#i will produce my own garbage and also consume it

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

cup runneth over

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/F

Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV)

Relationship: Cersei Lannister/Brienne of Tarth

Additional Tags: #dubious consent, #rough sex, #lesbian sex, #grief/mourning, #using sex to self-harm, #gender feelings, #degradation, #humiliation, #wine, #i guess it sorta counts as food play, #dom/sub undertones, #insults, #vaginal fingering, #not much plot lol

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Since he’s been gone, Brienne hasn’t been herself.

Cersei looks so much like him. Brienne finds herself craving her presence, following her around like a lost puppy. Cersei taunts her, calls her a big, dumb cow. And perhaps she’s right — no person in her right mind would let anyone what Cersei does to her.

It began weeks ago — and it continues, with no end in sight. Tonight, it’s no different. 

“I know you would take anything I give you,” Cersei taunts her, her tone cold and mocking. Brienne averts her eyes. Her stomach fills with hot shame and her cheeks burn, but her heart beats fast in a twisted excitement. It’s sick and she knows it — and yet she keeps coming back for more. She craves the sick and twisted pleasure. It makes her feel alive in a way nothing else does.

Not since he’s been gone.

Cersei gazes down at Brienne as she pours the wine into her cup. She keeps pouring and pouring, and the cup is going to run over, Brienne can tell. The wine reaches the brim. Brienne opens her mouth, wanting to say something, but she doesn’t.

(Stupid, spineless cow. Can’t even speak.)

The wine spills over the glass and all over the table. Brienne watches, unable to move. It slowly trickles down the table and onto her legs. She glances down at her sticky, wine stained thighs.

“Drink,” Cersei commands. 

Brienne takes the cup and drinks. She never particularly cared for the taste of wine, nor did she ever find solace or fun in drinking. She wants to lower the cup after a few sips, but Cersei grabs it and holds it to Brienne’s face. She tilts it and holds it pressed to Brienne’s mouth. Sweet wine drips down Brienne’s chin, glides onto her neck, reaching her shirt, staining it. Only when she drinks it all does Cersei lower the cup back onto the table. 

“Do you want more?” Cersei asks. Brienne is silent. She is sticky and wet from the sweet wine, stained and humiliated, filled with hot shame — but somehow the shame is even sweeter than the red wine. 

She does want more.

to read more, please go on ao3, and please consider leaving me a little comment if you've liked it! here is the link -> ♡︎ cup runneth over ♡︎

[bogspotting]

The Bog Gets a Checkup

Drum roll, please...

Water chemistry!

Lake health!

Startling the neighbors by taking a turkey baster and going nuts on the Bog!

This week had it all and I'm here to report that, despite the neighbors threatening to call the police on me (note: they do not own the Bog. i wasn't anywhere near their property. They're just like this.), I put together a preliminary health check on the bog!

I will preface this in big red letters: I am not a biochemist. I’m not even a biologist. I’m just some guy with a few fancy test kits they use on their fish tank to check water quality. I followed the outline of the EPA’s National Lakes Assessment (found here: https://nationallakesassessment.epa.gov/webreport/) and a few other resources. Note that I am not entirely sure what the bog qualifies as, and I don’t have the tools to measure the depth of the bog in most spots, but it seems to fit the bill for this survey. I also, for the sake of ease, did my best to translate these findings into a 1-10 scale, with 1 being “this water is dead” and 10 being “call Gwyneth Paltrow, she can bottle and sell this water as a magical health supplement”. 

TL;DR: the bog is being smothered by garbage and dying organic matter.

Here’s what I put together: 

The most obvious measure of lake health is anthropogenic disturbance—basically, how much people have messed with the bog. The answer here is a lot. There is always trash floating in the water, stuck to the vegetation on the shores, half-buried in the muck… Which doesn’t lead to a very healthy lake. I give the Bog a 4/10 on the anthropogenic disturbance scale. It isn’t toxic sludge, but it could be kept cleaner. 

Then comes something known as Secchi Depth, which is a measure of how clear the water is. It’s a really neat little tool that you lower into the water and mark when it vanishes. 

Reports vary, but, in general, you want to aim for a 2-meter (or 6 feet) Secchi depth to be really healthy—the Bog scored at 2 feet. Not amazing. 3/10. 

Another physical aspect of lake health is water color. I pulled up a jar of the Bog and it’s the color of ginger ale. My research suggest that it’s a mix of algae and tannins—which is to be expected, considering how much plant matter is decaying in the bog. 

Look at this. Ick. 

7/10. 

Onto the chemistry! I am not a chemist, but I am a fish keeper and I do this kind of thing a lot. I pulled out my API freshwater testing kit to see what the Bog was like, and here’s what I came away with: 

pH: 7.4 

Square within the average range for lakes and streams, but considered a little basic for fish eggs and fry. We’ll call that a 8/10. 

Ammonia: .75ppm 

Not amazing. Ammonia is highly toxic, it comes from the breakdown of waste. There is a way to tell just how toxic, based on the pH and temperature, but it was a little too much math for me to manage on my own… Anyways, 5/10. 

Nitrite: 0ppm 

Nitrites are toxic too, so this is great. You get nitrites when ammonia is broken down by nitrifying bacteria, so if you have too much ammonia, you’ll usually have too many nitrites. 10/10. 

Nitrates: 2.5ppm 

The pretty older sister of Nitrites, when nitrites are broken down they turn into nitrates, which are less harmful. This is all part of the nitrogen cycle, which is something every aquarium owner both respects and fears. Lakes tend to do it on their own, however. 9/10

What does this all tell us? 

It tells us that the Bog is low on ammonia-oxidizing bacteria (AOB) but is doing alright on nitrite-oxidizing bacteria (NOB). I’m not entirely certain why that’s the case, but the Bog produces (or is supplied with) more ammonia than the AOB can consume. The reason the nitrites are there is likely due to the lack of submerged plantlife. Did I mention that there aren’t any plants in the Bog? Around it, sure, but in it? I haven’t seen anything. The entire bottom is covered in a thick layer of mulm (a mud-like substance made from decaying organic matter), which I assume has choked out the plants. Lack of plants means there’s nothing to eat up all those nitrates. 

Anyhow. 

Phosphates. 

Phosphates are an interesting measure of lake health. Essentially, phosphates are nutrients and having too many of them can lead to fluctuations in algae (the Bog has incredible algae blooms every fall—and it reeks) and even the development of blue-green algae, which creates cyanobacteria, which is very, very deadly. 

So I tested for both phosphates and blue-green algae. 

And there were 0 phosphates. 

No blue-green algae either, which is nice, but no phosphates is unusual. It explains the lack of plant growth, since phosphates are required for plants to exist, but it doesn’t explain the insane algae blooms we get every year. 

I can speculate that those blooms could coincide with people using fertilizer on their lawns to prep for winter, the runoff from which might cause a spike that encourages the algae, but I can’t test that. It could also be a cumulative effect from the runoff throughout the summer. I don’t know. It was unusual. The test, which should have turned a nice seafoam green, was essentially clear. Weird days. 

But! Good news! No blue-green algae, which means no cyanobacteria! The test for that was, in short, terrifying. You put water in a tube and then the tube explodes. It’s only BARELY mentioned that this will happen. It gets lava hot, spews boiling water everywhere, and smells like demons. But no cyanotoxins! Hooray! 10/10 for that! 5/10 for the phosphates. 

Let’s talk about the big boy now. The heavy hitter. The measurement that is first on the list of lake health measurements: dissolved oxygen. 

According to the USGS, “The oxygen content of surface waters of normal salinity in the summer is typically more than 8 milligrams per liter (8 mg/L); when oxygen concentrations are less than 2 mg/L, the water is defined as hypoxic (CENR, 2000). The hypoxia kills many organisms that cannot escape, and thus the hypoxic zone is informally known as the “dead zone.”” 

The lake is sitting at a 6 mg/l DO. Which is low. Why? Probably the lack of plants. This explains the algal blooms, at least, and why the lake smells like death on very hot days, when dissolved oxygen would be at its lowest. It could also suggest an excess of bacteria. 

4/10. 

