#i've done... most of the readings for both?

[cazort]

I think you've hit some of the big factors but not all of them.

I think a major factor driving people to Trump is reaction to left-wing extremism during the 2010's, so-called "cancel culture". My one friend who is a Trump supporter is like this. He had a bunch of people gang up on him and totally demonize him. Some of their criticisms were fair criticisms of bad things he had done, but that he had apologized for and he thought they had been resolved. He lost his entire social circle minus a few isolated friends like me who did not cut him off. It was traumatizing for him.

My neighbor, who is very liberal, has a son who is also a Trump supporter and he also became such a supporter because he got "cancelled". In his case, he made a single problematic comment about race publicly on social media. He was a freelance photographer. A whole bunch of people ganged up on him almost instantly and destroyed his professional reputation almost overnight. Again, he was traumatized. He moved back home with his parents.

Both of these people ended up going deep down right-wing rabbit holes. The right-wingers spoke to these people and empathized with their pain and listened to their concerns while the left bullied, condemned, and cut them off. It seems totally understandable to me that these people fell into right-wing circles based on how they were treated.

The thing is, each of these people did something wrong. But the mob's reaction to them was disproportionate, and it was condemning not supportive. Completely ruining someone's professional reputation and destroying their source of livelihood is not a proportionate reaction to making a single comment that people perceived as racist. And bringing up bad things a person has done in their past, that they had fully apologized for and thought were resolved, is not even remotely healthy in terms of ways to communicate and act. Even if the original action was quite bad. Neither of these reactions helped the person in any way shape or form to learn or grow.

For every extreme case like this, there are hundreds if not thousands of minor cases.

One thing that I think has driven people away from the left is identity politics, specifically, the way the left does not embrace principles of "treat people equally regardless of their identity" but rather, has embraced ideas where certain groups are labeled "privileged" and others "oppressed" or "marginalized", and the left's general ethic is to give the marginalized groups more of a voice. Special treatment, so to speak. The worst is when people start feeling license to insult or talk down to people in the privileged group. I've been saying for years that targeting privileged groups with hate always ends up hurting marginalized groups the most.

I wrote that post 8 years ago. Not enough people have read it. It only has 24 reblogs. Seriously. You want to figure out why Trump won and prevent this sort of thing from happening again? Read that post. Reflect. Internalize it. Reblog it. Make new material that communicates the same ideas in your own voice. I'm wordy and make these long text posts that don't reach everyone...find new ways to communicate it that will reach others.

Seriously, people, we have a lot of work to do. The nation is hurting and it's not just the people who voted for Harris. The whole Trump movement is a big giant ball of hurt and if we can't see that and can't work to heal those people we will never get ourselves out of this mess.

If Harris loses, please try blaming real issues (Republican-driven voter suppression and intimidation tactics; billionaire-funded Trump-PAC’s and propaganda machines; a broken electoral system that hinges presidential elections on a dozen or so states instead of a simple popular vote; or the Democratic Party’s fumbled opportunities to respond to things like the corporate greed driven cost of living crisis, the housing shortage, the medical debt and healthcare accessibility crisis, the ongoing climate disaster, and the ongoing genocide in Palestine) instead of doing the Right’s job for them by blaming folks like climate protestors, Antizionist and pro-Palestine activists, Black and Brown people, jaded millennials living paycheck to paycheck, and tumblr users with an audience ⅛ the size of the average Christofascist MegaChurch Congregation.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Are You Always This Forward? | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

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Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

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A/N: Also comment if you guys wanna be added to the taglist because I've written almost 7 chapters for this series and we're nowhere near done so buckle up

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Part 1 of my Is It Casual Now? series: Masterlist

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here. The party was crowded, with people spilling out onto the balcony, laughter and music filling the room. It wasn’t really your scene, but your friends had convinced you to come out for a change, insisting that you “needed a night out.”

"Look, if nothing else, you might at least see some familiar faces," one of your friends said, nudging you with a grin. “Rumor has it Charles Leclerc is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little spark of curiosity that flared up. “Oh, please,” you replied with a laugh, though you glanced around the room. “Why would Charles Leclerc be at a random party like this?”

