#have things ended this easily in the past?

[fairandfatalasfair]

Thinking about the scene of Edwin and Charles on the cliff at the end of Ep 4, and how painful it is watching Charles shrug off that attempted offer of comfort. How it feels so obvious as a viewer that Edwin just needs to push past that initial flinch to be there for Charles...

But Edwin and Charles have a really clear pattern of not pushing each other on painful topics. Charles badgers Edwin about the Cat King, but drops it every time Edwin starts to get defensive. Charles brushes Edwin off about his dad, and Edwin changes the subject. They keep trying, but they don't force the issue.

I suspect that habit of stepping lightly around each other's pain, that willingness to leave each other's scars alone, was essential in the beginning, when Edwin was freshly out of hell and Charles was recently murdered and only slightly less recently living with an abusive parent. I think if Edwin were someone who made a habit of pinning Charles down on things that hurt - Charles whose main coping mechanism is to paste on a smile and look for the bright side, who needs more than anything to feel in control and trusted and like he's doing something good in the world so that he doesn't have to dwell on the bad shit - they'd never have made it to this point.

And I do think in that moment on the cliff that Charles needed someone to push past his apparent rejection and tell him that they'll love him no matter how hard he pushes them away, as Edwin belatedly manages to do at the end of Ep 5.

But I don't think it was going to happen under these conditions. That's the tragedy of it - that from our omniscient position, having seen what Charles just experienced, we can guess he might need that extra push. That after 30 years, Edwin could probably get away with that in a way that he couldn't have in the beginning, in the way that Crystal has been failing to get away with all episode.

But 30 years of habit doesn't break that easily.

[therootbeersprite]

TL;DR: If you have sensory issues that make it hard to brush your teeth, over the counter oral anesthesia is something that can potentially help. In the US, it's called Benzocaine, and you can get it at CVS and such, in the aisle with things like toothpaste and denture cleaner. It tastes absolutely awful, but if you can get past that, it numbs your mouth rather effectively for about 10 minutes.

Also if you can't use mouthwash, try saltwater. Make it "as salty as the sea".

* * *

Content Warning: dental negligence, dismissive attitudes from medical professionals, loss of teeth

For pretty much my whole life, I've had a lot of trouble brushing my teeth because it was so sensory bad and painful. Whenever I told dentists that it was painful, they would say something along the lines of, "Your gums are swollen because you don't brush. Do it anyways and the pain will become less." Which is just not a helpful answer at all, when it's too painful to start in the first place.

After I got my autism diagnosis, I gained a measure of self-comprehension, and access to the phrase "autism sensory issue". The first time I used it was like magic.

Not brushing my teeth for literally decades has resulted in a lot of damage, so I now meet with a periodontist. We're can't save all of my teeth, but we're trying to save as many as we can. Part of that attempt is dealing with the issue of a lack of home care, aka not brushing my teeth. The first time I met her, I used the magic phrase "autism sensory issue", and the tone of the conversation completely changed: I wasn't just being difficult! I didn't just need to try harder! There was a real obstacle that needed to be dealt with! She asked how I responded to numbing my mouth. I didn't even know that was an option! She said that it's a common thing, and it's so safe that parents routinely numb the mouths of babies who are teething.

She looked up what it's called in the US (Benzocaine) and sent me home with a directive to hunt it down, and also a super soft post-surgical toothbrush to use until proper home care happened enough to get the afore-mentioned painful swelling down.

Folks, this has been an absolute game changer for me. I'm still not brushing my teeth three times a day like she wants me to do (I also have trouble with some of those other issues listed in the above infographic, but one problem at a time!) but inconsistent brushing is better than the previous zero brushing! It's amazing to me that after so very many years of visceral avoidance, I am now able to brush my teeth! I no longer have to get over the massive mental barrier of forcing myself to do an incredibly painful sensory thing to an incredibly sensitive part of my body!

I'm not going to lie or pretend otherwise: Benzocaine tastes pretty damn awful. But for me, the bad taste is far less of a problem than brushing my teeth without it was. I did get accustomed to the taste eventually, and also got better at applying it to my gums so that less of it gets on my tongue.

* * *

One more thing: I also have problems with mouthwash. I'm allergic to mint (which makes all of this dental drama just that much more fun) and the only mouthwash that I could easily access without any mint burned far too painfully for me to be willing to get anywhere near it ever again. My problem-solving periodontist told me to instead rinse my mouth with saltwater that tastes like the sea. I personally find it to be rather soothing, a nice little reward at the end of the stressful mouth-care process.

Hygiene as an Autistic and ADHDer

A.J’s Brain

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[spotsandsocks]

A Place for You, Next to Me Chapt 1 and 2

Buck finds out that Eddie doesn’t really ‘do’ birthdays so what’s a best friend supposed to do, obviously he can’t let Eddie think he doesn't care. So he makes a plan to celebrate and it’s a good plan, it really is and is it really his fault if one little thing goes wrong with their booking.

It’s certainly not his fault that Eddie’s reaction to the unexpected problem would turn a pleasant weekend away into an agony of temptation.

A tale of pining and love and only one bed.

Fans of only one bed shenanigans - this one’s for you.🥹🌈🛏️🎂🛏️🥃🥃🥃🛏️🤯😍🌈❤️‍🔥 Chapt 1&2 today 3&4 tomorrow 💕

Now I was half way though writing this when @bobbysfirehose posted this stunning piece of art that blew my mind away (all their art is magnificent btw so go check out and shower with love) and with permission I tried to describe the pose towards at the end of the fic because it was just perfect for the situation, so you have a nice visual to go along with the words.

Eddie hadn’t expected any reaction at all, least of all the one he’s getting. Standing in his kitchen he watches Buck process the information he just casually mentioned as part of thier conversation about Chris’ next birthday.

“Are you serious?” 

His best friend is standing there with his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, a puzzled frown on his brow, it’s adorable and amusing and God he loves this man so much. Eddie however is wise enough to look away and keep the sentiment out of his voice.

“Yes I’m serious, Buck. I’ve never done anything special to celebrate any of my birthdays.”

If anything that simple statement makes matters worse, Buck's mouth opens and shuts. He looks like a goldfish, apparently he’s managed to render him speechless and that’s quite an impressive feat.

Eddie takes another sip of beer to hide his smile as Buck flounders. The other man is looking horrified, “Your 15th? That’s special right?”

He shrugs. “Dad was away. We did some stuff at church, nothing big. I got a cake.”

“What about 18?  Or or your 21st?” 

He throws Buck a raised eyebrow, “Think about that for a second.”

A pained look crosses his friend’s face “Oh.” Then his nose crinkles “ Oh.. I don’t think I want to.”

Buck sounds upset. Eddie can just imagine what he’s thinking, how he’s comparing the life that he himself had between 16 and 21 with the one Eddie had. The tragic sympathy emanating out of sad pools of blue is a bit much though, it really wasn’t that bad. Yeah, he didn’t get a lot of time to be young but that’s ok he got other stuff instead. He ended up with the best kid in the world so he can’t really complain about missing birthday celebrations. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, so my life’s been a bit different than yours, but that’s ok . Still got cake, even got a balloon once.” 

His joke falls flat, Buck looks devastated .

“Honestly, all completely normal, I promise, don’t freak out on me.”

He moves around him heading back to the couch and if he touches his arm on the way past, well it’s a tight space to squeeze through. Buck’s own fault really, for filling so much of it. His friend's voice follows him out of the kitchen. 

“But nothing since you got old?”

Eddie turns just so Buck can appreciate the eye roll, “I'm not exactly old Buck, I’m the same age as you.”

“Are we sure about that?” 

Abruptly Buck’s mood shifts and he’s teasing, humour replacing the tragic look that had been there only seconds ago.

“You do kinda look older than me. Pretty sure I spotted some gray hairs on you the other day.”

Eddie glares and throws a handy cushion without aiming. Buck catches it easily and grins, before taking another swig of beer. Eddie tries not to watch his lips or his throat too closely.

[filthyf1]

A Long Short Time

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+); Porn WITH Plot, cunnilingus, blowjob, unprotected sex, slightly tipsy sex?... Not entirely healthy relationship dynamics….

Summary: Daniel and you broke up two months ago. He comes back to get the last of his things…. And the rest is history.

Word Count: 5k

Author's Notes: AHHHHHH this was so nerve wracking.... it's been so long since I've written anything so please let me know your thoughts!!!

____

Two months. A short time that felt like a millenia to you. The apartment felt emptier than usual. He wasn’t there often before, but it was more than never. Life felt slow and tedious, and you weren’t exactly adapting well. 

It had been two months since you and Daniel broke up. That felt like such a silly and simple way to explain it, but that’s exactly what happened. It was and then it wasn’t. Four years and it was over just like that. 

Daniel was let go from VCARB after the Singapore GP. The fans could tell something was wrong from his interviews, and their guesses were spot on. He’d known it was the end and given it his all, understanding that it wouldn’t be enough. His whole life came to an abrupt halt, just like that. What was the point of contracts in the first place? It felt like a crime to let him go before COTA, and yet… 

Just as his career came to a screeching halt, your relationship did as well. The comfort you thought you could give was simply not enough. Nothing you could say or do could make it right. It made sense even if it hurt. What do you do when the thing you’ve worked for your whole life gets pulled out from under you? Some people cope and move on, collect the pieces and figure out how to go forward. Some people burn the rest of the world around them and crash. 

