#i just need to post something positive - to think of something positive

[thewickedbohemian]

You've got a lot of assumptions about my position, I'd like to consider myself firmly on the left but I've seen a lot of so-called leftists with really extreme rhetoric I don't really like. E.g. the whole if-being-a-politician-makes-you-inherently-right-wing-because-hierarchy-and-money thing was inspired by someone on Reddit I saw call Bernie and AOC (the closest we have to leftist politicians at least in the eyes of many) controlled-opposition shills or w/e for simply being politicians and therefore "being part of the system". I've also seen a lot of people online not understanding that "eat the rich" was not an imperative to be taken literally but part of a piece of figurative language in context and a lot of people forgetting the history of post-revolutionary France and treating the guillotine like it's some kind of deus ex machina of "you use it on the people in power you disagree with and all your problems go away". I agree with your point about peaceful resistance (at least I think that's what it's about) I just think more people with similar beliefs to mine need to understand it's not just marching with picket signs chanting slogans. Also another quote that I've seen these kinds of left-wingers I have a problem with treat like gospel is "if voting changed anything, it would be illegal" when I've heard that quote attributed to at least two different historical figures (Mark Twain and Emma Goldman) which makes its veracity dubious to me.

TL;DR I would consider myself a leftist and I was only mad at a certain other sort of more radical leftist but I'm not mad at the idea of overthrowing capitalism I'm mad at e.g. the leftists that crawl out of the woodwork when there's something like a writers' strike thinking that the only true workers and non-parasites are people whose manual labor produces a physical product or the leftists that think violent revolution is the only way to go because peaceful protests of the past haven't accomplished all their goals and something something France something something Russia something something MLK could not have succeeded without the threat of Malcolm X or the leftists that think it's immoral to buy anything but basic necessities (that must be bought from a local Purely Ethical^TM store) while major social issues are happening

[milkoomi]

inner glow up. ᥫ᭡

while we focus on our physical selves to glow up, we tend to forget about our minds and hearts. we also need to focus on letting more light come into ourselves. the way we think, the way we love, the way we expend our energy; all of that can have this aspect of “glowing up” too! in this post, we’re going to discuss how to glow from within and let that beautiful new energy radiate outwards.

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — the mind

deep clean your thoughts

meditation:

take a moment, even if it’s just for 5 minutes, to sit and clear your head. focus on breathing exercises, concentrate on the rhythm of your heart, listen to the ambient noises of your surroundings. meditation is a fantastic way of clearing your mind and removing those overwhelming thoughts that are piling up in your brain! you also don’t need to be sitting, you could also meditate while in the shower! i have an entire guide on how to do so! you can also take meditative walks and focus on your surroundings.

journaling:

just dump all your thoughts onto a page, write down everything that’s on your mind. once you’re done you can even rip up the paper and toss it away! doing these journal dumps can help release those racing thoughts and clear your mind. it may even help to relieve some weight off your shoulders!

decorate your mind with peace & kindness

write down affirmations or go to a mirror and say those affirmations to yourself! fill your head with positive thoughts and calming reassurance.

try recording a voice message & send it to yourself! you can say your affirmations that way or give yourself a motivational mini-speech. this way, you can go back to those messages when you need an uplifting message from someone. and it’s always better to get back up with kindness and love from yourself!

organize your headspace

make room for positivity, peace, and grace and throw out all the negativity that’s tossed around in your head. don’t let negative talk from others, media, or yourself take up space in your head! your mind should never hold a spot for negativity.

distance yourself from those who bring you down

delete social media that no longer serves you or take regular breaks to unplug from your phone

replace negative self-talk with positive affirmations

replace “i can’t” with “i can”

୨ৎ — the heart

nurture your heart

as your mind is an important place to keep thoughts of joy, kindness, and love, your heart needs to feel it!

practice self care

take care of your physical needs (shower, drink water, brush your teeth, eat nutritious and delicious foods, move your body)

write yourself love letters

say “thank you” when receiving compliments

provide protection for your feelings

your heart is scared and access to it should be very limited. don’t let just anyone in. now, i’m not saying you have to put iron walls up around your heart and feelings, but i’m saying that you need to be selective. be picky about who you surround yourself with.

invite people who…

provide genuine & unconditional love

support you and your dreams

encourage you to prioritize your health (physical & mental)

offer guidance when you feel lost

close the doors on people who…

make jokes out of your insecurities

take your passions and dreams as something to laugh about

invalidate your feelings and thoughts

think it’s okay to walk all over you

don’t value your time and space

୨ৎ — letting in the light

i believe our energies attract different things whether we want them to or not. letting dark or bad energy ruminate within yourself and allowing it to consume you can attract misfortune, loss, and sadness which keeps us from reaching our true potential.

let light or good energy flow within you and let that energy be the one that takes up all the space. you’ll attract what you actually want rather than the things you wish to avoid.

light energy can come from…

taking up hobbies you enjoy

listening to music that makes you feel good

spending time with loved ones

going on nature walks

playing with pets

celebrating your accomplishments

final notes —

the biggest take away from this: protect your peace. becoming the best version of yourself comes with knowing how to find peace within yourself and making sure you show yourself love and kindness. the main person you should lean on for that kind of good energy should be you. let your glow up start from within!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[midnightfict]

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

[zahri-melitor]

I’ve seen a lot of posts going around calling Tim sexist/misogynistic. To what extent is this true to him as a character or just poorly aged Dixon stuff from the 90s.

Look, generally most of those posts are bad-faith reads by people.

Tim was written during the 90s primarily by Chuck Dixon. He therefore exists as a character against a backdrop that often appears to include sexism and misogyny, because generally most material made during the 90s can look that way to modern eyes.

I think more valuable questions on this front include:

Which of Tim’s traits do you consider to be sexist?

Is that behaviour notable for that time period? Does it stand out in any way? How does it compare to other stories?

Do you see this behaviour replicated by multiple writers over multiple decades?

In what ways are these traits shown to be more or less sexist or misogynistic than the behaviour of other characters in those stories?

We have a lot of titles written by Chuck Dixon during the 90s. Do you consider the way Tim is written to be more sexist or misogynistic than say Dixon’s characterisation of Connor Hawke and Kyle Rayner? Bruce Wayne or Dick Grayson? The depiction of Dinah’s relationships in with men in Birds of Prey? Jack Drake or Dana Winters? Detectives Shotgun Smith or Harvey Bullock?

At the same time Tim’s comics are being published during the 90s:-

We have the GA/GL crossovers in Green Arrow 1987 with Connor and Kyle where they’re going out to bars together, being forcibly hit on by women, and Kyle is negging Connor to hook up with some of them.

Superboy 1994 shows both Knockout and Tana Moon as completely obsessed with Kon and positions both of them as ‘exotic older woman/predator’ towards him, including specifically placing Kay in a position where she is an illegal immigrant dependent on selling her body (in exotic dance) who comes from a culture of extreme violence and abuse, and Tana as a Native Hawaiian woman chasing after a child celebrity.

Impulse 1995 resurrects the character of Bonnie King to make her a single, ugly, chainsmoking pageant mother completely obsessed with her own previous ‘glory days’, who spent the life insurance money from her husband’s death on training Cissie and trying to live through her.

Dinah Lance is portrayed as a secret agent trading on her sexuality and the fact men find her hot to do a lot of work in Birds of Prey 1999, including being attracted to and hooking up with Slade Wilson and Ra’s al Ghul.

Wonder Woman 1987 has the Sangtee Emperor space arc, which is a misogynistic space empire with a Sweet Polly Oliver problem, to put it mildly, and which I can most generously describe as “Messner-Loebs trying to do commentary on sexism in society but missing the mark”.  

Let’s just say, I don’t think Tim’s behaviour stands out at all, and in many ways is far less sexist and more considered, thoughtful and kind than other stories during this time frame.