65/100. A failing grade, but it could be worse! You can definitely pull that up by doing some extra credit! The EPA scale would likely call it "fair". I was able to use this nifty tool to look at some of my measurements and compare them to other lakes in my area: https://owshiny.epa.gov/nla-lake-context-tool/. This is what popped up for Secchi depth:

I was also able to reference some other data in terms of percentiles using this: https://nationallakesassessment.epa.gov/dashboard/?&view=indicator&studypop=al&subpop=epa+region+3&label=pe&condition=good&diff=2v3 If you're looking to check the health of your local body of water (assuming it hasn't already been done! You can check for that too!), I highly recommend poking around the EPA's resources.

If the Bog were one of my tanks, it'd be getting a thorough cleaning, an airstone, and a bunch of live plants.

[loki-zen]

I’m not gonna do a point by point @discoursedrome because this is starting to get unfun for me as a discourse topic but tbh i think you’re weirdly focused on defining ‘disabled’ and i don’t really see why that’s necessary. Like when I say people are kidding themselves that disabled people are far fewer than they really are all I mean is they’re kidding themselves that their mental model of Standard Human Being Who Needs No Help Or Accommodations Ever is a fair approximation of far more of all of the people than it really is.

And I think you’re way too dismissive of the ways in which a single accommodation can vastly increase accessibility for whole swathes of people.

Take for example a doctor’s office committing to communicating by email as well as telephone. This accommodates Deaf and Hard of Hearing people, people with sensory processing issues that make it hard to hear people on the phone, people with anxieties affecting their ability to make phone calls, people who speak English as a second language and find it easier to read and compose text at their own pace, and also people who just for a host of other reasons can’t randomly make or receive phone calls during the working day. It even automatically creates a record of what was said so that people who are forgetful and/or have low executive functioning resources to spare - whether because they’re ND or just Like That or because they have a full time job and two kids under five - can check back on it.

Or take the automatic door at that same doctors office. If you’re in a wheelchair you need it. If you’re pushing a pushchair, or have a baby in your arms, or have one arm and are carrying something, or have arthritis and it hurts to push doors open, or have weird autistic extra-tasks and crossing-thresholds problems, or are germphobic and don’t want to touch door handles, it’s invaluable.

If you thought about any of these things only in the narrow terms you’re promoting - only in terms of what benefit there might be to people with one specific issue that definitely is ‘a disability’ and not anything else - they would seem totally not worth it, probably. And that’s why that sort of framing is harmful.

I think you’re also underestimating the potential benefit of having the staff at the doctor’s office trained to expect that people trying to use the doctor’s surgery are quite likely to have disabilities - it’s a doctor’s office after all - including ones that might produce needs that haven’t been specifically accounted for, and then the staff would be given the flexibility to make adjustments on the fly and praised for doing so.

As opposed to the status quo where pretty much all frontline staff in anything ever increasingly have zero discretion about how they do anything and will get in trouble if they deviate from The Script.

The Script is based on the idea that there’s such a thing as The Consumer, basically. And what’s important is that people learn that that’s at best an abstraction and, mostly, a lie it’s just a lie; the healthcare system for instance is set up for the convenience of a Healthy Patient who isn’t even a majority of the ‘at least 51%’ kind for most practical purposes bc surprise, Perfectly Healthy people go to the doctor less, but also fucking c’mon man it’s not okay to take just anyone’s/everyone’s (delete as appropriate for your country/healthcare system) money and dispense a service that’s ‘cost efficient’ bc it can treat the most ‘normal’ and ‘textbook’ and ‘no other problems having’ ~80% of people really quickly and cheaply while throwing everyone else on the garbage heap to die.

Like in my ideal world other stuff would be accessible too (maybe it would even be different mechanisms that wind up making this happen*) but essential services first.

It legit doesn’t matter where you draw the lines. It’s just important to recognise that there’s no essential difference between glasses and a wheelchair. Hell, there’s no essential difference between a wheelchair ramp and a road. (As a society, we have put vast amounts of resources into accommodating assistive technology that allows humans to overcome their endemic disability of not being able to walk 30 miles in half an hour.)

*I kind of remain flabbergasted that pure market forces don’t seem to have incentivised the existence of one pub/restaurant/cafe in a given city distinguishing itself from competitors by actively striving to be (and marketing itself as) ‘the place you can actually hear your friends talk’, which would also make it uncommonly accessible to people like me with sensory sensitivities and/or auditory processing problems.

Even aside from the draw for totally non disabled people, I feel like while there probably aren’t enough of us by ourselves making money to financially support this, when you add in the fact that if somewhere like this existed i would always go here with all of my friends and my family and their wallets pretty much any time I went to town, (and if I knew about one in another town I would go there every time I went to that town, and honestly be much more likely to visit that town because I would know there was somewhere I could socialise with people) and I would win all arguments about which place to go to because of the reasoning, and people diagnosed with stuff like I have are disproportionately likely to have pretty well off families, it kinda seems like a slam dunk that could surely find ways to compensate for the inability to make people drink faster by turning the music up.

I mean, tbh, late capitalism and all - for all I know this totally would be viable and make shit tons of money but can’t exist bc it doesn’t sound good to a few wealthy investors

[tierra-paldeana]

// all this talk about OCs makes me want to make it abundantly clear that i am not against OCs in any shape or form. i love seeing the fandom's creativity and ideas, because the pokemon world is vast and even i've developed OCs at some point! (though in my case they're almost always pokemon). even if i don't 'participate', i'm still open to see people creating and developing characters for a particular fandom.

however, i'm only comfortable rping with specific types of OCs (such as, like i mention in my rules, pokemon/gijinkas(?) of said pokemon, versions of the different protagonists, or fanchildren). i really don't want to get into the why's but to put a long story short, my first interactions with OCs both in the tumblr rpc and elsewhere were... terrible, though i know it was the muns' fault rather than their OC's, of course.

there's also the issue that oc x canon is... not for me at all. it's fine if people like it, for sure, and fuck the haters that say it sucks! it's just not something that calls me and not something i'd do even if i got over my conflictive feelings, just my preference.

but hey, if it weren't for me slowly making up my own fanchildren and pokemon (creature) OCs, and realizing that hey, the protagonists are literally a blank slate that SHOULD be played around with and developed to your liking, i wouldn't be as open as i could possibly be now with this blog's rules?

at some point i hope i start becoming more comfortable enough to rp with plain ol' OCs. either way, there's still old wounds left to heal in me and lots of stuff i should navigate through. i had the misfortune to encounter some terrible people in the past that've left a bad taste in my mouth, and the memories and hurt i endured are hard to shake off.

but to all people with OCs reading this: you rock, never stop creating, what you're doing is called ART and even if it's not within my comfort or preferences to participate, you're already doing something much more beautiful and fulfilling than AI content (which i refuse to call art cause it's not, it's fucking garbage meant to be produced and consumed rather than created and enjoyed). keep doing what you do, and fuck the haters <3

[maybeasunflower]

My premise here is "modern life/society/cities, but with cars replaced by horse-drawn vehicles".

1) Horses need housing: all those horses need places to stay. Maybe some suburban three-car garages can become stables, and rural homes will have room - but in general, cities/built-up areas will need to find extra space for those stables.

2) Horses need food. The volume of food consumed by a horse will greatly exceed that if the household which owns it (and also exceed the volume of petrol/gasoline used by a car). And they may have multiple horses. And there are horses owned by businesses. So the amount of food delivery will more than double. Also, this food costs money - much more than you spend on a car (even including capital cost and insurance).

(Under the cut: poop! size! speed! autonomy! No trucks!)

3) Horses create poop. About 13kg/30lbs per day. A lot of this will be in the stables, and that could be collected in the same way household garbage is, or by upgrading the sewage system (probably the better option). Oh, and stables also also have to deal with the gallons of piss each horse produces - so that's also going down the sewage system in some way. You don't want it hanging around However, lots of poop will be created elsewhere, particularly on streets. That also has to be collected (ideally every day) and disposed of.

4) Horses are bigger than car engines: So, a horse drawn-vehicle takes up more space on the road than the equivalent car/motor vehicle. This will make traffic congestion because of the inferior person to vehicle size ratio (where "vehicle size" includes the horse.)

5) Horses are slower than cars. So all your trips will take longer - unless you're already stuck in traffic going less than the speed of a trotting horse (8mph / 12kph). (A horse can canter at ~17mph / 27kph for half an hour, covering up to 8.5 miles / 13.5km. If your trip is longer, you are trotting - which a horse can maintain for hours.) This in turn will affect where people live versus their work location, and increase their desire/need to live close to amenities for everyday life. The exact details depend on whether trains/buses/bicycles are available in this scenario.