What began as trying to comfort him turned into an all-out shouting match and ended in the door slamming behind him. 

“I can’t do this! What the fuck would you do?”

“I don’t know! Lean on my friends? Family? My fucking girlfriend, maybe?”

“Well, nothing like this has happened to you. You just get to sit around and be pretty. Life is so fucking easy for you.”

That last one stung - his sharp words certainly hit their mark. You played the conversation over and over again in your head for the past 60 days, trying to think of an alternative ending.

The movers eventually came and took his things, leaving both the space and your heart wide and empty. And that was how the past two months went. Your apartment was small, but when a whole other person’s things were removed, it felt much too large.You got to see him unwind and find himself by his own posts and his friends’ on social media. The news outlets were fucking annoying. Apparently, one of the most interesting things to report on was an F1 driver’s relationship status. And the paparazzi had exactly as much sympathy as you expected. You were sure there were at least a dozen photos of you crying floating around on Twitter, Facebook, etc. 

It was your turn to feel stuck. You felt like the last four years were a waste. What were you working towards? It was upended so swiftly and easily. You saw Daniel regaining the light back in his eyes while he attended sporting events and went dirt biking with his friends. You sat in your flat drinking wine and looking at the city lights contemplating what could have been. 

There were things you wanted to accomplish that you put on the back burner and now regretted never pursuing. Maybe once you got your spirit back, you’d go after the fashion degree or write that book that always sat in the back of your mind. Just a little bit more groveling…

What really hurt was finding things the movers missed. Little things here and there that you knew he would miss, a helmet here, a jersey there. So instead of burning them like a lot of people might, you gathered them and put them in a box. You put your big girl pants on and sent him a text, hoping it would still go through, and let him know he could pick it up whenever he was back in the city. And to your surprise, not only did the message go through, but he answered. It was the only thing you’d heard from him since he left and unfortunately, you clung to it. 

It was another Friday night that wine was your companion. Your friend had visited for a few days for some gossip and retail therapy, but unfortunately she had left earlier that day and you let the loneliness seep back in. The riesling helped dull it a little bit. You were halfway through the bottle, feeling the pleasant buzz settle into your muscles. 

Music swept through your apartment while you danced and cleaned things here and there when your phone dinged on the counter, interrupting the melody you were currently feeling. Thinking it was your friend who forgot her lipstick on your counter, you swiped the message open without a second thought. Once you read it, however, the blood drained from your face and you looked on in horror.

Be there in 20 if you’re still awake.

Okay…. Okay. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were very much not sober enough for this. The bottle of wine looked on in amusement and you glared at it, as if it wasn’t your choice to partake in the first place. That still didn’t stop you from chugging the rest of the glass in front of you. Maybe it would help you to be more relaxed or cool in his presence. You glanced at the clock on your oven.

11:20PM.

Late, but not ridiculously so. You wondered what exactly he was doing in the country. But that wasn’t really any of your business anymore. 

It was fully in your right to deny him, let him know it was not a good time to stop by. Your sober self needed 3 to 5 business days to prepare for this, but your tipsy self wanted him to stop by now. Your chest ached at the thought of seeing his face again in person. You craved it desperately. Against your better judgement, your fingers sent out a quick, “Ok.”

Oh, God, what were you doing? 

Simply put, you fucking missed him. There was no denying or getting around it.

“Fuck, this is happening,” you breathed to yourself. You ran a hand through your hair, a nervous mess. You ran to the bathroom to do a once over; you looked as much a mess as you expected. Hair everywhere and eyes slightly glassy from alcohol. You swallowed hard, trying to fix things, but gave up after a minute or two.

Sitting back in your kitchen, you nursed another glass of wine. There was no going back now, so you might as well commit. A knock came a few minutes later, causing you to jump in your seat. 

“Fuck,” one more for the road. 

You approached the door slowly like a victim in a horror movie. One last hesitation, and the door swung open and there he was.

He stood tall, not at all bowed under the pressure he had experienced so recently. His hair was longer than you remembered, the curls so perfect and tangled it hurt. They weren’t yours to run your hands through anymore. You were sure you looked sad and pathetic, and he stood in front of you looking healthy and radiant, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked damn good.

A breathy, “Hi,” was all you could muster. You immediately kicked yourself internally. So much for keeping your cool. Daniel gave you a once over that made you feel hot inside and self-conscience at the same time.

“Hi,” he gave a soft smile and you nearly melted. It was such a stark difference from how your last conversation ended. You stood in silence for another few seconds, taking him in. This was how you wanted to remember him. 

“Fuck, uh, sorry, I don’t have your stuff here,” you shook yourself out of the trance. “Do you… want to come in for a minute?” You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not. You didn’t have a great track record with exes and them visiting your place of residence. 

“I’ve got the time,” he said. 

You’d be lying if a plethora of less than innocent thoughts were running through your head. He looked better than you remembered, and the feelings were still there, ready to be unearthed at a moment's notice.

He took everything in. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension and you wondered what he was thinking. His eyes settled on the empty wine glass and less than full bottle.

“Been drinking?” He asked and a smirk settled onto his lips. His facial hair was growing in, and you’d be lying if your mind didn’t wander. Beard burn was a hell of a drug.

“Yea,” you said sheepishly, a hand running through your hair to dispel your nerves. “There’s whiskey if you want a drink. I still have your favorite… I don’t really drink it…” You trailed off, not really expecting him to accept. You thought he would be itching to leave as soon as possible, the weight of the last conversation heavy on your mind. To your surprise, he opened the cabinet that he knew very well and grabbed the whiskey. He grabbed a glass (the cabinet never changed either) and poured himself a double. 

“Cheers,” he held the cup out. You poured the rest of the wine into your stemmed glass and clinked your glass against his. You paused, watching him down the glass, his Adam's apple bobbing and a single droplet of whiskey dripping from his lips and trailing down his neck. Sinful thoughts flashed across your eyes, but long gone now were the days where you could lick it away. You averted your eyes quickly and drank your wine in one swift gulp. Anything to distract you from the images circling through your head. 

“You’ve been doing well - at least from what I’ve seen,” you placed the wine glass down in the kitchen sink and Daniel followed suit. The heat of his body was heavy behind you, his arm right next to yours. You fought everything in you to fight freezing. Surely, he wasn’t doing this on purpose? You didn’t have much time to contemplate as his body was gone in the next moment. 

He leaned against the kitchen counter - his arms propped his body up and you chose to avert your eyes from his toned form. Two months was clearly not enough time to stop those thoughts from clouding your mind. Was it you or did he just look you up and down?

“I’ve been… okay,” he didn’t elaborate, but the silence explained enough. Maybe it was easier to put on a smile for the camera.

“You still miss it,” it wasn’t a question.

“Every day,” he nearly whispered. His warm brown eyes held yours for a second too long and you wondered if you were still talking about racing. You cleared your throat, not totally sure how to address that. 

“Things ended pretty poorly, huh,” you averted your eyes. Now was not the time to let your tears get the best of you. Your last argument was the elephant in the room and you’d explode if you avoided it for another second. There was a tightly wound bundle of resentment, pain, and anger in your stomach. You were mad at him for walking away. Mad that he seemed to get over things pretty damn quick while you were still fumbling for a grasp on things. Mad that he walked right back in like nothing happened.

“You could say that again,” he said simply. You went to speak again but he cut you off. “I’m sorry for the things I said.”

Your eyes shot to his. He wasn’t really one to open up and talk about things like that. He tended to take things out on the track and work through them that way. He didn’t have that anymore though, so maybe he found talking was easier these days. 

“Thank you,” you said roughly. Blinking rapidly to stop tears from coming forward. What were you supposed to do now? You never stopped loving him, but you were feeling so many other conflicting feelings at the same time. Daniel made a move as if to come forward and comfort you, then thought twice about it. He was obviously feeling a lot of things too. He cleared his throat.

“So, you said you put everything in a box?” He looked around. If things were heavy before, they weighed a ton now. 

“Um, yes, your stuff is in the hall closet. I put it in a box for you - I’m not sure it'll fit in whatever car you drove, but you can always send someone to pick it up for you,” you over-explained as you walked towards said storage. Were you delirious or was that his body heat on your back? This time it did not disappear. 

You slowed, turning to face him. He was as close as you suspected, his strong frame standing over you. His pupils were blown, his breathing slightly accelerated. You’d be a fool to deny that his scent was intoxicating. The same cologne and musk you remembered that was distinctly Daniel made your head spin. You swallowed hard and Daniel’s eyes flickered down to your eyes then your throat.

“Daniel?”

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed out, his voice deep and husky. Your heart pounded hard in your chest. You wanted this more than anything. You wished he’d just kiss you already. Your body ached to feel his against yours again. It had been so long. You were both suspended in time, your eyes locked with each others’.

“I missed you, too,” you replied. He looked relieved at that, like he thought you had moved on. As if you’d ever be able to do that.

“Yea?” He was even quieter that time.

“So fucking much.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I wish you would.”

Whatever dam was once there broke in an instant. Daniel surged forward and his lips enveloped yours. You couldn’t help the groan that leaked from your throat. You missed this so much it hurt. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. His other hand found the back of your neck and his fingers wrapped into your hair. His body was hot against yours, your skin searing wherever it touched his. He backed you into the wall without his lips leaving yours once. You eagerly reached your hands to his hair and pulled on the curls you missed so much which earned you a groan in return. You fit together like two puzzle pieces. 

