fingers through your hair, tucking away the strands. “I’m sorry I went so far away.”  

You shudder, pursing your lips and looking away. You see to be shrugging your shoulders again. Cute. “It’s fine. Life gets in the way sometimes. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

The music doesn’t bother Leon anymore. He likes it, foot tapping with the beat, letting the soft tune wash over him. The silence is nice albeit heavy, he imagines there’s a barrage of questions on the tip of your tongue. A gentle giggle pulls his attention to you, “What?” 

“Nothing. Its just,” You shake your head, “I don’t know if I should be concerned or not over how little the gymnasium has changed since we went here.”  

“Oh,” His eyes sweep the entire place, amused at your remark. “You’re right. I don’t imagine they’ve been very enthusiastic about interior decoration .”  

“They really have not,” You marvel. You seem to get lost in your thoughts, pulling your back straighter. “You think they changed the bleachers outside in the field?”  

Leon locks eyes with you, unrelenting stare as he grapples with the meaning behind your words. He spent a lot of time with you on them; shyly running to you after practice, talking with you there for hours, glancing at you cheering him on during games, the summer day you two had spent there laughing and kissing before Leon had scratched the two of yours initial on its surface, sweetly outlining it with a heart. It’s not cheesy sweetheart if you’re blushing into my neck this hard.  

Leon quirks his eyebrow, matching your smile. “Let’s find out.”  

The night is cool with clear skies and a soft breeze blowing through. Leon feels ridiculous, not in the stupid sense but in the makes-him-feel-young sense. Your hand is wrapped in his instinctively, your soft palm resting against his with a practiced ease as he tugs you along with him towards the football field. The music thrums away into the background until there’s only the sound of your shared footsteps and your soft laughs echoing in the air. He can’t help but glance at you time and again, marvelling at the soft wrinkles dusting the corner of your eyes.  

He doesn’t like it when he has to let your hand go, standing between the stands as the two of you  unspokenly begin the search for the same heart shaped mark left years ago in the dim light. 

“So uh,” You say standing a little above from him in the bleachers, attention focused on the seats as you try to sound casual, “Did you come alone?”  

“Yeah,” He’s quick to reply. “My pet goldfish gets really motion sick on planes.” He pretends to search for a while. “You?”  

You hum in reply. “I don’t think ex-husbands are too big on attending their ex-wife’s high-school reunion.”  

Leon turns towards you to see you staring at him already, fiddling with your ring-less finger. “Dead?” 

“Divorced.” 

“When?” 

“Few years ago.”  

“Why?” 

“He got his secretary pregnant.”  

Leon blinks, scoffing and surprised at the spark of anger that ignites in him. “What an absolute piece of shit.”  

You laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you go back to searching, a lightness on your shoulders now. He relaxes too, the stiffness disappearing from his back. “I thought a lot about you. Thought you’d have your white picket fence house by now. It’s...why I never reached out to you.”  

You bite your lip, smiling at the memory. “It’s okay Leon, really. The white picket fence seems like a lifetime ago now. Seems a bit silly honestly.”  

“It’s not what you want?”  

“I don’t know. A lot’s changed since we last spoke. I’ve learnt it’s better to let things happen as they are.”  

“Not taking chances anymore?”  

You look up at him, a sweet smile as you share a knowing look. “No, I’m taking them as they present themselves.”  

Leon’s stomach does that flipping motion again, sweat collecting on the back of his neck. He mentally notes to buy Hunnigan the snack she likes so much too. They resume their search, beckoning the other to their spot as they find something funny or worthy to see. It’s fun, his worries melting away as he laughs away the night with you. But that heart is nowhere to be found, tired of squinting.  

“Ugh, this low lighting isn’t really helping,” You sigh, trailing back to where he’s stood.  

“Maybe some extra help then.” He pats the front of his jacket, digging into his inner pocket and then brandishing out his flip phone nonchalantly. You stare at it for a second, watch him as he flips it open and then burst into laughter.  