I think it’s largely a tedious discussion pursued by people who either are looking for some reason to dislike Tim or who feel a need to try and ensure their reading material conforms to their present views on what is socially acceptable, and haven’t yet experienced society’s views changing on them to make something that was previously common now considered dodgy or unacceptable.

[shivunin]

Filed Under 398.2

In which Lucanis and Rook don't quite manage to have a post-game interlude in the Necropolis library. (Inspired by this post) *The beginning of this is a bit risqué, but not explicit

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis Dellamorte | 2,470 Words | AO3 Link)

“We only have—mph—half an hour, maybe forty-five—why do you have so many belts?”

“Poisons,” Lucanis murmured against Rook’s mouth, hands already working deftly at the buckles. “Throwing knives. Other things that I—ah!” 

Lenore caught his lower lip between her teeth, thumbs already hooked into her underthings to push them down and out of the way. The library shelves, carved sturdily from stone, absorbed his weight admirably when she pushed Lucanis back into it. Sometimes, she wished she was just a little taller, or that she owned any shoes with a heel. It was hard to reach his mouth for kissing without a little assistance.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, shedding three belts in quick succession and starting on the last. 

“Symposium,” she told him. “Compulsory. I waited until they swept for apprentices or we would’ve had company. That’s why we only have half an hour.”

And she was infinitely grateful she’d worn a dress for once. Lucanis was coming straight from a contract, and thus his clothing would take significantly more work to get off. She couldn’t complain, though; it’d been nearly a month since she’d seen him and he’d have to go straight back to Antiva from here. She was fortunate they had even this long. 

Climbing to her own quarters would have taken too long, and she’d been content with catching up in a crypt while they’d waited for the library to clear out. He’d given her the wide bracelet she wore on her left wrist now, malachite beetles inlaid with gold. She’d given him wyvern venom enchanted with a potent paralysis spell, just in case his target had built up a resistance. It was tucked into the bandolier on his belt now, discarded amongst the others on the library floor. It was gratifying that he’d seemed to appreciate it—his thanks had been enthusiastic enough that they’d wound up, well, here. 

It was unfortunate that she held the Necropolis too sacred to do this in the crypt because they probably would’ve had a little more privacy. Ah, well; she’d have to thank Emmrich later for holding a symposium at such a convenient hour. Sex in the library was so much better than no sex at all. 

As she thought so, Lucanis’s sword belt fell to the floor. In an instant, he’d gathered her up into his arms and reversed their positions. His mouth was—she’d missed kissing him so much. She’d gone much of her life not doing it or thinking about it at all; it seemed ridiculous that she would feel the absence of it so keenly now. It was not something she could understand through logic, so she’d stopped trying. 

There was something disarming about the way he sometimes curled his hand around the back of her neck, as if she was something precious, something that must be held carefully. Nothing else in the world—no accomplishment, no heady wine or hard-won victory—ever made her feel the way she did when he touched her. It wasn’t even the sex she needed, it was just—being near him, feeling his hands on her skin. The need was as urgent as breathing. 

His hands slid up her thighs now, pushing the dark fabric out of his way with agonizing care. Lenore had wrapped her legs around his back for stability, but she shifted them enough for him to move the skirt out of the way. All that remained between them was a thin, unfastened layer of leather. So very little was left to separate them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and tipped his head so his kisses fell over her exposed collarbones. Lenore squirmed against him, half-laughing. 

“Ready? I’m melting,” she told him, and made a soft, wanting sound when his hand slid between them to trace the length of her. She loved the quiet Antivan curse he mouthed against her skin, the devastating care present in every touch, the heat of his skin, the—

She loved him. She loved all of him. 

Lucanis removed his hand from her waist and looked up—presumably to find a spot to brace against. Slowly, his eyes focused on something to the left of her head. Oh, dear. There were spiders and wisps and things in here sometimes. Had one of them crept closer? She turned her head to look where he did and smiled. 

Ah. No, not a wisp or a spider at all. 

“The Ways of Wyverns: Provincial Folklore and Mythology,” Lenore read aloud. 

Lucanis cleared his throat, glancing at her and then up again. 

“I don’t suppose I could…borrow that? Return it to you later?” he asked. 

“Enchanted, I’m afraid,” she told him sympathetically. “Whole section is. We’ve the best research collection on monster hunting here, all donated by a foremost Nevarran scholar on the subject. There’s a standing bounty for any copies of a lot of them and they’re only lent out on special occasions. After the third or fourth theft, they took measures. Nothing from the collection leaves the Necropolis.”

Absently, she reached over her head and slid the volume free, propping it on her exposed thigh. 

“Oh, I’ve read this one,” she told him. “It’s actually rather interesting. The folk in rural Orlais have all these elaborate traditions around wyvern hunts. There are altars and rituals associated with them, even given how dangerous wyverns can get when fully grown. One of the families even…”

She trailed off, abruptly aware of the position they were in. Half-naked in the arms of the man she loved and hadn’t seen for a month and she was telling him about wyvern hunting traditions in Orlais. How were things like this always happening to her? It was nearly as bad as the time she’d had to stop touching him so she could coax a freshly animated skeleton to leave her quarters. 

“Go on,” Lucanis said, angling his head to look at the book. “What do they do? I have heard about the hunts, but I have never seen this—” 

Lenore snorted, then laughed, moving the book out of the way so she could press her face into his half-exposed shoulder. For a moment, laughter overtook her and she was helpless to explain herself. 

When she gathered herself at last, she lifted her head to look at him. Already, she could see the shift in his expression. It was the same one she felt herself. It hardly mattered that they’d been waiting to see each other for a month or that they had very little time before he would leave again. The idea of sitting propped in his arms while they read together was every bit as attractive as making love against the cold bookshelves of the Grand Necropolis. 

Actually, it sounded more attractive than what they were doing. Her hip was starting to hurt and the shelves really were frigid. This had seemed a lot more spontaneous and romantic than it actually felt. Ah, well. One fantasy punctured by reality, one likely realized—if he felt as she did. 

“You are perfect,” she said, and unwound her legs from his back. “Why don’t we read this together instead?” 

“You’re certain?” he asked, setting both hands on her hips. He was frowning, as if trying to work something out. “You don’t want to…?”

“I’m certain if you are,” she said, still half-laughing. “But only if you stay close to me. I’ve missed having you close enough to touch.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” he told her, dipping his head to kiss her again. 

He really did feel perfect, she decided happily, sliding down his body. She could see her underthings just behind him. If she hurried to get them back on, they might make it through two or three chapters before their time was up. Last week, she’d even found an inordinately large chair near this section, one big enough for two if the two were comfortable with each other. 

They passed nearly an hour together in the quiet library, Lenore snuggled back against his chest while he paged through the volume on wyverns. At intervals, Lucanis would set the book down to exclaim over some piece of trivia and Lenore would respond with other things she’d gleaned from the library. 

“Why do you know so much about wyverns?” he asked her after one such moment. 

Lenore, now fully clothed and comfortably ensconced between his chest and the arm of the chair, grinned at him. 

“Why do you think?” she asked him. 

Lucanis set the book face-down on her lap, which covered his. 

“You read this for me?” he asked, reaching for her face. Rook pressed her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes. 

“When I miss you, sometimes I come down here and read about them. I think about which things you’d like, what I ought to tell you later. I have a list somewhere. Under a book in my rooms, probably.”

“You—” 

Lucanis cut himself off, surging forward to kiss Rook. Carefully, he lifted both hands and cradled the base of her skull, holding her exquisitely still. His lips moved against hers, delicate at first, as if conveying some unspeakable emotion. Slowly, he leaned into her, pressing his cheek to hers. Lenore’s hands slid down his shoulders, touching the leather below, the criss-crossing belts, the vee of bare skin below his throat and above his heart. She’d grown accustomed to the soft brush of his beard, the way he angled his lips against hers, and she cherished it all. 