You gulped in air as he moved his attention to your neck, his facial hair scratching you in the way you remembered. Words couldn’t describe how much you missed this. His leg parted yours to push against your clothed cunt and pin you to the wall. God, if he thought you were moaning like a whore now… He suckled hard on the soft skin of your collar bone and your fingers tightened in his hair.

Things were complicated, sure, but this was here and now. Right now you were feeling pretty damn good for many reasons and your present self didn’t care much about the potential consequences. Daniel was a man starved and you were an oasis in the desert. 

“Take me to the fucking bedroom before I strip you here,” you barely got out.

“Can do,” he replied between pressing kisses up your neck. “Not that I would entirely mind…” His strong arms moved to loop under your thighs and lift you up easily. He took a moment to hold you against the wall and kiss you again. His need was as evident as yours; you could feel him straining against his jeans. His tongue was hot and furious against yours and you feared being fully consumed by him. 

Your body temperature was running at one-thousand degrees and you felt like you were about to burst. Daniel’s tongue was wet and insistent against yours and you drank him in. Soft groans echoed from him and you could barely handle it. He carried you to your room, placing you softly onto your plush bed. His body was heavy upon yours, barely holding himself above you. You took the opportunity to roll your hips against his, eliciting a moan from both of you. You wondered if he was with anyone in your absence and then quickly pushed that thought away. It was none of your business, and you chose to believe the answer was no based on the way he was acting. 

Your hands trailed around each other; you missed the feel of each others’ bodies. Something told you that neither of you would last long. Already you feel yourself soaking through your panties.

Barely able to tear himself from you, Daniel managed to rip his shirt off. He looked just as good as ever and your mouth watered at the happy trail disappearing into his pants. 

“See something you like?” He grins evilly.

“Shut the fuck up and take my pants off,” you sigh. He did not need to be told twice. Your pants were removed in a flash leaving you in your underwear and shirt. The shirt was quickly removed after. Lucky for you, it was nearing laundry day which meant you had only your skimpiest and laciest underwear leftover. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Daniel sighed. 

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry…”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he leaned back in and placed soft kisses down your torso. His hands pawed your chest roughly, pinching your nipples between his fingers and causing you to keen into him. He came back to place one more kiss on your lips and captured your bottom lip between his teeth to nip at the soft, swollen skin. You rolled your hips into his again but this time he caught them and pushed his own into you to fight back. Everything with him was a delicious push and pull.

He edged back down, but not without placing wet kisses along your torso on his way there. He grabbed the band of your underwear between his teeth and pulled them off. His eyes held yours as he did so and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. The man knew how to make you blush, that was for sure. They peeled back from your dripping pussy in a way that was almost embarrassing. You didn’t miss when he took the panties and shoved them into his back pocket. 

His lips ghosted over the inside of your thighs and drank you in in a way that made you light headed. You wanted nothing more than him to put his fucking mouth to work. He could sense your urgency and gave a cheeky chuckle.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this as much as me. I’ll suck your dick if you hurry up and eat me out,” you threatened.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His mouth was warm and the pleasure shot deep through your core as soon as he ran his tongue over you. 

“Fuck,” you barely managed. Your head hit the mattress - Daniel held you tight and didn’t allow an inch for you to squirm. Your legs draped over his shoulders and your toes curled as he worked on you. The wet sounds that came from your cunt were sinful; when Daniel paused for air and to smile at you, you could see his chin glistening. He was relentless, moaning into your folds and your head started swirling. “Daniel,” you gasped and one hand clawed at his shoulder while the other held tightly to his hair. “I’m not gonna last - if you keep doing that I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” he barely pulled back. Now that he had that information, he didn’t hold back and within a minute you were writhing and moaning underneath him as white hot pleasure coursed through you. He alternated between sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit. His strong arms barely flexed to hold you down as your hips rolled against his tongue. He only relented when your hips stuttered as you became overstimulated. You were gasping and swearing. It was way too long since you’d felt like this. He pulled back, but only far enough to place more open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along your thighs. He let you recover and kissed his way back up your body on your hips, your stomach, your breasts, and finally your collarbones and neck. 

“Sooooo, you said something about getting my dick sucked?” He asked and completely evaporated the heavy mood. You couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from you and you hit his shoulder weakly. He fell back dramatically on the bed, holding his shoulder in mock pain. “You wound me, woman!”

The light humor was nice, but it made your heart ache. You missed this so much and you realized that this ended with Daniel walking out the door. This was all a moment of passion after time apart. He’d take the rest of his things and go back to his life and you’d go back to yours. Instead of wallowing, you chose to shove it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment that was happening in front of you. You put the smile back on your face and turned your attention back to Daniel. You kissed him deeply and softly once and ignored the slightly confused look on his face.

You pushed him back into the bed and he propped his head up by putting his hands behind his head, and you swallowed hard at his flexing biceps. He still wore his jeans so you palmed him roughly through the thick fabric which earned you a look that could kill. You licked a stripe over the coarse hair that sprouted up his stomach. He was hot and salty with sweat and you craved to take him into your mouth. 

Removing his belt slowly, you teased him; how much could he take? To your surprise, he was exceedingly patient and looked down at you with a disgusting smirk.  You pulled down his jeans and wiped said smirk off his face by placing a feather light kiss over his clothed cock. He smelled hot and musky, and you couldn’t wait to strip him completely. The pants and boxer briefs came off together and got tossed somewhere along the rest of the clothes on the floor.

He was just as you remembered. You suppressed the whine that built in your throat. He was already cocky enough; he didn’t need to know you missed sucking him off. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, the rest taken care of by your hands. Another thing he didn’t need to add to his ego was his size. He was heavy and warm on your tongue with the sting of bitter saltiness from the precum that leaked from his swollen, red tip. A deep groan came from him and you looked up to see his head thrown back and his bottom lips caught between his teeth. A small ego boost for you too. 

You dragged your tongue from his base to his tip. Following the thick vein that ran up his length, you took him in again and hollowed your cheeks. He couldn’t control the groans and moans that spilled from him and one of his hands came down to wind through your hair and hold it up.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Bold of him, but you had to admit you missed this possessive side of him. You obliged him and looked him dead in the eyes but did not pause your ministrations. You let him push his hips into your mouth to fuck your throat. You were out of practice and gagged once before holding it back. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you loved it. You swallowed around his length and his hand tightened painfully in your hair. His hips thrusted against his own will and his eyes squeezed shut. “Okay… okay, stop, or I’m not gonna make it to the main event,” he breathed heavily. Still got it, you thought smugly. You released him but not before placing one last kiss on the crevice between his crotch and his thigh which earned you a satisfying twitch.

You climbed up, settling yourself on his lower stomach. This was one of both of your favorite positions. Daniel loved seeing you above him, riding his cock and finding the exact right spot that got you off. It was a position that allowed you both some control and he liked being able to see your face. You scooted back and grabbed his length, ready to position him and sink down when he halted you by catching your hips in both of his hands.

“Fuck, I didn't bring a condom,” he sighed and paused. You almost lost your mind. 

“I don't fucking care,” you moaned and pushed against him. “And I'm still on the pill.”

“You didn't stop it?”

“Just be glad I didn't and fuck me already, Daniel,” you whined. You knew adding his name would be the cherry on top of a cake he couldn't deny. He took the head of his leaking cock, swiping it through your folds to collect the excessive wetness there, and pressed himself into you slowly. The stretch ached deliciously. It had definitely been awhile. Daniel hissed between his teeth as you sunk down on his length inch by agonizing inch. 

When he was fully inside of you, you took a moment to adjust. You steadied yourself with your hands on Daniel’s chest, and he grabbed your wrists to pull you back down to him. Your lips met his in a surprisingly tender kiss that stirred things in your chest that you were having trouble keeping buried. You blinked away tears for the second time that night, but this time a warm hand came to cup your cheek and stroke the warm skin there. 

Whatever happened tonight, you hoped you and Daniel talked after this. He brought you so much joy and comfort. His warm brown eyes held yours as if to say everything would be okay.

“Okay, I’m fine. You can start moving,” you breathed out and began rocking your hips. He didn’t need to be told twice and held your hips to guide you up and down on his cock. He felt just as good as you remembered. Maybe better. The room was filled with the harmony of your moans and the wet, rhythmic slaps of your hips meeting each other. There was no sweeter sound.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he moaned. “So fucking good for me. So tight and fucking soaking. All for me,” his hips snapped to meet your movements. Him calling you baby lit a spark in your belly and spurred you on.

“Faster. Fuck me faster, Daniel,” you whined, desperately chasing your high. He complied and moved faster and harder. He stuck his two forefingers in your mouth and you sucked on them, your tongue swirling around the digits. You looked at him through your lashes and he groaned deeply. You felt deeply in your soul that only you two could have this effect on each other. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing deeper and faster, and you knew he was nearing the edge. You decided to spur him on, wanting to hear his sweet sounds and see the beautiful face he made when he reached it. You beared down on him, squeezing him and matching his rhythm.

“You’re so good, Danny. You make me feel so good,” you could barely get the words out.

His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to maintain his composure. Sweat beaded on his brow and shined on his chest. One hand left your hip to rub quick circles on your clit to give it right back to you. You were so sensitive from earlier that the effect was immediate. One hand flew to muffle the sounds coming out of you, but Daniel ripped it away. He wanted to hear every sound uninhibited. 