“Apparently, he knows the host,” your friend said, looking around too, as if he’d appear on command. “Besides, you know he’s got a thing for these parties. Always in the photos with some new girl hanging off his arm.”

“Right, the ‘playboy’ Leclerc reputation,” you muttered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. But the truth was, you knew exactly who he was, and while the rumors weren’t exactly your thing, he was… undeniably attractive.

“Yeah, that reputation,” another friend chimed in, giving you a sly smile. “I mean, look at him—he’s practically a walking invitation for bad decisions. But I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” She laughed, and you joined in, the both of you glancing around in a playful attempt to spot him.

But in the next second, you felt it—a gaze that sent a small thrill up your spine. Your friends were still laughing and joking, but your eyes had locked onto someone across the room, and there he was: Charles, in the flesh, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. And he was staring right at you.

A rush of heat crept into your cheeks, but you quickly looked away, brushing it off as a fluke. You barely knew him; it was nothing. And yet, a few minutes later, when you glanced back, he was still watching you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Look who’s got Leclerc’s attention,” one of your friends whispered, nudging you in the ribs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was eyeing you up.”

“Stop,” you muttered, laughing it off. “You guys are reading too much into it. He’s probably just looking around.”

“Yeah, right,” she teased, winking at you. “Seems like he’s only looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore it. But Charles seemed to have other plans because, a few moments later, he began making his way over to your group. Your friends scattered, throwing you quick glances of encouragement, leaving you standing there as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze warm and entirely focused.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked, his voice smooth, just a hint of an accent slipping through.

“It’s all right,” you said, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t really planning on talking to anyone new tonight.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Well, that’s a shame. You’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, please.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t you have other people you could be charming?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes flicking over you again, “but none of them seem half as interesting as you.”

The boldness of his gaze unsettled you, and you bit your lip, shifting your weight slightly as you tried to keep your cool. He was every bit as captivating as his reputation claimed, and yet you were wary, keeping your guard up despite the warmth spreading through you.

“Are you always this forward?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only with people worth it,” he said, his gaze unwavering. He took a small step closer, a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “So, can I at least buy you a drink?”

You found yourself nodding before you fully realized it. He waved down a waiter, ordering drinks as the conversation between you flowed easily, surprising you. He was funny, easygoing, and each small, accidental touch sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

Over the next hour, you laughed, your body leaning into his as the drinks made you both looser, the edges of the world around you softening. The subtle touches became less accidental—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he’d brush his fingers against yours whenever he handed you your drink. It was heady, electric, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that felt both thrilling and a little reckless.

“So,” he murmured, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours. ��Are you going to keep pretending you’re not interested?”

You laughed, looking away, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he gently guided your face back to his. “I do.” And then he closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against yours.

The kiss was light at first, testing, but when you responded, his hands settled on your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his warmth, his heart beating beneath your palms as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as the tension that had been building between you finally spilled over.

You broke apart for a moment, catching your breath, and he smiled, looking at you as if he was just as affected. “Come back with me?” he asked softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart raced, but you nodded, the thrill of the moment drowning out any hesitation. The ride to his apartment was a blur, the silence filled with anticipation, the only sound the occasional brush of his hand over yours. And when you arrived, he barely waited for the door to close before he pulled you close again, kissing you deeply, his hands finding your waist as he guided you toward his bedroom.

In his arms, it felt like time slowed. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left you breathless, his lips tracing a path from your mouth down to your neck, his hands warm and steady as he pulled you against him. The night was filled with whispered words and soft laughter, the thrill of his touch and the warmth of his presence pulling you into a heady, dreamlike state. When you finally drifted off, it was with a sense of contentment you hadn’t expected, his arm draped around you, his breathing even beside you.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, and you blinked, slowly becoming aware of the weight of Charles’s arm still wrapped around you. You shifted slightly, thinking you’d sneak out quietly, but he tightened his hold, murmuring sleepily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “I thought I’d slip out before I overstayed my welcome.”

He grinned, his hand moving to your waist. “And here I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“Who said I was playing?” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached over to grab his phone, tapping in the passcode before handing it to you. “Just in case,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze soft, watching as you saved your number on his phone.