How horribly she’d missed this while he’d been away. She’d never truly understood how lucky she was to always have him near the Lighthouse. Being with him, especially like this, felt right in a way she had no means to articulate. 

For long, sweet moments, he simply rested against her, their lips pressed softly together. When he pulled away at last, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. 

“You think of me,” he said at last. 

“Of course I think of you. Both of you. I’ve boxes of things for Spite to smell and touch too, if we have time. When we have time.” 

He touched her face, tracing the angle of her jaw and the curve of her cheek. He didn’t move away from her. 

“I want to stay,” he said. “For tonight, at least.” 

“Don’t you have to go back to Treviso?” she asked him. The lines beside his eyes deepened. 

“I can send word that I’ve been delayed. It will give us until dawn at the earliest.”

Lenore leaned back, studying his face. They both knew who’d demanded he return as soon as this contract was completed. It was the same person who’d chosen contracts increasingly far afield. Any contract would do, so long as the fee was paid and the target was far away from Nevarra. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said at last. 

The book still rested on her lap. She flipped it closed to protect the pages, leaving a finger tucked into the edge to save their place. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he said. 

“Lucanis, I don’t…” 

Didn’t what? She wanted him to rest in her bed, to read with her, to be there when she tracked down that list of things she’d wanted to tell him. How could she say no to any of that, especially when she’d rather his grandmother trip into a canal than get to have him back? 

And it was precisely that—the animosity between her and Caterina Dellamorte—that meant she was reluctant to be the one who asked him to stay. His family was everything to him; it was not a bond she would test for her own gratification. 

“Do you want me here, Rook?” he asked, resting his hand over hers on the book. 

“Of course I do.”

“Then I will stay,” he said. “We can take this book to your rooms. Finish what we started.”

Yes. Oh, she wanted that so badly that it almost hurt to imagine. She’d resigned herself to sleeping alone already, had braced herself for the pain of curling up alone in her bed after having him for so brief a time. 

Solitude still came more easily to her than company. That was what she told herself when he was gone, anyway. It was easier to tell herself so than it was to admit that it cost her something vital every time she left him at the eluvian to Treviso. 

Endearments did not trip easily from his tongue, and she would have accepted them with just as little grace if they had. Long experience had taught her that there were other words that amounted to the same thing. 

“Lenore,” he said quietly, and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Lenore. I would always wake with you if I could.”

“I know,” she told him, and slid from his lap so he couldn’t watch her gather herself. “Come on. If we stay up late, we can finish this in my rooms.” 

Already, there were voices at the doors to the library. The symposium must be done, later than expected. No doubt, she would hear the broad strokes of it tomorrow. If not, she’d get the tale from the one who’d led it. Catching up would keep her busy, and that would be good. 

But—none of that had to matter right now. Corpses and spirits and necromancy could wait for tomorrow. Right now, she had a book to read and an assassin to hold. 

The voices drew closer. As if he did not care whether or not they saw, Lucanis took her hand and kissed it slowly, one knuckle at a time. It had been the first place he had kissed her and the gesture, no matter how briefly it was performed, always did something funny to her knees. When he was done, he did not let her go. His thumb ran over her knuckles instead, back and forth, as if reminding himself where they were. 

Lenore swallowed around the tightness in her throat and hurried toward the exit. Every moment of happiness they’d ever had together had been carved from a universe that didn’t want to share. This would be no different than any of those other moments. They had a whole night ahead of them—eons and eons of time stretching out before her, so much more than she’d thought she would have. She didn’t want to waste a second thinking about his inevitable departure, how he would turn to look at her one last time before he stepped through the mirror to the Diamond. 

No. Instead, she would think about…about wyverns. 

As long as he was with her, as long as she could feel him near, she was satisfied.

[somequeeralien]

💙OBJECTUM POSITIVITY POST💙

This post is mostly techum, but applies to any other type of objectum attraction! Don't exclude yourself, you're an important part of the community💙

There is no one way to be objectum, like there's no one way to be queer, disabled or person in general. It's absolutely ok to have preferences, it's absolutely ok to question yourself, try other labels or don't use them at all, as well as it's absolutely ok to not fall under special criteria entirely! You know yourself best, don't let others choose for you.

Being weird is ok, we're all weird here, nothing awful about it. Your love and happiness here doesn't harm others. Life is way too short to hide yourself and pretend to be "normal" just to be accepted by people who don't deserve to be near you in a first place. Think about it, if they hate you for something so harmless, just because you're not like them, how much time will pass before they do you wrong either way?

Humans are meant to be different, to explore the whole spectrum of experiences, don't say no to yours. And, please, don't do the same for others. It's absolutely ok to not agree with others or have preferences, as I mentioned, but we won't go far with hate and blaming each other.

There's always people who'll love you and be with you as long as you need, it's going to be ok, don't forget to drink water and have some time for yourself💙

⬆️ my professional opinion

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - blurb - she has your eyes

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

You stood at the reception area of the emergency department, an olive green smock-style dress draped over your form as you held the underside of your nine-month-old belly in an attempt to ease the pain of the fifth contraction you’d had in the past hour. You squeezed your eyes shut again as another wave of pain passed over you. 

“Can you page Dr. Rafe Cameron, please?” 

You asked the nurse through clenched teeth who you weren’t familiar with; ‘she must be a new grad’ you thought to yourself. Where’s Jenni when you really need her?

“I sure can, may I ask what he needs to be paged for?” 

You couldn’t blame this newly hired nurse for her question, you were sure that she was wondering why a woman who looked to be in active labor was wanting her to page an orthopedic surgeon. You knew it was procedure unless you were family for them to ask what the doctor was needed for and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve recognized that. But, you weren’t in your right mind – the not sleeping because of the pain in your pelvis was getting to you and with Rafe working days so he could be at home with you at night, there was no way you could wake him up and ask him to do the massage that the physical therapist had taught you. You let out an exasperated sigh and just as you did, Jenni, your most favorite person in the entire world, turned the corner. You were anxious for many reasons; your body about to push out a baby was first on the list, needing to find your husband was second, and the third, and most looming dreadfully, was the fact that apart from lunches and picking your husband up and doctor’s appointments, you hadn’t been in the hospital in a long time – you hadn’t been a patient in a long time and the anxiety of it all was threatening to overtake you completely.

“Ma’am, what does he need to be paged for?” 

The new grad nurse, who you now realized was named Lizzie, asked you again at the same time that Jenni made her way behind the desk. As you read her name tag – you hyper fixated on whether or not it was short for Elizabeth or something else. You and Rafe had thrown around the name Elizabeth for a middle name – a tribute to the eldest Cameron girl, but had decided against it. You wanted your sweet baby to be unique and to grow into her own name, not be in the shadow of someone else’s. 

“Hey, sweet girl, are you looking for Dr. Handsome?” 

She joked, knowing who you had been asking for before even hearing the contents of the conversation in front of her. 

“Yeah.” 

You spoke meekly and Jenni watched you carefully as you squeezed your eyes shut, this time doubling over and yelling out as the contraction attempted to bring you to your knees. She quickly made her way over to you, grabbing your hand in hers and taking your hospital bag from your shoulders, doing her best to bring you back to an upright position. 

“I think we’re having this sweet baby, today, mama.” 

You gingerly nodded with fear stricken eyes. Being back here – in a place where you spent so much of your time – where you met your husband, but also where you struggled to walk again, where you almost died; it all has quickly become too much to handle and you needed Rafe to remind you of the strength it gave you, the beautiful little girl you were about to bring into this world, and the wonderful life it had helped you create. You just needed him and you just needed him now. 