He held on until your orgasm crashed over you. You hoped you wouldn’t be receiving a noise complaint from your neighbors the next day, but would understand why if you did. Your thighs shook and you couldn’t control how you rutted against Daniel like a crazed person. That was all he could take and his hands tightened painfully into your soft skin. He bit his lips hard and his eyes screwed shut. His hips hit once, twice more before slowing. Was that a whine coming from him? God, that sound alone could make you cum again. You reveled in the bliss, slowly moving your hips to ride it out. 

The room was quiet for a few minutes after, save the heaving breathing coming from both of you. Finally, you pulled yourself from Daniel, a soft sigh coming from him. You were battling yourself on what to do next. Now that it was over… What came next? Maybe you would take a hot shower and then he’d be gone with his things when you emerged. That was usually how this kind of story went, right? At least he wouldn’t be around to see you fall apart.

You made a start to get off the bed, but a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. You were pulled back down. Warm arms wrapped around you and then you were laying against his overheated body, your legs draped over his like nothing had ever changed.

“Don’t go,” he said into the top of your head.

[vanwolffen]

I think that's the biggest miss on the MCU.

They keep creating bigger and bigger threats. And the interpersonal gets tossed around.

They have made a bunch of Marvel series too, and while they are great hits like WandaVision, their characterization gets destroyed by the next big movie.

The Netflix series did a great job at doing exactly what Spiderman failed to do. Daredevil wasn't just "fighting ninjas" he had his interpersonal stuff going with Foggy, his identity crisis, his quest for revenge that conflicted with protecting hellskitchen.

Jessica Jones had a great depiction of trauma and she didn't need big superpowers to be a detective. Her third act didn't need a big laser in the sky to feel the stakes were high.

Best of all, in Luke Cage they had him represent his neighborhood and was a character where his identity as a black man was tied to his identity as a super hero. The ending paralleling the God Father.

(We can all forget about Iron fist)

Point being. Marvel has failed to understand that you don't need to go big all the time.

Echo was a good series for the same reasons Luke Cage was, but it was intentionally made to be forgotten by how they released it Netflix style and without any publicity.

Hawkeye on the other hand fails to understand the whole concept of the book its based on. Which is quite like Spiderman, just a guy, helping people, and dealing with the problems of the community and of his past.

All because everything in the MCU has to go bigger and be connected to the next thing, which makes the thing you just watched obsolete and easily forgotten.

🌶️

The MCU's Spiderman is not a poor execution of Peter Parker's character concept. He's not even poor execution of Miles Morales's character concept.

He is a poor execution of Terry McGinnis's character concept.

Peter Parker and Miles Morales both have so many fundamental pieces to their characters that are just missing for the MCU's Spiderman. Familiar names are floating around him- Aunt May, Mary Jane, Ganke Lee- but the fundamental ideas that make up Peter or Miles arcs just are not there. Themes like Miles's family expectations, Peter's constant money struggles, and the balancing act of doing good vs trying to live your own life are all absent. Even the idea of power and responsibility isn't properly introduced until the THIRD MOVIE when that really should been the central theme from the beginning.

Rather the MCU Spiderman has way more parallels with Terry McGinnis. Both are young hot shot teenagers who end up being taken under the wing of established and experienced hero who is on their way out. Both have complex relationships with their mentor which in a lot of ways serves as the driving force of their character arcs. Both gain high tech suits which enable their heroism. Both are viewed (or at least supposed to be viewed in MCU Peter's case) as heirs to the legacy of this hero.

It falls apart when you get into how they are different. While Uncle Ben is implied to have existed and be dead by the time MCU Peter is introduced in Civil War it's never actually confirmed and never properly comes up. Meanwhile the death of Terry's father is essentially the inciting incident of Batman Beyond: it's what motivates and drives Terry and the murder and it's fallout are the main focus of the first two episodes of Batman Beyond.

What's more MCU Peter's relationship to Tony is grounded in the fact that Tony just shows up one day and essentially taps him to join the Avengers. Bruce by contrast initially tosses Terry out on his ear, and when Terry turns up seeking justice for his father Bruce can't offer him anything but 'go ask the cops for help', and when that goes exactly as poorly as Terry said it would, Terry breaks into the manor steals the Batsuit and goes to stop Powers himself. Terry has active agency in his own choice to be a hero, which helps define his relationship with Bruce and to heroism. While MCU Peter was doing his own superheroics prior to Tony showing up in Civil War (not that he ever does much of that in future movies) his relationship to Tony is defined by Peter's dependence on him and his quest for Tony(/the Avengers)'s approval. And because they don't even bother name drop Uncle Ben or flashback to him, we're left with the impression that the main thing driving MCU Peter is that quest for approval. His motivations are never more complexly explored, and we don't even really see him just running around Queens stopping muggings or car crashes or anything that hints he enjoys or feels the need to actually help people.

And I think that gets into the final and most important difference between the two. Gotham not only needs Batman, it visibly and obviously and terribly needs Batman. Batman Beyond leans into this because decades without a Batman have left Gotham a cyperbunk dystopian hellscape. The city needs someone to stand up to the darkness, to be a symbol of hope, to be aspirational. Terry taking up that mantel means fighting supervillains, yes- but mostly it means doing what the original Batman did. Solving murders, stopping muggings, rescuing people from burning buildings or fighting off street gangs like the Jokerz.

But even in the earliest MCU movies, New York only needs superheroes when the current world ending threat shows up. Otherwise the city is all bright shinny clean streets filled with haplessly content citizens. This is the only reason that Vision's position of 'Our very strength invites challenge' argument in Civil War makes any sense- because the only purpose of these Superheroes is usually to fight a threat they where somehow responsible for creating. And this problem hits 'friendly neighborhood Spiderman' the hardest because he only has a responsibility to use his great power to solve problems, if their are problems in need of solving. Most of Peter Parker's (and Miles Morales's, Gwen Stacy's, or any other Spiderperson's) day is not fighting alien armies or netherworld gods. It's stopping break ins, rescuing people from fires, or other small scale local threats, that none the less benefit from someone with his abilities to make them better. Either New York in the MCU is an ideal utopian city where the police have everything handled apparently (which ha) or Peter is apparently not interested in stopping bad things from happening. He spends so much of the first movie basically begging Tony to give him superhero things to do, not realizing that he could go outside and find people that need help on his own.

In conclusion MCU Peter Parker isn't 'regular Peter Parker but not an underdog', or even 'Miles Morales but white'. He's 'Terry McGinnis but without any agency in his own heroism'.

[cannibalisticskittles]

so much of the wigmaker's job continues to stay with me but especially this bit.

like. do you think illario hearing lucanis brush off the possibility of his death again and again contributed to illario giving lucanis to zara.

because yes, of course there's jealousy. of course there is. lucanis is primed to get everything illario wants and nothing illario does seems to change that in the slightest. he can never be good enough, not when there's lucanis to measure up to.

but. not only does lucanis not actually want what's coming his way (he does not at all want to be first talon but they both know caterina DOES want this and lucanis could never tell her no), he's also throwing himself into these jobs with such disregard for his personal safety that there's a sense of inevitability that surrounds the idea of his death.

this conversation feels like... it may not have been discussed like this so clearly before, but they've at least poked around the edges in the past. thought about it. and this moment might have been a turning point, in a way -- illario coming to terms with the fact that lucanis really just will. not. stop. for ANYTHING. his cousin WILL get himself killed doing this and lucanis won’t have any regrets. he’ll leave illario to go this alone. (no one to follow after anymore.)

i wonder if he started to think -- if lucanis is going to die anyway, maybe it’d be better to have that happen sooner, rather than later.

lucanis wouldn’t be happy as first talon (+ honestly, maybe this part is a stretch, but illario seems to see that what lucanis is NOW isn’t so much ‘happy�� as it is ‘obedient and content to accept the scraps that gives him’), and he’s GOING to get himself killed doing this, anyway…

so yeah, he could wait it out. wait for lucanis to do something foolish enough that he can't just walk away from it. maybe he’ll even last long enough to be made first talon (if caterina can bear to loosen her grip from the title) and be miserable for a while. years even, maybe! before lucanis, again, does something he can’t walk away from.

or.

illario could cut through all the pointless waiting and get right to the point. go straight to where this was always going to end up. and if illario is in charge of this, maybe he can benefit from it, and salvage one good thing from this whole mess, instead of being caught up in it later down the line.

(which then might tread into the territory of anticipated grief, too – lucanis' loss will be agony, but, if illario controls when and how it happens, he can control his grief. …except he hadn’t accepted the inevitability of lucanis’ death quite as well as he’d thought and when he gets sloshed at the wake, real grief seeps through the cracks)

just... something about this conversation. both of them viewing lucanis’ death as a foregone conclusion. lucanis accepting that easily, and illario struggling with that more -- and maybe having that shape his actions. not exactly a healthy expression of grief, but since when has anything this family done been healthy?