You arched a brow as you handed it back. “Right. As if you’re going to remember to call me.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

With a laugh, you finally slipped out of bed, pulling your clothes back on as he watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me,” he called out as you left, and you shook your head, chalking it up to morning-after charm.

A few weeks later, you found yourself at another party, the memory of that night with Charles lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. But it wasn’t until you felt a familiar hand on your waist, warm and steady, that you turned and saw him, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Without a word, he guided you down a hallway, slipping into a quiet bathroom and closing the door behind you. “Miss me?” he murmured, pressing you back against the door as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, barely able to suppress a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well,” he replied, brushing his lips over yours in a way that made your knees weak, “I couldn’t just let you disappear.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and just like before, the spark ignited instantly. It was the start of something unspoken, casual but thrilling, each encounter leaving you wanting more, yet content with the moment.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Somehow, Charles found his way into your life again and again, just as casually as that night at the party. You didn’t think too much about it. He’d message you when he was around, a simple “Hey, what are you up to?” that always had a certain charm to it, like he’d genuinely missed your company. You didn’t mind, and maybe part of you even looked forward to it.

One evening, you found yourself back at his place, sprawled on the couch together, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were watching. Charles was close, his arm slung over your shoulders, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm in a way that felt natural and maybe a little more comfortable than you’d expected.

“So, what happened this time?” you asked, glancing at him. It had become a bit of a game between you two—he’d tell you a funny story or some little anecdote, always skirting around any real details about his life but sharing just enough to keep you intrigued.

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” he replied with a lazy grin, “just an embarrassing incident in front of the team principal. Tripped over a power cord, nearly brought the whole simulator down with me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him. “So much for that smooth reputation of yours.”

“Oh, I’m smooth when it counts,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar cheeky glint as he leaned closer. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you. Also being smooth is more of my teammate’s thing”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked away, laughing softly. There was something about him, the way he moved so effortlessly from humor to something more intense, that always had your heart racing. When his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you felt that familiar spark between you.

The kisses started slow, a mix of laughter and warmth as his lips met yours. You’d gotten used to the way he’d go from teasing you to pulling you close, his hands trailing along your back as he deepened the kiss, his touch growing more insistent. Somehow, even though you both kept things light, there was a weight to it, an intensity that left you breathless every time.

But no matter how intense it got, the mornings were always easy. He’d hand you a coffee, tease you about how you liked it, and insist on making breakfast—even if that breakfast was sometimes just a couple of slices of toast or a quickly scrambled egg.

One morning, you woke up with him lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You tried to slip out of bed, but as you moved, he tightened his hold, his eyes opening just a sliver. “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve got things to do,” you whispered back, though you were reluctant to move from the warmth of his arms.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling you back down, his head finding the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “Just a few more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into his embrace, a soft laugh escaping you. Moments like these, the playfulness and ease, were what kept you coming back. And every time he brushed a kiss over your shoulder or laced his fingers with yours under the covers, it felt like he was daring you to let your guard down just a little bit more.

It was a pattern—casual, yet consistent. You never really talked about what you were doing, and maybe that was part of the appeal. There were no promises, no declarations, just the simple thrill of seeing him and the warmth of his company.

Then one night, at yet another party, you spotted him across the room, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He excused himself from his conversation and strode over, his usual smirk in place.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” he teased, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you out of the crowded room, into a quieter hallway. His gaze dropped to yours, a familiar heat sparking between you.

“Oh, please,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here because my friends dragged me out again.”

“Sure,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway and into a closet, closing the door behind him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiar thrill washed over you, as strong as ever.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his lips grazing along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re hard to forget.”

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your waist, your body responding with the same intensity as if this had been brewing since the last time you’d seen each other. The kisses were heated, a rush of warmth and urgency, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

This was supposed to be just casual, just fun. But as you felt the way he held you close, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin as if memorizing every detail, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was starting to mean something more. For now, though, you were content to leave it unspoken, savoring each moment with him as it came.

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[reds-skull]

CW FLASHING IN THE VIDEO (3rd from the bottom)

This is it. 3 months in the works, the comic (and video) are finally done.

A little over a year ago, I uploaded the first work in Revenant AU, Ghost's origin comic. I never thought I'd write a whole series for this, but I'm so glad I did. I got a whole new hobby out of it, haha.