“What?” He asks in disbelief, watching you wheeze with amusement. 

“Wow,” You manage to choke out, “Well no wonder its so hard to reach you. Does your phone even have an email app?”  

“It works fine for me,” He grumbles, hoping you can’t see how scarlet he is under the night sky.  

“No, no,” You grin at him, pinching his cheeks. “It’s cute.”  

Leon almost jumps at your fingers connecting with his cheek, inadvertently leaning into your touch. You still, realisation hitting you of what you’re doing. But you don’t stop. Your fingers splay out, hesitantly cupping the side of his face. Leon watches you carefully, trying his best to control his breathing. You shudder as the bottom of your hand grazes against his stubble, thumb slowly caressing against his skin. Leon shuts his eyes under your soft touch, a sigh leaving his lips. 

He holds your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek, bringing you close to him by your waist. His eyes don’t stray from yours, keeping you in place. Your eyes glaze over, a sheen in them as they collect water.  

“Hi.” You whisper.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers back. 

“You look old,” You laugh, the sound mixing with a sob. 

“So do you.” He hums back, fondly brushing your hair back from your face.  

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in. “Where were you? I waited for you for so long.”  

He pulls back to see you properly, tilting  your face up by a hand under your chin. He leans in, lips brushing over yours. You push yourself up on your toes, lips connecting with his. You feel so impossibly warm against him, lips slotting against his seamlessly. He breathes you in, tastes you deeply, gripping you against his body like he never plans on letting you go. You gasp against his lips as he steals your breath and noises.  

He pulls away just an inch, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, not daring to loosen his hold on you. “Not going anywhere now, sweetheart.” 

[granny-core]

How can I enrich life? Especially when you have physical and mental health conditions 🐣🐔🐤

Hi!

This is a big and difficult question to answer, and I have been thinking a lot about what to say. It really varies for each and every person, as well as the nature of your physical and mental health condition, but I will share some things that I do to enrich my own life, and hope some of it will resonate with you.

I know I repeat this a lot, but focusing on the little things is pretty much my main approach to finding joy in being alive. Things like opening the window to smell the rain, buying a magazine, or wearing some nice socks. I'm working on letting go of these big, complicated expectations of what success or a good life should look like, and instead focusing on the fact that I'm alive and can interact with the world, and that is amazing enough. I also very firmly believe in the value of connecting with other people. Just talking about the weather with the person making my coffee in a café makes me feel human, and in touch with other humans. Just observing people from your window and thinking about what you have in common can feel comforting.

Another thing that brings me a lot of joy, is being in touch with the changing of seasons. That way, there is always something to look forward to (November is my least favourite month, but the stores here will carry persimmons now! How lovely!). Preparing for the upcoming season feels meaningful to me, and it is possible to make it as easy or complicated as your health allows for. I like going on little walks in the neighborhood or just sitting outside for a while to feel the weather, looking forward to different foods being in season, watching seasonal movies and shows, decorating, or making little rituals that mark the changes. I guess it helps me feel like my life is not stagnant, and that changes are all around me all the time.

I also like to make sure I have something to look forward to, and try to actively appreciate that feeling. Whether it means getting a pen pal and looking forward to letters, planting bulbs to see them bloom in spring, or promising yourself a treat or hot drink in the evening, I think it boils down to intentionally planning for small moments of joy.

Finally, I think it is really important not to feel disappointed if you expected something to give you joy and excitement, only to discover you don't feel as happy as you imagined you would. Emotions can be unpredictable, especially for us who deal with mental health issues, but the experience can still be worthwhile and can become meaningful to you later, even if it did not bring you the "spark" you imagined. Sometimes that spark will appear in the most unexpected of places as well!

I hope at least some of that can be of help to you. I wish you all the best, and hope that you are happy and safe!