6) Horses require different skills to drive: I think this is the smallest change. Driving lessons / tests would have different content, but would otherwise be the same process.

7) Horses are semi-autonomous: That is, they have in-built collision avoidance. Combined with the slower speeds, you would probably have fewer in-vehicle traffic fatalities. Vehicles would need lower crash resistance because of the slower speeds, and because the vehicles are less likely to collide because there's 8 feet / 2.5m of horse in front. That would mean they could be lighter, reducing wear on roads. Pedestrian fatalities are trickier. With cars, the fatal isn't being hit by the car - it's being flung up in the air (because cars are wedge-shaped at the front), landing on the ground and cracking your skull. Being hit by a horse means you won't get get flung in the air, but could easily get run over - and there's a lot of hooves to hit your skull. However, that lower speed means fewer collisions in the first place. So I think the likelihood would decrease, even if the severity doesn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

The premise was "pre-automobile world", so I think it's worth extending this discussion to "... but with all motor vehicles replaced by horse-drawn vehicles":

8) Horses can pull less than a truck: large trucks would be replaced by multiple horse-drawn vehicles. Small trucks could be 1:1 replacements. This significantly increases transportation costs. (A key effect of canals in Britain was to dramatically lower the price of coal, because a horse-drawn cart carried 1-2 tonnes; a horse-drawn barge carried 50+ tonnes. The speed was the same.)

