#but this one doesn't we're SAFE and FREE
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enkays-den · 1 month ago
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An anonymous trans donator asked skizz if he'd say a "trans rights" for pride month and he softly shut it down saying "this channel about good times good vibes, and not anything political. I've got nothing against anything, I've driven that home."
I know it's parasocial to be disappointed that a man in his mid 40s considers queer rights a political topic and it doesn't mean I won't watch him but,,,,, I couldn't help but feel my heart sink a little as that played out live. Skizz says he wants to bring happiness, and joy, and that's literally all this person wanted. A firm, no room for doubt affirmation that Skizz sees and cares for his trans fans. I don't think he's transphobic, but I do think he has a misconception about why saying "trans rights" matters, and why it SHOULDNT be political. Pride month exists for the same reason there's a women's month, and a black history month, and a Juneteenth, and a Veteran's Day. We are lucky to be alive, and we're still fighting for our rights to this day, so we need times to just celebrate our continued existence.
And like,,,, I'm sure that he's heard a lot online but the discussion on trans rights is only political because basic human rights are being denied to trans people for no reason other than bigotry. We want basic human rights for all, for trans people, gay people, disabled people, people of color. We want the standard of care the government and its services and the businesses of our country to be better, more accessible, and affordable for EVERYONE, regardless of gender, race, political belief, religion. The fact that THAT desire is a political matter is because politicians keep denying it.
There were also members of his chat that subtlety ragged on the anonymous donator, saying it was "weird" and "cringe". I have no words for them.
I know Hermitcraft is supposed to be a safe space, and a place to get away from the world's problems, but so you know what is counteractive to that? Bigotry. Transphobia. There are so many young queer fans of hermitcraft, and to say that their existence, this one little piece of affirmation isn't allowed, is insulting and disheartening. Good vibes isn't all free speech and being neutral, it's explicitly saying "you are safe here. I see that you are in danger and you are safe."
I will also leave this video here because I think it's important to be firm about keeping bigotry out of your community, regardless if it means you get less viewers or are seen as "political"
[UPDATE: this is where my story ends in this matter]
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star-ocean-peahen · 2 years ago
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After watching Cinderella (the original animated movie, which was my favorite as a child), it strikes me how it solves many common problems people have with this fairy tale. Like:
Why did they try to identify the mystery girl using her shoe size? Because the bullheaded king's only clue to her identity was the shoe the Grand Duke picked up off the steps.
Why didn't the prince recognize her by her face? Because his father wouldn't involve him in the process at all, and wasn't the one going around trying to find her.
Why did the prince want to marry a lady he only met that night? Because his father was going to force him to marry someone, and he genuinely liked this woman.
Why did Cinderella want to marry a man she only met that night? Because marriage was her best and most secure way to freedom. Fucked up, but you can't say it's unrealistic for the setting of a fairy tale. She also genuinely liked him.
If they're using the slipper to find her, wouldn't it be more sensible to search for the person with the other slipper? Yes. The King is purposefully nonsensical and the Duke is purposefully terrified enough of him to carry out his orders to the letter. Furthermore, they end up doing that in the end anyway, because the Duke's glass slipper is shattered, and Cinderella brings out the one she has to prove her identity.
Why didn't the stepmother and stepsisters recognize Cinderella at the ball? Because they were dancing too far away, and then left the party to dance in private, which was possible because the King wanted very badly for his son to hit it off with someone and tried to arrange the best conditions for that to happen.
Why didn't Cinderella save herself? Because in real life, abuse victims should not have to shoulder that responsibility, and usually can't. In real life, you need and deserve an external support system. Asking for help, in this kind of situation, is very important. She is saved by others because she is loved. Because she is not alone. Because she has friends who love her, and want her to be happy and safe and free. Because in real life, people who want to help someone who is suffering are like the mice. We can't pull out miracle solutions, but we can provide companionship and if we're in the right place at the right time, we can help the person find a better life.
Why didn't the fairy godmother save Cinderella from her abusive household, or try to help her sooner? Because she's magic, and magic can't solve your problems. Quote: "Like all dreams, well, I'm afraid it can't last forever." This (and Cinderella's dream of going to the ball) is a metaphor for pleasurable things in bad circumstances. An ice cream won't get rid of your depression, but it will provide you with momentary happiness to bolster you, as well as the reminder that happiness in general is still possible for you. Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball so she can get away from her stepmother and stepsisters, or so she can meet someone to marry and leave with. She wants to go to the ball to remind herself that she can still have things she wants. That her desires matter. This is important because the movie does a very good job of illustrating Lady Tremaine's subtle abuse tactics, all of which invisibly press the message that Cinderella doesn't matter. While going to the ball and fulfilling her dreams may not be a victory in the material sense, it is still a victory against Lady Tremaine's efforts.
Why is Cinderella's choice to be kind and obedient framed as a good thing, when you are not obligated to be kind to your abuser? This one walks a very fine line, but I think the movie still makes it make sense. Lady Tremaine never acknowledges her cruelty. She always frames her punishments of Cinderella as Cinderella's fault. Cinderella is interrupting, Cinderella is shirking her duties, Cinderella is playing vicious practical jokes. Cinderella is still a member of the family, of course she can go to the ball, provided she meet these impossible conditions. Lady Tremaine's tactics are designed to make Cinderella feel like she must always be in the wrong and her stepmother must always be in the right. If Cinderella calls her stepmother out on her cruelty, or attempts to fight back, Lady Tremaine can frame that as Cinderella being ungrateful, cruel, broken, evil, etc. If Cinderella responds to her stepmother's cruelty defiantly (in the way she's justified to), she's not taking control out of Lady Tremaine's hands. Disobedience can be spun back into her stepmother's control. She wants Cinderella to be angry and sad and show how much she's hurting. So since Cinderella is adapting to her situation, she chooses to be kind. Not only because she naturally wants to be and it's part of her personality, but because it is a form of defiance in its own way, and it allows her to keep a reminder of her agency and value. Her choice to be kind is her chance to keep her own narrative alive: she is not obeying because her stepmother wants her to and she has to do what her stepmother does, but because she wants to. It's a small distinction, but one that makes all the difference in terms of keeping her hope and identity. (Fuck, I wrote a whole paragraph about how this doesn't mean you can't be angry at people who hurt you or that you need to be kind to deserve help, and then deleted it by accident. Uh. Try again.) Expressing anger and pain is an important part of regaining autonomy and healing. Although it is commendable to be kind while you are suffering, it is NOT required for you to get help or be worthy of help. If Cinderella's recovery was explored beyond "happily ever after" she would need to let herself be angry and sad to heal. Cinderella is not only kind because it comes naturally to her, but because it's her defense against the abuse she's suffering. Everyone's story and experiences are different, and one does not invalidate the other.
Bonus round for answers that aren't part of the movie:
Why didn't Cinderella run away? Where would she go? Genuinely, in hundreds-of-years-ago France, where would she go if she snuck out of the window with a change of clothes? With her step-family, she's miserable and abused, but she's fed, clothed, and in no danger of dying or being taken advantage of by anyone other than her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if she escapes and manages to find financial security, her stepmother might be able to find her and get her back.
Why didn't Cinderella burn the house down with them inside it/slit their throats in the night/poison their food/etc.? Because that's a revenge fantasy, and this story is a fantasy about being saved. There's nothing wrong with making Cinderella into a revenge fantasy. That's perfectly fine, as long as you acknowledge that the other type of fantasy is also a valid interpretation. (I mean, the original fairy tale features the stepsisters getting their feet mutilated and all three of them getting their eyes pecked out, so go for it.)
Why isn't Cinderella more proactive in general? Because she's a child who has been abused for the back half of her life, who has had to be focused on survival because. you know. she's an abused kid.
How did she dance in glass slippers? Gotta agree with you there man, that's weird.
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natalieleif · 2 years ago
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Seeing a steady rise of people using the library as we carry through summer break, so here's a quick thread from a staff member on little things you can do (for free!) to make life easier on staff. Let's go!