[derww]

have you ever read a fanfic where authors self-insert travels into some story and fixes the life of a sad and pathetic wet cat character? | some thoughts about several new members being lifesteal watchers before joining.

one thing ive been thinking alot lately. before s5 we didn't really have a moment of "oh, this new member has been watching lifesteal before joining". and even in s5, its almost like this is not that important because here we have, to a much greater extent, people whose metagame-luggage is in the fact that they knew lifestealers. as 4c having his friendship and silly feuds with mid, and jumper being really close vi's friend, and pentar being jumper's friend, and squiddo knowing ash for ages, and wemmbu being friends with zam&minute for like an eternity. even jepexx with all his ive literally founded this server, hes an irl friends with mapicc and poafa, I literally remember one time when he came in the middle of the lore and mapicc had to bribe poafa to distract him. and it is a really cool and interesting theme as its own, a great foundation for the different headcanons and aus and using it as a part of the dynamics, but nothing of what we've been searching, yeah?

wrong. minutetech. minutetech who was clowns fan and literally created a team clown would want to be – his actual character's basis has watching lifesteal in it, and his weird attitude towards clown drags on throughout the season, ending with his death. but hey, it's been more than that, not just watching videos, he was watching streams, he was a visitor in the zams chat. and watching streams, even in fragments, is a completely different level in regard to just watching videos. and it is obvious by how he speaks about zam and how he is inspired by past him, and how he remembers some specific parts. minutetech is the fanboy on the server, im sorry, and i love him for it. he wasnt a frequent visitor, but he was able to open the curtain and be impressed, and that's cool.

moving away from the relatively linear rookie roster of the season 5, the season 6 one if a fucking rolecoaster. okay, okay, lets start with something easier. hannah defo didnt get the memo, zero idea about sb but i think he watched atleast clown, e doesnt seem to really care, his thing is the reverse, his connection to bliss and how they showed themselves as both touching and deadly family, threatening pentar with knives in case he did not protect their boy, and chief does it s5-style, being friends with minute. its really hard to consider flame, he defo watched atleast part of the things, and he is friends with pentajumper, and he refers to the past seasons but misses out a lot and doesnt seem to have a consistent understanding of a context. 

okay. manepear. his case is kinda close with minute's in a part that he actually was a big lifesteal and esp clown's fan. never saw that one fanart he drew for zam but really would like to. lifesteal was an important thing for him much before he actually joined, and i can see him having good ground knowledge of video-part of the server, albeit easily missing something really important. hes also friends with pentajumper and had his clown rivalry story on bizzare just before lifesteal, giving him an interesting starting point and explaining why he did betray his idol of the past so easily. making him vodwatch s4 eclipse would make him better in lifestealing i promise. he just needs to find a balance.

to the main course. lets speak about kab first. this is a part where shit gets actually interesting since. you know...

("Powerless", 03/29/23)

oh, hi, Derapchu.

(literally the betrayal stream 03/28/23)

wait, lets make a pause. look, its Fl4pp0!

(also the betrayal stream)

the one who made new lifesteal stickers! wow! absolutely nothing interesting about them aside from thi-

okay. let's digress from the topic for a bit – it will make sense later, I promise. you know showtime smp? its fine if you dont.

the important part you should know is that showtime aknowledges stream viewers as an important part of a plot. they are called the audience, and how interested they are in a particular character is directly responsible for their well-being. most of the characters know that they are being watched, and some even hear the voices of the audience, and sometimes they are even asked questions, the answers to which can have a real impact on what is happening. and here is mika flappo. yes, this flappo, from the chat. (fun fact, there was also atleast two other showtime members lol)

firstly he is just a really cool fanarter in the showtime fandom, and she enjoys the streams and the plot as we all do, and then it... then they are just HERE.

just imagine. you live your very fucking hard and terrible life, having to deal with all sorts of shit and somehow not lose your head, and you hide so, so fucking much from everyone, because they can't know, because it's so scary and dangerous. and then you meet someone for the first time, and the first fucking thing they say to you is "oh, its YOU". and they do know what you did.

they were a part of the audience because mika has been literally watching the streams all this time. and yeah, she doesnt know everything, only the parts gods chose to show to the viewers, and they actually watched live, but its still sooo fucking much. and now an absolute stranger is walking around the server, and they know your worst secrets and impute you for your sins. luckily, mika can't spoil things, so its not like he can actually tell anyone, but her existence by itself is still pretty fucking terrifying.

luckily, both kab and derap are not just some strangers, but also they don't have to keep their mouths shut. they know what only the audience knows, and for them it becomes an important part of their understanding of the world and zam, something that they can use to their advantage. and they do.

kab heavily relies on a feeling of understanding and knowing better, and sometimes for me it feels like shes trying to do it even speaking about zam's feelings. at some point shes been heavily relying on pitying him as a way to show that she understands, and she's sorry, and she knows what exactly zam has to change to be better. its like... being the chatter who always backseats, but now you are actually here. absolutely no neg to kab, obviously.

its actually interesting how kab simultaneously sees and knows (or thinks she knows) so many zams weak spots and problems and traumas and calls him broken and harming himself and almost as if unable to make the right decisions for himself, and at the same time she puts him on a pedestal, perceiving him as a hero, as someone who should adhere to the correct perception and reflect her idea of a good person and teammate. and... it makes sense as a way of wanting to help your favorite anime character to become better without actually understanding either them or their beliefs and wishes and just trying to recreate the picture from my head of how things have to be, depriving a character of personality and autonomy in the process. even her expecting him to help her with the karmas law – she thinks that this idea is objectively right, so obviously white knight (lol) princezam has to get it.

people really liked her asking if she reminds him of someone he once was. i really do not. because sure, shes right at the ground lvl, but she doesnt get it. shes not s5, shes s4. she is vi and zam at the same time, and it makes my head hurt. "not everything is about you, zam", but she does make everything about him, really. i wonder if he was her favorite character.

i like that sometimes she acknowledges that she doesnt actually know better than anyone else. that she is just scared because her methods doesnt work anymore. but she speaks the opposite so often that sometimes i just dont know what she really thinks. with her strange division into lore and non-lore, with how much kab lies to people and lies to herself, she remains frustrating. sometimes I have a feeling that she plays a completely different character than the one she ends up being, and hey, that's part of the server.

some of it can be said about derapchu, and its easy to say that hes better than kab, but i dont really think so. hes less pushy about it, surely, but he also thinks he knows how itd be better for zam and intends to make him change in a way he deems correct. sure, he doesnt idolize or pity him, but he still wants to fix zam.

its not that easy as just dividing things on yours and servers because zam has a connection to it, and the server's well-being is directly connected to his. with enough mental gymnastics, even the desire to repair the spawn can be called at least partially selfish since zam does it for himself too, since he loves things being pretty and cool. speaking of the server as a whole, it is difficult to draw a line between where he does something for himself and where he does something only for others with just how conditional the common good is and how important the server itself is to him, just alive, just working, just being played. he wanted to make everyone give a shit and never fully left this modus.

and in a sense, derapchu fails. as gapples being for the fights against mane, or considering that zam perceives the hearts in a similar way as he does (and he really isnt, our guy was giving out the hearts left and right, really, and he knows derap enough to be sure he wouldnt do anything malicious), or seemingly never noticing that zam, despite being mostly truthful during the whole dialogue, never actually opened up to him. maybe his common experience and zam trusting him makes him feel like it is enough, but its barely a half. he said sorry for being too pushy today tho. and helped zam just because. it was good. sadly its not enough to understand that he cant just choose whats better for the other person.

you know, i really like to think about having all this background of being a lifesteal watcher from the point of the full-blown lore, without pulling out the card that the characters are also streamers or youtubers. this is a part that requires an individual approach: for example, i have drafts where boomie and kab, as centrals, contact their lifesteal friends directly through hacked communicators. or, for example, clown is known because the coolness of his conquests spread into legends, caught everyone's eye, and became worldwide news. in general, you can just come up with a connection between the worlds, like fidonet, or even a more modern Internet, and this will make everything much better. or you can follow the showtime trail and give each character an audience – similar to just making them streamers, but that's the twist that makes just enough of a difference. and, in the end, people can just be friends, meet in their free time, and tell stories. both derapchu and kab were zams friends long before joining the server, and this is something that should not be forgotten either. they, unlike the rest of us, have a real context. and, like, wow.

overall: these aussies gotta understand that zam is not their pet project and that he doesnt need to be fixed. some help here and there wouldnt be bad, sure, but they cant just choose whats right for him and whats not. he is, in this context, his own person and not just a book character and he needs a friend, but not saviour nor doctor nor manipulator nor mechanic. just a friend.

[studiogrimm810]

A Song of Glass

pairings/characters: sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: the impala gets t-boned by a drunk driver

warnings: blood/blood loss, car crash, head trauma, slightly graphic depictions of injuries sustained in said crash, loss of consciousness

word count: 2,345

A/N: any and all feedback is appreciated ^.^

———————

You toned out whatever Sam and Dean were arguing about, it was something minute and brotherly that was more annoying than angering. You leaned your head back into the firm leather headrests of the backseat of the impala. it was late, you're pretty sure the boys are just tired and easily irksome so you chuckled to yourself at certain comebacks they flew at each other.

“Dean, come on, it’s not a big deal,” Sam sighed, running a hand down his face.

“It is, Sam! Just because we share a lot of things does not give you the right to finish off Sandy's Apple Pie!” Dean thunders, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left arm resting outside of the window, drumming his fingers against the outside of Baby anxiously.

“We can just drive back and get more,” Sam argues, trying to hold back a laugh at how worked up Dean got about simple things like this.

“It's a two day drive and you know we never make it up to Maine,” Dean glares over at his brother, still gripping the steering wheel. Sam just scoffed and looked out the window, which pissed Dean off more due to Sam's apparent lack of caring.

You chuckle to yourself, stealing glances between you and Sam. You didn’t want to get him in more trouble so you just looked back out the window and watched the moon in the sky follow the car.