9) Horses are slower than trucks. This is both in terms of miles per hour and hours per day. A truck can operate 24 hours per day (with the right crewing); a horse cannot. That's difference between 1500+ miles / 2500+ km per day for a truck and 50 miles / 80 km per day for a horse. This means long-distance transport is much slower , which hugely increases transport costs. It also means all those foods that travel from faraway farms to your supermarket in under 48 hours just won't be available. Unless this scenario contains trains / planes)

~~~~~~~~~~

Now, humanity existed in complex ways for a long time with just horses. But just about everything we associate with "modern life" depends on transportation that is better than a horse - canals, trains, motor vehicles and planes all offered greater capacity (=lower costs); trains onwards offered faster speeds.

Where you live, what you afford to buy, what's even possible for you buy: these all stem from the fact humanity invented something better than a horse.

Of course, if you're writing about a horse-instead-of-car fantasy world, that absolutely can be done in a plausible way. Just remember the plumbing for the stables.

I mean, I’m not denying that automobiles represent a net improvement over animal-based transportation, but what’s striking to me about defences of modern car culture of the “well, I suppose you’d rather have horses” variety is that most of them seem to be imagining a pre-automobile world in which cities are laid out essentially as they are today and every car on the road is replaced one-to-one with a horse.

Like, I want to you picture what that world would look like.

No, I mean really ponder the logistics of it.

[mandyjane-lifedesign]

Designing a less wasteful fashion industry

For many people, fashion is fast and fleeting. But there is a growing shift towards conscious and ethical shopping. We can no longer ignore the 92 million tonnes of textile waste that is produced every year; the equivalent of a garbage truck full of clothes ending up in landfill every second.   The considered efforts made by a growing number of small, eco-conscious businesses to prioritise sustainability and thoughtful design cannot be ignored, and wonderful as they are, they are currently just a tiny segment of the fashion market. But there is something new on the horizon, that could spell the answer to the challenge of how we can indulge our love for fashion and clothes without hurting the planet.   The answer lies in a dress I remember well from my university days; a black jersey dress that could be ‘worn in 100 ways’ (all of which made me look like a bridesmaid and none of which I’d wear now). But the concept itself is worth exploring.   Design innovation Convertible clothing, often referred to as transformable or multifunctional clothing, are garments that can be designed to serve multiple purposes. These pieces can be easily altered or manipulated to create various looks, making them an ideal choice for individuals seeking to maximise their wardrobe's potential. They transcend trends, occasions, and often seasons too, and are, in essence, super-versatile clothing.   My fascination with convertible clothing grew when I decided to pursue my childhood love for fashion and launch my own small clothing brand, POLKO. This passion project would give me, a documentary filmmaker and journalist, some joy in days otherwise consumed with dreary emotions around climate change, record-high heatwaves, wildfires, and floods. But how could I enter the fashion world without becoming a part of the problem that I was trying to escape? I went back to my roots.   As a little girl growing up in the 90s in Pakistan there was little to no ready-made clothing available. We wore what we created, and I spent many weekends with my mother immersed in fabric markets, finding trimmings, and sketching designs. Culturally, clothes required emotional involvement; it was fun, it was exciting, it was creative. I even recycled cushion covers and made them into dresses. But the care with which we approached clothing was in stark contrast to the way the fashion industry approached Pakistan - a dumping ground for rich nations' discarded clothes.   Meeting demands of eco-conscious consumers The overproduction and overconsumption linked to fast fashion has come under the harshest scrutiny since the shift towards more conscious and responsible shopping. Over the past 15 years, clothing production has doubled while the length of time we actually wear these clothes has fallen by nearly 40%. Would we give in to impulse buying if the clothes we had never went out of style and use?   Circling back to my wear-it-100-ways dress (though I wonder if this sales pitch might have been a slight exaggeration), convertible clothing isn’t a new concept. It was originally associated with a limited range of styles or a utilitarian aesthetic, but reedited designs today are making it more sophisticated and mature.   It all starts with innovative and purposeful design. Convertible fashion requires huge levels of commitment and creativity from its designer. It is the ingenious use of zippers, snaps, buttons, patterns and fabric that enables a single garment to seamlessly transform into several different styles. There is also a lot of trial and error in perfecting these designs. Of course, all these elements make convertible pieces more costly to produce which means they come at a higher price. But this is the future of design, and the industry will need to adapt. Fast.   From the perspective of style, convertible clothing offers a dynamic wardrobe that thrives on self-expression and curiosity. Most people wear 20% of their wardrobe 80% of the time, but playing dress up with dynamic pieces, experimenting with different combinations, mixing and matching, and mastering new styling tricks can make getting dressed a more fun and personalised experience. It helps us all wear each item more ways, more often, and for longer – considerably reducing waste. For example, extending the active lifespan of a garment by just nine months could reduce its carbon, water and waste footprints by as much as 30%. This is a great lesson; creativity - not buying more - is the answer to solving wardrobe boredom.   Convertible clothing is great news for those aiming for a minimalist and eco-friendly lifestyle. These versatile pieces can be dressed up or down, streamlining both your wardrobe and your mindset.   Changing minds If we begin to see our future clothing purchases as investments—purposeful and long-lasting—then fast fashion seems less appealing and more problematic. The growing slow fashion movement takes pride in repeating outfits. It values the quality of garments over the quantity, and classic styles over changing trends. All this means less will be bought (but worn more) and less will end up in landfills. The Ellen MacArthur Foundation estimates that the emissions impact of clothing could be reduced by 44% if people wore their clothes twice as often as they do now, and yet a study found that 33% of women consider their clothes ‘old’ after only three wears.   But here’s the thing, the planet is changing and so are we. As the industry evolves to meet the demands of a generation that wants to do better, design has to play an active role in shaping the future of fashion. Convertible clothing is likely to become an integral part of wardrobes worldwide. Its ability to meet the demands of contemporary life, with its emphasis on sustainability, practicality, and style, makes it a compelling choice for fashion enthusiasts who are seeking to do more with less. It is a movement that is thoughtful, well-intentioned and bold.     ABOUT THE AUTHOR Maheen Sadiq is founder of POLKO, the creator of a forward-thinking and innovative new fashion outfit that can be worn 14 different ways, to multiple occasions, and on repeat, meaning you are covered from work to dinner, from the party to the beach, and everything in between. It’s your entire capsule wardrobe in one intelligent and convertible design, decluttering your space and mind. POLKO is passionate about making life simpler and helping us all to cut down on fashion waste by reducing the number of clothes that are discarded and end up in landfill. Be the first to own this stylish 14-way design from POLKO by ordering now on Kickstarter ahead of the general launch.   Web: www.polko.co.uk Instagram: @polkostudio Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/POLKOLondon/ Founder, Maheen Sadiq on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/maheen-sadiq-32865751/     Read the full article

[alder-saan]

Hello darling. How are you, how was ur day?

Seesh... U are phenomenal I swear. Your writing is 🤌🤌🤌 chefs kiss.

Just continue love, I can't wait for more of your work. 🤗🤍

Hello, dear anon who already calls me darling!

I'm fine and you? My day was fine since it was my last school day haha!

Stop saying this or I might actually believe it hahaha

But I will continue, bcz my Mama said it was okay to "produce my own garbage and also consume it"

[cptsdstudyblr]

achievable ways that i'm sustainable

The first way I make these achievable is by far the most important: Don't make anything a hard rule - just a goal and a habit.

I purchase most of my clothes secondhand. They aren't all from thrift stores either - there are tons of vintage, resale, secondhand, etc. stores out there! I also make a point to not be too strict about this. It's okay to buy new clothes when it makes sense to!

I rarely replace things unless they are broken or no longer functional. Obviously, I make exceptions sometimes, but I try to use what I have until it can't be used anymore. A great example of this is that I wanted to get new bathmats - so I put my old ones elsewhere in the apartment rather than getting rid of them.

Before I donate or throw away usable things, I try to give them away, sell them, or repurpose them. Most places that get donations are incredibly overrun by the volume of donations and much of what's donating ends up in the garbage or in a mountain of clothing somewhere, so I try to leave donation as a last resort. I offer things to friends and family, sell them online, or try to find another use for them before I resort to donation. Also, be sure to research the organizations you donate to - some of them are no good at all! It's also a good idea to do your research and try to donate things to places I know they'll get used rather than somewhere like Goodwill.

I clean my own water rather than buying water bottles. Where I live, tap water isn't drinkable. However, rather than spending valuable money on wasteful bottles of water, I made a one-time purchase for appropriately heavy-duty water filters and/or a way to boil water before drinking it. If that's not achievable for you, it's always cheaper and less wasteful to buy your water in bulk.

I eat at home or at local restaurants as much as possible. Of course, fast food is unavoidable sometimes. But I find that it's fairly easy to eat at home or at a local restaurant once you get into the groove of it - not all home-cooked meals are complicated or time-consuming, and most local restaurants can do take-out very easily (and often, pretty cheaply)!

I bring my own bags not only to the grocery store, but everywhere I go. I keep my wallet and epi-pens in a reasonably large tote bag, so when I grab something at the convenience store or run into a small shop, I don't generally need to get a bag. When it comes to the grocery store, I always take my own bags - usually one refrigerator bag and one regular bag - and also bring my net produce bags (from Ikea, about $3 USD each). This helps me avoid unnecessary plastic use and keep trash out of my local environment.

Since I live in a large city, I drive as little as possible. By that, I mean that I essentially only drive when I commute to school, as my school is not in the same city and is not currently accessible by public transportation. Walking and biking are great ways to get around and stay healthy, and public transportation is a fantastic option when it's too far to walk or bike. I'd encourage everyone to try out walking, biking, and transit - no matter where you live! It might surprise you how achievable, cutting down on car usage is.

[lootthekey]

Eldrazi Study- Part 2: Ulamog