“I can’t do it without him, Jenni. I need you to find him.” 

Your pleading eyes told her all she needed to know – you were scared – and she hadn’t seen you look this way in a long time. 

“Lizzie, call the OR and let Dr. Cameron know that his wife is in labor.” 

She instructed, tone forceful but kind before she looked back at you. 

“Look at me, mama. He’s gonna be with you soon, I promise. But, right now, I’m gonna take you up to Dr. Lebel’s office, okay?” 

It only made sense to move your OB-GYN’s office to the hospital; Rafe worked here and it made attending appointments much easier. Not to mention, he no longer likes the idea of you in a car by yourself, even five years after your accident. You nodded your head at Jenni’s words and let her lead you to the elevator and up to the fourth floor, where Dr. Lebel’s office was located. 

-

You were in the waiting room for ten minutes when Rafe came barreling through the door. You couldn’t help but giggle at how disheveled he was – still draped in the same scrubs he had left the house in that morning; but hair messy and all over the place, and that fucking mustache; even nine months pregnant and in extreme pain, it was heating up your core. You made grabby hands at him like a baby and he obliged with the Rafe Cameron smile, pulling you in for a hug and rubbing your back with both of his hands. 

“Hi, mama. What’s going on, sweetheart?” 

He asked, sweetly, happy to see you, of course, but concerned by the tone of voice Lizzie used when she called the operating room. He quickly got another doctor to step in and finish the surgery he was performing so he could be with you just in case your little bean decided to make her debut into the world, today of all days. 

“I didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

You said, moving to sit back down into the chair as another contraction made its way into your atmosphere, yet again. You doubled over, the pain was growing sharper each time and they were becoming closer together. You knew you were going to meet your baby girl very soon. Rafe moved quickly, grabbing your hands so you didn’t fall forward and scooting you back into the chair that sat in a sea of ones just like it in the somewhat empty waiting room. You opened your eyes as the wave of pain passed and you panted for breath, the fullness of your belly moved up and down with the correlation of your breasts as your lungs expanded to try and get more air. Rafe waited with kind eyes and a patient tongue, letting you finish explaining what was going on before opening his mouth to speak. 

“I tossed and turned all night – the pain in my pelvis – it was just too much.” 

You let out an exasperated sigh, growing quiet as you waited for him to respond. His strong hands moved to your head as he began to rub soothing circles into your hair. The two of you were no strangers to the effects that the accident had on your pregnancy and pelvic pain from the previously crushed bones that Rafe reorchestrated and seemingly put back together was one of them. He was proactive; getting you quickly into prenatal physical therapy by the end of your first trimester and going to every appointment with you, listening to the physical therapist and massaging your hips in the way you liked so much every time he could. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up, baby? I would’ve done that massage you like.” 

He spoke and you almost melted, knowing that had you just woke him, the thing you wanted was what he would’ve done anyways; how very – Rafe Cameron of him.  

“I didn’t want to wake you, sweet boy. I knew you had to work.” 

You replied, cupping his cheek. 

“Yeah, but you’re more important than anything here. You know that, mama. You and my sweet girl in your little tummy are so much more important.” 

Rafe was selfless and if Molly’s death taught him anything, it was not to take the ones you love for granted. That was something he never intended to do again and it was a lesson that had stuck with him, even seven years later. You put your forehead to his and he kissed your nose before you continued with the events of the morning. 

“Anyways, the pain spread from my hips to my tummy this morning and when I had five contractions in an hour, I came in. I think we’re about to have a baby.” 

He almost squealed in excitement. 

“I can’t wait, mama. My girl is giving me a baby girl.” 

He spoke in content as the door flung open and the nurse called your name for you to come back and see the doctor. Rafe stood and grabbed your hand, helping you move to your feet ever so slowly, the nine-month-old bump you sported made you teeter and the last thing he wanted was for you to fall. His protective hands guided you through the threshold of the door. 

-

You made your way to the room after the nurse noted that your blood pressure was a little bit elevated. You shook that off quickly, the anxiety of giving birth and the pain that had been coursing through your body all night made it make sense. Rafe helped you onto the table and the nurse gently draped the cloth over your lower half, lifting your dress to just below your breasts as Dr. Lebel came in. 

“I heard you’re not feeling the greatest, mama.” 

Rafe gingerly nodded as he met her eyes. He had placed himself on a stool at your head, rubbing soothing circles into your hair once more, the hand of yours that was closest to him was squeezing his – the anxiety coursing heavily through your veins. One thing had never changed about you and that was your need for his touch in a crisis. He loved that about you. While he couldn’t physically help because babies weren’t his specialty, he could soothe you with his touch and that’s what he intended to do. 

“Her contractions are getting closer and closer.” 

Rafe spoke into the air and the doctor nodded. 

“Well, let’s take a look at our girl, shall we?” 

You looked at Rafe who gave you a smile before eagerly nodding at your doctor. One special thing that Rafe developed during your pregnancy was the way he smiled ear-to-ear every time he saw his little girl on the ultrasound screen. He was giddy – like that of a giggling little girl; he never could get over the fact that because of you, because of Molly’s orchestration of him finding you, he was married to the love of his life and he was about to get to be the daddy to the world’s most perfect little girl. 

“Jelly’s gonna be a little cold.” 

She brought the bottle over your belly, squirting it and watching as it gently fell on to your tan skin. You squirmed under the chill of the gel and Rafe giggled. After nine months of ultrasounds, your reaction was still the same – even though you had felt the icy-like drop of the gel as it descended down to your belly more times than he could count on his hands, you always, always, expected it not to be cold. He marked it up to you expecting the good in everything; even this tiny detail about cold gel made him love you more than he did the second previously. His eyes went from the doctor to the screen as she dutifully began to spread the gel around your abdomen and your baby girl appeared on the screen. Her heartbeat was the symphony and yours was the orchestra; one couldn’t co-exist without the other. You were thankful that through all the fear of the morning, her heartbeat was still there. It meant she was good, it meant she was safe. Tears lined your eyes as you turned your head to look at Rafe, the sheet of paper draped over the pillow crinkling as you met his eyes. He smiled and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“She’s okay, baby. Look at her moving around, she’s perfect.” 

He said pointing at the screen. Dr. Lebel was quiet for a moment before locking eyes with Rafe and speaking only with her eyes, something only doctors seemed to know how to do. Rafe knew what it meant – it meant something wasn’t right. 

“What is it, doc?” 

He asked, nonchalantly but his tone was laced with concern. Your eyes went wide. 

“I-is something wrong?” 

You stuttered. Which Rafe knew meant your anxiety was reaching a peak of no return, rapidly. 

“Slow down, nothing is wrong. We don’t want to scare you, mama. Baby girl is measuring at nine pounds – like we discussed previously, with the previous crush injury to your pelvis, a nine pound baby is going to be extremely rough on your body; it may even re-break your pelvis. The pelvis loosens quite a bit in a normal person, but because of the pins and screws in yours, I don’t want to risk reinjury.” 

Rafe’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the thought of your tiny bones breaking for the second time in order to bring your daughter into the world. The worst part was, he knew you’d be fine with that, he knew you’d go to that length to ensure that a c-section wasn’t necessary because if he knew anything about you it was that you didn’t want anyone besides him operating on you – you didn’t trust anyone besides him to. It made sense, he had been the one to repeatedly bring you through surgery over and over, it was him who laid with you and held you close so you’d know you weren’t alone all those late nights in the hospital. You were scared, you were experiencing post-traumatic stress and there was little to nothing he could do about it. But, he knew for damn sure that he was not going to let your first chance at motherhood be spent the way your days in the hospital were – you were going to enjoy this if he had anything to do with it and you deserved that much. 

“So, what do you suggest, doc? What are our options here? I know she’s pretty dead set on a vaginal birth, is that still possible?”

