#cog critical

[neechees]

It's a little ironic (is that the word to use here?) That Barbie specifically takes a jab at Bratz by having a girl named Sasha look like a killjoy feminist for critisizing Barbie & Mattel when Gerwig only ever cares about white feminism & Bratz has always been more inclusive than Barbie/Mattel

[creator-indy]

Wip cog oc

social climber (real name pending)

Hes a bossbot lookin to get upgraded to boardbot

No matter what it takes

[moontheoretist]

Maybe he was a pessimist, though, because everything that Strange had told him about Mordo left Tony with the impression of someone nigh unshakeable in his beliefs. It could be an admirable trait. It could also be a fatal flaw. ~ Fused at the Soul by airas_story

I just realised that Tony's and Stephen's stories are not only parralel in the themes they follow, but also in character roles that they assigned.

Wong is Stephen's Rhodey, while Mordo is Stephen's Steve. The only difference is that Mordo is portrayed explicidly as the one in the wrong when it comes to his zealous idea that his beliefs are the only right ones, while Steve Rogers is constantly pushed by the narrative as the one in the right during Civil War, even when most of the scenes in that movie scream at the audience that he is definitely not in the right.

I just found it funny that I never noticed this before. MCU loves to use the same roles all the time after all, and shuffling the characters that they assign them to. (If you ever felt that some of the MCU characters change like a flag on the wind changing directions then this is a sign their role was re-assigned - sadly they don't always fit their storyarc).

Changing roles by itself is not the bad thing. It's only a bad thing if it's jarringly visible due to it not actually going along with their storyarc in order to enforce a new type of dynamic between the characters. I can count on the fingers of one hand the characters that were allowed to stay consistent with their own storyarc. There are not many of those.

Anyway, it's funny that Mordo and Steve are both single-minded.

And sadly in both cases as of now it's a fatal flaw.

[brydeswhale]

Things Ned could have done to make things better for Theon:

Straight up told Robert he was acting like a jerk and it would be an asshole move to take a ten year old as a hostage. They’re supposedly besties, I’m sure he or Jon “I like buying teenagers for sex slaves” Arryn could have figured out how to do it without hurting Robert’s pride.

Taken Theon as an actual ward, and told Robert he wasn’t going to do anything to him so he better not try anything. Come on, Ned, you own half the continent.

Gotten Jon “I did one good thing that we know of and now everyone acts like I’m Santa” Arryn to help him get Robert to stop being a moronic ass.

Taken Theon and “lost” him on the way home. Oops, he died of some horrible, contagious, disfiguring illness. Then foster him in some hidden place in the north, send him to Essos, WHATEVER, he’d be alive and relatively safe.

Take Theon and have him fostered some place like White harbour. At least then he’s with people who aren’t so likely to kill him and maybe he can learn something about ships, I dk why Ned or Robert thought keeping him land locked was a good idea.

Take Theon and LIE. Tell him no matter what Robert says, he’s safe and sound. At least that would be better for theon’s mental health.

Do everything like in canon and don’t take Theon to fucking executions wtf is wrong with you, Ned, you goddamn freak.

[takamoris]

I FREAKING LOVE FFXIV PVP!!!! I LOVE FRONTLINE. I LOVE RUSHING TO VICTORY WITH MY TEAM OF 24 PLAYERS IVE NEVER MET BEFORE AND WINNING ANYWAY ON MERIT OF MY OWN SKILL. I LOVE CARRYING HARD.

[scalpelsister]

also matt did call morri The Morrigan which has me thinking thoughts.

[ask-tiberius-cadell]

heyyyyyyyy, ur kid got turned in2 a toon as well, hav funsy's!

Yes, I am aware.

[Not seen: him changing back and dropping his phone again.]

And... as soon as I was about to post this, I was returned to normal.

...Thank cog, honestly...

[horce-divorce]

It's wild watching someone who used to be self aware (or at least, who didn't want to be like their parents) become entitled to things like avoidance. And children. Often simultaneously

[caparrucia]

Full offense and pun fully intended, but I genuinely think the very existence of "dead dove, do not eat" was a fucking canary in the mines, and no one really paid attention.

Because the tag itself was created as a response to a fandom-wide tendency to disregard warnings and assume tagging was exaggerated. And then the same fucking idiots reading those tags describing things they found upsetting or disturbing or just not to their taste would STILL click into the stories and give the writer's grief about it.

And as a response writers began using the tag to signal "no, really, I MEAN the tags!"

But like.

If you really think about it, that's a solution to a different problem. The solution to "I know you tagged your story appropriately but I chose to disregard the tags and warnings by reading it anyway, even though I knew it would upset me, so now I'm upset and making it your problem" is frankly a block, a ban and wide-spread blacklisting. But fandom as a whole is fucking awful at handling bad faith, insidious arguments that appeal to community inclusion and weaponize the fact most people participating in fandom want to share the space with others, as opposed to hurting people.