If you want to put a book back, DON'T put it back on the shelf! Put it on the return cart or bin, or give it to a staff member. Not only does this make it MUCH easier to catch misfiles and gather abandoned books in one trip, our budget is literally based on returns. Putting it on a cart gives us more money!
(To expand on the above: not only do we get paid more based on more returns, our book-buying budget for next year is based on what titles seem popular. Even if you don't check out a stack of books, putting it on the cart lets us know there's an interest so we can order more in that genre and support that author.)
Conversely, if you see a cart already full of books being pushed around by staff, PLEASE don't yank books off it or loiter around it. Carts are unwieldy and returns can build up quick, so let a shelver have space to move around and do their job.
(Again expanding on the above, especially please don't yank books off a staff person's cart if you see them pulling books off the shelf instead of putting them back. Books are pulled for a reason--hold requests for another patron, damaged, need to be relabeled, etc--so taking one can really throw off our list.)
If you rent a DVD and notice it's scratched or doesn't play, please tell us! We don't have the time or resources to watch every returned DVD, so we rely on patron feedback. Even a note tucked inside the case helps it get flagged for damage inspection when we're processing returns.
Pay attention to news related to your local branch! The VAST majority of book-banning demands we get are bulk lists from only one or two people--which means contesting them (or requesting a challenged book) also only takes one person.
Remind your friends that most libraries don't do late fees anymore! We want to be a safe haven for low income and disabled/nd people, so don't let being late or disorganized or poor or anything else discourage you. Bring your books back whenever you can, or just mention to a librarian if you lose it, and you're always welcome to come back.
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ddejavvu · 1 month ago
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pairing: Spencer Reid x reader
request: The BAU going to interview a witness in the hospital, only whenever Spencer is in the room, or speaks to reader in his soft voice, or touches them, their heart monitor starts beeping extremely loudly. Much to the amusement of the rest of the team. And to your sheer mortification. Spencer hypothesises maybe he looks like the unsub, poor guy has to get explained to him why he's wrong for once. And why they all keep sending him in to talk to you ;)
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"Guys, I don't think I should go in there." Spencer's face is pinched in a concerned frown, and his teammates eye him with the same worry.
Derek claps a hand on Spencer's shoulder, "Why not, Reid? You're the only one she'll talk to."
"I think it's because she's afraid of me," Spencer admits, shoulders hunched uncomfortably inwards, "I think she's only talking because she's worried I'll hurt her, or something. I must look like the unsub."
"You think she's afraid of you?" Rossi questions, a paper cup of coffee in his hands that is entirely too empty for him to be having this conversation, "Reid, I don't think that's true."
Spencer presses onwards undeterred, shaking his head, sending his curls flying, "Every time I go in there I make her nervous. Her heart monitor starts going haywire, like she's having a flashback or something. I mean, one time I put my hand on her arm and the nurses flocked into the room because they thought the medication they'd given her was causing a seizure. I think I must remind her of the unsub somehow, and we can use that in the profile, but I don't want to keep tormenting her."
There's far too many seconds of prolonged, awkward silence. The team glances at Reid, at each other, at the floor, anything that will keep them from having to open their mouths. Eventually, Hotch steps into his role as leader, and moves through the cramped hallway towards Spencer's nervous, guilt-ridden trame.
"Reid, she's not nervous because you look like the unsub. She- squirms, and stutters, and you're the only one she'll talk to about what happened to her. If she were really negatively affected by your presence, she'd ask us not to send you in anymore. But she practically looks disappointed whenever anyone else tries talking to her. I don't think her heart rate increases because she's afraid of you."
Spencer's silent, his brows creased in thought, but perhaps even his genius brain can't parse this one out in a timely manner. Emily pipes up, "Reid, she's got a crush on you. And if that's what it takes to get this guy, then that's what we'll have to use. You're kind to her, and she's receptive to that. Now it doesn't matter the reason, but you can at least take solace in the fact that she's not afraid of you, okay? Not at all. That's why you have to go back in there, because you make her feel safe."
"No, I- I don't think that's what it is." Spencer's cheeks warm, pinkening beneath the hallway's fluorescent lighting, "I don't think she'd be able to form that sort of connection so soon after experiencing such a traumatic experience."
"That's exactly why she likes you," Derek insists, "You saved her. You swooped in and carried her to safety and now you're her knight in shining armor. And even if she won't feel this way forever, she feels it now, and you're the one she wants to talk to. You're the one that makes her feel safe. So go in there, and make her feel comfortable enough to help us catch this guy. Okay?"
Spencer's mouth tightens in a displeased frown for just a second, "I don't think you guys are right. I- I think it's something else. But I'll talk to her again."
"That's all we're asking." Hotch nods, pushing his shoulder gently towards the door of your room, "Now, go in there, and work your magic, Reid. We need more details."
Spencer turns the doorknob to your room with clammy hands, and finds you sleeping inside. He debates whether or not he should back out and let you rest, but for every minute he delays, their unsub walks free. He presses onwards, and the soft click of the door shutting behind him is enough to rouse your frayed nerves from sleep.
You jolt awake, eyes flying wide open and hands clenching the bedsheets like they're weapons you could use. Your eyes lock onto Spencer, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you stare at him like he'll attack you. But you drink in the curve of his nose, the puff of his lips, the messy ringlets of honey-colored hair that fall around his face, and your breathing evens out.
Your heart monitor, though, does not. Reid watches as your heartbeat stays frantic, and he moves slowly towards a chair by your bed in hopes of not spooking you any further.
"Hi, Dr. Reid." You murmur, your voice soft as you settle back against your pillow, "Is there any news on the investigation?"
"No, nothing new." Spencer admits, watching as you turn to face him. You angle your body entirely towards him, and you even scoot your head a centimeter closer on your pillow. Your face twists in displeasure at Spencer's admission, but you don't move away.
"Oh." You lay your cheek in your palm, "Did you want to talk to me more? I told you everything I know."
"I believe you." Spencer nods, "But l'm here to coach you through a memory exercise. You can stay laying down, but- take my hands?"
There's a slight blip in your heart rate, a missing beat where there should have been two. Then it kicks back up wilder than ever, and you take the hands Spencer's offering to you.
"Close your eyes," Spencer instructs, his own flitting towards your heart monitor where it beeps wildly.
"Think back to when he moved you. What sort of terrain was it? Did he go over any hills? Did it smell like animals?"
You squeeze Spencer's hands, nervous, and he squeezes yours back, "Just- remember, I'm here with you, l'll be here with you the whole time." You breathe deeply, and nestle closer to Spencer on the bed. Your hands are sweating in his own, which is a symptom Spencer knows all too well. You're leaning into him, begging for contact as you angle yourself towards him like a flower to the sun, and your heart rate steadily beeps at a mildly concerning level. Spencer keeps his voice steady as he leads you through the memory retrieval exercise, but nothing convinces him more that his team was correct than when it's over, and your eyes snap open, wildly, desperately searching for him.
"I'm here." Spencer hums comfortingly, and he knows that you're taking solace in him when you squeeze his hands, keeping him close instead of letting him go.
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beefcakekinard · 2 months ago
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"Evan, I'm going to be late."
To be fair, Tommy isn't not enjoying the way Evan has draped himself, shirtless, along his back. He's one long hot point of contact, and when he slides his hands down Tommy's arms until he can tangle their fingers together, it chases the air conditioned chill from Tommy's skin.
"Mmph. Stop picking up people's shifts and I'll let you go." Tommy gamely doesn't point out the sleepy whine in Evan's voice. Instead, he kisses the back of one of Evan's hands and starts trying to pull his fingers free.
"I told you - c'mon, sweetheart - McAllister had the baby, and we're all pitching in to give her a little more mat leave - Evan, really-"
Evan suctions himself even closer, somehow. "But you're the one I come home to." He sighs. "The one I'll be missing."
Either unaware of or choosing to ignore the way that Tommy's heart has melted into utter goop, Evan burrows his face into the side of Tommy's neck. The soft whuffs of his breath tickle.
"It'll be over before you know it." Tommy frees his fingers, finally, and turns so they're chest-to-chest. He cradles Evan's face in his hands. "Next time you see me we'll have a whole three days together, and trust me, I'm not going to be letting you out of my sight."