Rafe questioned her with intent – he needed to know what the odds were that your pelvis wasn’t going to break into pieces right in front of him. 

“It’s possible, but the outcomes are extremely grim. Rafe, you know what happens when a pelvis splinters, she’s risking internal bleeding. Not to mention, the significant amount of pain she will already be in as a new mom. We don’t need to add emergency surgery to fix broken bones to that. I would suggest a c-section. I know that’s not in your plan, but it is the safer option.” 

You looked to Rafe with pleading eyes, begging him not to make you do this. 

“I’m going to step out and let you guys talk about it for a few minutes.” 

Dr. Lebel said, giving the both of you a reassuring smile before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

“Rafferty, please don’t make me do this.” 

You whispered, your voice cracking as the emotion of it all overcame you. Nothing hurt Rafe more than that sound, but he knew he had to give you some tough love in this situation to protect you. 

“Come on, mama. You had to use my government name and the conversation has barely started?” 

It was a half-joke, he needed you to smile so you’d know – so he’d know that this would all be okay and at the end of the day you would have a healthy baby. But, a smile is not what he got. Instead, he watched as your lip trembled and he lurched forward, pulling you into his arms, your belly creating distance between you. It was almost as if the sweet girl inside you was giving her input into the situation. 

“Rafe, c-can’t you just – c-can’t you fix it if it breaks?” 

He was taken aback by your question, though he shouldn’t have been. He knew you like the back of his hand and he knew this was the eerie and winding path your brain would go down. He wished so badly that your brain would give you a break and that for once it would follow the yellow brick road – the normal path of thinking. But, anxiety is anxiety and he knew it well, no matter what the doctor had said, you were going to be anxious because this was a monumental life event for the both of you and him wishing things were different wouldn’t change that. 

“No, mama. I can’t. It could splinter and make you bleed internally. It could kill you baby and as much as I love you and want to make you comfortable, I have my boundaries too, baby – watching you die is not on my to-do list for today. Not to mention, I can’t – I won’t – let you enter motherhood unable to walk and in intense pain; that’s not fair to you or little bean. She needs her mama and she needs her mama whole and healthy, okay?” 

You could only whimper as you nodded in response. 

- 

Only an hour later, you were laying on your back on an operating table, arms spread wide, tied to the table in the shape of a crucifix. Rafe sat on a rolling stool at your head, his regular blue surgical garb adorned his body and his hands sat on top of your head. You looked up at him with fear stricken eyes as the doctors and nurses worked around you, moving the contents of your stomach out of it in an attempt to get to your baby girl. 

“Rafe, I’m scared.” 

You whispered and he stood, peering his eyes down and over the mask that sat on his face until they met yours. 

“I know, baby. But, it’s okay. Not much longer, now.” 

Those blue orbs were the only thing that grounded you as you heard the faintest cry, that managed to get louder and louder by the second. He brought his forehead to yours and you breathed out a breath of relief. 

“Our girl has arrived, mama.” 

He muttered and you smiled softly at the thought. 

“Rafe, go with her.” 

You demanded and he nodded his head as they took her to the incubator in the corner of the room, working quickly to rid her of the contents of your blood and fluid. As quickly as he had left, he returned to your side with tears in his eyes as he brought your daughter to your chest and allowed you to place kisses to her tiny pink button nose. She was the perfect mixture of you and Rafe; his nose, your cheeks, his hair, your lips, and just as you were committing her features to memory she blinked her eyes open. They were the same cerulean blue of her father’s and you thanked your lucky star’s the one prayer you had sent up had become reality. 

“Rafe, she has your eyes.” 

He mewled at the small fact as he took her from your arms, holding her head in his palm and placing his other hand on her tiny bottom. He bounced her for only a moment, letting tears cascade down his face as the harsh reality hit him that even though he had lost Molly, he had gained all the things he ever prayed for in the end. He placed his forehead against hers, taking in her scent, scared that he’d never smell it again. 

“Millie June Cameron. Hi, baby. I’m your daddy.” 

He cooed. 

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

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[calebslittleapple]

feels like home: sticky fingers

After a few weeks apart, Caleb reconnects with his Pip-squeak, only to find that she's pretty beaten up after a mission. Fortunately, Caleb knows exactly what to do to take care of his girl. From one moment to the next, everything changes, and what starts as an innocent interaction quickly evolves into something else entirely... two-shot, post club-interactions, but can be read as a standalone as well (though, this is part of my feels like home series).

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings); chapter one is M, chapter two is E; 18+

CW: Codependency; Pip-squeak as an endearment; MC is named "Emme" short for "Emme Sea" lmao; Finger Sucking; sensual massage; Vaginal Fingering; humping

Also on AO3

Chapter 2/2

Caleb sighs, long and hard. Says a prayer for courage to whoever happens to be listening, the Gods of the earth and the sea and space, or otherwise, and then, he gets to work. He kneels at the edge of the bed, and he’s tall enough that this gives him a good vantage point. He knows exactly what he wants to do next, and he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

She mumbles out a response, and Caleb squirts some of the oil into his warm hand and lets it rest there for a moment because it’s pretty cold. He prefers to touch her with his natural hand, but she needs him to do his best, so both will do.

Still, she shivers when he gently presses into the back of her thigh with his reconstructed hand.

“…Sorry.”

“No, no,” she assures him. “It feels… nice. I like it.”

She should probably alternate between heat and ice on those swollen muscles, but maybe he’ll talk her into doin’ that later. After he’s assured himself that she’s better and that her muscles won’t cause her trouble in the morning.

He starts slow, trying to find a pace that he can maintain and that brings her the most comfort.

“Is that okay?”

“You can go a bit harder. I can handle it,” she assures him.

“That’s my girl,” he drawls. “Tough as steel.”

From then on, Caleb really leans into his massage. Hell, he gets his elbows and forearms in there too, grinding along the tense muscles with the sharp planes of his arms to help them release. Through it all, she whimpers softly and squirms, those impossibly short shorts riding higher… and higher.

Eventually, he works his way up to just beneath the curve of her ass. “This okay?”

“Mmm… Harder.”

His fingers twitch against her skin, and once he’s regained the ability to think without his dick getting in the way, he presses his fingers into her muscles and slowly massages the tightness. On and on, he presses, only stopping to put more oil on her skin as it’s slowly absorbed.

At one point, he gets a little too into it, and his fingers slip… softly skimming that sensitive space between her leg and the apex of her thigh.

“Ahh…,” she gasps.

“Oh… I… Yeah, that was an accident. M’sorry.”

She’s silent for a long moment, and when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet but clear. “But what if I don’t want it to be an accident?”

“What?” he manages, more breath than word.

“Do it again. Intentionally.”

Just like that, his Evol is in control, and she’s flipped on her back, breathless with surprise as she stares up at him, legs splayed and shirt riding so high he can see the underside of her breasts.

“What… did you just say?”

She locks eyes with him and lets her leg shift to the side, so it’s very evident that she’s not wearing any underwear.

“Touch me, Caleb. Let me see if you’ve been working on your courage.”

Oh, the cheek to call him a coward, when she’d turned away from his kiss. There’d be no turning away now. He was going to mark her so deeply and so ruinously that she’d never think of turning away from his kisses again, or anything else he offered, for that matter.

“You sure about this?”

“You running away?”

He laughs, lifts his chin, and flicks the length of his hair out of his eyes. “Not a chance.”

Caleb shifts so that he’s better positioned beside her body and trails his fingertips along the exposed line of her stomach. He teases with his fingers along the waistband of her shorts. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Waiting until she’s squirming and pouting at him.

“Tease,” she accuses.

He doesn’t deny it. He lets one finger slide in. Skims along the outer edge of the trim curls at the apex of her thighs. Another finger slides in, curls into her skin, inches closer… and retreats. Finally, he slips his whole hand under the band of her shorts, his big hand dominating the expanse of her stomach.