So instead of upfront ridiculing this kind of maladaptive attempt to foster one's own emotional self-regulation onto random strangers on the internet, fandom compromised and came up with a redundant tag in a good faith attempt to address an imaginary nuance.

There is no nuance to this.

A writer's job is to tag their work correctly. It's not to tag it exhaustively. It's not even to tag it extensively. A writer's sole obligation, as far as AO3 and arguably fandom spaces are concerned, is to make damn sure that the tags they put on their story actually match whatever is going on in that story.

That's it.

That's all.

"But what if I don't want to read X?" Well, you don't read fic that's tagged X.

"But what if I read something that wasn't tagged X?" Well, that's very unfortunate for you, but if it is genuinely that upsetting, you have a responsibility to yourself to only browse things explicitly tagged to not include X.

"But that's not a lot of fic!" Hi, you must be new here, yes, welcome to fandom. Most of our spaces are built explicitly as a reaction to There's Not Enough Of The Thing I Want, both in canon and fandom.

"But there are things on the internet that I don't like!" Yeah, and they are also out there, offline. And, here's the thing, things existing even though we personally dislike or even hate or even flat out find offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable existing is the price we pay to secure our right to exist as individuals and creators, regardless of who finds US personally unpleasant, hateful or flat out offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable.

"But what about [illegal thing]?!" So the thing itself is illegal, because the thing itself has been deemed harmful. But your goddamn cop-poisoned authoritarian little heart needs to learn that sometimes things are illegal that aren't harmful, and defaulting to "but illegal!" is a surefire way to end up on the wrong side of the fascism pop quiz. You're not a figure of authority and the more you demand to control and exercise authority by command, rather than leadership, the less impressive you seem. You know how you make actual, genuine change in a community? You center harm and argue in good faith to find accommodations and spread awareness of real, actual problems.

But let's play your game. Let's pretend we're all brainwashed cop-abiding little cogs that do not own a single working brain cell to exercise critical thinking with. 99% of the time, when you cry about any given thing "being illegal!!!" you're correct only so far as the THING itself being illegal. The act or object is illegal. Depiction of it is not. You know why, dipshit? Because if depiction of the thing were illegal, you wouldn't be able to talk about it. You wouldn't be able to educate about it. You wouldn't be able to reexamine and discuss and understand the thing, how and why and where it happens and how to prevent it. And yeah, depiction being legal opens the door for people to make depictions that are in bad taste or probably not appropriate. Sure. But that's the price we pay, creating tools to demystify some of the most horrific things in the world and support the people who've survived them. The net good of those tools existing outweighs the harm of people misusing them.

"You're defending the indefensible!" No, you're clumsily stumbling into a conversation that's been going on for centuries, with your elementary school understanding of morality and your bone-deep police state rot filtering your perception of reality, and insisting you figured it out and everyone else at the table is an idiot for not agreeing with you. Shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and read a goddamn book.

[drawn-on-phone]

To draw real world comparison.

This is why I teach Arknights in my courses.

Es its a gacha game and I warn everyone about it, but the artistic chops of the game are amazing. And the artistic passion of everyone involved (both production and narratively) is what I want my students to understand. So that maybe they don't become the drones of industry life, work, and academy force them to be, but artistic, passionate people trying to make things better one nanonmeter at a time.

So, Deepcolor's oprec released, and upon reading a summary of it, I basically felt the entire world of Arknights click into place. Hear me out.

Deepcolor's Oprec details that Deepcolor was convinced by a messenger of the Cult of the Deep to become Seaborn. But she stopped her own assimilation when she realized that the Seaborn do not appreciate aesthetic beauty. She was disgusted, and literally left and stopped her own assimilation entirely due to her love of art, and has been holding it back with her painting.

And this made me realize. This is true of every character with seaborn blood who has resisted assimilation. Skadi sings. Specter sings. Laurentina sculpts. Gladiia dances. Mizuki cooks. Deepcolor is a painter. Amaia still translated books long after she had become Seaborn. Garcia played the piano. Lorenzo cared for the Stultifera.

Which also means...

... Anita was never assimilated. Not fully.

But this makes sense, even outside of a "art holds back the darkness" power of friendship-tier story beat. Assimilation is the surrendering of the individual self to unity, the acceptance that you do not matter, that all that matters is giving your life and your existence to the perpetuation of a greater Whole. They cultivate only to consume. They sing, but their song is a profound silence.

And what is more individualistic, more self-revealing than art? There is no artistic expression without the self, without the understanding that you are a distinct voice, that your perspective matters, that there is only one you.

Perhaps you may have noticed, but this is the same as the Yan-Sui. They hold back the collective with their individual passions. Painting, movies, poetry, games, war.

There's one other thing with a connection to artistic expression - but this time, positively. Originium Arts. Artistic ability has long been associated with Originium Arts capability - Amiya plays the violin, Frostnova sings as she enters the battlefield, Goldenglow's hairdressing, Astesia's divination powering her arts, Lucian the Blood Diamond. I mean they're called Arts for the love of god, it's not exactly subtle.