The sound of shattering glass is an odd sound, something that most people know how to identify easily. it’s often you hear glass shatter in a TV show or movie and even sometimes in a kitchen. Something about that glass, though, is that it’s muted, small and quick, but now you hear the instant crackle that veins through the Impalas windows and something about hearing it in person right next to your eardrums makes you recoil.

Shards of glass spray past your face, biting at your cheeks. The window on the side of the Impala shatters first and the windshield follows suit like a wave.

The pitch of the glass cuts through the car like a bell.

Or maybe that was just your ears ringing.

You don’t have time to discern either or because the crunch metal rings along with the staunch melody of glass singing through the air.

You gasp, a sharp intake of breath that pulls in a few small shards that now make your mouth taste of iron, and your body is punched by the hood of some shitty pickup with unnecessarily bright lights that make your eyes sting. Your body is punted to the other end of the back seat and you land on your shoulder with a loud crack, waiting for the feeling to erupt. However, the horn of the truck starts blaring and now your ears are really feeling the effects of the awful sounds around you.

Your ears are ringing, your vision is lagged, your face stings, you taste metal and- Oh God, your shoulder really hurts now.

You cry out, it’s all you can do because the collided vehicles are skidding across the intersection. burnt rubber and gas fill your nostrils and it makes you nauseous. You can see movement in the front seat - the boys being jostled by the truck as well - but you can barely hold onto a point of focus so you just see shadows and glimpses.

Finally, the cars screech to a halt and Baby sounds rough. Her engine is groaning and making some sputtering sound that Dean could kill the other driver alone for causing if he was awake. The pickup's horn is still blaring, probably signaling that the driver is also unconscious. You can hear someone moving around in the front but you can make no effort to get up.

Sam is shaking Dean, trying to get him to wake back up but a drip of blood down his temple makes Sam sick. He quickly yanks out his phone and calls for an ambulance, making the conversation quick as he moves to lean over the back seat to reach you.

Being the person who usually rides in the back seat, you’ve gotten used to your own setup. Usually, you have a blanket and some sort of entertainment and you often take your shoes off. Point is, you got very comfortable- so comfortable that you often didn’t wear a seatbelt due to the restriction of movement and Sam always bothered you about it but he often gave up. He just might regret that choice for the rest of his life.

Sam looks back to see your body laying in the backseat, almost like you were sleeping. your dislocated shoulder was the one you were laying on- but he didn’t know of  the injury. Sam just saw the blood running from the multiple cuts in your face and a few shards of glass stuck in your skin. He called out your name next, begging for one of you to wake up.

You groan, your head throbbing and the truck's horn is still blaring, making you want to scream.

Sam is still talking, talking about something you can’t hear because of that fucking horn slicing through your ears. it reminds you of the sharp, nasty sound of glass shattering just won’t stop. That's all you start to hear, glass. The glass. That’s it.

That’s all you feel. The glass slicing your skin and raining over you like beads of acid.

That's all you see. Glistening specks like sparkles that reflect the God-awful LEDs of the pick up, littered around the Impala.

That's all you hear. Piercing car horns and Sam's distraught calls for you or his brother. Then, the distant sirens of the ambulance that Sam called.

Your senses start to fade back in, the pain in your shoulder being the focal-point, but when you try to lift your head up they fade back out until you’re dizzy again and your ears are ringing.

“Hey- hey, can you hear me?” Sam is calling for you from the front seat. When he sees that you’re (somewhat) conscious he shoves himself out of the car and around to open the back door to get a better look at you. “Roll over but just- be careful,” he places his hands on your shoulders to adjust you on your back but your cry of pain makes him stop immediately. “What? What is it, honey?” He asks and you look up at him to see three of him, his puppy-dog eyes shimmering like the glass around them and his face showing the tracks of the shards. He was obviously heavily impacted by the crash, but he seemed to have enough adrenaline to push past his non-life threatening injuries.

“Sh-“ you start to speak, “shoulder- my sh-“ you hope he could hear you well enough, talking felt like it took all the oxygen in your lungs plus some extra muscle.

“Okay,” he says with a few nods, his hands ready to aid but his mind blank on what exactly to do.

The horn finally goes silent and you worry that maybe you’ve gone deaf or maybe you’re unconscious, but the sound of the truck door squeaking otherwise signals that the driver is now awake.

“Oh shit- fuck, man,” a gruff voice slurs out, “I- I didn’t see ya, honest!” The man stumbles around to Sam crouched at the back of the Impala. “Damn…” he sways- drunk. He’s fucking drunk.

Sam would see red if he could afford to, but he chooses to try and ignore the bubbling anger and instead focus on you. You both could now hear sirens and a small wave of relief washed over sam.

“Okay, honey. If your shoulder is hurt then I need to turn you over and off it, okay?” Sam says, his tone regrettable but knowing he needs to do this. You groan at the thought but let Sam do what he needs to. You give him a small nod as a go-ahead. Sam slips one of his hands along your back to avoid your hurt shoulder and one on your good shoulder to position you gently and slowly on your back. You whimper pathetically as he maneuvers you and you’d be embarrassed if you cared at all. He mumbles soft reassurances followed by your name to coax you back to full awareness, but the blood loss is getting to be too much.

Now on your back, Sam gets a good look at your shoulder that is grossly misshapen and he immediately can tell that it's dislocated. he winced at the injury before his face fell completely at the deep patch of blood staining your shirt. He felt like he was going to be sick.

His brother was completely unconscious, the person he loved was bleeding out in front of him and this drunk idiot behind him wouldn’t stop blabbering about nonsense.

The sirens approach closer, the lights flashing around them, a whirlpool of red and white and bouncing off of the crystals of glass scattered around them.

Sam can’t help the sob that escapes him, trembling through his body as his hand caresses your cheek. He's looking down at you, and the way you're laid out in the backseat would make a good spider-man kiss moment, but you keep that thought to yourself. 

Sam's face starts to blur and the edges of your vision start to cone, narrowing your sight. You look up at him for as long as you can but your body soon goes limp from exhaustion and pain.

———

A steady ping of a machine annoys you awake, the constant beep becoming tedious. Before you can even open your eyes though, you feel an aching ring of pain wrapped around your skull and a dull throbbing in your stomach and shoulder. You whimper softly at the feeling, trying to pry your eyes open.

You then hear rustling nearby and feel a warm hand envelop your own.

“Can you hear me?” The voice is muffled, saying quite a few things but you can only make that out.

You finally get your eyes pried open and you look up at the same blurry face you had just closed your eyes on, Sam.

“Hey, there you are,” he smiles, his voice low and soothing. it sounds more like he’s speaking for himself than for her to hear him. He sounds so relieved but so hurt at the same time.

“How’re you feeling, honey?” He asks, almost like a hum, all low and full of love, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to speak but your throat is dry and scratchy, you end up coughing instead.

“Here, hold on,” Sam stands and walks over to grab a cup of water and bring it back to you to drink. You get to see the full extent of his injuries and your heart squeezes with worry. He has a cast on his right wrist and a set of stitches on his cheek. The t-shirt he’s wearing has exposed thick gauze wrapped around his bicep.

You take a few sips and the first thing you can mutter out is “are you okay?” which makes sam chuckle lightly. He reached back for your hand before speaking again.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby, I'm fine,” he reassures, but you can’t help it.

“No,” you shake your head softly, “Sam, you’re hurt.”

“But I'm standing, you on the other hand,” he tilts his head softly to the hospital bed you’re in. You look down at yourself to see sling on your hurt shoulder. Then, you slowly lift up your blanket to look at the patch of bandages on your abdomen. “You had a piece of glass deep in your stomach, you had surgery,” he explains, the previous lighthearted humor fallen from his face and melted into worry and exhaustion. “You'll be okay,” he nods softly, “but you gave me one hell of a scare.” He's trying to be nonchalant again but he fails miserably and you can tell the toll this whole ordeal has had on him.

“How long was it?” you ask, your voice still rough but getting stronger.

“3 days,” he says, rubbing your hand softly. You take in the information, letting it all sink in for a moment. a thought pushes all other thoughts aside.

“Dean,” you blurt out, unable to form a sentence quick enough. Sam's face softens to a hint of relief for a moment.

“He's okay,” he nods quickly, “he’s back at the motel. He had a concussion and a few broken ribs but he’s fine. We were both discharged the day after the crash,” he explains, looking down at your intertwined fingers, guilt pooling in his stomach. “You got it pretty rough, all ‘cause of that damn seatbelt that I didn’t-“ he stops himself, his voice cracking.

Your shoulders slump slightly, heartbroken that he’s found a way to blame himself. “Sam, no, don’t do that,” you shake your head softly, rubbing his knuckles. “I should've been wearing it, it’s not your fault,” you assure.

“But I-“

“No, sam. I won't let you feel guilty over this. I'm the one who should’ve been wearing it and I've learned my lesson,” you try to joke, but Sam doesn’t look up at you.

“I could've lost you,” he murmurs, keeping his voice quiet because he’s afraid for his words to shake or crack.

“But you didn’t,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I'll be okay and I'll make sure to wear my seatbelt from now on,” you smile softly, trying to get him to lighten up a bit, hating that he’s feeling guilty.

He stays by your side all day, talking with you and keeping you company. you can tell that he still feels guilty but you continue to assure him that you’re already feeling better. It takes a few days before you’re released from the hospital and Sam is insistent on staying with you the whole time. His consistent love and support powering you through your recovery.