Evan grins, loose and dopey with affection. "Okay. Deal," he says, and leans in to press a kiss right in the middle of Tommy's lips. He leaves another at Tommy's cupid's bow, another at the corner of his mouth, one more at the top of the cleft in his chin. "Love you. Keep yourself safe, I happen to like that guy."
"Yeah?" Tommy kisses right under Evan's grin. "Guess I'd better, if that's the case."
"Okay then."
"Okay."
He lets the moment linger, and it's worth the reprimand he gets for jogging up to the hangar ten minutes late. It's worth more than anything.
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kissandtellus · 3 days ago
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I personally headcanon Sylus as such a soft and gentle dom that every attempt from MC to act all bratty to rile him up always ends in failure. Every time MC acts like a brat, Sylus simply gives her the most gentle and heart-melting smile ever before saying something like "Now now, I know you didn't mean to do that. I know you can do better because you're my good girl", and MC just shortcircuits and immediately apologizes all flustered. Would you please write something like that as a request? I just love how patient he is in game (feel free to make it smutty if you want to)
Error of your Ways
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Synopsis: After getting injured during a mission, your bratty behavior rears its head. But Sylus is quick to put you in your place:
Warning: Light choking, spit, choking, slapping, soft!Dom behavior.
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Sylus sighed as he finished bandaging you up, his expression a mixture of concern and irritation. "You seriously need to be more careful," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with affection. "You're going to get yourself killed if you keep charging into situations without a second thought."
He gently touched your cheek, his touch soft but his gaze intense. "I worry about you, you know. You're important to me, so stop being such a stubborn little bird and listen to me once in a while."
You scoff and jerk your head away. “I can take care of myself you know.”
Sylus let out another exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his silver grey hair. "I never said you couldn't," he replied, his tone edged with irritation. "But just because you can handle yourself doesn't mean you have to go off half-cocked all the time. We work together, remember? We're a team."
He reached for your chin, gently turning your face towards him, his gaze locking onto yours. "Sometimes, letting someone else take care of you every now and then isn't a sign of weakness, you know. It's called being human."
You pull your arm away just as Sylus finished patching you up. “Just…stop trying to parent me.”
Oh. Now you’ve done it. Sylus quirks an eyebrow at your bratty attitude.
Sylus's gaze darkened, his irritation quickly rising at your words. He took a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. "Parent you? Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm trying to keep you safe, little bird. There's a difference."
He reached out and firmly grabbed your chin, his grip tight, making sure you couldn't look away from his intense gaze. "You're as stubborn as a mule, aren't you? You think you know everything, that you can handle everything on your own.”
You swallow the lump in your throat as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear before he speak. “That’s not how my good girl speak to me. Apologize.” He orders in that cool, even voice.
The tone of Sylus's voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly remember who you're dealing with. Your defiance quickly melts into submission, and you swallow hard before mumbling a soft apology.
"I'm sorry..." you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze averted from his intense one.
Sylus smirked, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he noticed the change in your demeanor. "That's more like it," he murmured, his tone softer now. "A little obedience won't kill you, little bird."
Sylus's grip on your chin loosened, his touch becoming more gentle as he traced your jawline with his thumb. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone still carrying the hint of authority.
He took a step closer, his body now only inches away from yours. "You know I just want to keep you safe, right? I care about you, even if you're a pain in the ass sometimes."
His hand moved from your chin to your hair, gently carding through the strands as he looked at you with a mixture of irritation and affection. "But you just have to keep pushing boundaries, don't you? You're like a wild animal, always itching for trouble."
He let out a low sigh, his gaze hardening again as he continued. "Sometimes I wish I could just put a leash on you and keep you locked up at this base, where I can keep you safe and in check."
You avoid his eyes, hands clenching in the fabric of your pants. “You’d like that wouldn’t you…to keep me in your trophy room like a-a pet.”
Sylus's gaze darkened once more at your words, his irritation returning full force. He moved even closer to you, his body practically flush against yours. "Watch your mouth, little bird," he warned, his voice a low growl. "You're playing with fire."
He grabbed your chin again, forcing your gaze back to meet his. "Is that what you think I'd do? Keep you locked away like some sort of prize? You really think I view you as nothing more than a possession, a toy to be played with and displayed?"
Sylus chuckles and stands from his seat, rounding the kitchen bar. He pulls his finest bourbon from the shelf along with two glasses. He never needed to raise his voice to get you to behave
You watch as he pours the amber liquid into the glasses, his movements smooth and precise. Despite your defiance earlier, there was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself.
Sylus set the bottle down and picked up one of the glasses, swirling the contents before taking a sip. "Come here," he said, gesturing with two fingers for you to approach.
You hesitated for a moment, still bristling with defiance, but finally, reluctantly, you made your way over to him. He held out the glass, an unspoken command for you to take it.
You take the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, sending a shiver down your spine.
Sylus leans back against the counter, eyes flickering over your form, taking in every detail. He smirks as he notices the slight tremble in your hand, the defiance in your eyes not quite as fierce as before.
"Drink," he orders, his gaze never leaving yours. "It will help numb the pain, little bird."
You stare into the glass, the liquor's rich amber color almost mesmerizing. With a sigh of resignation, you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip. The smooth, fiery liquid burns its way down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake.
Sylus watches you closely, eyes still studying every move you make. "Feeling a little more cooperative now?" he quips, his tone still carrying that hint of authority.
Despite your earlier defiance, you couldn't deny the soothing effect the alcohol was having on your frayed nerves. With a small huff, you take another sip, the burn less intense this time.
Sylus's smirk widens as he takes another swig from his own glass, clearly amused by your reluctant obedience. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends another shiver down your spine
You aren’t above playing dirty tricks to get what you want. When Sylus reaches to tuck in the string of the bad age, you give an over dramatic gasp. “O-ow!”
Sylus's eyes narrow, his concern quickly turning to curiosity at your exaggerated reaction. "Ow? Really, little bird?" he asks, his tone dripping with skepticism.
He moves closer, hand reaching out to check the area you just fake wince at, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his rough demeanor. "Let me see."
You jerk your head to the side. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just take care of it myself.”
You try to hold your ground, but the closeness of his body, the heat radiating off him, it's making it increasingly difficult to maintain your defiant facade. His gaze is intense, and you can feel the tension crackling between you.
With a huff, you finally give in, tilting your head so he can assess the area you just faked pain in. "Fine," you grumble, "you win. Take a look."
But Sylus is soft spoke . He doesn’t need to force your arm. You willingly let him look over his patch work. “How do you do that?” You question.
Sylus chuckles softly, his touch surprisingly gentle as he continues to inspect the bandages he applied. "Do what, little bird?" he queries, his eyes still trained on the wound as his fingers brush over the gauze.
"Make you obey? Make you submit?" He looks up then, his gaze locking with yours, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes. "I just know how to handle you, sweetheart."
And handle you, he does.
He kisses away any bratty complain your lips. Guiding you with a gentle hand to the couch. When your thighs meet the leather, he gives you a soft shove. Sylus has always been skilled with his hands, from firing weapons to the way his fingers wrap around your throat.
“Sy…-“
“Hush,” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “Open your mouth. Aren’t you still thirsty?”
He chuckles at your slight hesitance. But when your lips part and your tongue lolls out, he’s gather the saliva in his mouth. He tilts your head up and lets a long string of spit drip down onto your awaiting tastebuds. He pushes the spit that dribbled down your chin back into your mouth.
“Oh?” He hums when your lips wrap around his digits. You are giving him the most insane puppy eyes he’s ever seen. His deep and rich chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Does it taste good, Kitten?”
Your response is a soft hum. You pout when he pushes his long fingers deeper into your mouth to the point he’s pressing them to the back of your throat. “Easy, easy, just swallow around them. Just like I taught you.”
It’s easier said than done when his calloused fingers are touching your uvula. Your eyes water but Sylus is still wearing a mask of unenthusiastic calmness. When he can feel your throat relax, he waste no time in pushing them down your throat.
A punishment.
Nothing severe, Sylus never gave you any true pain.