I already began working on part 2, but this for me marks the start of it. I'm really excited to get back into this world!

Under the cut there are some comments on the comic I thought some people might be interested in (don't wanna make this post longer than it already is lol). I will upload the frames from the video separately, with comments on it there.

Bottom line is, thank you for letting me just go wild with this :)

Okay, I'm mostly gonna talk about the part where Fate shows Makarov the 141+Farah. Makarov doesn't see the Fate of people as literal images, he often has to interpret odd symbolism in the flashes he gets from the Weave of Fate.

I decided to go for a style I saw in a collection of calling cards in MW3, mainly from this one:

You can really see it in the faces and pitch-black cel shading.

I'll be going in order of appearance, starting with Farah.

Obviously, each of the "flashes" shows the Reaping of each person, Farah being crushed under rubble. Behind her is a helo of green gas, which symbolizes the Russian experimental gas. The motifs around her are more interesting imo - they're taken from the Urzik flag (and yeah apparently it's "Urzik" and not "Urzikstani"... according to the wiki at least). Wings, plants (feels to me like a pomegranate and some sort of crop, but I couldn't find what it is specifically), and a moon, upside down.

I'm skipping ahead a bit, but I've had the idea to make a drawing of Gaz in the Hanged Man pose since I started the AU basically. I tried sketching it once, and it went bad so I gave up lol. But I decided to come back to that here, and add some sort of tarot connection to all of them. I know practically nothing about tarot, googled the meanings of each, they fit well enough, I called it a day lol.

So Farah is the Moon, upside down.

Price is next, showing him taking control of the brain of someone. I didn't use the flag of the UK for the 141 (it'd be kinda boring...), instead I took the Taskforce 141 logo, and broke it down to different elements.

I took the laurels for Price, both framing his illustration and sitting above his head like a crown. I decided he will be the Emperor.

Next up is Gaz, the Hanged Man of course. Gaz gets both the wings and the stars (I changed mine to 4-pointed because... I like them better). Pretty clear why, both symbols relate to the sky. The illustrations kinda follow a rough day cycle, if that makes sense. Farah being night, with the moon. Price with his golden and purple color palette, twilight. Gaz being sunrise, and Ghost and Soap, day. This is why Gaz has a sun behind him.

Ghost was fun because he's the only inhuman one out of the group. I'll let you think what that implies, that even in Fate's Weave, Ghost is an outlier... Ghost gets the skull, and the card "Death". That one was easy, but what I did add is blood flowing down the skulls, like tear tracks...

Soap, the problem child, gave me the most issues as always. For once, it wasn't his fucking face, it was the flames behind him, and overall contrast and readability issues. Soap's illustration is probably packed with the most "hidden" details, though they're obvious if you've read the fic and Konchar's side story. The headless man behind Soap is Konchar himself, holding 4 chains with dog tags on them. The 4 soldiers from Soap's squad, who he killed before Soap was Reaped. Soap's pose is from the moment he came to his senses, after getting shot in the head and destroying a large part of Verdansk. He has 4 swords, pointing at him and downwards, so his card is 4 of Swords, upside down.

Between Soap and Ghost is a circle and a triangle. I'll explain that in the post concerning the video, since that's where I got that from.

If you read all of this, thank you so much! There will be another post for you to read in a moment lol

[levandright]

𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

their favorite way to show their love for you is through — quality timeꜝꜝ

if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ

pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn reader! ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, so so much comfort, idol au but not mentioned much—only in heesung's & jungwon's ꕀ word count : 1605 ʬʬ go back to the start?

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : this is my favorite work atm 💜 it's fluff galore! (my specialty) thank you again to my dearest friend who has to look through my messy draft to turn this to super high quality! jungwon's part perfectly connects with the first work for this drabble series which i am so proud of. while writing i had to look up what the members liked to do so i could make it more special for each of them (thank you p.duck wiki i couldn't have done this without u🫶🏻)

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

heesung loves playing games with you. it’s one of the many hobbies you both share, and it’s part of what brought you so close in the first place.

you're in the living room, surrounded by snacks and drinks scattered across the coffee table in front of the couch, playing animal crossing. the apartment door swings open, and heesung steps in, visibly tired as he makes his way over to you.

you slide over to make space for him, patting the cushion beside you. “how was practice?” you ask, reaching up to gently brush a few stray hairs from his face.