———————

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

[siflooping]

adding into this to say that i think it'd be a great exploration of like. ok let me try to word it.

edit this ended up being Way Too Fucking Long so its under a readmore. AND i broke it into two parts (added a bit of siffrin Braintime Thoughts (bad) to the next rb). i got wordy bitch disease!

so first there's the stuff that's relevant to sifloop in both canon and an au like this. loop is someone who changed so much from the Torment Nexus they were put in that they felt completely removed from who they used to be, who feels like the trauma they experienced is all they are. who loathes the person they used to be with passion, thinks that they were stupid and pathetic and needy. their past self who always felt like such a disgusting and terrible person that they assumed even their loved ones were put off by them and always one mistake away from hating them. who thought that they were objectively fundamentally unloveable.

and then loop meets someone who IS who they used to be, as a separate, distinct person. the person they, for a very long time, considered to be worthless, unloveable, repulsive by nature. they get to see themselves in third person, to interact with them as a person rather than an abstraction or their past self. and he's. well. just some guy (gn)? to someone on the outside of their head he's not horrible, mean, disgusting, selfish, monstrous, or any of the innumerable negative things siffrin as a person has always believed to be. they're just. a little guy? who is actually. kind of funny and endearing, who does his best, who loves their friends so much it hurts. who loop ends up genuinely enjoying the company of and caring about.

which i think is neat vis a vis self-perception, self-compassion and the extemely subjective way one usually sees themselves! i just think it'd be interesting to see an angle of this where sif like. remains as they were in act 1 instead of being put in the torment nexus and how that'd influence the rship.

there's no way loop WOULDN'T feel extremely bitter about the difference in their circumstances! i'm 50/50 as to whether theyd direct that towards sif as is at first (why does HE get to not suffer?! Why did THEY have to suffer where he didn't! it's not fair!). or if they'd instead direct it to like, the universe at large? in the 2hats fight they say they hate their country, the universe, the stars, but notably (to ME!) they never say they hate siffrin.

tbh i think either way they'd end up kind of hot and cold, both bitter and protective. prolly v possessive either way bc like that is LITERALLY who they were as a person before the timeloops tore away their personality and body! it's THEM. they're ALL that remains of the "original" siffrin. so if anyone gets to have him, to keep him, it should be loop! they went through hell, then had to do it AGAIN in a different flavor by watching one of their family members go through the Torment Nexus. and break out of it where they couldn't. and of realizing the reason the Torment Nexus existed, that both loop and one of their family members were pushed to the brink in a hell of repetition is bc of a Wish they accidentally made. they lost EVERYTHING. so. SOO! they deserve to have this at the very least (as a treat).

toxic yuri aside, i think non-looperrrrr siffrin's company would be unexpectedly comfortable & comforting to loop bc like. they know exactly how siffrin thinks bc you know. they used to be siffrin. esp since this siffrin isn't changed by the timeloop experience. so there's no anxiety over what he may be thinking of them (be it negative or positive) or if they secretly hate loop, because they can tell very easily! so hanging out with this siffrin would be like... reading a book you've read a million times, watching a play you've watched so many times you know every beat, or like comfort food. i knowww they'd do the equivalent of when cats act like them laying on your lap and purring is totally a coincidence, incidental, circumstancial, and does not indicate anything, you mean nothing to me, what do you mean you're going to the kitchen come BACK DONT LEAVE ME. fun for the whole family!

ok wait you know what'd be interesting and more importantly hilarious. sifloop, but in an au where someone else from the party is looping. can you fucking imagine

[pleaseshutupaboutsatou]

Continuing straight from the last comic where Tanaka puts a very drunk Okuyama to bed, Tanaka is walking home late at night. He thinks about his past, present and what might be. (14 pages)

This is a part of my post-manga Okuyama & Tanaka series in which Okuyama and Tanaka meet again after the manga’s end and get to grow closer. Previous parts:

Part 1 - Found (How they met again)

Part 2 - Genius

Part 3 - Seriously

Part 4 - You and Me

Part 5 - Making Curry @ 2am

Part 6 - Nothing, Nothing

Part 7 - Intermission: Hanging Out

Part 8 - Push and Pull

Part 9 - Pity

Part 10 - A Big Problem

Part 11 - I Have This Friend

Part 12 - Intermission: Hanging Out II

Part 13 - Movie Night

Part 14 - Someone Like Me

Part 15 - Intermission: The Guy I Like

Part 16 - I Need You

I will also have this hosted on AO3 if you want to read the whole thing a little more easily.

[every-kuzu]

Please I beg you to do a character analysis on Kakuzu <3 from whichever part of him you'd like

okay. i’ve got a two hour car ride and a playlist to listen to - lets take a crack at this.

i’ve talked about this a little in response to another ask, so i’ll be bringing up stuff that i have touched on before, but first and foremost - kakuzu is a very guarded character. a lot of the time, you need to pause and really observe him, peel back the layers, which is something a lot of naruto fans don’t really do - probably because kishimoto didn’t spend a lot of time on him and hidan. hell, there are some things that even i didn’t notice until i started this blog and had to pause and observe him.

so. when you ask the average naruto fan about kakuzu, what’s the first thing they would think of? money, most likely. and his love for money is a big part of his character - but is it really the biggest? he says that the only thing you can have faith in is money, which i have no doubt is his actual philosophy, but he still backs away from asuma and his bounty (which it’s clearly been shown that he wants) when pain calls them back to ame. hidan complains and tries to bargain for more time, but kakuzu shuts him up and falls back immediately. this could’ve easily been a moment where he too tells pain that they need more time, but no.

because kakuzu is loyal. one could even be so bold as to call him loyal to a fault, especially in the past and even more especially given his past. that loyalty is what allowed takigakure to betray him in the past, yet he still shows pain that very same loyalty. he even tells hidan that the mission they were given by pain is absolute - another thing that is very unexpected, given his backstory.

so what does this tell us? that kakuzu believes in akatsuki's plans, or at the very least has a lot of respect for pain. (this plan being nagato's original, not any of the three-or-four-different-plans-in-a-trenchcoat-bullshit that showed up in the war arc.) now, kakuzu is also very obviously jaded from a long life in a world like naruto's, so i'd say it's up to interpretation how much faith he actually had in akatsuki, but do you really think he'd stay if he didn't see himself getting anything out of it in the end?

and that brings me very-much-not-seamlessly to my next point: he's not as uncaring as he acts, and this is best illustrated through his relationship with hidan.

now, when you look at their relationship, the general consensus would be that they hate each other. and once you look a little deeper, it seems like hidan cares more then kakuzu. according to some sources, he only joined the akatsuki because of kakuzu, and he openly shows concern for him in the fight versus team 10 + kakashi. but what's often overlooked here is that kakuzu does the same, and that's likely because you have to look even deeper to see it.

on the surface, kakuzu seems to be at the very least annoyed with hidan at all times. he berated him and talks down to him most of the time, and hidan retaliates. they seem to be at each other’s throats most of the time. but kakuzu has a lot of faith in hidan’s abilities. the minute hidan gets his curse on asuma, kakuzu’s thoughts are about how he’s 35 million ryo richer, which shows that he truly believed that hidan had it in the bag. the same goes for the fight with team 10 + kakashi - when they get separated, kakuzu openly expresses that he believes that hidan will kill shikamaru. he also shows concern for hidan, which is best shown, again, in the fight with team 10 + kakashi. kakuzu might not show it as openly as hidan does, but he does care about him. unfortunately, since we get to see so little of them, this is the best example i’ve got and we can only speculate how this care extended to the other members of the akatsuki.

which brings me to the next thing i want to touch upon - his anger and how it’s presented to us. or rather, not presented, because it’s an informed flaw.

the kakuzu we’re told about through other characters is apparently famous for entering a murderous rage every time something annoys him, but the kakuzu we’re shown doesn’t match this. the kakuzu we see is jaded, stoic, and grumpy, but he’s never mad. the most we get is him taking a single swipe at hidan after he griped about a bounty, but that was just in the anime. we know that he’s killed four former partners in this murderous rage of his, but he never shows a sign of being even close to snapping in the manga. and yet this “anger” is what most of the fandom chooses to cling to when it comes to him, which i think is because it’s something that can be observed from how other characters talk about him and not something that you need to observe from him. still, kakuzu’s murderous rage is an informed flaw, which i think is disconnected from how he’s presented to us, especially when we dig a little deeper.

in the end, i don’t really have a conclusion to all of this. it was mostly a way for me to point things out that most people might’ve not noticed. but in the end, this is just my personal interpretation of all these little things, and i’m not trying to claim that it’s the only correct one, but i’m just saying - i believe that there is more to him under the surface.

[mllemaenad]

The issue with reccomending people to the Wardens is that, unless you're already blighted or condemned for a capital crime... your odds of surviving the joining seem to be significantly worse than 50%.

Alistair says that he was the only member of his group to survive, and the joining at Ostagar had, depending on how you count it, either a 50% or a 33.3333333333333% survival rate.

Those are lousy, lousy odds, even if you are from the wrong side of the tracks. And if you're in your early 20s or late teens, you're probably still cutting your life short, and ensuring that you die alone in agonizing pain down in the deep roads.

It's just... really not a good deal for anyone who isn't already literally at risk of imminent death.

It's not really an issue ..? I mean, I'm not having an issue, and neither is Warden-Commander Brosca, since I assume this relates to my post about Seanna cheerfully recruiting everybody. :)

For a start. Eh. Honestly, trying to work out how dangerous the Joining should be is a mug's game. I accept your examples, but I could just as easily counter that in Awakening five of six companions come through it just fine (Six of seven? Are we counting Justice, since Kristoff survived his Joining?).