When your eyes water and the tone of your eyes change color, he pulls his fingers free. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover, before his fingertips come down across your flushed cheek.
“Don’t you see now? I have the power to protect you and make you see the error of your ways.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes. Sylus pulls the silk red handkerchief from his back pocket, dapping away the drool and spilled tears from your face. “My poor little bird, come. let’s get you in your pajamas.”
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honey-tongued-devil · 7 months ago
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↠The last drop tour
| Part 1 | | Part 2 | | Part 3 |
This tour was designed to allow those who write and read fanfiction to finally visualize the Last Drop and have a solid map in hand. Specifically, I created it for a personal need, for my fanfiction Everytime It Rains, which you can read by clicking the title. This is part two, where you can see Silco's office in detail. Welcome back from your favorite guide, and enjoy!
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Did you get something to drink? I hope so, because it's really packed in here. So, where did we leave off? We were supposed to enter the office, right? Well, sisters, and bros, and non-binary hoes, welcome!
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Let's start from the left; I know it's a bit chaotic, but this is where Sevika used to come to drink even when Silco wasn't around, waiting for him faithfully. All those bottles are hers. The rug is from Piltover, you've probably recognized it, along with the iconic Last Drop glasses. That sturdy piece of furniture you see there, closer to his desk, is his safe. No one has the code except for him, me, and now you (it's 937). Since we're here, I might as well open it.
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Face down, there's a photo depicting Vander, Silco, and Felicia on the bridge when they were younger—certainly well before Felicia got pregnant, given the length of Silco's hair. That strange map is a map of the mine tunnels, a relic from his past as a miner. And finally, the LP is "Our Love," ironically Vander's favorite song (as Jinx mentions in Jinx Fixes Everything), as well as Felicia's, Silco's, and Jinx's. It's in the safe because Silco treasures that vinyl so much that he doesn't leave it where it could get destroyed; he keeps it protected.
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But let's close it up and move on. Here it is, the iconic desk. Since I'm a generous guide, I'll let you circle around it so you can see it from every angle. On top, there's the map of Piltover with the mug that Jinx made for him, while in the drawer, there's a mask to filter out the gray, the smog of Zaun, and a card that I think was used for blackmail. I can't say for sure, but it seems to be part of the man's shady dealings.
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Next to his desk, on the right, there are two doors. They're not accessible, but since I doubt he'd want anyone to have such direct access to his office, in my fanfiction at least, there will be a room behind them with a double bed and some of his belongings.
But let's move on to the last piece! The huge map of Piltover and zaun with which he planned the export of Shimmer and weapons, where he kept track of everything that happened.
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If you enjoyed or found this little tour useful, let me know, and feel free to check out my headcanons or my longfic! This tour has come to an end, but I might have material to create more in the future!
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theavantgardette · 2 months ago
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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ Fire-Breathing Luck | Fred Weasley
SYN: Fred's girl knows how to handle business better than he does. At least that's what he thinks. He doesn't really care otherwise. He thinks she's the dopest of the ropest, she thinks he's the funniest bloke there ever was. It just works.
— A mailbox request by @drkaysapothecary
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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
"Freddie," she tugged on the hem of his work pants.
Her red-haired lover hummed in acknowledgement, his brown eyes lighting up like lanterns on the sight of her. He restocked piles of new products on the very top shelf quicker than before, his stature providing a great amount of aid to prevent himself from toppling over had he instructed the other employees to do so. His lover stood by him giddily, herself as involved in the business as he was, moreso ever since he and his twin made a deal to give more than 15% of their shares of income for whichever "lucky ladies" were designated to date them.
Corny as it was, she never once doubted his devotion to her. A day after they announced the deal, she joined their Muggle Arts class with other, fellow Ravenclaws. Safe to say, her works enamored him to no end; her arrow-sharp wit dazzling him quicker than he could begin to say 'hello.'
And here they were, an evening at the busiest market in all of the English Wizarding World — having each other, their own little family in the strange circumstances of the war impending on every witch and wizard's lives at the time.
Fred looked below through the box of stocks he was holding, "Just put them on the carrier, love."
"What, these?" she replied, meeting his eyes as she held onto the carrier full of joke candies designed to incite incessant drooling to whoever ate them. She carded along the packages of them, packed in papers dyed in green and blue.
"Oi, you lovers," George emerged from upstairs of the joke shop and swung his jacket around his shoulder, "clocking out in a bit."
Fred tossed him a smirk, "Off to steal a bit of thunder?"
George responded with giving him air kisses, freeing himself from his brother's teasing towards the streets outside. The shop bell rang as he walked out.
"Strange," Fred came down the ladder, handing the empty box to her, "it's the only time I've no idea where my brother's off to."
"He's seeing a girl," she replied in nonchalance, rechecking the shop's list of income, "do you reckon we'll get more check next month?"
Fred frowned in thought, "We're already good as we are. Need for more?"
She shrugged, putting the paper on the counter and began scribbling with her pocket quill. Fred peeked over, only to see her planning for better prospects; budgeting fees, advertising money. Fred thought he and his brother had nerve; he just hadn't expected his woman to have one tenfold.
Fred kissed her cheek softly, just the way she liked. She chuckled ticklishly, wiping it away in good nature.
"Bugger off me, will you?" she chastised, but pulled him nearer by his collar.
"Feisty woman," he muttered, still close to her.
She resumed her drafting, glancing over to the entrance to check if any customers required their attention. It had turned to evening already, and most who visited Diagon Alley had gone home.
He then slid his arm around her shoulder, his chin on top of her head. Even then, he still had to slouch quite a bit. She stifled a grin, abandoning her writing to kiss the hand dangling above her collarbone. He nuzzled her hair, closing his eyes as they began to sway. There was no music, no tune playing but from the ballerina-bear music boxes sitting by the display upfront.
Us two; he thought, that's all there ever was. Nothing else. Nothing happening. Just us.
George could take his luck for all he cared. Fred knew he had his own down pat, and she sure wasn't going away any time sooner.
. . . .
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
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A/N: comment to be put on my HP taglist!!!!
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bravehyde · 18 days ago
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Ant Tenna Anatomy: What's In a CRT?
~Deltarune Chapters 3+4 Spoilers~
I think it's safe to say a lot of people like Tenna. TV heads are popular for a reason, they're fun! And obviously I'm not going to step on the toes of people making designs because you can do whatever you want. I've simply noticed quite a few people making him very modern under the collar, which is fun and all, but what if he's 90s tech all the way down?
I wanted to make a series of posts on possible things he could have as a television from the 20th century, as well as a broadcast host (since he seems to make his own show and would need to be sending that signal somewhere!) and just a piece of equipment that's walking around. Everything's bendable in that televisions aren't alive, so it's a fun exercise. This first post is just pointing out some things I've noticed that are very present day for such an old man. A quick checklist of things he may not have that a regular TV head or robot character would have, you could call it. I'll try to offer alternatives as well if you want them!
First things first: what is a CRT?
Most people use CRT to refer to the analog television set, however CRT technically doesn't mean that. CRT stands for Cathode Ray Tube, and is referring to the device that allows the image to be projected on the screen of the television. As such, know that when I just say "CRT", I'm not referring to the television. For the television set, we're still calling it a CRT TV, which may sound like a mouthful, but it's a pretty important distinction. For Tenna, the different between a CRT and a CRT TV is the difference between his brain and his head. We should know which is which!
It's incredible how CRTs work since it is, when we really really simplify it, electrons shooting through a glass tube completely devoid of oxygen to make an image appear on a screen we covered in phosphor cream. This is kind of a form of radiation, but a lot of things are a form of radiation when you boil it down, so that's not too big of a deal. Just know that most of what's in Tenna's head is what he uses for his display, this big glass thing right here. Basically, electrons are made by a heated filament and then bounce a million times to the screen where it displays a series of images. If you've ever heard that a CRT is radioactive, it's because of this thing. It can make x-rays, which generally you do not want to contact with your naked flesh or eyes. Sorry.
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Are CRT TVs made of metal?