And if he’s feeling smug, the moment his fingers trace along the line of her sex—slick and hot—everything except pure adoration flees from his mind.

Her hands come up, nails digging into the meat of his forearm, as she whimpers and writhes into his touch. He didn’t know it would be like this. Of course, he’d imagined how things would go and how they would feel. Obsessively, even. But this is… more than he knew to expect.

His body feels hyper-aware of every sound, every smell, every movement, as he searches for the spot that will make her feel best. Sure, he’s not experienced with this, but Caleb is a fast learner and, when it comes to her, he’s good at anticipating her whims.

So, when his fingers roll some of that slickness up, gathering and spreading it over the sweet spot between her legs, he can’t help but feel exceptionally fuckin’ prideful that he made her moan like that.

Caleb leans in, presses his lips against her shoulder, and soothes, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

She looks at him, dazed and almost frantic. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what, baby?”

“That it would feel this good.”

The knowledge that she’s been thinking of what this might feel like, along with the fact that it feels better than she imagined, sends a jolt of pleasure through him that’s so raw he chokes a bit. He’d hate to let her down, so he does his best to ignore his own needs, and pushes on, fingers softly rubbing circles against her sensitive spot until she’s panting, squirming, begging.

“Caleb,” she moans his name. He thinks he’s never heard anything sweeter sounding in his entire damn life.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Mmm… More?”

She sounds unsure, but he endeavors to give her precisely what she wants. His fingers slip low, teasing the entrance to her sex for a moment before inching inside. She’s so hot and slick and flutters so sweetly as he drenches his fingers. He slides that slickness back to worry at the same sensitive spot.

Caleb is very, very good at reading people. He has to be. In his line of work, you never know who’s gonna try to make things difficult, but it has the bonus of making him very responsive to her and her needs.

So, he knows she feels good thanks to his softly swirling touch. He can see it in the way her cheeks are flushed, in the way her breath catches in her throat, in the way her abdomen tenses.

She’s close.

His eyes don’t know where to focus, but eventually settle on her face. God, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his whole life than her there, with her hair spread out on the sheets, her lip caught between her teeth, and her eyes locked on him.

“Please,” she begs.

He obliges her, and Caleb indulges in the sweet experience of watching her writhe for him. Higher and higher, he pushes her. Now, her nails are digging into his arm. It’s almost painful, but he likes it. Even if it’s pain, he’s fine with it. As long as it’s from her.

Never mind how she moans, whimpers, and gasps. He wants to tattoo this memory into his psyche, so deep that even if he forgets himself, he’ll never forget her and this.

Finally, her back arches, feet digging into the bed as she gasps. He’s got her now.

“Just a little more?” he teases, but he’s not sure if she hears him because her eyes roll back, lashes fluttering as she takes in a long breath… and comes hard with his name on her lips.

He will never get tired of hearing that. Ever.

Everything changed after that night at the club, and he refuses to go back to the way things were. Now, he’s stretched out beside her in her bed, his fingers coated with her desire, and her nails digging into him as if she can’t get enough.

He knows he can’t get enough of her. That just one taste is enough to drive him mad, but still, he can’t help but marvel as she catches her breath, looking dazed and satisfied.

His fingers skim across her sensitive skin. “God. You’re so wet,” he marvels. He did this to her. Him and no one else.

She bites her lip and turns away from his ardent gaze. But Caleb isn’t having it. This is real. This is something the two of them are sharing for the first time, and he won’t let anything, not even her embarrassment, diminish this.

He takes her hand and gently guides it between her legs, purposefully trailing her fingers along the slick line of her sex.

“…See?”

“Caleb!” she says, sounding breathless, annoyed, and aroused all at once. “I can already feel it.”

He grins and makes sure she’s watching as he lifts her slick fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the tips before pulling them into his mouth. His eyes roll back as he sucks her fingers clean. He is never gonna be able to forget the taste of her.

She whimpers as he sucks, body shifting and hips rolling as if begging for more. And he wants to give her more, wants to give her everything she’s ever wanted, plus whipped cream and a cherry on top, just for good measure.

But it seems she’s getting to her limit with his teasing. Reaching up, she tangles her fingers into the necklace she gave him—twice—and purposefully angles him so that his face is right in front of hers.

“Kiss me,” she demands. “Don’t chicken out.”

He barely keeps from reminding her that she was the one who chickened out last time, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’s a bit nervous. After all that they’d done, he’d not really properly kissed her. Sure, they’d had those fleeting moments and almost-kisses.

But this moment is real.

And he can’t take this back.

She won’t let him.

Lifting her chin, she bridges the gap between them, pressing into his rough lips. It starts slow, teasing even. Reminds him of a butterfly’s wings gently fluttering against his skin until she moves, lips pressing tight, tongue dipping out…

His hand manages to thread itself into her hair, holding her close as he obliges her by opening his mouth and sweetly swirling his tongue with hers. This is new. All of this is new. But God, it’s not like he hasn’t thought of this a million—no, a billion—times before. Imagined the what-ifs and planned out precisely how he’d do it.

Then she’d gone and done it all on her own. How like her. No wonder he was so hopelessly in love with her. His greedy girl took and took and took, but he was happy to carve up the pieces of his heart for her to toy with.

But now, she was giving as good as she got, and by the time they broke apart, they were both breathing hard and wanting much more from each other.

His lips trip over her jaw, kiss the edge of her lips, the tip of her nose, along the curve of her cheek as he asks, “How are your legs?”

“I’m not thinking about my legs right now, Caleb.”

“What are you thinking of?” he dares to ask.

Before he can stop her, her hand is moving and grinding into the hard length of him.

“You. All of you.”

Caleb chokes and has to will himself to be fucking calm. He starts to review plane schematics in his head, taking apart model aircraft piece by piece in his mind to keep himself from reaching down, pulling off those tiny shorts, and showing her what he wants to do with all of him and all of her.

Finally, he manages a soft, “We need to go slow.”

“Why?”

It’s so like her to question him, so he explains. “I don’t wanna lose control and scare you. I won’t.”

“You can’t scare me,” she says bravely, but Caleb is certain they both know that isn’t true.

“Tryin’ to be a gentleman here, Pip-squeak.”

“Very admirably done,” she assures him.

He’s trying and failing. He’s so hard that it’s near impossible to think of anything else, and she must have divined where his thoughts trailed to because her eyes shift to his tenting sweatpants. This time, she keeps her hands to herself.

She nibbles on her lip as she stares. “Do you wear those outside?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He huffs out a laugh. “And why is that?”

Her eyelids flutter some, but she manages to stare right into his eyes as she softly admits, “You get enough attention as it is. And… I think if anyone else saw you in those pants, I’d want to gouge their eyes out.”

He swallows thickly. “Jealous?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Not what I asked.”

“Yes. Very. I don’t have enough time these days to properly play the needy girlfriend to keep people away from you.”

Caleb laughs. It’s a bit strained but incredibly smug-sounding because he is smug. His girl is jealous over him, as if he’d not been driven half mad for her all these long years. Still, his inclination to make her happy wins out over his need to see this dark, daring emotion from her.

“There’s no need to be jealous,” he says while shifting on the bed, only to tuck her against him.

“Oh?”

His lips brush against the sensitive space behind her ear. “Yeah. There’s no one else in the world that makes me feel the way you do. No eye that I’m interested in catching other than yours.” And as if to emphasize his point, Caleb slowly grinds his considerable length into the soft fullness of her ass.

Part of him expects her to balk and pull away, but when she presses back hard and whimpers his name, he knows he’s a fuckin’ goner.

“Are you going to…? Right now?”

He grins. He loves that her mind is thinking of sex, but says, “No. Just… let me… feel you.”