Ulamog, the Reeking Titan, is the Eldrazi Titan best known for his brood’s more straight forward and ruthless nature. Unlike his siblings, Ulamog isn’t doing too much fancy in regards to his travels. He eats. That’s his purpose. In the story, Ulamog leaves barren wastelands of dust in his wake, draining the living and inorganic of mana and life.

Why Does Ulamog Do This?

The Eldrazi Titans, as goes the most popular and my favorite theory, are a trio of what can be the least gloriously described as the “Multiverse’s Personal Garbage Crew”. At least, thats what the more grand theory would describe them as. Essentially, they go around to dying planes (likely those who’s World Soul is beginning to decay away), and perform a massive reset to reinvigorate them. However, the old cannot be reborn without first wiping everything clean.

This is where our large lad Ulamog comes into play. This is why I am talking about Ulamog first, as he is the first Eldrazi to begin his work on a dying plane. Essentially, Ulamog arrives and starts eating everything. He is the vanguard force that destroys all the living entities on a plane and drains the land of any energy it would have of fighting back.

How Does Ulamog Go About This?

Ulamog’s brood, like the other broods, is a hive mind, but his brood, despite his more simple nature, is actually slightly more complex than the others (at least from what we know so far). His brood can be best divided into three subcategories: Drones, Processors, and Crushers.

Drones are the part of Ulamog’s brood that most directly drains the life of its energy and stores it away. Within the actual game, these Drones have the Ingest mechanic as a mechanical translation of this purpose. They wander the world and turn it to the dusty, skeletal landscapes described above.

Processors are then brought in in order to take the energy stored by the Drones and create whatever the Brood needs to continue its purpose. Ulamog’s brood doesn’t solely destroy, it will also create. This is what makes Ulamog’s brood so menacing, as the other broods haven’t shown the ability to make use of the land quite like Ulamog can.

Crushers are the various Eldrazi that make up Ulamog’s brood that serve no purpose other than to destroy. They are usually far bulkier and larger than others, and are massive threats by themselves.

Conclusion

So, in conclusion, Ulamog shows up in to a world. He creates Drones and Processors in order to consume and process the land that is consumed. If needed, he creates Crushers in order to combat any resistance met along his way. Now, there is no evidence that suggests the other Eldrazi can’t also be active during this time to both assist Ulamog in culling the world and start their own processes themselves. However, Ulamog is almost definitely the vanguard and best fitted for starting the destruction of a world. In purpose, he is closest to his brother Kozilek and furthest from Emrakul. He is the titan that best represents death, and the dusty, skeletal landscapes he produces matches this.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done. 

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep). 

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor,  at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost. 

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now. 

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)? 

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening. 

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go. 

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan. 

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to… 

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it. 

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens. 

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room. 

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-) 

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop. 

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door. 

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush. 

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager. 

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise. 

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation. 

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know. 

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies. 

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence. 

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.” 

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward. 

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don’t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need. 

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp. 

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.” 

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?” 

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear. 

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well. 

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses. 

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

[ace-trainer-disera]

I wish all this talk about minors and pedophilia wasn't so rampant in the anime fandoms of tumblr. I get really tired if hearing about it. Especially since I don't agree with the majority.

I'm going to be the "bad guy" here because I need to get it off my chest.

First topic, writing smut for characters under the age of 18 or aging up. We're talking about fictional characters here, right? And anime characters at that. Now, I want you to look at an anime character that's 15 years old and then I want you to look at a real 15 year old. Artists have very obviously exaggerated some qualities, no? I don't think it's reasonable to believe that just because someone is sexually attracted to a DRAWING of a minor that they are also sexually attracted to minors in real life.

My next point; in most of these works, it is two minors engaging in sexual intercorse. If it were a minor and their 30 year old neighbor I'd probably be weirded out, yet still would not step on the authors right to produce that content. Anyway, minors fuck. Teenagers are hormonally charged and curious. You can walk into your local book store right now now and buy a book, legally published by a real publishing house, where two teenagers fuck. And you know what? People don't usually make a big deal about it because they recognize the reality of that situation. I'm not saying anyone has to be comfortable with it, but I am saying there's nothing wrong with it.

It's especially when it comes to aging up characters where I get confused. I've only seen this once, but...something along the lines of "if a pedophile said its okay I pretended they were 18". And imma just say that is not the same thing. The jump between thoughts regarding fictional characters and physical crimes committed against real children by adults is absolutely astronomical here. It's like saying if you write about killing people you might actually do it. Like...you're kidding. Or you're misguided. Or you never properly dealt with your own personal trauma and now you're making everyone's life hell.

Most importantly. My biggest problem with this line of thinking. It. Is. Fiction. There are no rules. You can do whatever you want and there are, and should never be, any limitations whatsoever. People on tumblr shouldn't be slammed for writing a sex scene between two minors when published content in a physical book you can hold in your hand is SO MUCH WORSE. Allow me to enlighten you.

"All the Ugly and Wonderful Things" by Bryn Greenwood is the best book I've read in probably the last five years. What is it about? A romantic relationship between a young girl and an adult man. Am I okay with that kind of relationship? Uh, no, not really. That didn't stop it from being a great book though, now did it?

"Flowers in the Attic" by VC Andrews is an incestuous romance including long term abuse. And it's one of the most memorable books of a generation. It was my mom's favorite book when she was growing up.

"Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov is a classic novel about pedophilia. A classic. Novel. Does that make Nabokov a pedophile? No it does not. And it is still printed and distributed for a reason.

"120 Days of Sodom" by Marquis de Sade. Now, I'll give you this one. Pretty sure de Sade was a piece of human garbage. And this book? The most vile work of literature in existence. But you know what? It has every right to exist. Because art should know no limitations.

I do have other examples, but I think you probably get my point by now. You can write whatever you want and it is both legal and safe. Sometimes even celebrated. And just because you write about rape, murder, and pedophilia does not mean you would ever commit those acts or even consider it.

This is more like a PART 2.

Minors, do not interact. I only approve of this to an extent. Here's what I'm not okay with. Minors shouldn't be messaging people online and talking about sexual content. THAT is something an adult can get in legal trouble for. But the content creators of tumblr take it much further than that.

I see no reason minors shouldn't be allowed to follow blogs with sexual content, especially if they're of the age of consent (usually 16 in the US). That same minor can walk into a Barnes & Noble and purchase smut with their own money. That same minor can click on the PornHub link and have thousands of pronographic videos at their fingertips, unrestricted. And most importantly, consuming pornographic material is NOT going to hurt a minor. There is no reason they should grow up and regret it, nor should it have a negative impact on them early on.

On top of all that, people block blogs that just don't state their age in the bio. What if I don't want your nosey ass knowing how old I am? That's none of your business. You don't have to be out here looking out for the "safety" of other people.

In conclusion.

Do whatever you need to do to be comfortable with your online interactions, but make no mistake. There's nothing wrong with writing content about ANY illegal or illicit behavior and doing so does not indicate the author may commit a similar offense. There is also nothing illegal (or at least enforceable) about minors consuming pornographic content, nor is it an unhealthy practice.

Now, if you will excuse me, I will go back to screaming internally.

[queenlokibeth]

THANK YOU so much for posting your comments about the scene with Bucky's arm... I could not agree more. I've seen so many garbage takes people are posting about that scene. Like, no, it is NEVER okay to mess with someone's aid or prosthetic! Disturbing that so many people literally do not understand... An interesting swap as an "ableism test" is to pretend the prosthetic was a flesh arm. Mind exercise for people who are NOT understanding the implications of that scene for people w disabilities!

Thank you for your message anon! It means a lot. I kind of added my comments thinking they would go mostly unnoticed but I've been so happy to see how well received they have been and I'm so glad that others are finding validation in that, too.

Ableism is alive and well and unfortunately it doesn't get spoken about in fandom/regarding media as much as it should. One thing that personally really bothered me was people turning this into the oppression olympics as dismissing us criticising that scene under the guise of calling our criticism racist, when race was never involved at all. Racism and ableism can coexist, just like any other issues, and it's absolutely not right for either party to be silenced due to a lack of empathy, arrogance, ignorance, and entitlement from some individual people. Falling into this extremism of "this is a white man therefore he can't have any issues and no viewer is allowed to relate to his experiences" is extremely dangerous.

I'd say that most of us speaking up about this scene are disabled ourselves, and/or work/live closely with other disabled people, and are speaking from our own experiences. Getting our comments dismissed as this being just pointless whining from Bucky stans is violent and shows a scary fundamental lack of compassion for other people. One of the main points that this series has shown so far is that EVERYONE is flawed. All the characters are complex and they all have faults, and this includes Ayo and the Dora Milaje. No one is "cancelling" them at all. I still think they're fantastic characters and want to see more of them, but as a disabled person it's also within my right to discuss the media I consume in comparison to issues that I have first-hand knowledge with.