I put this one personally because it tickled me how many people do a full body of Tenna and give him a shiny shell when CRT TVs were not like that. If a CRT TV had a metal casing, it would be incredibly unsafe. All technology can hurt you if you fuck up, but since this thing can make ionizing radiation and/or implode with glass, they were especially careful. What's in his body past his neck can be debated, and I'll make a post later on ideas of what technology he may need inside him, but we're going to pretend for now that the rest of him is like a natural extension of a CRT TV. He's full of very thick glass that is incredibly difficult to break, designed to be free of defects, and with other little bits mixed in for durability and x-ray shielding. Yeah, these are one of many inventions that have a bunch of lead in them. Don't lick it even if it makes rainbows.
And so you don't get electrocuted, his ass is not metal. He would be incredibly ineffective if he was. If we used the incredibly simple term for his material beyond the screen, it's just plastic, but if you want to know the science-y one, Tenna's most likely made of acrylonitrile butadiene styrene, or ABS plastic. This type of plastic is used because it's very rigid, very tough, and incredibly resistant to chemicals and temperature. ABS is used in a ton of stuff, from toys to car exteriors to pipe fittings to medical implants. If you've heard recently about something being replaced with 3D printed plastic, there's a good chance it's ABS plastic.
Obviously, that's not as fun to shade if you're going for an incredibly rendered piece, so I can see why people would default to metal, but I've also seen more people lovingly render LEGO bricks than I can count, so I think there's something there for you. Bonus points if you want to bring up how he's probably 30ish years old so you can put all sorts of scratches and dents in there. Who didn't have scuff marks on their childhood TV on the corners?
Do CRT TVs have wires?
We all know why this is on this list. I don't have to say it. And yes, CRT TVs have wires, just a lot less than you're thinking. By "a lot less", I mean this is what the inside of one looks like, with a quick video of someone taking one apart.
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Highly recommend watching videos of people taking old technology apart, btw, it's addicting. But anyway, this is a bullet point for a slightly separate reason. It may be tempting to have an art or fic where someone is taking Tenna apart for whatever reason.
Taking apart a CRT TV, like all technology, is very dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. CRTs can emit radiation, the actual TV can be high enough voltage to kill you. To safely take apart one of these for repairs, you'd have to ground the power. That is one of the main wires in a CRT TV, actually. It's very foolish to do CRT TV repairs while the television is plugged in, AKA while it's on, AKA while Tenna is awake. You could definitely swing this as him showing trust to the other person that they can poke around his innards while he's unconscious, or of course, if Susie's doing it when he's kinda-almost-dead. Just, uh, don't do it while he can still react and talk. That's a pretty good sign you're going to get zapped.
For a lot of wire stuff it would probably make sense to do more AV inputs and outputs. Those would most likely go right into the back of his head, but if you fenaggle it to be in other places that'd make sense too. I personally think his neck is probably just those cords lol and it's a great way to get a pop of color in him. It's most likely also how he has a microphone if you want it physically connected to him.
Do CRT TVs have fans?
Another one that makes me giggle because I see people write this who are more used to doing computer-y robot people as their writing focus. I'm sorry babes, Tenna is no spring chicken. He's not your MacBook that wails in agony when you try to play Minecraft, he's not that Windows laptop that vrrrrrrrrrrrrrs when you dare to put it on a blanket. He does not have a fan. In the days of the CRT TV, if he got hot, he got hot, and he had an oven inside of him to force him to cool off, but it took a long time. I know a lot of people want to bring up fans to talk about him ~overheating~, but it isn't quite like that.
This doesn't mean you lose the idea of him needing to cool off. Quite the opposite, really. Anyone else really like to touch the front of a CRT TV after it's been on for a while? How it kind of hurts but in a good way? You know, that little zap? Just a nice way to get around that. Of course, when people talk about a CRT TV getting really hot, it's a good idea to have a fan in the room. Maybe Tenna has an old box fan in his chest to help him thermoregulate? Food for thought, I guess.
Do CRT TVs have pixels?
This is a toughie and something that I find really fun: in a way, CRT TVs predate pixels as we think of them. LCD screens have pixels as set objects on the screen, tiny panels that cover it. CRT TVs do not, and I can explain why they don't but that's a huge thing that will take several paragraphs and pictures and I can post about at length later, so for now just take that they don't. Images in general have pixels, but they aren't projected on the CRT screen how they would be on a pixellated screen. This is part of why a lot of people got rid of CRT TVs, since this makes the pixels come out "blurry" compared to the clean, high resolution of an LCD screen. You can adjust a CRT TV to project more pixels since it doesn't have them as a set number of resolution on the screen the way an LCD TV does though! I think a lot of people have seen this image before but I'll put it here anyway as an example of what this means appearance wise. Still pixels, just doesn't look like it.
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Honestly, it makes Tenna's appearance in the game that much more interesting. His pixels don't stay in the same place the way they do for every other character, with defined outlines and the same sized pixels throughout the story. Him shrinking and growing could be seen as him setting the resolution on his monitor to accommodate how many pixels he wants to be. He doesn't have an outline like everyone else because he doesn't have the set pixel count, instead approximating it the way all CRT TVs do! He already had some light reality bending powers given that he can teleport us wherever he wants and put up a "technical difficulties" screen, but him using an ability that powerful for something so seemingly inconsequential is insane. I'd also recommend looking at Tenna's sprites on a CRT TV if you track down one of those videos, because his appearance in the normal game compared to that intro cutscene on a CRT TV is crazy similar and I love it.
That's all I have for this first post. Very introductory, very basic. I know some things because I grew up with CRT TVs, some things because I have a degree in media stuff and had to take classes on the history of television and cinematography, and some things because I just kind of got curious and wanted to look into it. Obviously, I don't know everything to ever exist, but I know not everybody wants to do the digging I do for fun on old technology or knows where to look.
I'll be making more posts under the tag "ant tenna anatomy" if you want them, and my ask box is always open! Any questions you have, I'd love to answer.
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timkontheunsure · 1 year ago
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"and if he's only here as a prisoner, what kind of monster does that make me?"
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Ok think I've finally worked out what was bugging me with them miscommunicating when Blitz yells.
"Would he want me if he were free?" Stolas' starting premise is if Blitz wasn't ok with the deal, and didn't like him; then he's a monster and an abuser.
If it's was only sex to Blitz, then he's just like Stella.
It's why he gives up, saying he has his answer; when Blitz assumes the crystal must be a prop for more of their deal.
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"tethered to someone in such an unfair way". Ok this bit had my mind immediately go to the divorce.
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The marriage was arranged by someone must more powerful than Stolas, to someone he'd never choose for himself. An "entire life's been written in stone" in fact; he thinks he's done the same thing to the man he loves.
While it is perfectly reasonable for Blitz to get angry, feeling blindsided and dismissed; asking for a "fucking minute", the next bit reads very differently to both of them.
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"You spring this feeling bullshit on me. Are you fucking kidding! *Kicks open the door* Can I get a Fucking minute to think after everything you put me through! You pompous rich Asshole! *Stolas' flinches the same way he does when Stella screams at him.*
"Treat me like one of your little butler imps. You can't just Dismiss me like that. I mean you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time. Like you can just play with our feelings, because we're smaller and not as important. Well I'm Not letting you bitch. *Flinches again* Let's Go!".
Blitz is telling Stolas that he doesn't want to be sent away, and that he wants think about it. His abandonment issues are fully kicked in.
He's trying to force Stolas into a fight, to get him to engage with him. Likely a repeated pattern from his last serious relationship with Voroskia.
Trying to pick a fight, to get to make up sex, to get them back to 'normal'. Because that's how he's been dealing with their "complicated" for a while now. If it's about sex he knows how to deal with what they have.
(Blitz is word perfect on the fight with Verosika after all; so they probably got back together a few times after stealing from her).
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Blitz immediately goes to "I can do better", and try give it back; when he thinks Stolas doesn't want to see him anymore.
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"you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time."
But that's not what Stolas is hearing right now. Stolas hears is 'your all the same. All royal are as bad as eachother'.
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It's very close to Striker explaining how the world works during his torture.
And now he thinks that the only man he's ever loved hates him because what he is.
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That's what he meant by "think so of low of me".
And he's not exactly wrong. Fizz even calls Blitz on hating that Stolas is a prince.