His right arm is wrapped around her middle, absorbing her warmth while holding her in place. She doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Hold me tight.”

“God,” he groans. “I’ll never let go.”

And then, she grinds her ass into him with such purpose that the first rub nearly has him coming in his pants. Caleb bites his lip and meets her movements, but soft grunts and groans spill from his lips no matter how hard he tries to smother them.

He’s just starting to really get into it when her hand moves to her hip, and she shifts her shorts down.

“What are you…?

“I want to feel you,” she breathes, “on my skin.”

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice, half-fumbling with the drawstring of his pants as he quickly pulls the fabric down. She doesn’t look back, and maybe it’s better that way because if he can see her face, he might not be able to stop himself from taking things further than either of them wants to go right now.

He rubs his hand along the cleft of her ass, spreading some of the remaining massage oil on her skin before taking himself in hand—hard, leaking, and aching. Caleb fits his length against her, hips rolling as skin rubs against skin…

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing, grunting softly as she meets his movements with her own. Her breath is ragged, her body tight, her skin feels like it's on fire. He wants to burn up in her warmth and let her passion and desire consume him.

But Caleb is nothing if not a professional. He can manage this. Leave them both wanting more, so that there would be more—another encounter, another time together, another step closer to the connection that he knew they both craved.

One wall fell, and then another. Lingering reservations from their shared past flake away, leaving something raw, new, and achingly precious. If she could see his face, he’d not be able to hide his expression—dark, covetous, needful.

But God, doesn’t he love her? He does. He does. More than anything. More than flying. More than life itself, even. For what worth does life have if it’s not spent at her side?

Caleb rolls into his sweet girl, bodies rubbing together as the pleasure builds and builds within him. This is nothing like how it is when he’s alone. During those times, scant and infrequent as they are, his thoughts are dark, full of self-loathing even as the memory of her gets him off.

Here, the darkness is chased away by her blinding light. Her soft skin, her delicious moans, and the sweet shimmy of her ass as she pushes back and urges him on; she gets him so high he thinks he might die from the pleasure of being in this moment.

And still, she surprises him.

He’s delirious with his need for her. Reaching down, Caleb skims his fingers through the curls of her sex, only stopping when he can feel her around his fingers again. The sensation of her on his fingers, along with her ass—hot, plush, perfect—pressing up against his dick is damn near driving him mad.

But it’s when her hand joins his between her legs, clamping down and pressing ever so softly at that sweet space at the apex of her thighs, that Caleb realizes he’s not gonna be able to keep himself from coming. She takes and takes and takes, and he can’t stop himself from giving more, and more, and more.

His words are halting, rough, and needful. “Baby… I can’t hold on much longer.”

Her words are soft, satisfied, and sure. “Hold on to me, Caleb. Ahhn… show me what you’ve got.”

God. Caleb’s eyes roll back, his fingers slipping and curling inside of her as he presses tight, rubs into her ass once—twice—and moans her name as he finally, finally starts to come. Not to be outdone, his girl reaches back. This time, he lets her do what she wants. Her hand is soft, cautious, but firm as it grips the tip of his cock and rubs so good, he swears she’s got him starry-eyed.

It’s like nothing he’s experienced before. There’s coming, and then there’s coming. And when it’s with her, it’s definitely the latter. The pleasure is all-encompassing, flowing through him in such a powerful wave that it almost makes him feel like he does when he’s flying and low on oxygen. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and a surprised laugh slips from his lips as he marks that perfect ass of hers and her hand in his spend while the pleasure crests.

The moment hangs there, lingering in the low light of her room as only the sound of their breaths breaks the quiet of the night. Old fears, twisted anxieties, and the same old darkness start to creep back into his psyche, but she lets out the most delighted sigh, and the sound and sight of her completely banishes any fears from his mind.

“So… we should… Um… Do that more often?”

He huffs softly while catching his breath. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she purrs. “But…”

“But, what?”

She lets out a soft giggle, and it’s so endearing that he finds himself falling in love with her all over again. “I think I need another shower,” she finally explains.

“Oh. Yeah.”

He doesn’t need to be told why, and he’s feeling more than a little bit pleased about it. Here he is, stretched out beside the most gorgeous girl in the whole world, and she’s been marked by him. Maybe he’s giving in to his baser inclinations with that thought, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He wants to mark other places on her body. Suck and pluck kisses into her skin, see his teeth imprinted in the meat of her thighs, and mark her so clearly that no one will ever make the mistake of thinking she’s available ever again.

But she deserves better than that. She deserves someone who can cherish her, who can love her gently and without violence. And maybe he can pretend to be that man for her. Or maybe… he’s afraid of the truth that she wants him just as darkly and deeply as he wants her.

For now, he gets out of his head and back into the moment. “Let’s go get washed off then, Pip-squeak.”

His pants fall the rest of the way off as he lethargically rolls from the bed and walks over to her side.

“How are your legs?”

“Mmm… jelly. Carry me?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Caleb tugs her shorts back into place and scoops her from the bed without much effort. “Gonna need to change the sheets,” he muses. “And your shorts.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours, Pip-squeak, obviously.”

She lets out a soft laugh and pinches his chest. “You’re doing laundry tomorrow.”

“As if I didn’t already plan on that,” he drawls.

“Brat,” she pouts, though her lips soothe away some of the sting as she presses soft kisses into the line of his jaw. “Can you just be a good boy?”

“Ahh,” he chokes out, but quickly rebounds with, “Gimme a chance to make it up to you?”

Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll do it. I can be so good for you. And only you.

“Mmm, there he is.”

“Who?”

“My Caleb. Though, I have to admit… you’ve gotten pretty good at being ‘bad,’ too.”

Caleb huffs softly. He’s stuck somewhere between feeling like he might have fucked everything up… and that everything is exactly the way it needs to be. One step further. One more wall coming down. His love is a dark, heavy thing that threatens to crush anyone who gets close enough to feel its touch.

Could his darkness consume her light? Or would her need—as aching and unending as his own—blend into something fierce, frightening, and new? The past is gone. Dead even. Now, the two of them are being pulled, stretched, reshaped and reborn. And the future seems limitless, yet terrifying for all its possibilities.