“mmm, it was alright,” he murmurs, the weariness clear in his voice.

you nod, understanding the unspoken exhaustion in his tone. standing up, you head to his room and grab his nintendo switch, then return to hand it to him with a smile.

“here you go. come join my island—i've got a whole new layout to show you.”

heesung’s gaze softened, his eyes brimming with a quiet adoration. the corners of his lips lifted into a serene smile, contentment woven into every delicate line of his face.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

jay loves spending time cooking with you. there’s something about it that makes him feel so at home.

you and jay decided to cook a homemade coconut chicken curry together for dinner. you put on your favorite playlist, roll up your sleeves, and begin cooking.

as you chop the garlic and onions, jay leans over with a grin and steals a piece of bell pepper, only for you to swat his hand away playfully.

"patience! you’ll get to eat soon enough,” you laugh. jay winks, then moves on to roast the cumin, coriander, and turmeric, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma.

when the time to add the spices came, jay gestures dramatically, sprinkling them like a “chef,” which makes you laugh so hard you almost drop the spoon on your hand.

he jokes, “you’re looking at a future culinary star.” you roll your eyes, smudging a dab of coconut milk on his cheek in response. you both burst out laughing, realizing the mess you just made.

as the curry simmers, you sneak tastes from the pot, adjusting the seasonings together.

"a little more salt?" you suggest, and jay nods, adding a pinch.

when the curry is finally ready, jay serves it up with fluffy rice. as he places your serving in front of you, you take a moment to appreciate the effort you both put into making the dish. you glance at each other and share a smile.

then, you dig in, savoring not just the delicious meal but the laughter, teamwork, and little moments that made it all so special.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake loves going shopping with you. it’s a chance for you both to bond over your love of fashion, and a way for him to spoil you with new clothes.

jake finally has time to spend with you after so long apart. you both decide to make the most of it by shopping for new outfits together.

you're on the hunt for a fresh hoodie and some sneakers, while jake’s hoping to find a cool jacket. you head to your favorite store, filled with oversized tees, cargo pants, and graphic hoodies.

you spots an oversized hoodie with a bold graphic print and hold it up, asking, “what do you think? too much?”

jake grins, “it’s perfect—definitely your style. try it on!” you head to the fitting room, while he waits outside, he chuckles when you come out and do a little spin to show off the fit.

in another aisle, jake picks up a black bomber jacket with a bright orange lining. you nudge him, “you have to try that one on!” he rolls his eyes but puts it on, then strikes a dramatic pose in the mirror. you snap a quick photo and laugh, “yep, this one’s a keeper.”

you end up finding matching bucket hats and take a few selfies, laughing as you try out different poses. afterwards, you go grab some bubble tea and chat about all the new outfits you'll put together.

your day of shopping leaves you feeling stylish and closer than ever.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

sunghoon loves working out with you. exercising together and encouraging each other to do your best at the gym makes it all the more rewarding.

you’d told sunghoon a couple of months ago about your new goal to take better care of your body, and he’d immediately suggested working out together. “we’ll keep each other motivated,” he’d said, with that reassuring smile.

now, two months later, your efforts are paying off, and you can feel it. as you and sunghoon finish another round of weights, you catch your reflection in the gym mirror, noticing a subtle definition in your arms and a healthy glow on your face. sunghoon notices too, giving you a proud grin.

“look at you!” he says, playfully nudging your shoulder. “you’ve been working hard— told you it’d make a difference.”

you laugh, catching your breath. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” you admit. “there were so many days I wanted to skip, but you kept me going.”

sunghoon gives a thoughtful nod. “same for me. having you here pushes me to keep at it too.” he grabs his water bottle, holding it out in a toast-like gesture. “to us the ultimate workout team.”

you clink bottles with a laugh, feeling a surge of pride and energy for how far you’ve come together.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

sunoo loves doing skincare with you, taking the time to admire your beauty and simply enjoy your company.