I've seen the comparison with a flesh arm, and while to ME it makes sense, I'm afraid abled people focus on a different part: they'll focus on "ripping out someone's arm is painful and horrifying!" Which, yes absolutely, but it's ALSO incapacitating, a violation of your body, a shock, and it brings a multitude of instantaneous and long term effects, and that's the part that's similar to getting a prosthesis or aid ripped off.

A big part of being physically disabled is the associated mental struggle produced my environmental ableism. From my own experience and that of other physically disabled people that I know plus prosthesis users I've worked with, those mental struggles of feeling isolated, lacking autonomy, frustration, etc. More often than not come from the way people and spaces interact with your disability, not necessarily because of your physical limitations themselves. For example, if I'm in a wheelchair and can't enter a place I want/need to go to because it's not accessible, I'll feel pretty frustrated, a bit annoyed, discouraged, and sometimes a bit embarrassed because I might need to ask someone to go in for me (lack of autonomy), but if you notice, none of those struggles stem directly from "oh I can't stand today", they come from "wow i really just exist in a place full of obstacles". This is where a lot of the impact of removing someone's assistive device comes from, and I don't expect a lot of abled people to understand this. I have had my crutches taken away while i was sitting down, with no prior warning. It's terrifying. On a lighter note, to the people saying "the arm is a weapon!!" (It's not) I'll just let you know that I know way too many crutch-users who have used them to beat someone, usually someone who's trying to take then away as a "joke". I hope these nayseyers get hit by someone's assistive device.

I personally became (mostly subconsciously) a fan of Bucky BECAUSE he's disabled. As I mentioned in another post, this character came into my life at the same time as I got my diagnosis, and while i HAVE been disabled my entire life and will be until I die, coming to terms with accepting that that's what i AM (stigma, shame, you name it) has been a long road, to the point where the first time that I got the courage to call myself disabled was only a few months ago. I can't possibly tell you how hard these past years would have been without representation, without one of my fav characters being disabled. I literally got the courage to start saving up for splints (they're expensive lmao i'll get them one day) because younger-me decided that they WOULD look cool on LIKE BUCKY'S ARM when I wore them.

Anyways, thanks anon ily, sorry for the bible lenght response, i just have SO many thoughts on this.

[alch3mic]

in between. (drabble series)

chapter one (happiness.)

huntsman!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of stalking, obsessive behavior, depression and apathic feelings.

* thank you all so much for 400 followers! this is the first of my four chapter series about my fairy tale au boys, taking place ‘in between’ their stories. our first chapter focuses on huntsman, my version of classic sans, and if you’d like to read more about him feel free to check out his full fic here on ao3 (just be sure to mind the tagging) or his tag here on my tumblr! thank you all so much again and i hope you enjoy!

What did it mean to be...

...happy..?

....

...He really wasn't quite sure.

Happiness was.. an emotion.

Something that you were suppose to feel in a positive moment in life.

Something that made you smile.

Or filled you with a warmth.

Or joy.

Or... something..

It certainly filled you with.. something...

And in the end, it always left just as quickly as it came.

Happiness was never meant to stay long, after all.

It was fleeting, like the soft caress of a breeze against your face. Just gentle enough to make itself known before vanishing, leaving you chasing after that breeze wishing it would grace your cheek once more. And then when your legs finally gave out, the happiness would just sail far, far away out of your reach.

Then you'd be alone..

And... aware... 

Of just how empty you were without it.

...

Perhaps that's why so many people chased after it?

To fend off that overwhemingly empty feeling.

It just seemed foolish to him to try to pursue something so temporary.

It's not like you can hold happiness in your hands or ask it to stay.

You'd work your ass off just for those few brief moments of bliss before it'd slip right through your fingers, and then all you'd be left with is the reminder...

And the pain...

...

He just didn't see the point in putting in that kind of effort anymore for something so momentary.

..But maybe that was just him being lazy...

It was pointless to think about, so he tried to push the thought of happiness far from his mind.

And yet no matter how much he tried.. it was hard to not think about happiness.

He was surrounded by it.  

Constantly, everywhere he went, he could see the signs of happiness in others.

He could hear it in passing conversations as people talked about the future. He could hear it when they talked about their families, or their lives, or their loves ones. He could see it in the smiles of other monsters. He could see it in their joy as they lived their lives each and every day surrounded by friends, or when they received exciting news, or when they finally succeeded at something new.

He saw it when they laughed. 

And when they celebrated. 

And sometimes, even when they cried.

And especially now that they were here on the surface...?

Well, it's not like it had been easy being up here. Humans were absolutely terrible, giving them scraps to live off of and calling themselves 'generous' for even tolerating their presence in their city. They gave them deteriorating buildings and minimum wage jobs and then turned around and called it 'charitable'. Look at them, opening up their kind hearts to these monsters and then turning around and treating them like garbage.

But.. monsters were happier than ever, getting to see the stars at night and the sun rise in the morning. They were trying to make lives for themselves up here, and for awhile it seemed like that happiness would never end..

Now that the shine had faded from living topside for few years and the reality that this city was nothing but a hellhole finally set in.. everyone was left chasing around that feeling of happiness like their lives depended on it.

...Maybe it did for some people...

It did once.... for him.

There were moments in his life where Sans thought he had been happy.

When a positive emotion sprung forth from his chest making him feel.. something.

..Whether or not it was actually happiness he... really couldn't say.

Still, those moments were fleeting and far between, and all of the space between those supposed moments of 'happiness' were...

Long and painful. 

They were empty. 

Hollow. 

Devoid of anything but... apathy.

For himself.

For his home.

For those around him.

Others would smile at him, and he'd do the same. It was just a poor imitation at first of what was really suppose to be there, but soon he perfected it. Just the right amount of easy going and relaxed, with just a dash of humor. 

..That smile became a mask, just as empty and hollow as the skeleton who wore it.

He too had spent a lot of time chasing around that emotion of happiness, all for those few seconds of bliss where he felt something, rather than this aching hollowness that consumes every part of his soul. But.. those moments were so short-lived that it was only natural that it left him wanting more, desperate for the split seconds where he felt normal.

Where.. he finally felt like everyone else around him.

He'd be.. 'happy'.. and then.. 

It'd leave.

And then.. the pain would come.

The hateful, soul-aching pain of feeling nothing after finally having the chance to feel something.

Well... it was no wonder he began to take comfort in feeling nothing.

Feeling the constant pain without any relief just eventually made him feel numb to it all. It couldn't hurt him anymore if it was always present. He could no longer be tempted into feeling something, because he knew before long it'd all disappear.... leaving him alone.. with nothing but his own thoughts.. and the pain..

.....

It's.. only natural to give up at some point, right?

After all, someone like him wasn't meant to feel happiness.

Someone like him wasn't meant to feel joy.

Someone like him wasn't meant to feel anything at all.

Why else would would he have been born like this if it wasn't the case?

He was meant to be alone, filled with with absolutely nothing but emptiness in this cold and gray world.

....

Happiness.

That really was life's biggest joke, wasn't it?

Which meant someone like him who couldn't feel happiness at all.. 

...Must've been the punchline.

...

So why..

..Why.. was he..?

....

It had just been a few moments in a grocery store on the other side of town.

Just a few measly seconds... and yet it had felt like a whole lifetime.

He completely lost his sense of self, staring at the human who was just a short walk away in the produce isle. You were looking down at some apples, examining their exteriors for any blemishes before placing them in a bag and adding them into your cart. 

You.. didn't even say anything. 

Stars, you didn't even look at him! 

He was too far away, crouched beside some lettuce and holding a box of spaghetti noodles to his chest to bring back home for dinner.. and yet...

Yet..

...

Something.. 

...

He felt...

Something...

....

For the first time in years, he actually felt something.

....

"WHY IN THE WORLD DID YOU BUY SO MANY APPLES?"

A great question.

He hadn't even realized he grabbed them until check out, having nabbed all the apples you put back... and then grabbing the ones that those apples touched too...

..For.. some reason..

"heh. couldn't help myself i guess. they just looked so apple-ling." 

That was enough to let the subject matter drop, leaving Sans alone with a storm of thoughts brewing in his head about why exactly he was compelled to buy so many apples.

It's not like he particularly liked apples.

...Then again it's not like he hated them either.

....

...Did you.. like apples?

You had inspected them rather closely, and looking at them now in the kitchen in the dead of night with nothing but the hum and bright florescent light of the fridge beside him, there were a few noticeable brown spots.

Small and subtle, but definitely there. 

It was only slightly damaged, but still a perfectly good apple.

..Maybe you were just really enthusiastic about your apples?

Maybe you needed them to be pristine for something.

Like a pie?

Or maybe just to eat.

..Maybe you were a perfectionist.

...

....Or maybe you didn't like damaged goods.

....

He.. didn't quite understand why that last thought had bothered him so much at the time, quickly biting into the apple to quell the unpleasantness that brewed in his chest.

...

It tasted sour..

...

He also... didn't quite understand why he was doing..

This..

...

Maybe it's because he had spent so many sleepless nights thinking about that feeling.

It was like.. nothing he had ever experienced before.

Strong.

Compelling.

It's like he's been asleep for so long and now his soul finally snapped awake, a careful buzz in his chest he never realized until now.

It was like his body was moving on it's own.

There weren't any thoughts clouding his head, no conscious telling him what to do or where to go.

He was just.. trying... 

For.. some.. strange reason.

....

It was quiet, the sun having already set and the streetlights buzzing to life, casting a harsh yellow glow onto the buildings and sidewalks below. He had spent several weeks.. trying.. to catch a glimpse of you again at the same grocery store, desperately chasing that feeling that had sprung forth when he laid his eyelights on you. He tried his best to ignore the pull of his soul, telling him to go back, because the pain that had followed after that night while he sat alone on the kitchen floor surrounded by damaged, sour apples was..