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And Blitz does say "They're all the fuckin' same". (Blitz isn't wrong for calling out Stolas on how he treats his staff either)...
Then there's the bit that seems fairly contentious. Stolas portaling Blitz out.
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Stolas is a domestic abuse survivor, only a couple of weeks out of the hospital, because his wife tried to murder him. He's going freak out at loud voices, angry swearing, and doors being kicked in.
He going assume that this is Blitz getting a few kicks in on the way out; not him genuinely trying to talk through their problems just because of the format.
They are both stumbling over eachothers trauma landmines here.
Neither is wrong.
Not Stolas for walking away, or making the shouty person leave.
Not Blitz for getting scared, upset and feeling abandoned. Thinking Stolas isn't giving him a chance to think it through.
Blitz is going to get that time he wants to think it over. It's not an all or none thing.
He now has his business safe and secured in his own hands, and knows that Stolas likes him too. Those are biggys.
It's entirely up to Blitz what he wants to do now.
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jjjjisun · 2 months ago
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Before the curtain falls
Ex-Fromis_9 Saerom X Male Reader | 2002 words
Tags: cheating, goodbye, regret, cancer
What's new: $5 commission listing for short smuts
Author's note: was inspired by the sadness of this song. I miss our captain, too.
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I opened my phone. It's unexpected. Saerom. Six years of silence, then one line: "Are you free tonight? Just this once. " My heart pounds, my muscles tense. The last time I saw her, we were young and untied. Now that I'm married, her face fades in my mind like an old photograph. I close the message. I look at my wife, Seohyun, her breath soft, a stranger in our bed. I can't resist the ghost of Saerom.
***
Windshield wipers have a steady pulse in the rain. Sitting shot simply do. Wait for the signal from the van. She's there, Saerom, in the back seat, unaware of my watch. Dancer's legs, their Korean pop title song playing in repeat. Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, unspoken. Long drives, her presence a physical ache I can't deny. I guard her body, but my heart? That's hers.
***
It's a cold Seoul night. I put on a thin jacket and my shoes by the door. Seohyun stirs. "You're going out?" I nod, not meeting her eyes. She's warm, familiar… but not Saerom. I close the door behind me. I breathe Seoul's frost, letting it clear my mind. With hands in pockets, I walk toward the uncertain, toward Saerom.
***
Rehearsals, late nights, just us in the studio. She stretches, her body fluid and daunting. I want to run my hands along those lines, replacing her pain with mine. "You're staring," she smiles, unaffected. I'm guarding," I reply, voice rough. She laughs; her laugh is my reward, my punishment.
***
The message waits. I could delete it, pretend I never saw. Go back to habit, to Seohyun. Safe. Numb. But Saerom's here, in my past, in my phone. Can't ignore her. Can't deny the heat she ignites. Open the message. Type: "Yes."
Dark wood, dim lighting. The room smells of aged furniture and a faint echo of her perfume. She doesn't move; she just lets me look. I drink her in, every line, every curve. Her body's changed—softer, vulnerable. Time hasn't been kind, but she's still Saerom.
"Hello, guard," she says, her voice a husk of its former self. I flinch at the old nickname. We didn't speak then, not with words. Her eyes are different, too, clouded and weary. I want to smooth away the lines around them, but my hands stay at my sides.
"You're here," I say stupidly. She smiles, a brief flash of teeth. "I asked you, didn't I?" She turns and walks towards the window. Her steps are slow and deliberate. I follow like a shadow, our feet barely making a sound. The streets below are cold and blank, like her stare.
Sixty-four floors down. I can't think about that. About her, on the edge, leaning into emptiness. She's here. She's alive. For now. "Why are you here, Saerom?" My voice is barely above a whisper. She looks at me, her reflection dancing on the glass.
"Because I wanted one last time," she says, her voice steady. "One last night where I'm not a dancer with a dying body, but a woman. With you."
The words hang heavy in the air. One last time. Her choice of words sinks like a stone in my chest. I want to close the distance between us, press my lips against hers, remind her of life. But I stand still, feigning control.
"Saerom..." Her name's a plea on my lips. She faces me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Touch me," she says, voice trembling. "Love me like you used to."
Her clothes fall to the floor like silent whispers. My hands trace the map of her scars, each one a story of pain, of triumph. I lean down and kiss them softly. She shudders, her breath hitching. This isn't lust, this is memory. Longing. Grief.
Her body curves against mine, fitting like puzzle pieces. Our movements are slow and deliberate. We're not rushing time, we're savoring it. Her tears drop onto my chest, each one a heavy, silent sob. I don't stop her. This is her pain. Her goodbye.
In the shadowed room, we make love like it's our first time—like it's our last. Her body remembers mine and yields to it. I guide us gently and firmly. She meets my rhythm, her eyes never leaving mine. We're not just bodies entwined; we're hearts bound by a past they can't escape.
Her whimper echoes in the silent room as she comes undone. I'm close behind, my release raw, gut-wrenching. We collapse, our breaths ragged, hearts pounding. In this moment, she's not dying. She's alive. She's mine.
But as I hold her, feel her heartbeat against my chest, I know. This isn't the start of something. It's the end. My heart aches, heavy with longing and regret. Before the sun comes up, I'll leave. Before she wakes up, I'll be gone because loving Saerom once was enough to break me. Loving her again might just destroy me.
A stranger yet so familiar. Saerom. Her face is bare, lines etched by time and... something else. Her body, once lithe, now holds a softness, a fragility that wasn't there before. Loose clothes hang on her frame, hiding the muscles I used to know so well.
She doesn't move; she just lets me look. I take her in, every detail, every change. Her eyes, always her tears, hold a calm acceptance I've never seen. It's like she's made peace with something I can't quite understand.
"I asked you here," she says, breaking the silence. Her voice is different too—huskier, quieter. "Because I wanted to see you. One last time."
One last time. The words hang heavy, settling like stones in my stomach. I want to reach out and touch her. But my hands stay at my sides, useless, awkward.
"You look different," I say, stupidly. Of course she does. Six years. A lifetime.
A faint smile ghosts her lips. "So do you."
We stand there, a chasm of unspoken words between us. She takes a breath, and I know she will say it. The truth we've been dancing around.
"It's cancer," she says, her tone matter-of-fact. "I have six months, maybe less. I wanted to tell you. Before... before it's too late."
My heart clenches, a vice tightening around it. I've been preparing for this moment since I opened her message, yet hearing it, seeing the resignation in her eyes... It's like a physical blow.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" My voice comes out harsher than I intended.
She shrugs, her gaze shifting to the window. "You have a life now. A wife. I didn't want to disrupt that."
A life. Seohyun. The faces of our child flashed in my mind. Then, Saerom's face faded like a photograph. I didn't choose her. Yet, here I am, overwhelmed by the urge to touch her, comfort her, and fix this.
"Saerom..." Her name slips from my lips, half gratitude, half plea.
She turns to me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Can we... can you... hold me?"
I close the distance between us, pulling her gently into my arms. She comes willingly, her body fitting against mine like a puzzle piece. Her skin is soft, her scent unfamiliar, yet there's something about her, something that feels like home.
As we stand there, our hearts beating in sync, I feel her warm and silent tears seeping into my shirt. I press a kiss to her temple, my own eyes stinging. One last time. This isn't lust. It's longing. It's grief. It's goodbye.
She pulls away, her eyes meeting mine. There's a question in them, a silent plea. She doesn't have to voice it. I know her thoughts as well as my own.
I led her to the bed, a quiet altar for our faded memories. I undress her slowly, reverently, as if stripping away layers of time. She lets me, her eyes never leaving mine. Her body bears the marks of a warrior—a mastectomy scar, a line from a feeding tube. I press soft kisses to each one, honoring her battles, her triumphs.
Her breath hitches as I lay her down, her body soft and yielding beneath mine. We make love in the silence, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. There's no rush, no build-up. It's just us, reclaiming the past, facing the present, accepting the future.
Tears roll down her cheeks, into her ears, onto the pillow. I capture one and taste the salt on my lips. This isn't sex. This is her goodbye. This is my grief. This is our memory.