“i’m telling you—this face mask is amazing!” sunoo reassures, noticing your hesitation as he holds up a minty green jar.

knowing your boyfriend’s obsession with skincare, you decide to trust his words. “it better make these acne spots disappear,” you mutter, eyeing yourself in the mirror. sunoo’s face lights up, nodding eagerly.

“of course it will, darling! what else would you expect from one of my recommendations?” he dips a soft brush into the mask and motions for you to sit down. “i'll do it for you. just hold still.”

you sit down, and he leans in close, brushing the cool mask onto your cheeks, nose, and forehead, his focus so intense you can’t help but smile. the tingling sensation feels refreshing, and sunoo nods approvingly.

“perfect! now we let it sit for fifteen minutes, and then I’ll show you my face massage technique.”

you raise an eyebrow. “face massage?”

“trust me, you’ll glow.” he applies the mask to himself too, and as you wait, he makes you laugh with funny stories from his day. when the timer goes off, he gently washes off the mask for you, then hands you a towel.

you examine your face in the mirror, noticing the brightness. sunoo grins, smug. “stick with me, and we’ll have you glowing in no time.”

you smile, nudging him. “alright, skincare guru. I’m convinced.”

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

jungwon loves taking spontaneous walks with you, savoring your presence as you stroll together through the streets at night.

the cool night air wraps around you as you and jungwon wander through the quiet streets. the city lights cast a soft glow, illuminating the path as you stroll side by side, soaking in the stillness of the evening. he needed this—a break from the demands of his idol life—with his number one supporter and love: you.

jungwon’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels both familiar and comforting.

“isn’t it peaceful?” he murmurs, looking up at the stars peeking through the city lights. you nod, glancing over at him, noticing the small smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the night.

he suddenly stops, pulling you gently to a halt. “wait here for a second,” he says, darting into a nearby convenience store. when he returns, he’s holding two cups of hot cocoa, steam curling from the tops. he hands you one, his eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.

you sip, feeling the warmth spread through you, and jungwon gives your hand a light squeeze. “i just love these walks with you,” he says softly. “no rush, no plans—just us.”

you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as you continue down the quiet streets, savoring the simple, beautiful moment together.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

riki loves playing soccer with you. whether you’re skilled or not, just running around the field and laughing together helps him forget all his worries.

the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the soccer field as you and riki race around, laughing as you chase after the ball. he’s quick, weaving past you with ease, but every so often, he’ll slow down just enough for you to catch up, grinning as you make a playful attempt to steal the ball.

“think you’re gonna get past me?” he teases, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

you laugh, lunging forward and managing to tap the ball away. riki’s mock gasp of surprise makes you laugh harder, and soon you’re both stumbling around, barely able to stay on your feet from the giggles.

when he finally catches up to you, he taps the ball back and watches as it rolls across the field. for a moment, he just stands there, catching his breath, a relaxed smile on his face. “you know,” he says, looking over at you, “i really needed this.”

you raise an eyebrow. “needed what? me beating you at soccer?”

riki chuckles, shaking his head. “just... having fun and forgetting about everything for a while. thanks for playing with me.”

you smile, nudging his shoulder. “anytime, riki.”

perm taglist. @honeychocos @kozumesphone @lilly-cherry7 @manaah02 (perm taglist open!)

©levandright

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[lokigodofaces]

one bingo and several close calls

tagging @sobeautifullyobsessed @worstloki and @babygirlthor because i don't know who else currently writes