But the Rhine Lab manga tells us that when an Oripathy carrier dies, the Originium left behind contains their DNA sequence, left behind after death. They may die, but there is something that is always left behind, something that always remains behind. There is always the thing that let them do their Arts. There is always their artistic ability.

There is always their art.

You do your art until you are taken by death, but what remains behind is the traces of it, the artistic DNA you have left behind, your Arts itself. You're gone, but the remnants are still there. And someone else will find it, taking your Arts into themselves to do their own Arts themselves. Sometimes it becomes part of you, living with you and growing inside you, granting you your abilities. Sometimes you simply hold it and use it as fuel and inspiration to make your own Arts.

And this is always what Arknights has been about. Not just metaphorically, but literally.

They hired individual artists, asking them to make characters according to their own sensibilities and style, then putting them into a cohesive world. They got talented musicians and gave them carte blanche to contribute to the musical identity of this game. They got talented voice actors and let them just go ham on the mic. The game's story concept debatably originated because of Lowlight creating Kal'tsit for a make your own OC art game.

It has always been about individuals, putting everything they have, everything that makes them unique, every part of their histories and sensibilities and quirks and personalities and identity and selfish desires and allowing them to shine as a collaborative effort, working together towards a greater goal that means something to people.

An organization of people, Infected by the artistic DNA of those they carry close. People using their Arts to push back the darkness, as best as they can. Even if they stumble and fall, even if they make mistakes, they will always try. To enjoy their life and practice their art.

Because the two greatest threats to the world of Terra, the Seaborn and Sui, are held back by.. simple artistic passion.

The passion and love of the community, the individual given space to shine and collaborate, singing to drown out the terror of the song without sound, the art without beauty, and the collective without the individual.

[cakelitter]

Intertwined

Leon x Fem! Reader

warnings: mdni, oral (f recieve), p in v, dirty talking, established relationship, slight spanking, slight size kink

summary: playfighting!!!

words: 2.3k

a/n: Mostly intended for re4 Leon, but any Leon after that era works tbh. Downstairs neighbors probably hate the two of you LMAO. But yeah, hope you enjoy!!!!

Play fighting is fun, especially when you have a boyfriend that is double your size.

It’s actually quite beneficial, coming up with ways to escape his death grip each time the two of you declare war against each other; could be vital in critical situations.  Sometimes however, you find yourself trapped, your mind thinking of a strategy to flee from the large hands that managed to get a hold of your wrists.

“Leon, that’s not fair your grip is too tight!” You squirm, pulling your arms away but to no avail as he drags them back. “What happened to ‘Don’t go easy on me, I’m stronger than you think’?”

Should’ve kept your mouth shut is what should’ve happened, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life if you did that. Actually no, you would’ve been doing that either way, no idea why you keep willingly putting yourself in these situations when you have no track record of winning. You struggle, flinging your arms away quickly, rotating your wrists, hell you even tried biting, and he won’t budge. “Does someone need a little help?”

Great, he’s mocking you now. Should’ve went for skinnier guys, not ones that went to police academy for three years, and a government training program for five.

You could try to kick him, but you’d lose your footing on the bed. That would just make it easier for him, this man would not waste a minute to knock you off your feet if he ever had the opportunity of doing so. While you’re over here thinking, the cogs in our brain working in full efficiency, he’s grinning. God, that stupid grin, he looks so cute, yet punching it off his adorable face sounds satisfying.

Since when was he a fucking sadist anyway?

In the midst of your attempts to pull away, the iron grip he has on your arm causes your torso to lunge forward.

Rookie mistake.

His body leans in, placing his head between your arm and waist, throwing you over his shoulder before slamming you back down onto the mattress of the bed below you. Clicking his tongue, he climbs on top, shaking his head in mockery. “Every time, you fall for it every time.”

Rubbing it in your face, typical. Ok maybe he’s correct, you have fallen for this once…or twice… or thrice before but you’re still new to this!

Chuckling, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek, his hand caressing your waist, finger slipping beneath the oversized shirt you’re wearing. His lips feel soft against the sensitive skin, causing heat to pool between your thighs.

But you can’t lose, not so early at least.

You try to get up, plopping your hand down on the mattress below, attempting to pull him off of you. Your swift movements however, were met by his familiar hand grabbing your shoulder and pushing it back down.

Your competitive side starts to peek through, trying your absolute best to put up a fight. Albeit, trying to escape his grip is a lesson you’ve just learned the outcome of. And so, one more option is left if you want to win.

Fake an injury.

A yelp escapes your lips, turning your head over to the side, knots forming between your brows as you feign pain. His expression immediately softens, pulling away from you to see what’s the matter, his yank couldn’t have been that rough, could it?