Excruciating..

Yet he went anyways, despite knowing what would come after seeing you again. For awhile he went in at the same time every day after porting over to this side of town, looking up and down the isles for the human who had made the world stand still. 

For the one who...

Made him feel.. something.

....

Days turned into weeks, and a part of him began losing hope of ever seeing you again. He even tried to change up his strategy, coming in at different times each day no matter what, even on weekends, and each and every time he'd leave empty handed.

...Except for a few more apples...

...

It was.. the only thing he knew about you.

Every part of him hoped that maybe the apples he would grab.. were ones that you had touched to inspect.

...

And... that's exactly when Sans knew he had a problem.

Here he was, trying to chase that something again.

If it was happiness he felt that day.. well he couldn't really tell for sure.

It had been so brief and so.. overwhelming that it made his head spin just thinking about it, but he longed so desperately to feel it again. He wanted those few brief seconds where he felt something else than just emptiness!

He just wanted a chance..

A chance to.. say something to yo-!

"Excuse me!"

...

..His soul nearly stopped.

He was far away at the end of the isle with his hood up and his hands neatly stuffed into his pockets, trying to make himself look invested in the cereal boxes in front of him.

A voice rang out... one that.. made his soul tremble.

And when he turned..

...

There.. you were...

..And, for the second time in his life, Sans' whole world stopped as he watched you politely talk to an elderly woman at the other end of the isle.

He.. didn't know what to do with himself.

He was completely frozen on the spot as he watched you wave to the woman and approach, closer and closer, your eyes perusing the same colorful boxes of cereal he has been trying to busy himself with.

...

Something..

...C'mon you numbskull, say something!

He had been camping this spot for weeks after he had first caught a glimpse of you, and now here you were!

Finally you were...! Here...!

And you were...

So..

...Captivating..

...

You stopped, just a few steps away from him, turning and carefully glancing over some of the cereal boxes on the shelf before you.

He could see you clearer than ever before. 

You looked soft.. and kind. 

The air around you smelled of fruit and flowers, and you lightly tapped your cheek as you contemplated the choices on the shelf before you. 

Your voice had been so gentle too.. he..

He wanted to talk to you.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted for you to.. talk to him too..

In that same gentle tone..

...

He turned a bit, a whole flood of words prepared to leave his mouth to catch your attention..

...

But nothing came.

...

He said nothing, his soul buzzing so loudly in his chest it was drowning everything else out as he stared at you. That something was brewing in his chest again and he was paralyzed on the spot from the overwhelming feeling..

...

And you grabbed a box..

...

And placed it into your cart.

....

And turned and walked away.

......

"......p-please.."

The rest of the words didn't come. 

You never could've heard them anyways, they barely came out to more than a whisper, his hand finally reaching out to grasp nothing but empty air because you were already long gone.

And so too, was that feeling.

It slipped, right through his fingers, like a gentle breeze that had lightly brushed his cheek and made itself known..

Before leaving him alone.. with nothing but the pain of feeling empty once more.

.....

No...

..He just.. 

...couldn't take it anymore.

...

So he ran.

Down the isle, through the produce section and past the registers, not even stopping as a human shouted at him on his way out.

Where...

Where did you..?!

The soft scent of flowers and fruit barely graced his nose, and he quickly took off in the same direction it came from.

You.. couldn't have gotten far..

..Please..

Please...!

"please don't go!"

He couldn't do this again.

The pain would be too much! 

He'd..!

He'd break.

He'd shatter.

He'd.. turn to dust!

He didn't want to be alone again!

Not like this..!

...It...!

It was all enough to nearly make him scream, and he wanted to at the top of his non-existent lungs as he thought he finally lost you, heavy breaths passing his teeth as he tried to ventilate his magic. His bones trembled and shook as he clutched his chest, the tears threatening to leave his sockets as he stood alone on those darkened streets, the yellow glow of streetlights his only companion.

"please... don't... leave me..!"

He didn't want to be alone anymore.

He didn't want to feel empty.

He didn't want to be damaged and sour.

He just... 

..wanted to feel...

...Happiness again...

...

His legs gave out, leaving him crouched alone on the sidewalk as he tried to quell the sob that threatened to break loose. His soul twisted and churned in a fit of agony that threatened to have him falling apart, desperately calling out..

To you.

To the human who he didn't even know the name of.

...Just once more..

Please.. just once more he wanted to see you!

He had so much he wanted to say.

He had so many questions for you!

Who were you?

What was your name?

Why... 

Why did you.. make him feel this way?

Please.. just.. one more chance!

Just one more..!

"Wait!"

....

No that..

That can't-

"I said wait, please!"

....

He looked up, much farther down the street as something white darted around the corner, and soon after you were stumbling behind it.

A white dog paused and quickly turning around, their tail wagging as you caught up out of breath.

"You little-!" you huffed, puffing your cheeks in a bit of irritation before letting out a small sigh. "Please give me back my key you cute little troublemaker. Pleeeeaaaasseee."

The dog yipped once, tail still wagging but they remained unmoving as you let out another huff.

"Alright, fine," you said, reaching into the brown paper bag of groceries you were carrying. You pulled out a small container of cookies and squatted to the ground, pulling one out and offering it towards the dog. "Fair trade?"

It was, as a distinctive clink rang out after something hit the ground, and the dog quickly rushed over to you to take the cookie from your grasp. You giggled, and even took a moment to gently pet the dog's head before standing up and grabbing your key.

Your eyes wandered up to glance around the empty street, nothing but a few passing cars to catch your attention before you turned back to the dog.

"Try to keep yourself out of more trouble, okay?"

...Every word you spoke rang into his soul. 

Soft and gentle... a warmth that washed over his cold bones like a ray of sunshine.

You didn't even sound angry at the dog even after it took your key...

He.. couldn't see what you were doing anymore after he ported into an alleyway, clutching tightly on to his sweater as a few more ragged breaths passed through his teeth while his soul spiraled out of control.

This was... his chance.. wasn't it?

To do.. something.

As to what exactly, he wasn't sure. 

But you were here.. and he..

...

Followed.. quietly behind you.

That storm of thoughts brewing in his head all but silenced, his body just moving forward of it's own will as he watched a fair distance behind you. 

Out of the alleyway.

Past the dog.

And.. all the way home.

You never looked back the whole way, and it wasn't long before you turned and headed up the walkway to a quaint looking apartment building. Despite how much he wanted to keep following.. he instead slipped into another alleyway as he watched you head inside, vanishing away from sight inside.

....

And... he was alone again.

....

Except for...

....

"...were you captivated by them too?" 

His words were quiet as he glanced down to the white dog who happily wagged their tail by his feet. They yipped as Sans crouched down and lightly stroked it's head, and the dog seemed more than happy as it leaned into his touch for a moment. 

The pain was back since you vanished from his sight.. but somehow it felt duller than before.

Much more manageable.

He still hadn't said anything to you, and you probably still didn't even knew he existed but..

Here was an opportunity.

A chance.

"thank you," he said quietly to the dog, standing up. "you should probably head home now though, hm? it seems like.." 

The small smile on his face had faded, eyesockets narrowing carefully as hugged the brick wall beside him a bit closer and peeked out, his gaze drifting from the apartment complex..

..to the shadow in another alleyway across the street that had been creeping behind you most of your way home.

He clenched his fists tightly, the bones in his hand creaking as another strange feeling overcame his soul, watching as the human mugger hesitated for a moment before stepping out alleyway into the open. 

"....there are wolves out this late at night."

....

....

...

..

"Wow. You know for someone who says they can't bake this pie looks amazing!"

"..thanks," he said, lightly flushing as you smiled at him. 

He had carefully handed the bowl over to you as you sat on the couch, the apple pie still warm with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side lightly melting. Your eyes practically sparkled and Sans’s soul sang in response, loving the way they shined.

"Thank yo-" you began, before giggling at the white furball in your lap who was roused from their nap by the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. "Hey! This isn't for you!"

That didn't stop the dog from letting out a yip, making the both of you laugh as Sans lifted up the blanket and sat beside you. He scooted just a bit closer, enjoying the warm you provided as the two of you snuggled on the couch while the tv played. The dog moved, wiggling to sit on both of your laps while shooting Sans a big pair of puppy dog eyes at his bowl of pie.

"ya heard them, chance. none for you."

Chance whined, sliding back over into your lap as Sans snickered.

"oh i see. no longer the favorite, am i?"

"Aww, it's okay," you said, leaning over to gently kiss his cheek. "You'll always be my favorite."

....

This was.. enough for him.

Being here, with you, warm under some blankets as the two of you happily ate some apple pie together.

...It was sweet... and.. it was enough.

Enough for that funny, fluttering feeling to find it's way right back into his soul.

Your smile.

Your words.

Your love.

That was happiness, for him.

And... 

He would gladly do anything to protect it.

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E1

Previous season Prologue: Vlogs (1) - Vlogs (2)

°

Zaterdag 21:43

The time lapse already showing us a string of places that will be important later, like the dark alley, the Meir with Noor’s workplace, the university neighborhood, the Scheldt river where the boys hang out, ...

Perfect parallel: 

The second season starts Zoë’s POV with a (washing machine) door, whilst the third opens with a door to a party that Robbe attends.

Robbe glances back at Noor passing through the shot this episode, an action he repeats when he spots Sander in the second episode. - A very subtle hint to where his love life may lead.

The first one starts with two unknown LGBT+ girls kissing at a party, the last episode shows two known LGBT+ boys (Sobbe) kissing at their own party.

The aerial shot through the floor to introduce us to Robbe’s POV here and the aerial shot through the roof to say goodbye to him in the last episode.

Moyo saying “No one would do you” to Aaron in this episode, Aaron realizing “No one here wants to do me!” in the last.

Where’s Wally? Noor greeting Marie, accompanied by Jana and Britt. Max dancing with Keisha in the crowd.

How ‘meta’ of you: Newsflash, yes you are!

Nod to the OG: 

The deliberate messy POV: following everyone that we know already and then slowly settling on the Isak version in a tub.