commentary below bc i am talkative at the moment

-had a ff.net account -wattpad was my second fic website (quotev being the first) but like my first phase on quotev ended and wasn't that great. i started on wattpad & since then i've been writing. i still update on wattpad bc i'm still getting readers so may as well update on both wattpad and ao3. stopped updating on quotev bc i got annoyed -yep, i have an ao3 account (under same url) *i'm sex averse -used to roleplay but i don't currently -have beta read (& i'm willing to beta read) -i've never had any of my fics beta read because i'm the type of person that feels bad asking help for things (which i'm trying to get over listen i've prioritized this in my personal life over fic i promise i'm working on it) but i guess i've had sections beta read, especially since i've come back from brazil. at times i think my english sounds off so i ask someone to tell me if that english sounds normal or not. i don't have anything against beta readers, i just don't have the courage to ask for one -most of my fics are self-indulgent, Captive being the most by far -it is hard to communicate feelings but everyone understands alhdkglhalkdgha -yes, have also done the same equivalent to leaving multiple kudos on wattpad (the two fics that got me back into fic reading are still up and i still reread them every once in a while. author is on hiatus. hope they get the sporadic emails of me commenting about how i've read it a thousand times) *i prefer whump or hurt/comfort over pure fluff *just now realizing i haven't written m/m or f/f. i've written with nb characters though *okay so i used to be multifandom but lately i've only written for the mcu so i'll say that for now i'm not *i wouldn't say i LOVE researching. sometimes it annoys me and/or stresses me out bc i want to be accurate and i stress myself over it. so i do it but it's not my favorite part of the process -i keep an outline. whether i follow it is another question. -who doesn't love comments? *have not (if anyone would make art for my fics i'd probably die of feels) -oh dear dont get me started on how many wips i have -editing is hard -i get ideas during my nightly thinking-of-scenarios-before-sleeping thing *don't drink *don't drink coffee. i'm not much of a tea person & i preferred tea in brazil (passion fruit tea guys. passion fruit tea). more likely to drink pop or sparkling water, maybe gatorade or terere while writing -i like my aroace!Loki fics and they haven't gotten tons of attention. one might because it's multichapter and just. isn't far along yet. but the one shot i feel like is some good writing that could potentially be very stirring for aroacespecs. i wrote it while questioning things and used it to process those feelings i was having and i think a lot of aroacespec people would appreciate it. *used to want to be a pro writer. but for now...i'm just burnt out from original writing. maybe one day. right now i'm gonna focus on fics.

Thank you for the tag @theblueeyedfirebender (any FMA-blog followers, check out this blog!)

I mainly write for LoZ (ao3), but on an older AO3 account (no I will not be linking it) I've written for Supernatural and Sherlock (mostly trash one-shots when I used to take commissions).

@snail-studios, @hero-of-the-wolf, and @gracieelinn, I put a clean bingo sheet below so fill one out if you'd like! ❤️

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

I just got the 'Alfred is not a good man' vid from tik-tok so I'm a little worried about the fic I've been making but I'm doing some of my deep dive to really know if this is just one person's depiction or opinion about him.

I just got really into Batfamily for like what 2-3 months ago (not including the ones I made long ago those were like one off from just basic understanding of other fics I read).

From what I have gathered which was only two information (for now) was about Alfred's daughter and if Alfred did let the kids become Robins.

In summary his daughter Julia Pennyworth or in another comic Julia Remarque, was the abandoned daughter, She hated/resented Alfred for abandoning her and disgusted that he became a servant of Wayne's which is true BUT in the end though is that both Father and daughter made up after.

and Second is, actually somewhat true I've seen few reddits and blog that have written that in some other comics Alfred did let the batkids become Robin and That's more than enough to know that it was not right BUT according to other versions most of it was just Alfred warning Bruce not to.

that's only thing I can find for now tho so please if anyone can help I'd like to gets some fact check to be sure.

For now I'm still comforted by the fact most of it doesn't apply much to what is really cannon cannon because some comics and issue are like so different or reset too much from the original it's hard to keep track of everything.

I'm not really a dc comic fan since collecting or even finding time to read them has been a hassle for me, I prefer to watch DC movies, cartoons or gameplays with DC lore and YT dc documentary videos from the ones who actually are a fan and read the issues.

This isn't really about justifying what Alfred had done but to know and learn if I could still properly write about him without triggering fans out there cuz I don't really want any trouble.

it's funny how I'm practically praising the man few weeks ago and now my loyalty is wavering.

I have a plan if this doesn't work out but let's just see, it's so weird because of the perfect timing too.

[phoenixcatch7]

Deep in my ff7 rereads so here are my favourite fandom fics, hands down.

End as you mean to begin <- 130k+ of time travelling cloud parenting the remnants, seeking asylum in a war torn wutai to keep all four of them out of shinras hands while sephiroth is absolutely Going Through It in midgar. Great Genesis characterisation and cloud mothering his way to an international incident. Bonus gender hijinks, hilarious misunderstandings and zack. Unfinished.