She comes softly, her body shuddering, her eyes closed. I follow my release, silent, raw. We cling to each other, our bodies slick with sweat and tears, our hearts pounding in sync.
As I hold her, her breath evening out, I realize this isn't the start of something. It's the end. The curtain is falling, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I press a kiss to her forehead. Before she falls asleep, before I leave, I want to remember her like this—not as a dying woman, but as a love I once shared.
Empty Bed. He wakes alone. Finds a handwritten note folded beside him: "Thank you for loving me without needing to keep me." The words echo in his mind, a hollow gong. She's gone. Again.
What to feel first? Loss? Relief? Guilt? They tug at him, a physical force, a tide threatening to drown him. He takes a deep breath, the scent of her still lingering on the pillow. Loss. He starts with that. Heavy as stone.
Sunlight Streams. It filters through the blinds, strips his vision, and reveals the room's silent testimony: clothes on the floor, pillows still warm, sheets tangled. It is a raw map of their lovemaking, their goodbye. His gaze falls on her crumpled, abandoned dress. He picks it up, brings it to his face, and breathes her in one last time.
He stares at his reflection. Lines deeper. Eyes hollow. A stranger, barely holding the man she once knew. He remembered her like this, in fragments, in the soft curve of a smile, the arch of a brow. Now, she's everywhere, embedding into his memory like a tattoo under his skin. Ink he can't rub off, can't ignore.
Legacy. He watches the film again, alone in the dark. Her face flickers on the screen, alive, vibrant. She's quoting him, the words from their last night. "I'm not just a body with a dying soul. I'm still Saerom. The one who danced in the rain." His heart clenches, a vise around it. She left him her ghost, her memory. Her fucking legacy.
Drawer. He finds the envelope tucked away, forgotten. Inside, photos of their past. Her smile, wide and free, dancing in the rain. Their laughter, frozen in time. He, watching her, always watching. Guarding. Her body, brave, resisting time. And he loves her and is always loving her.
Consequences. Seohyun finds the note, her hands trembling as she reads. Her eyes meet his, questions swimming in the tears. He doesn't have answers. Not for her. Not for himself. So he says nothing, turns away, and watches Saerom dance one last time. On the screen, she fades with the credits. In his heart, she'll never disappear.
Rain. He stood outside, the water washing over him, soaking his clothes, his skin. He welcomed it once, with her. Now, it's just rain. He's just... him. Alone. Again.
He looks up at the window, sixty-four floors above. No figure leans on the edge. No face watches the storm. There is just emptiness, silence, and their goodbye. He turns away and walks into the rain, the unknown, and the rest of his life, without her, the guard she once called him, and the life they could have had.
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bynux · 11 months ago
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"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?
Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:
Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."
Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.
Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.
As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?
Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.
Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.
Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.
Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.
If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.
Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.
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beanarie · 1 month ago
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@bucktommywhumpweek day 1: oxygen
It's barely an injury. This is definitely the most minor reason he has ever been stuck in an ER cubicle. Buck should be annoyed it's taking so long to send his hairline fracture to radiology, but the moment the nurse ordered him onto the gurney, he remembered how long it's been since he slept more than a couple of hours at a time. Every cell in his body sank and then seemed to make an audible click. He's never felt so much like a phone in a docking station. With only a little regret for the fire his team is still fighting, he drifts.
He resurfaces to a heart monitor going absolutely insane.
It's not his; he's not hooked up. But it's so close it must be in the next cubicle.
"Hi," says the nurse who smiled in response to Buck's thumbs up earlier, before he took his snooze. "You're at First Presbyterian Medical Center. You have a head injury, so you might be a little confused. It's okay. We're going to take care of you."
There's grumbling and a distressed wheeze. Someone shouts in alarm. Buck is now fully awake.
"What's his name?" a man asks. "Where's Greg? And Mathias? We need all hands here."
"Thomas, they said," the nurse says, and Buck's pulse speeds up.
"Thomas?" the man says with another grunt. "Please work with us."
"Hey," another woman says in surprise. The wheezing is almost unbearable, like a teakettle the instant before his mom would take it off the burner. His head swimming, Buck takes down the guard rail on one side of his bed. "I know him. He's a medevac pilot."
Buck inhales deeply and launches himself to his feet.
"Shit," someone says, as they all cry out in protest. And then Tommy is in his cubicle.
Blood is trailing down from his temple, covering one sharp cheekbone.
"Tommy?" Buck says. "Tommy." Wild eyes swing in his direction. They narrow slightly before going soft. Okay, good. He recognizes him. He does not say a word because he doesn't have the air to speak. One arm is wrapped around what must be a sucking chest wound. The veins in his neck are sticking out. He's trying so hard.
Buck lifts his hands to show he's safe. "Hey. Hey. You okay?"
Tommy stares, uncomprehending. His pupils are different sizes. Buck gestures at his bed. "Y-You look tired. Do you wanna sit?"
"Evan," he says soundlessly, forming the name with lips gone faintly blue.
"Yeah, it's me, Tommy. Come take a load off. It's okay. You look like you're gonna fall over."
Hopping on one foot, Buck takes Tommy's free hand and guides him onto the gurney, the medical team hissing at each other and vibrating behind his back. Tommy's chest is heaving, his fingers digging into Buck's wrist.
"Look at me," Buck says calmly, beckoning them as Tommy falls back. "You'll let them help, all right?"
Tommy spies their approach in his periphery and clutches at Buck, trying to lever himself off the bed. "It's okay. It's okay. Stay put."
Several things happen in rapid succession.
The nurse starts a new IV.
Tommy goes limp and boneless, his eyes falling shut, his chest unmoving.
Someone shoves Buck out of the way and his broken foot seems to disintegrate underneath him, causing the room to shift and then go black.
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bumblesimagines · 3 months ago
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something on my face?
were you being serious back there?
Lottie matthews
Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader
CW/TW: Slight manipulation, all the warnings that come with Lottie lmao
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It'd been hard at first getting used to sleeping in a little wooden hut instead of the creaking floorboards of the cabin with the sound of crackling fire lulling you to sleep, but you eventually grew to enjoy hearing the soft trilling of insects and the occasional call of an owl that would've otherwise been muffled by the cabin walls.
Things were different now; people were different, too. 
While Natalie had never shied away from speaking her mind, her new role as their leader allowed her to be taken more seriously by the others. She was a good leader, one grounded in logic who'd managed to use the cabin burning as an opportunity rather than a grave failure. Winter would've killed them had it not been for her... and had it not been for Javi's sacrifice. 
You lifted your head up from your worn, dirty converse, your fingers fiddling with the now-dirt brown laces as you tied and tightened them until your foot no longer threatened to slip free from the shoe. Your eyes almost immediately gravitated toward Travis and his slumped-over form against a tree. You winced, your heart breaking just a little bit at the sight of his near blank face.
Javi's death rendered him a shell of his former self, the grief and depression so intense none of the girls bothered with their usual teasing. Not even Shauna, who spent most of her time scowling and snapping at everyone in quick bursts of sudden irritation, let a single cruel comment directed at him slip from her mouth. Mostly everyone left him alone to process his grief. Mostly everyone.
You involuntarily sighed at the sight of Lottie walking toward Travis with her hands delicately wrapped around a steaming cup. Lottie spent a good portion of spring's arrival creating the perfect tea, one she claimed could help others speak to It with little difficulty. Everyone else had dismissed her fairly quickly, shaking their heads or redirecting her toward someone else, but Travis had been too defeated to reject her soft murmurs. By the grimace on his face, he was regretting it.
Brushing dirt from your knee and straightening up, you made a beeline toward the two brunettes in swift strides and quickly intercepted Lottie before she could crouch down and coax Travis into drinking the godforsaken tea. She blinked her big eyes at you, her brows beginning to twitch into a furrow, but her mouth pulled into a gentle yet puzzled tight-lipped smile. 
"Lottie, hey, I think we really need to put a small stop to these teas."
"Travis is making progress." Lottie blinked again, her smile twisting into the start of a frown. "We have to know what It wants from us, (Y/N). How else will we know what to do if we can't speak to It?" She gave a small shake of her head, her long hair swaying side to side with her movements. 