Robbe saying Noor looks like ‘Natalie Portman’, which is what people said to the OG Emma when they flirted with her. Everyone, except Isak, that is.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo keeps pressuring Robbe into explaining what type of girl he likes. The boys laugh it off when he answers that ‘he doesn’t have a type’.

Lost in translation: Moyo mocks Noor’s Dutch accent, making his ‘g’ and ‘st’ sound harsher, while also adding ‘hoor’ at the end - a typical word used by the Dutch to emphasize a point.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is playing with the weed bag. Keisha is one of the girls that Moyo mentions as Jens’ ex-girlfriend or ex-fling. Not only did Noor nót flush the toilet, but she didn’t used any toilet paper either!

°

Zaterdag 22:44

C is for culture: 

Noor rescuing Robbe on her scooter - In Belgium, you’re allowed to drive a moped or scooter once you’ve reached the age of 16. Nothing is needed if the vehicle doesn’t go above 25 km/h. If it stays between the range of 25-45 km/h and max. 50 cc, you need to pass a theoretical exam, 4 hours of driver’s ed and a practical exam to get the license. Anything other than that, has a whole new set of restrictions, types of driver’s licenses and minimum ages.  Noor and Robbe are, however, still breaking the law. As long as you’re not 18, you’re not allowed to have an extra passenger with you. Especially if they’re not wearing a helmet. (Plus they ignored a red light. Those rebels!)

“You do know that you always have to have it with you?” - The Belgian law states that everyone above age twelve, has to get an ID to identify themselves. Some might have had a Kids-ID already - for travel purposes - but that’s not mandatory. However, once you're fifteen years old, you’re obligated to carry your ID with you at all times.

Perfect parallel:

Luca being all jealous whilst staring at Noor and Robbe making out in S3, her glaring at Maud and Robbe every chance she got in the last season.

Robbe and Noor having fun on the scooter while screaming and Robbe filming their adventure in this episode. Robbe and Sander doing a similar thing, but on their bikes in a later episode.

Wink to other remakes: Robbe sporting a brown jacket. (Eliott, anyone?)

Surprise bitch, guess who: It’s Willem Chanterie, the on-set costume designer and social media production assistant!

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has a ‘Fuck Trump’ sticker on her helmet. Robbe says “Hey, it’s red” in a very clear Antwerp accent. 

°

Zaterdag 23:11

Hello from the outside: The garbage truck they sprayed, still drove around the city regularly. The art piece itself is named ‘#Genoeg mama' (= ‘#Enough mommy’). It blames the consumer society as toxic, making young people its victim.

Oopsie: Inside the graffiti den, Noor suddenly sports a tote bag with supplies, even though we never saw her wearing that in the previous shots.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has black combat boots. The photographer is obviously Sander, in case you have missed that subtle clue.

°

Zondag 13:41

Lost in translation/Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: 

“Check die pekie’s”. The word ‘pekie’ is actually Amsterdam slang for ‘beautiful girl, girlfriend’. In recent years, more and more Dutch slang are making their way into the Flemish dialect, because of the Dutch rap songs gaining popularity with the youngsters.

“Vamos, flikkers”. The word ‘flikkers’ can mean ‘wussie’ as well as a derogatory term for ‘homosexual’. Again establishing the fact that the boys use a lot of homophobic or toxic words for each other.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +1, him tossing the bag behind Jens instead of into his hands.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: There is a football right next to the skateboards.

°

Maandag 16:04

C is for culture: “The whole art school was talking about it” - 

Secondary school is divided in four sections: general, technical, art and vocational. Which section you choose can have effect on further education. In one of these sections, you pick what you want to study from your first to last year (‘directions’). That means that you have some courses purely focused on the direction and others that are obligated for everyone, regardless.

Art high schoolers can choose to go to work or study a specialization afterwards. Their coursework isn’t solely art based, there are general required courses too. That’s why some foreigners - including the Dutch - come to Belgium, since they’ll get a more rounded and higher level of art education than in their countries. ‘de!KUNSTHUMANIORA’ is the high school in Antwerp Noor goes to and is known for having students with unique styles.

Perfect parallel: 

Noor waiting outside the school for Robbe and him reacting somewhat confused here, Sander doing the same and having an instantly happy Robbe in a later episode.

Robbe having no problem kissing a girl ‘as a straight guy’ in front of the gates in this episode and scared for what might happen if he kissed a boy ‘as a gay guy’ later on. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The insta caption underneath the art work says ‘An inspirational message on a Sunday! Just discovered this in Antwerp city today. Artist unknown... Can you remember when you last called on your mother?’ (That last sentence, oooofff, the symbolism!)

°

Dinsdag 14:57

C is for culture: 

“Yes, mini enterprises are so chill.” - Mini enterprises are often used as a tool for Economics in the fifth/sixth year. The goal of these is to ‘learn whilst doing it’. Like the name specifies, mini enterprises are actual miniature companies set up by a group of students. During the school year, they’ll try to work together on commercializing a product. All aspects of entrepreneurship are at play here: writing a business plan, holding meetings, doing bookkeeping, marketing the product, produce and sell it, ... If the enterprise idea is good or well executed, it might even win a national prize by the company making this education formula.

“What if he contacts child protection services” - Actually, those services doesn’t really exist in Belgium. There are, however, other youth organizations for these types of things, like JAC - Youth Advice Centre, CLB - Centre for Student Guidance and the Centre for Mental Healthcare.

Perfect parallel: The boys hyping Aaron up to walk over to Amber and talk to her - yet he fails in this episode, them doing the same and he succeeds (after some fails) in the last episode. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jens saying “Damn, seems like someone is on his fucking period”, after Robbe snaps at him due to the difficult telephone call with his dad.

Lost in translation: Jens saying “Mijn kop staat er niet naar” (= “My head’s not standing there”) can actually mean different things: I’m not in the mood, it’s not the right time, I don't want to do it, my head’s all over the place, ... It depends on the context, on which interpretation would suit the situation the best. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The girls are all fawning all over Britt’s cellphone, so there is a good chance that they’re discussing (pictures of) her boyfriend, Sander. Also, Jana’s braces are gone! 

°

Donderdag 17:13

Perfect parallel: Robbe stating that he can’t talk to his dad or he’ll fight and Zoë getting that, as she said a similar thing to an understanding Senne about her parents in S2. 

How ‘meta’ of you: Ah, yes, fandom ship names in SKAM. We applaud!

Oopsie: If you look really hard, you see that the body type and hair of Robbe’s dad, doesn’t correspond with the version waiting at the restaurant later on.

Wink to other remakes: This shot reminding you of a certain S3 trailer?  👀

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The numerous references to Zoënne’s relationship in their room (relationship pics, Senne’s guitar). The paper Milan gifts to Robbe is the written permission by his parent to live with them, as is obligated by law.

°

Vrijdag 20:04

Perfect parallel: 

Senne pulling Zoë up after a kiss here, just like with their first kiss in S2.

Robbe pushing Milan away after thinking he wanted to kiss him at the party in S2, them hugging it out in after talking about it in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Milan making some healthy party snacks like cauliflower and cocktail sauce, cheese with tomatoes and salami squares. She pulls back the bottle of gin that Milan wants to steal. Senne also bought paprika and tortilla chips from Colruyt (a discount store).

°

Vrijdag 20:54

C is for culture: “Noor, Robbe’s girlfriend” - (Teen) dating culture is different in Belgium. Usually, if you have kissed, hung out, texted or just said/did something to show your mutual interest, you’d pretty much consider yourself in a relationship. It can go from 0 to 100 very quick. Unless there is, of course, an agreement that what you’re doing is no such thing. Also, nobody really ask you to be their gf/bf. It just implied or stated to their family or friends. 

Perfect parallel: 

A reluctant Robbe pushing himself to do stuff to Noor (playful dancing, kissing, riling her up) as far as putting his hands on her bra here. A totally different, excited Robbe not even thinking twice about doing these things to Sander, even licking his nipple during their reunion.

Noor pushing Robbe on the bed and climbing over him, whilst Robbe looks all sad in this episode. Him pushing Sander on the bed and being happy as Sander crawls over him during their reunion.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe tries to convince himself into liking heterosexual sex with Noor and fake laughs with his friends about having it.

Where’s Wally? Keisha laughing with Amber and later dancing with Marie.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is talking to Senne. The decorations behind Milan saying ‘Welkom Robbe’ (= ‘Welcome Robbe’). Noor has a beautiful tattoo of a pin-up girl covered with butterflies on her lower arm.

[acti-veg]

“Plants such as chickpeas, quinoa, avocado, cashew and coconut now have to be mass produced to satisfy Western consumers’ demands for foods such as hummus, cashew butter, and coconut milk. This has a disastrous effect on the price of these plants, the welfare of the farmers and the land itself”

I saw this written on an Instagram post criticising “white veganism ”. Do you think we should be avoiding these things?

There is quite a lot to unpack here for such a short post, so bare with me. Firstly, ‘now have to be mass produced...’ Now? Really? Western demand has dictated market price of commodities all over the world for decades now - this is not a new thing, and it certainly isn’t the result of veganism. Western demand for beef also results in beef having to be mass produced, as well as the crops to feed them, the land that has been deforested in the Amazon to graze them. Are they going to be boycotting beef as well? Corn? Soy? Wheat? 

I’d also point out that, if you’re in Europe, the US, Mexico, Australia etc. you can, at least most of the time, buy these crops grown in the west or even in your own country. Quinoa isn’t only grown in Bolivia, contrary to popular opinion, you can buy US/Australian quinoa, and that’s the same for most of the other products listed her in the majority of cases. Meat eaters love to advocating for ‘eating local’ as a way to address the ethical issues of animal agriculture, while simultaneously assuming that it is not possible to eat both plant-based and local.

The specific examples used are also pretty telling. The much discussed issues with quinoa farmers not being able to eat quinoa because of western demand turned out to be based on a single, unsourced, sensationalist article, and has now been widely debunked. I have my own post on the topic here. Similarly, there is nothing special about avocado, cashew, coconuts etc. which make them particularly harmful in terms of western demand, the only reason these crops have been singled out is because they are considered to be vegan staples.

 These things are a problem with capitalism, and by all means we should criticise that, but to pretend that western demand for imported products is because of ‘white veganism’ is pure, self-serving garbage. Yes, we should all eat locally as much as we can, but it is not the fault of vegans that capitalism exploits the global east as a way to feed it’s own greed.