[kuruna]

I Do feel as if stubbornness is the glue holding AZ together 😭 like even if we don't get to see a lot of it in-game that stubbornness is undeniably there. He refused to send Floette into war until she was literally stolen from him, he created a machine that could Revive that pokemon after her death, and then when she left him he spent 3000(!) years searching for her. Acts of love and passion and grief, but also all intertwined with an incredible sense of stubbornness...

I do see him being willing to look for Floette for that long as an act of love and also as a sort of self punishment thing, because it seems to be implied he did so without rest. Every action he took in those many years was within the intention of eventually being with her again. But again... That all comes down to him being Incredibly stubborn 😭 I think without that trait he would've fallen into complete despair years ago

It is an interesting trait that he shares with Lysandre, despite how they also contrast with one another. Lys stubbornly believes that people (the world) are incapable of change. But If AZ is stubborn enough to allow himself to search for Floette for as long as he did, doesn't that also imply that he firmly believes in his own potential to change? That despite his misery and pain, that he is still hopeful?

[phillystrega]

I’m so sad right now.

The only things I will say is, it’s not over til the lawsuits are done. And the races being this close mean there will be recounts and there will be lawsuits about counting undated ballots, or ballots with mismatched signatures. Until those are resolved it’s still in the air a bit. Any lawsuit will be expedited but will still take some time.

Also, I just have reached a point where I firmly believe democracy doesn’t scale. So when shit like this happens I like to refocus my energies on my own backyard. Find out who is doing the good work in your community, I guarantee they already exist, and give them your time and money.

Familiarize yourself with ALL your local electeds, town, county, state. They’re by far the easiest to push on issues.

Brace yourself for four years of nonsense. Of executive actions that Dem Governors and Attorney Generals will file suit over.

The small upside is in two years we can chip away at their win tonight. Fewer low information voters vote during midterms so that’s a great opportunity to balance the scales.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel like shit right now. Or angry. Or sad. That’s all such valid shit. But progress is a game of inches (unless you want to go the violent revolution route which has its pros and cons). And hope is a discipline. It takes time to build the muscle strength to withstand getting knocked down as many times as we’re gonna be and be able to get back up.

Take care of yourselves. Remember mutual aide will always be the fastest way to lift each other up. And remember building a better world is a marathon. Not a sprint.

Who else up late scrolling between waves of tears, not to feel the doom, but to try to find hope and connection. We're holding hands and facing it but god it's terrifying

[tiger-is-a-certified-idiot]

Scrolling through fandom tags trying to find art and discussion you 1. care about and 2. agree with is difficult and tiring and relatable and sometimes incredibly aggravating.

So in the light of 'everyone is wrong about this character except for me' I have gathered all of my thoughts around Jayce and Viktor, their potential (or existing) romantic relationships with Mel, Sky, and each other, and I am going to shoehorn all of them onto my blog via this post in anticipation for season 2.

If you don't want to hear my personal opinions of characters you don't particularly care about (or care about too much), I expect you've scrolled off already, see you on a future post. For anyone left, this will be a long post. Like, an absurdly long post. And if I could be bothered to collect screenshots of every shot I reference this post would be even longer, but I hate cropping screenshots, so there should be few to none. (LIE this was a LIE i am SO SORRY)

To begin with, My personal interpretation of Jayce and Viktor's relationship to each other within the context of Arcane canon:

Yes, I do think there is implied romantic interest, from Viktor at least. The conversation between Jayce and Viktor in episode two is a direct parallel to Jayce and Mel's conversation in episode 5 (the one before their kiss/sex scene).

From the lighting, framing, tone, facial expressions, setting, and even conversational topic, these scenes are effectively the same. Jayce has a big dream for the future of Piltover with the introduction of Hextech but he has doubts that he is capable enough or worthy of this responsibility. And Viktor/Mel in these scenes encouraged him and then makes a comparison to something from their past that humbled them, and that they would like to help Jayce achieve his dream.

Viktor states this quite directly, but Mel hides her words in a way that can be easily reinterpreted (in a plethora of ways including as an innuendo) which is still, essentially, the same conversation but from two different characters with two different characterizations. Then, there is a hand touch, and This look.