It wasn’t, not even in the slightest, you just got to pull on those sweet, sweet heart strings of his, find that weak spot, that slight glimmer of hope and run with it. Just as you expected, he softens, the hand placed on you shoulder slackens, giving you the golden opportunity that you’ve been hoping for.

With a smug expression, you push him off of you, getting up and dashing out of the room. You don’t look back, but you can just imagine the dumbfounded expression plastered all over his face, betrayed and aghast.

It’s not till you’re in the living room till you hear his footsteps approaching; you stand there, legs ready to sprint at any given moment. His figure walks down the hall and into the room you’re in, he stands a few feet away from you, his lips curled up into a smile.

You wait anxiously, eyes scanning his body, trying to decipher his next move.

“Better start running.”

Without even thinking twice, you sprint; running around the couch as he follows you. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your socked feet hit the hard wood floor over and over again as his follow pursuit.

You’re not even thinking straight anymore, your fight or flight mode activated, trying your best to run around him. And for the first ten seconds you were doing great, jumping over the couch, throwing a few pillows at him, even dodged his attacks.

But it all goes south when you get cornered, the only way out is through him. You’re fucked, and he knows that; slowly walking over towards you, the glimmer of hope that you once had dissipating with each step forward he takes.

“I’m sorry, Leon. Please, please, I’m sorry.” You apologize between squeals and giggles. This is actually so scary; your heart is about to fall out of your ass at this rate. “That was a very dirty move back there, you know?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“I wanted to win, please.” The same grin forms on his lips, the joyful expression on his face juxtaposing yours which is full of anxiousness. “That wasn’t so nice of you, it’s called cheating.”

Realizing there is no point in sweet talking your way out of this one, your legs move on their own, sprinting and praying that you make it through. But of course, you don’t.

His arm grabs your waist, pulling you back before carrying you over his shoulder once again. He laughs as you squirm, walking back over to your shared bedroom.

Plopping you back down on the bed, his fingers begin to tickle your sides as you flop around like a fish out of water. Your laughter echoes through the room, the cramping feeling in your stomach being hard to ignore as you attempt to fight off his persistent fingers.

“Stop! Leon, stop!” you say in-between laughter, the whole experience feeling like torture more than anything. “What do you say?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!” He stops, his hands resting on the side of your hips as you wipe off the tears on the corner of your eyes. He smiles, leaning in again and leaving a soft kiss on your lips before murmuring against them. “Told you I always win.”

You roll your eyes, hands tangled in his hair. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

Smiling, you pull him closer till his lips connect with yours. It’s slow and sweet, affection filled eyes and intertwined fingers, getting lost in each other’s taste. His chest is flush against yours, rapid heartbeats syncing, riding the same high of emotions.

Pulling away, he placed a final kiss on your chin before putting his head beneath your shirt; well, it’s his shirt but that’s besides the point. He plants a tender kiss on the middle of your chest, littering a few more around before moving down you your lower stomach leaving kisses anywhere he could.

You wince as his cold fingertips graze your skin, a chuckle escaping his lips in return. Running his palm up your sides, pulling the shirt off your body. You help, raising your arms up as he discards it behind him.

His eyes fall on your chest, hands immediately fondling and groping the tender flesh. “Look at those, so fucking pretty.”

Blushing, you watch him lean in, his mouth clasping around your stiff peak. Your eyes close in pleasure as he lets out a grunt, tongue flicking and teeth slightly grazing amplifying the pleasure. Blue eyes lock with yours, a subtle smile forming on his lips as he hears the sounds you’re making for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, can’t wait to hear all those cute sounds you’d make when I fuck you stupid.” He speaks, fingers pinching your sensitive nipples, sending pulses of pleasure to your needy cunt. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah? Have all the neighbors hear how good you feel? How well you take it?” You nod, placing your hand on his muscly forearm. “Want it.”

He kisses you one more time before slapping your ass. “Turn around, baby.”

You comply, turning around till your chest is flush against the mattress with your ass in the air. Biting his lip, his rough hands move up the back of your thighs before caressing the fat of your ass, kneading the soft skin.

His fingers grab the rim of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties, leaving your wet cunt on full display for him. His thumb presses against your weeping pussy, running it through the wet folds and then moving down to draw firm circles on your clit. “Fuck, she’s crying for me, sweetheart. Got such a slutty girlfriend.”

You moan and nuzzle against the bedsheets below, his words passing through your ears and swimming in your mind. Grabbing your ass with both hands this time, he spreads it, groaning at the sight. Open mouthed kisses are placed on your thighs, followed by a few licks and shallow bites. You squirm as you feel him blow on your cunt, the cool air hitting the hot area.

Deciding he’s had enough, he connects his mouth to your pussy, tongue slipping into the hole, making out with it. You grip the sheets beneath, a whimper escaping your lips as he grunts at the taste of your fluids, a large hand smacking your ass before rubbing the hot skin.

Moving back, he spits on your cunt watching the tear shaped saliva drip down and mix with your taste before lapping it back up. You chant his name in between moans, your head feeling fuzzy as he eats you out breathlessly.