You nodded, somewhat forcibly, and placed your hand over her shoulder. "Yes, of course, I agree with you, Lot, but have you considered It just... doesn't have anything more to say right now? You of all people know It came to our rescue when we needed it. It led us to the cabin when we had no shelter, showed you ways to keep us safe, brought us food when we needed it... showed us how to survive during winter. We're thriving now, Lot."
"But we need to know what's coming." Lottie asserted lightly, though from the way she glanced down at the tea and then looked around camp, she was giving your words some thought. Her lips pursed slightly, her dark eyes flickering back to you. "We need It to show us what's coming, how to prepare-"
"Lottie," You cooed, lifting your hand from her shoulder to delicately cup her cheek. Her lips remained parted, but no further words came out from them at your touch. You brushed your thumb over her tan skin, trailing it over her cheekbone until her shoulders slumped and that defensive tension left her body. "We know you want to keep us safe, we really do, but we don't need It right now. What we need is everyone doing their part, and Travis needs a clear head for that. If a time comes when we need It or It needs us, I'm certain that It will let us know what It wants one way or another, okay?"
She suckled her bottom lip into her mouth, her top teeth digging lightly into it in contemplation. "Okay." She exhaled, her features softening and wavy strands bouncing off the sides of her face when she nodded. 
"Great!" Travis audibly sighed in relief behind you, but it seemingly went unnoticed by her. You dropped your hand back to her shoulder and gave it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. "Now, why don't you go dump that tea out and start doing your chores, alright? I'm sure if It has something to say to Travis, It'll get the message across, and he'll come straight to you. Right, Travis?"
"Y-Yeah, I'll let you know if I see or hear something, Lottie." Travis nodded quickly as he staggered onto his feet and used the tree trunk for support. He offered a little smile for Lottie, a much more thankful one for you, and then quickly headed off to get started on his chores for the day before Lottie could change her mind.
With a pat to Lottie's shoulder, you peeled your hand away and headed for the gardens where your chores began. It was a simple day for you, uneventful, but it was how you preferred it nowadays. Eventful days always seemed to bring the most sorrow.
You crouched down in the dirt and mulch after collecting one of the smaller, duller knives and began tugging at any weeds encroaching on the precious berries and herbs used for medicine and food. Before the crash, you would've scoffed at the idea of sitting under the sun tending to a garden, but now, you found it pretty relaxing. 
That was until Lottie kneeled down across from you with one of the handmade baskets at her hip. At the very least, it meant you could keep a better eye on her and ensure she wasn't badgering Travis, but from the way her eyes kept rising to watch your face.. you were beginning to think you made yourself her next target. It wasn't like you hated Lottie or disliked her as much as Shauna did at times; she was simply... a little annoying, for lack of a better word.
"Something on my face?" You asked playfully, pulling your lips into a smile because being kind often got people better results, not that Shauna would know given how she briefly glanced over as she walked by only to roll her eyes. At least Melissa found her aloofness amusing.
Lottie's head fully lifted, shaking lightly at your question as she set the berries she'd collected in the basket. "Were you being serious back there?" She asked instead, wiping her palm over the skirt of her dress. "Do you actually believe in It? Do you really think It won't take offense?"
"You tell me, Lottie." You gave a little shrug, not too keen on telling her you thought the whole thing had been bullshit the second she began her mutterings about the wilderness and what 'It' wanted from them. She could pray to the dirt and twigs and wind if she wanted, but there was a snowball's chance in hell you'd do the same. "You know It better than anyone here."
"It hasn't spoken to me in a while," Lottie admitted quietly, her gaze averting as if it were hurtful and even shameful to admit aloud. She set the basket over her lap and dipped her fingers inside to roll the berries around in thought. "I wondered if maybe I had done something.. but maybe you're right. Maybe It has nothing to say right now." 
"I'm sure It will come back to you when It needs something, Lot." 
"Mm." Lottie's mouth curled upward, satisfied. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "Could I sleep in your hut tonight?"
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crystallizedtwilight · 2 months ago
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Hi! I absolutely love your NBC art, it's amazing, I could sit and scroll through it for hours!
Apologies if this ask is too deep, feel free to ignore. We see a lot of Lock's insecurities and faults within your art, but I wondered, is there anything that Barrel does that then requires a lot of reassurance from Lock? I just thought it might be interesting to see their roles reversed ...
Barrel is a pretty confident, laid back guy and doesn't need much reassurance! However, he does have one guilt. I laid out a comic once but ultimately decided that I want to focus on more lighthearted aspects of the AU. Script below:
Oogie threatening to harm and eat the trio is canon. Barrel carries some guilt regarding Lock and Shock deliberately taking the brunt of Oogie's anger (purposefully distracting Oogie, drawing attention to themselves, nudging Barrel behind them).
Barrel is the youngest of the trio and to Lock and Shock it was a no-brainer that they needed to protect him. They knew it was between them having a bad night or Barrel never coming back up the lift.
But Barrel's deep gratitude for them is sometimes outweighed by his guilt in sadder moments. He often wondered if they resented him for being too weak back then (they don't), and he swore to protect them when he grew older and became stronger than both of them.
The idea for the comic was Barrel telling Lock and Shock that he knows they are the reason he is still here. Shock tells him "we're safe now" Barrel promises "I will never let anyone hurt you again," and Lock answers "we know."
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forsaken-headcanons · 2 months ago
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How good i think all the forsaken people's would be at cooking!(not including upcoming characters)
Survivors:
Elliot- His pizza is GODLY. Like the pizza in cartoons, all melty and real and oml that pizza is PEAK!! However, it's all he can cook.
Chance- They try, but.. little rich boy who likely had chefs cook for them, so.. safe to say he can't cook. (That, or option B, either chances food is GODLY or shit, it'd be a gamble!)
Twotime- They are GREAT at cooking, the only downside is how they get when given a knife. So, usually whenever they cook someone else handles the cutting aspect! But they are amazing at cooking besides that.
Guest1337- He used to survive off the bare minimum during war, he can cook but it's not exactly.. flavorful... he's trying but it tastes like nothing.
007n7- Hes a good cook! Has a wide variety of things he can cook, too! Think about the amount of food jobs hes probably had- also, fast food costs alot, and he can't let c00lkid starve! His experience as a dad makes him a terrific chef, even if the survivors tend to forget.
Shedletsky- He can't cook.
Dusekkar- OK, so i feel like he'd be a decent cook? Just in his freetime, hes never actually needed to cook and just doesn't it for fun, so it's not like. GODLY or anything, it's just average.
Taph- Pls dont let them cook. They can season food, but do NOT let taph cook for the love of spawn, PLEASE...
Noob- Cant cook, but great at baking! She liked baking things for g666 back before being forsaken, so he's a really good baker and tends to make dessert for the survivors.
Builderman- Average, but rarely adds seasoning- more flavor then guest1337, but not by much.
Killers:
1x- ONE EGGS ONE EGGS ONE EG- ok but in all seriousness, they'd be a good cook. She wanted to be better then his creator at SOMETHING, so.. top teir food.
C00lkidd- He can make pancakes! That.. that's it. Dude he's 10. Also, the only reason he can make pancakes is because when he was around 6, 007n7 was making breakfast and c00lkidd wanted to help- they ended up making pancakes alllll day, breakfast lunch and dinner. C00lkidd was so proud of himself, and it's a core memory.
Jason- Doesnt cook often, but hes average at it. The one cooking whenever 1x is too lazy or just did a round, he enjoys cooking and is trying to get better at it.
John doe- Before being corrupted, he was a decent cook. But. He's a feral animal now, literally has a spike as an arm.. don't let him anywhere near the kitchen. </3
(First time sending an ask here, if this list has already been done or I forgot someone pls don't throw tomatoes at me/hj also off topic but I'm SO FUCKING MAD that I didn't get a refund on elliot after he became free, pmo[ill get over it in like a week but still])
Shedletsky not being able to cook is amazing to me, same with Taph not being allowed into the kitchen. Those two would somehow find a way to blow up water./silly Welcome to the blog! We're glad you're here. :)
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