They both make bedroom eyes at him! Not only that, but again, from the exact same angle, same lighting, almost the same framing (Mel is shot with rule of thirds and Viktor is centered which may have its own implication but I am not well enough versed in filmography to take a crack at that). In conclusion, Viktor was courting Jayce in episode two...

but did Jayce pick up on that?

No. I don't think so. See, Jayce *reacts* to Mel's advance. He picks up on the innuendo when Mel makes it and anticipates Mel's kiss. He never seems to have the same reaction to Viktor. Granted, we may never know for sure since the scene cuts before it moves off of Viktor's face. In the shot with Mel, it continues, because she moves to kiss him. Hm. There are conclusions one could draw from that. Did they kiss? Maybe! Probably not, though. Furthermore,

Does Jayce ever fall for Viktor?

Also no. These two scenes are parallel, meaning Jayce is effectively in the exact same scenario both times. While he had changed as a person between the two, I don't think these scenes were meant just to showcase a loss of control or morality in Jayce, but also the fact that Jayce returns Mel's feelings, but not Viktor's.

Similarly, I think the scene backstage of the Progress Day speech in episode four exists to compare Sky's relationship with Viktor to Viktor's relationship with Jayce.

You see I firmly believe that THIS is a direct parallel

To THIS! which happens in the same shot!

What am I trying to get at here? Well, Sky's relationship to Viktor is that she is in love with him, but he doesn't reciprocate. Viktor either does not notice Sky's feelings for him (which seems unlikely considering he is watching her in this scene and pretty directly rejects her when she asks to walk him home later) or is ignoring them because he does not love her and does not want to press that button in her.

I think Jayce is the same way, with the caveat that I genuinely believe he does not realize Viktor has feelings for him. The only reason I think that, is Jayce 'Path of Least Resistance' Talis would recognize the tension Viktor has in regards to him and speak up about it to relieve some of the uncertainty. Maybe that happened off screen, we don't know and never will, but it seems out of character, to me, for Jayce to know (for seven years!) and just leave it to fester (again, for seven years) when he has to work with Viktor every day and cares a great deal about him.

And I think Viktor has realized this in Jayce, and after the time skip no longer holds onto any hope or desire that chasing Jayce will end well for him.

Long post short, I think Viktor was flirting with Jayce in act 1, fell in love with him over the time skip, and shoved his feelings in his back pocket when he realized they were unrequited.

As for my thoughts on Jaymel? I genuinely found her advances creepy when I watched the show for the first time. I interpreted Jayce's attraction as disgust, and I was shocked when he let her kiss him. On further watches, though, I noticed the complexity in their relationship, and even on the first watch, once Mel's perspective had properly been revealed, I really grew to appreciate their relationship in the show. I will always be partial to jayvik, but I would never try to turn the morally gray-ness of their relationship into a black or white issue. It is well written, well placed, and frankly a brilliant plot point. I will always be more interested in her relationship with her mother, though. And as far as shipping her? Well, have you considered how cute her and Sky would be together??? Everything Mel likes in Jayce times 10, and how could Sky not fall for Mel in return? I am aware this sounds like an 'oh no my ship left two women what to do with them oh no' but honestly I would ship them if Jayce and Viktor weren't even in the show. Let me have this crack ship, it's delicious. Its like nerd x jock but with kdrama PUMPED in. on steroids.

Final thoughts:

I will never know if any of that was intended by Riot or Fortiche. I would like to think at least some of it was. I also worry about the implication that Sky will be important to Viktor in season 2- I can only see a few ways that could come about and most of them do not align with the way I see these characters. I trust Arcane to write itself well, I do, but still... girl no...

What I do know, is that I've been listening to "Mmm cheese" the entire time I've been writing this and my brain is begining to melt. like. cheese. so im gonig to turn that off before i revise this post. umn, goodnight everyone!!!