“Gonna cum.” You whine, looking back over at him as he nuzzles into your heat, before pulling away. “Cum, sweetheart. Cream my face so I can fuck this cute little pussy.”

Your hand moves down to cup your breast as his thumb rubs your pudgy clit while continuing to fuck his tongue into you. Your mind goes blank as you orgasm, legs shuddering and threatening to collapse as he holds you in place.

“Good fucking girl.” He mutters before licking up your release, moaning as his hand gropes your thighs. It isn’t long however before you hear him get up, your worn-out eyes looking back at him as he pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers, leaving them behind on the hard-wood floor.

The mattress shifts beneath you as he climbs on the bed, his hand rubbing his painfully hard dick. You bite your lip at the sight of it, thick with some veins running along its side. You gulp, your salivary glands becoming hyperactive at the idea of taking him into your mouth.

His rough hand grips your ass again, the other one leading his cock to your entrance. He spits down onto the pink head; not like that’s necessary. The tip bumps against your clit teasingly, running through your wet folds, collecting all the fluids it can.

You feel your walls stretch as he begins to push his hips forward, the sensation earning a moan out of the two of you. You squeeze around him, your face planted in the sheets bellow as you try to adjust.

A familiar touch travels down your back, and back up to your hips. He pulls out momentarily before fucking back into you; feeling the head of his fat cock kiss the opening of your cervix with each thrust. Your sounds get muffled against the mattress, too overwhelmed by the intense feeling of pleasure.

The creaking noises of the bed slows down as he wraps his arm around your waist pulling your back flush against him, his fingers snaking up and grabbing your jaw. “Didn’t we agree on letting everyone know how good you’re getting fucked? Hm? Getting shy all of a sudden?”

You shake your head as his hips continue to snap against yours. “Good, let me hear you, sweetheart.”

His pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping and dirty moans filling the whole room. His head hides in the crook of your neck as he focuses on his thrusts, your hand grabbing his arm for support. “Rub that clit for me, baby; squeeze that fucking cunt around my cock.”

He holds your hand and brings it up to his mouth, coating your index and middle finger with his saliva and guiding them to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You do as you’re told, rubbing your slippery clit as your boyfriend slams into you again, and again.

You begin to sense the hazy feeling of release approaching, Leon’s hot breath hitting your neck as he pants. His hand grips your hip vehemently, a grip strong enough to leave a mark for the next day or two. “Squeezing me so tight, pussy made f’me.”

You’re completely cock drunk, nodding mindlessly at whatever he says; the desire between your thighs being the only prominent thought on your mind.

“Leon, I’m gonna cum again.”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go for me, let me see my baby all blissed out.” You mewl, nails digging into his forearm as your body trembles. Leon’s breath hitches as you squeeze around him, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chases his own high.

“Fuck fuck fuck.”  He mutters between gritted teeth, his eyes shutting close. The arm wrapped around your waist relaxes causing you to lay back down on the mattress. He fucks into you a few more times before immediately pulling out, white ropes of cum shooting out and landing on your ass and puffy cunt, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The room falls quiet as the two of you catch your breaths. Taking his shirt off, he wipes away his release, kissing the lower of your back affectionately and discarding the dirty piece of fabric on the floor.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close against his chest, petting your hair.

“Doing well?”

“Mhm.”

“…We should play fight more often.”

divider by: @/cafekitsune

[autolenaphilia]

God, it's fucking remarkable how people claim to support predstrogen and oppose transmisogyny, while still participating in transmisogynist harassment campaigns like the one against the co-host co-founder.

Like that's literally what the scandal is about. Predstrogen was the victim of years-long harassment campaign which used mass-reporting and got her account banned. And tumblr let her harassers blogs stay up while deleting her accounts. And the ceo took criticism of tumblr's transmisogynistic moderation practices as a personal insult to his self-image as a cool dude, so he has repeatedly personally justified it. Matt Mullenweg isn't the only villain here, the hate mob driving harassment against her is too.

I remember the callout posts against predstrogen, sometimes thy were outright terfs, but others justified the harassment in the same coded ways they do for every trans woman. "She was into problematic kinks or defended them, and therefore basically a pedophile sexual predator." Or "she is a transfeminist, therefore she is a transandrophobe that hates transmascs."

Like it's the same pattern of bullshit, it doesn't explicit target her identity as a trans woman, but these callouts repeatedly happen to transfem after transfem every fucking time. And they always use the same bullshit accusations that just so happen to line up with the widespread transmisogynistic image of transfems as sexual predators who oppress real wombyn.

The reason predstrogen's story resonates is because it vividly shows what it is like to be a transfem on this platform.It didn't just happen to her as an individual, It's part of a larger systemic pattern of transmisogyny.

If you participate in these transmisogynistic callout harassment even by just reblogging the callouts, you are also a villain here. And you can't claim to support predstrogen while participating in the process that drove her off the platform.