However, this time, when she steps into the shower, nude and body gleaming with his spend and hers… she pulls him in after her.

~~~

Author’s Notes:

Second part, as promised! UGH I want more of these two. Starting to feel as obsessed as Caleb here. As always, thanks so much for reading! And extra hugs for anyone who left a comment. I’ve got a few other interludes planned (shower), and I’m taking requests (on tumblr), so either give this/me a follow, or check up on my tumblr :) If you enjoyed, I’d love to hear from you! Or feel free to share with a friend, if you’re lucky enough to have some Caleb-obsessed friends haha. Any mistakes belong to me and are there to keep me humble lmao.

Don’t forget! I'll be posting any updates as installments (not chapters), so be sure to sub to the series or my user name to get updates if you're reading on Ao3, otherwise, I'll be posting here too♥️🍎

Banner courtesy of cafekitsune!

[thejawsofmax]

Klance-coded Pierce the Veil songs !!

— i only did 7 songs but i might make a big post with a few songs from each album that make me think of klance (also please be nice to me, this makes more sense in my head and im bad at describing stuff!!!!!)

Caraphernila

“and baby honestly it’s harder breathing next to you”

i think of it as keith and lance’s envy towards each other. they both feel overshadowed by the other without knowing how much they are admired by them

“hold my heart, it’s beating for you anyway”

holding his heart is letting him feel all of his love and emotions, even if it gets crushed. i think this is how keith and lance’s relationship works. lance is literally one of the only people that makes keith feel seen, being able to understand his emotions with barely any words (i think about the scene where everyone just looks over at lance and waits for him to go comfort keith. and lance does so, not even knowing that everyone was expecting him to do it)

“So what if I can't forget you? I'll burn your name into my throat, I'll be the fire that'll catch you”

i think about this as post canon klance. they have left such a big impact on each other’s lives, and then they just go their separate ways??? like no keith is definitely still thinking about lance who’s down on earth. he doesn’t want to forget him and probably never will

Million Dollar Houses (The Painter)

“would you ever try to leave me for somebody who deserves you most”

i think keith would still have some sort of lingering fear that he isn’t enough for lance, despite not actually dating him. so lance “leaving” him for allura in season 8. this can also play on lance’s insecurities, especially when in comparison to keith

“but, baby no, sometimes things don’t work out the way we planned”

OKAY THIS ONE IS DUMB and like kinda generic but it makes me think of how they were doomed by the writers LMAO

“maybe we’re meant to lose the ones we love but i’ll fight for you till then”

both keith and lance have lost a lot during the series’s events but they keep pushing further (especially with the help of each other)

Flawless Execution

“i’ll scar you with my flawless execution every time”

i think about this a lot with black paladin keith + red paladin lance. they are both learning to step up, wanting to prove themselves worthy of their positions.

“i’m not obsessed, far worse, i’m fine” “i didn’t mean to burden you with love in my condition”

this describes someone who’s love is so intense that it’s overwhelming. this is very klance to me because of how deeply connected they are to each other without even knowing it. keith being the person who gives lance the reassurance he needs, and lance being the person who is able to either push keith to do something or pull him back to rationalize his thoughts. THEY CANT LOVE LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE because they are stupid and i hate them

“you and i are blood and wine”

shows how different they are. they’re complete opposites but still somehow complete each other

First Punch

“i’ve got so much to give, but i would kill just to feel less invisible. and you got so much to learn about gravity, so live it up baby don’t look down”

this one is more about lance and his insecurities of being a paladin. although he desperately wanted to use the black lion, (s3 in the ep where they were seeing who the black lion would respond to, lance really hoped it would be him, even sitting in the lion longer than the other paladins did, just hoping it would work) he supported keith and pushed him into stepping into his new role.

the rest of the song is a lot more aggressive and i don’t think it fits keith and lance’s feelings towards each other. like even early season klance doesn’t have the same hatred as in the song but the bridge will always be lance to me

Dive In

“now i wanna be the tattoo ink that swims down through the needle in your skin”

PEAK ROMANCE‼️ i don’t have a lot of reason for this one but being tattoo ink in someone’s skin is like being with someone forever. it makes me think of the permanent scarring there were left with by the end of the series (keith’s face scar after returning to voltron and lance’s altean marks in the finale)

I Don’t Care If You’re Contagious

“And I don't care if you're sick. I don't care if you're contagious. I would kiss you even if you were dead”

this is not really based on any canon content. keith and lance are so deeply intertwined with each other without even knowing it. platonic or romantic, they care about each other. and i have very much think this insane devotion in this song feels like klance core

“I'm gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin. Till your bones feel embarrassed from all the attention. Kiss me while I drive”

PEAK ROMANCE‼️‼️ this song just generally makes me think of ships i like because this song is full of love and devotion i love it

Even When I’m Not With You

“Even when I'm not with you, I'm still with you”

this always makes me think of when keith and lance get separated. especially when keith leaves voltron, he’s still with lance (especially bc i like to think about keith leaving lance with his red lion, giving lance a little piece of him). this can so be post-canon klance because i know they are still thinking about each other even though they’re off doing their own things

“Even when I think I hate you, I still love you”

even despite any fighting, bickering, and disputes, keith and lance always care about each other, wanting them to be able to work together as a team. especially with black paladin keith!!! lance is always trying to make things work because he’s passionate about voltron’s success (and by further extension, wanting keith to be a good leader)

“Look how far we've come. Think I've finally won”

vic fuentes “think i’ve finally won” is in reference to being able to settle down with his wife. and so like i think about this as klance. by the end of the series, they both got their ending (i don’t like lance’s ending i fear) but they actually are “winning” when they are together

notes: IM SORRY A LOT OF THESE ARE POORLY EXPLAINED :(( but i heart klance and ptv so much

my secret useless talent is that i can make any pierce the veil song be about klance

[ariadne-mouse]

I feel fandom would get along a lot better if there was mutual understanding that liking a character, agreeing with a character, and thinking the character is well constructed/executed are all separate (if often overlapping) positions, each with their separate tastes and subjectivities. Also: character portrayals are intended to make the audience feel things; this is separate from (if often overlapping with) analyzing/appreciating their actions and role in the story.

[futuristichedge]

If you are a fan of anybody's work, whether it be art, writing, music, translating, editing, videos, etc- it is incredibly important that you share that you enjoy their work.

It could be a comment, a tag, an anonymous ask saying thank you or something about their most recent piece you enjoy, anything. Creation is more often than not a social thing, and a little note or comment really goes a long way. People are sharing a little piece of themself every day, here on the internet!

So if you don't mind a little challenge, on the next piece of art* you see that you find personally impactful, leave a little tag or comment saying something about how much it means to you.

*this includes writing, music, edits, jokes, anything that has undergone the act of being created by a person

[dirtytransmasc]

I think I need MelVik connecting when Viktor was on his sick bed. they had been amicable before, maybe a little more than that due to their connection through Jayce and her presence around Hextech and such. but they weren't entirely friends. not yet.

and she goes to see him. perhaps she feels a tinge of guilt at assuming the worst about Jayce, or her bleeding heart makes her feel responsible for keeping Jayce out of the lab when Viktor had needed him. maybe Jayce needs to step out for a moment, and she soothes his worry by promising to sit with Viktor. maybe she just wants to be closer to the man that's so painfully important to the one she loves, wants to befriend him, wants to know him, all before it's far too late.

maybe it's a little bit of each.

but she goes to see him. she sits in the chair that Jayce has nearly worn a hole through, and keeps a semi-awkward distance between them, not knowing what is too close and too far.

this man is dying. he is dying and he has accepted that. he looks like a corpse. cold emanates off of him. he is something she doesn't fully understand.

she doesn't know how to approach.

but she does.

she greets softly and speaks softly and hesitates to touch, but rests a hand over Viktor's and feels how cold he is, even as a sickly warmth brews in his bones, leeching the warmth from his skin and the energy from his body.

he seems surprised she's there. it feels out of place. like the song and dance of their dynamic has shifted, and now he needs to relearn the steps. and now this is a dance of two, not three.

she will tell Viktor, in enough detail to be understood and not enough to be awkward, where Jayce was. because it feels right to confess. it's not an apology, but the avoidance of keeping something like a secret from a dying man.

Viktor will probably just nod and say something self deprecating, because what else do you say when your body is already making a joke of itself? before assuring her that Jayce is not his keeper, that she is not to blame, but even that comes off as some twisted attempt at humor. sue him for being sardonic as he lay dying.

but unlike Jayce, who will cringe at the jokes, she will hide a smile behind her fingers, muffling a soft, if not saddened, chuckle in her palm.

Viktor's eyes will light up ever so slightly.

she'll feel awkward once more. should she have laughed? was this playing into a complex? was this right of her?

Viktor will smile weakly.

she'll feel a little less awkward.

she will realize Viktor needs someone to laugh with. that Jayce, bless his soul, cannot be that person for Viktor. his worry has brewed too long. it's too strong.

but maybe a fresh face like Mel's can be there to smile when Jayce cannot. will laugh when Jayce cannot. can make cheeky jokes and pokes and prods.

the three fit together like 3 pieces of 3 broken puzzles. they fit together, not perfectly, but they fit, and create a finished object, even if off kilter her and uneven there. but it's ok, they're making due.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[suntails]

(mild gore)

fealty

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.