If you recruit Loghain to the Wardens, he's fine. If you send Bethany or Carver to the Wardens, they are fine. If you send Blackwall to become a proper Warden, he is just fine.

Honestly, how dangerous the Joining is just seems to be related to how interesting you are. The deaths of all possible recruits but the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair occur because it is imperative that there be functionally no Wardens left – so there can be no more youngsters than that for Duncan to protect. The Awakening companions are mostly fine because we need a new party for a new adventure, so we can't just keep killing off candidates for hours.

I realise that's the most Doylist viewpoint possible, but honestly it's just not worth worrying about. Does the Joining carry with it a risk of death? Absolutely! Do I need to consider it so very risky that one should never offer it to anyone? Nah. It has its share of "everybody lives" scenarios too.

But regardless – I said Seanna never met an apostate, runaway slave, casteless dwarf or petty thief she didn't try to recruit. She's not recruiting people whose lives are going well. Even if they're not facing literal death right this second, these are all people whose lives are likely to consist of crushing poverty, imprisonment, torture, captivity, Tranquility, and an appalling lack of personal agency and dignity.

Are the Wardens kind of taking advantage of Thedas's horrific levels of prejudice and inequality? Yep! They're a bit dodgy, as many of the best things in Dragon Age are. Seanna takes her duty seriously and does her best by her recruits ... but she did get her start as the muscle for a Carta crime boss. Her morals don't have to be 100% pure all the time.

On the other hand – the Wardens largely do deliver on the promise of a better life. Yes, there is a duty and there are drawbacks, but they are one of the few genuinely multinational and multicultural organisations in Thedas. You see elves, mages and branded dwarves in positions of respect and authority. These people can marry, travel, own property, raise children if they manage to acquire any – and genuinely live their lives in a way they very likely would not be able to elsewhere.

How many casteless dwarves will expect to live to a ripe old age? Seanna didn't. There were so many ways she could have died young. And even if she somehow made it past forty (which is hardly old), she was terrified of ending up like her mother – or even worse, out starving on the streets.

Instead of that, and because of the Wardens, she is Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine, and she will absolutely keep telling just about any poor, down-on-their-luck bastard she meets that the Wardens have food and a steady pay cheque, and if the Templars or the slave hunters or the Carta come looking for you, you'll have dozens of your brothers and sisters watching your back.

[tetheredbysin]

As a fan of Nico, I could easily disregard this and pretend like none of these things are true but I do believe that it's good to acknowledge the not-so-pretty parts of your favorites as well. Hiding away from it does no one any good. Nico has a history of saying things that he should've thought about more and realized that they are not good comments to make. Some of it maybe due to a language barrier but that's not an excuse.

I think primarily the most problematic things have been his comments on grid girls and what he said about women/girls in racing. A few years ago he was asked whether he thinks he will race against a woman in F1 and he said no because "there are not enough girls in racing since they prefer playing with dolls". (not a direct quote, something along these lines). Personally, as a woman, I never found it offensive but I do agree that it is not a comment anyone, much less a grown man, should be making, especially in the position he is in. I have always seen this comment as an old-fashioned, out-of-touch take from someone who probably grew up with pretty traditional gender roles in 90's Germany, surrounded by the sea of testosterone that is motorsport.

The comments he's made about women and grid girls I cannot quote, because frankly I do not remember them too well. (I think the grid girls one was something along the lines of "they should bring back grid girls because they are hot".) I think they fall into a very sad, slowly improving part of F1. These comments are the kind that were very common to hear from F1 drivers pre-media training era and social media. You can point a finger at most drivers who started racing any time before the mid 2010's and find distasteful comments from them, whether it's Kimi saying that women don't know how to drive, Alonso talking about grid girls as well or Seb taking his flirting a bit too far with reporters when he was younger. F1 has been an environment full of toxic masculinity for decades and we are only slowly beginning to claw back at it. Far too slowly, because even some of the younger drivers on the grid have acted towards or spoken of/to women in very inappropriate ways. Nico has done his part of this as well and I absolutely understand that it could make people dislike him. If it puts you off him to know he's said these things, I get it.

His comment about the pink cars I have never even thought twice about. A bad joke which you can interpret as homophobic and would be valid in doing so. Any Northern/Middle-European would have heard similar jokes a million times in their lives. This one for me is the least problematic (if even that) thing from his past. Never thought about it much, I don't like pink either.

All of this being said, I am not here to make excuses for a man in his mid 30's. I could, there are plenty of things about him that point towards him not being a hateful or harmful person towards women or queer people, but I'm not going to draw away from the point of this post. He has his past and has improved much over the past years, has apologized for his comments and clearly grown as a person the more he has matured. I will not try to convince anyone to like him, or to see past his mistakes. Whether you dislike him or not is your own decision to make. I like Nico and it doesn't put a strain on my conscience to say that. I do not think he is a bad person, merely someone who has made mistakes. If you disagree, that is your right and it's completely okay. If we want to, we can make moral arguments for and against quite literally any driver on the grid, be it Max, Lando, Lewis, Charles, Valtteri, Nando, Nico or any other driver that has stepped into an F1 car. We choose who we care for and who we don't.

And at the end of the day, it's important to remember that no person is perfect. We all say shitty stuff sometimes, stuff that will offend or hurt another person. Any person in the public will have much greater consequences from that than the rest of us. Nico, along with many of his colleagues, are dusting off decades of very toxic environments and the improvement in their behavior is what I care most about. What is important is growing as people and pushing towards a future where places like motorsport are safe for women and other minorities.

there's something to be said about nico hulkenberg, who the media loves to portray as a hyper-masculine (almost to a toxic level) man, having a pomeranian, dressing up as freddie mercury for halloween, loving george michael, wearing shoes with bi flag colors. in this essay I will-

[uselesseaweedbrain]

Supercorptober - 16. Karma

It's been barely a second since Kara landed in the Phantom Zone. It's been barely a year, barely a decade.

Kara is alone - again - so she does what she did all these eons ago: go through Rao's twelve pillars.

Earth calls them the twelve principles of karma.

Kara finds it funny that every civilisation seems to recreate the same things, one way or another.

Reflecting on oneself is essential, and- Kara probably hasn't done it enough, back when it mattered.

1. Cause and effect.

If Krypton hadn't exploded, Kara and Kal would have never come on Earth.

Lex would have never gone crazy.

Lena would still have an older brother.

Alex would still have a father.

Kara wouldn't be stuck in the Phantom Zone again.

This train of thought is fruitless, looping around itself like a looming prison. Kara has enough of one way of torture. She moves on.

2. Creation.

Kara, and Cat, would have never created Supergirl. Maybe Earth would have never needed her, either.

Kara doesn't know if she should bring herself to regret it.

3. Humility.

Kara likes to think she is humble, would have been convinced she was, once upon a time, but Kryptonians are proud people, and there's a familiar voice ringing in her head-

You really do have a God complex.

4. Growth.

This, Kara has done a great deal of, since she landed on Earth's foreign soil, so, so long ago. She's learnt and forgotten, and hidden and lied, and sacrificed and grieved,  and let go and forgiven, and- if this is growth, why does it feel like running out of air to breathe?

5. Responsibility.

For once, Kara thinks she did take responsibility, at last. 

It's her, there, tortured and alone, isn't it? It's her fault, her responsibility, and her punishment. She just hopes Alex sees it that way, too. Lena- Lena probably doesn't care too much for her anymore.

6. Focus.

If only she could- sometimes there's a string and a pull and Kara longs to follow the feeling, but inevitably a Phantom comes to engulf her in nightmares, and the tug vanishes as if it were never there.

7. Giving.

Kara would. Maybe she's been taking too much. Maybe that's the problem, maybe that's how Lex was able to manipulate Lena so easily, maybe that's why Kara expected her betrayal before it happened, maybe that's why Kara deserves to be here as penance. 

How dare Kara take and demand everything from a person who had already given so much? How had she thought that crumbs of affection could preserve the balance? Maybe this- though- maybe giving her present, her past, and her future, maybe this offsets some of what she took so greedily.

8. Present.

The Phantom Zone doesn't have a concept of time. Infinity is an endless ellipsis in which Kara has already lost herself long ago.

Is losing herself again. 

Continuously.

9. Significance.

Ever since she forsook Rao, Kara has struggled with meaning. Has struggled, for all her inspiring speeches, with good, and bad, with the significance of her acts and her suit and her heroics and her mistakes. She doesn't think she'll find the answers there, though.

The emptiness is jarring like the edge of a precipice too full. 

10. Patience.

Can you be patient outside of time? What would Kara even be waiting for? She doesn't really know anymore.

11. Change.

Nothing does, and nothing will, until the end of time. Whatever Kara does, at least, there- she won't hurt other people anymore.

12. Connection.

Kara wants to laugh at the thought - there is no connection in this infinite emptiness. Kara wants to laugh like she did all the times before and all the times after and all the times during and all the times she went over that point.

Kara wants to laugh for the infinite-th time, but, this time, she doesn't.

Suddenly (how can a place without time surprise her?) - suddenly, and slowly, and all at once, Kara feels the tug, and the long forgotten warmth- there's a ship over her head, and the sun on her skin, and the feeling of home at last.

[cold--carnage]

I wouldn't cry. it would ruin my cool purple sparkly eye makeup