You can't condemn Matt Mullenweg when you are a willing cog in the same transmisogynistic hate machine that he is defending. The only difference between you and Mullenweg is not that you lack his bigotry, it's that you lack his millions of dollars, and the immense individual power and influence that brings.

[star-sim]

too sweet ☆ jay park

☆ bad boy! jay x nerd! fem! reader ☆ summary: after months of an on-and-off relationship with you, jay feared that he'd hurt you. you know that he won't. maybe a few sweet words (and kisses) could convince him. ☆ genre: angst to fluff, suggestive, inexperienced! reader (-ish), jay is really really really DOWN BAD, insecurities ☆ warning(s)? n/a ☆ word count: 2.0k words ☆ everyone clap for hozier’s “too sweet," for my starved jay stans

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

"So, you're telling me that you want us to end?"

Jay sucked in a sharp breath, clasping his hands together. "That's not what I mean."

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him. The thin gold chain hanging around his neck kissed his honey gold skin deliciously, his silvery hair falling over his brows. You watched as Jay rubbed his knuckles, his jaw clenching with each thought that ran through his mind.

"Then what do you mean?"

If he thought that you'd ever let him go, he was insane.

Jay took a moment to think, before words tumbled from his lips in a slow drawl, as if he was afraid of them.

"We can't be together because I'll hurt you," he said simply. 

Jay watched your expression closely, eyeing your swollen lips— God, were they perfect, like always— as they curled. He could hear the cogs turning in your head, and for a second, Jay thought that he could win the fight.

You and Jay met under rather interesting circumstances. He was slacking in his classes, running the risk of not passing the semester, so the counselors stepped in and had you to help. 

At first, Jay thought you were the most insufferable snob there was. But the next thing he knew, he was pinning you against the wall, hungrily kissing you like he was a starved man and you were his salvation. There was always something so intoxicating about you, the way you were able to chide into his ear why he was failing his classes, yet stayed silent with wide, innocent eyes as his fingers squeezed your thighs. Jay longed for the way you could read him like a book, the way that your black pawns stacked up against him, cornering his white king that made it impossible to escape, all the while holding a polite smile on your face.

It was always unconventional; how could the school's most notorious slacker and shady delinquent even be in the same room as the smartest girl?

Everyone seemed to have something to say about it, and for a second, Jay couldn't help but drink up every word, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss that was his mind.

You were too good for him. You had everything laid out for you, you were just perfect. He wasn't. He was troubled, and stupid, and brash. 

He was mean and bitter, you were bright and sweet. 

So sweet.

Too sweet.

"You'll hurt me?" you scoffed again, looking at him incredulously. 

Under your critical gaze, Jay nearly faltered, as if this wasn't the millionth time that he reconsidered this entire conversation, as if he didn't crave your touch every waking second.

Just ten minutes ago, you were on top of him, your fingers tangled in his hair, ravaging his lips like they were your last meal. Knowing that he was the one that taught you that— how to devour him like a starved hyena— made him feel dizzy.

"When have you ever hurt me?" you pressed, your face pinched.

It was only when your delicate fingers began to unbutton his shirt, soft, but desperate, breaths brushing up against his collarbone, that Jay gently pushed you away, taking you off of his lap and letting you sit beside him on your bed.

"I haven't," Jay swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to ignore the nerves bundling in his stomach, gnawing at him, almost like they were screaming at him to stop. "But I can, a-and I know I will if we don't stop seeing each other."

"What makes you think that?" 

Jay chewed on his lip, thinking about his next move.

Loving you was like playing a game, a game where life and death were at stake. He was willing to roll every dice and destroy every odd if it meant being with you.

You were stone-faced, save for the questioning quirk of your eyebrows, but Jay knew better. 

The moment that the words "I think we should break up" left his lips, Jay could see your pawns retreating; he could see the way that your walls were beginning to come up again, the cage wrapped around your heart tightened, and all he wanted to do was hold you and apologize. 

But he couldn't, because this was for the best.

He'd rather hurt you once, than hurt you a million more times in the future. 

He was afraid of himself, of what his hands could do, of what tears you would shed over him.

He was fundamentally flawed, someone who could not be fixed. That was something that both you and him needed to accept.

"You know me," Jay murmured, his eyes glued to the fluffy carpet on the floor. He couldn't look you in the eye after this, after hurting you. "I'm not good for you."

You stayed silent for a few pulses, only the sound of your shaky breath filling Jay's ears. 

Then, you reached out for him. But, the moment that you soft fingers met his shoulder, Jay violently flinched away.

He knew that if he let you touch him, he'd never be able to pull away.

"Jay..." Your voice was small, and when he looked up to see your face, your brows were furrowed together. You looked hurt, and he wanted to punch himself; he wanted to melt into your warmth, feel your hands on his skin, and taste the paradise that was your lips.

You slowly retracted your hand, something that made Jay's heart ache. 

"Sorry..." he mumbled, quickly averting his gaze once again. After today, he didn't deserve to look at you.

Another few pulses pass in sheer silence, a silence so suffocating that Jay felt his throat tighten.

"Did it mean anything to you?" you finally asked shakily. 

"W-What?"

"Did anything that we did at least mean something to you?"

The word "yes" almost came spilling out of his mouth, eager to prove to you that he indeed loved you— loved you enough to save you. But, Jay stopped himself.

You would never take an explanation that didn't make sense. You'd push and push and push until you got the truth.

He couldn't draw this out any longer, or else he'd crack.

"No," Jay pushed out of his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue. 

He heard you take in a breath, before you clicked your tongue. 

You didn't believe him, and you weren't going to take no for an answer.

"Tell me the truth," you murmured. "All those times we've kissed, why would you kiss me first if it meant nothing?"

He really couldn't do this, he couldn't lie to you.

"W-Well, it's because you're always close to me." Horrible explanation, and he knew it.

You cocked a brow. "No one’s forcing you to kiss me."

Jay gulped. You were reading him like a book, seeing right through him.

"Any man in my position would kiss you," he stammered, unaware that the way his nose scrunched gave him away. Jay's eyes glazed over you. God, you were just so beautiful. "I mean, look at you."

His ears burned with shame, blinking back hot tears that brimmed his eyes. He couldn't believe that he was actually doing this, purposefully lying to your face. He felt disgusting; weak. You were the first person that he's ever loved, the first person that made him feel all sorts of weird, giddy feelings, the first person that made him feel safe and loved. He was ruining it for himself, but he'd rather ruin himself than ruin you. After this, how was he ever going to recover? He couldn't imagine his life without you, not after feeling your warmth, not after having the privilege of seeing you beneath him, pretty eyes filled with stars gazing up at him—

If Jay wasn't so caught up in his head, he'd notice the way that you observed his flickering expression, before suddenly climbing back onto Jay.

"H-Hey—!"

You pushed Jay down onto the bed so that he was lying on his back, sitting right on his abdomen, pinning him down for good.

"You're a horrible liar," you muttered before grabbing his face, pressing sticky kisses against his jaw.

No, no, no! This isn't supposed to happen! You're supposed to hate him!

Your lips trailed from his jaw to the crook right below his ear, the spot that you knew was Jay's sensitive spot. You bit down just enough to make Jay let out a high-pitched sigh. You pulled away, admiring the purple-pink mark you left on his skin, before trailing down to the birthmark on his neck. You ran your tongue over the heart-shaped mark. Jay's hand jerked out for your waist, squeezing it.

"B-Baby..." he breathed, slipping back into his habit of using that name for you. His mind was doing everything in its power to resist you, but all he could do was tilt his head back to give you better access to his neck.

"Baby?" you purred against the shell of his ear. "Thought I didn't mean anything to you."

"I— Shit, don't do that, Baby—" you slid your hand under his shirt, your lips making vulgar noises as it attached to his honey skin. 

"I don't fucking care if you hurt me," you spat in his ear, and chills ran down his spine. Since when were you so... obscene? 

What has he done to you, for you to start off as an innocent and curious girl and end up shamelessly touching him? Had he corrupted you too much?

"You said you wanted to give me the best firsts?" your voice was so harsh, so mean that Jay almost questioned how someone so sweet could be so ruthless. It also made him question why in the hell it made his stomach do a flip. You bit down on a collarbone. "Then stop being a pussy and just let me love you."

Jay threw his head back, letting a groan escape his lips. God, how was he going to win this? How was he going to ignore the shudder of his shoulders as you touched him? How was he going to act like his body wasn't yearning for you?

"I'm pretty and you know it," you rasped in his ear. "So stop resisting me."

Your words were candied, sweet like syrup, seeping into his head and swaying all resolve he had. He almost gave in. Almost. 

"L-Look, I know you’re hot and all," it took every fiber in Jay's being to not give into your tantalizing lips, "B-But you know this is wrong."

You hummed against his skin. "But I don't."

Jay's rendered speechless when you press your hips against his, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach did a flip, a wave of heat coursing through his body. It felt electric, it felt wrong.

"I don't know that this is wrong, and even if I did, I wouldn't care" your tone is so soft, so innocent, but your actions were so dirty. "Ignorance is bliss."

Jay opened his mouth to let more dumb words pour out, dumb words that were his final (and extremely futile) attempt to restrain himself, but his breath got caught in his throat when they ran your hands through his silver hair, gripping it and pulling it back. You held his head in place by his hair. The sensation of pain on his scalp was delicious, enough to make him feel like putty in the palm of your hands.

"If you don’t stop," his voice was airy and high-pitched now, labored breaths escaping his lips. He wasn't going to win this fight. He never was going to in the first place, not when you were his opponent, "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

"Then don't," you said simply against his neck. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Your eyes were wide and shiny, innocently staring up at him. Your voice was so pretty and sweet, so sweet that he couldn't believe that you were doing and saying all these things to him. "Don't control yourself."

As Jay fell back into the comfort of the mattress, letting heat spread across his chest and face as you hungrily sunk your teeth into what was his heart, his Adam's apple bobbed.

You were too sweet for him, too sweet for a bitter person like him. 

He wouldn't mind getting tooth decay, yeah?

[mllekurtz]

This is not a new fic, but since my writing hiatus is still going on, I thought I might highlight this one, which I wrote roughly around this time last year. Expect:

cozy vibes

candle-lit atmospheres

Medieval monasteries

gentle smut

some decently researched banter about astronomy and the great comet of 1577

more decently researched historical context around that time, with a few poetic licenses

SInce I have nothing new to offer, consider giving this a read, maybe, if you haven't already!

remote times and places and ultimate causes

chapter 1 - epilogue

Words: 10k Chapters: 2/2 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

(image: Charles Piazzi Smyth - The Great Comet of 1843 (1843))

[clown-cult]

( SPOILERS AHEAD) Things that will haunt me about the new live-action Avatar, the Last Airbender show:

Iroh being confronted by his past as a fire nation general and war criminal. Of course, Iroh is a cog in the machine of war that he’s part of and he’s changed his ways since, but that doesn’t change what happened in Ba Sing Se under his leadership.

Sokka overhearing Hakoda being disappointed in him. Y’all were worried that Sokka wouldn’t get as much characterisation in this version. Well, we got this and it broke my heart.

Katara witnessing her mother being executed in front of her. She immediately covers her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Her mother died so she could live, and so even as she cries, Katara quiets herself so her mother didn’t die for nothing. What a terrible responsibility to place on yourself.

Zuko sitting with Iroh next to Lu Ten’s casket. Cue that goddamn instrumental of Leaves From The Vine. This version really understands and cares about Zuko and Iroh’s bond.

Gyatso telling Aang that even if he had come back that night, he wouldn’t have been able to make a difference. It wasn’t his fault. This broke me. We hear from Katara in TLOK how much the Air Nomad genocide affected him through his entire life, despite everything he achieved. He never recovered from the guilt of wondering “what if”. He carried it his entire life…and Gyatso waited as long as he could in the spirit realm so he could free him of it.

Ozai’s face as he burns Zuko. Iroh looking away, Azula watching as a mixture of emotions go over her face as she witnesses her brother be mutilated, Zuko’s cries…girl I was struggling. Then we cut to Ozai’s expression and my heart plunged into my stomach. To me at least, and several others, it looked like he was trying not to cry. Ozai has done more terrible things than you can count…but he’s still a person and you have to sit there and watch in horror as some tiny, humane part of him revolts at the monstrous act he’s committing and his son screams in agony.

I know this show is getting a lot of criticism and that’s fair. It’s not perfect. But there are definitely parts of it that will stick with me for a while.

[qweerhet]

so much criticism of anarchist mutual aid frameworks rests on the idea that we're actively arguing for a switch. that we're saying we should, right now, tear down the global supply chain ourselves, that we're arguing for a morally-obligated societal shift motivated by revolutionary forces. i won't deny that there are those out there who have that framework, but to be entirely honest, that's much more common as a framework in state-communist and liberal povs than it is anarchist ones.

most anarchists heavily involved in establishing mutual aid networks are saying society as we know it will fail. not that it should, not that it's our ethical responsibility to force it to fail, but that it simply will.

we cannot rely on the global supply chain forever. we in the imperial core cannot rely on extracting resources from impoverished and colonized nations forever. pandemics will happen, natural disasters will happen, violent uprisings will happen; the way we extract and distribute resources is dangerously precarious, it's resting on horrific amounts of oppression and violence and a lot of carefully-stacked factors any one of which could go catastrophically wrong at any moment, and it will fail eventually.

the global supply chain will be disrupted. mining operations will fail, disease will throw wrenches in the cogs of industry, workers will organize, slaves will violently revolt, waterways will be blocked, climate change will change when and how it's even possible to do physical labor. eventually, the supply chain will be disrupted permanently, or in ways that we cannot come back from. it is an inevitability.

anarchists in the imperial core want real, on-the-ground, local solutions to resource production and distribution because we need those if we don't want our neighbors to die when this happens. we want to make insulin and distribute it in the same twenty-mile radius because we don't want diabetics to die when the global supply chain collapses. we want to sew and distribute clothing locally because we don't want children to freeze without winter coats when the global supply chain collapses. whether it happens in 10 years or in 200 years, we want to protect as many people as possible.

don't you see? don't you see? when you mock "bathtub insulin," you're mocking the only way the diabetics of the future have a chance of surviving. i'm disabled, i rely on daily medication, i know the thought is terrifying, but if our way of life breaks down in my lifetime, i will be lost without local under-the-table medication manufacturing. don't you see? we love you. we want to you live. we're begging you, help each other live.