The fear of falling stars <- 500k+ and soon to be completed. Cloud and insane!Sephiroth time travel back to their shinra days and I cannot emphasise enough how much cloud is Not Doing Well. Gorgeous wordplay and top tier banter. Utterly unhinged blood enemies to ??? to ?????? to lovers sefikura. It's E rated and probably the tensest I've ever been reading fic lol, it is not lighthearted! But it's incredibly well written and the characters are phenomenal (zack my beloved) so if you've got strong nerves (and like a quarantine pairing) I'd definitely recommend it.

Voice of the gods <- 170k+ of almost idyllic gods and avatars au. Slow, soft and full of world building, it's a lovely relaxing read of cloud getting anointed the envoy of sephiroth, god of war, and slowly growing into his role and joining the ranks of envoy. Lots of side characters take larger roles here, and sephiroth himself is a darling without losing his sharpest edges. Unfinished.

I CAN FIX HIM (series) <- possibly my favourite sephiroth characterisations ever. 130k and growing of pure shaking this man like a doll in a perfect mix of almost delirious crack and gutting angst (often both at once!). Very good writing, every single funny moment hits like a truck and keeps building until you're choking with laughter. Bonus points to ROADTRIP! for being utterly, utterly insane. I cannot emphasise enough just how GOOD every single character and their dynamics are written.

Just anything ff7 written by AimeeLouWrites, if you've been in this fandom for any length of time you'll have heard of her. Great concepts, great executions and aus for DAYS.

Five hearts to make him whole <- 130k+ of time/dimension travelling cloud getting sent to a world of soulmates - and his alternate self bagged all four soldier firsts. Alternate cloud also died violently a few years ago and boy did those soulmates (not) take it well. Our cloud, of course, was not read in on any of this. Shout out to the emotional support chocobo! Unfinished?

Shall I find rest <- another soulmate agszc (?) dimension cross but this one is 100k+ of post AC cloud and Tifa waking up and deciding to make it everyone else's problem. They're so done with all the drama. Bamf nibel duo to the end and Tifa is the mvp. Unfinished.

Advanced release <- 250k+ and it's sephiroth receiving the original game in a strange packet that appeared in his room. It spirals into a messy and painful exposure of conspiracy, lies and inevitable tragedy. Video game logic is a running gag and zack remains the only actually stable person in the whole sorry mess but he's also Having a Terrible Experience. Really well written!!! Unfinished.

On broken wings <- 160k+ of pure post AC sephiroth redemption from his pov. Him struggling to find his place in a new world and experience real human connection evolves into MOOGLE EMBASSY need I say more?? Unfinished.

With Great Power Comes Meddling Fucking Gods <- 470k+! Poly WEAPON cloud gets yoinked back to the past (feat agzs), dies for a few days and misses his family SO bad but he is determined to change the future for the better. Probably the most healthy and mature cloud ever lol. Unfortunately for him, insane!sephiroth is pulling a inner hollow and gaia herself isn't talking. If you like symbolism, whoo boy!! The dream sequences are a DOOZY (and drowning in eroticism). Wonderfully written, the divide between sane!sephiroth and his counterpart is really cool to see. E rated at times but it's absolutely DELIGHTFUL and WEAPON cloud is such a treat. And I cannot emphasise enough the symbolism. Zackkura (kinda) and slow burn! Unfinished.

A brand need not be seen <- 180k+ in a world of soulmates where the four firsts have clouds name on their wrists. Trooper cloud is tentatively, desperately hopeful. Then a smoking hot op af adult cloud appears, with no names on his wrists at all. It's a really cute flirty fic despite covering shinra politics, identity crises, huge self worth issues, lots of trauma, and finding your own place in the world. Unfinished.

Memory's struggle <- 250k+ of cascading time travel. Basically everyone goes back, which goes great XD. Everyone... Except cloud. I read this a while ago but I do remember poor cloud just getting loved and spoiled by literally everyone and freaking out about it lmao. He was so confused! Unfinished.

[starstruckbyacomet]

Goodbye for Now

Almost 2 months ago I posted a list of possible hurdles that Oliver had warned us about (link):

It's possibly because of something from Tommy's past (we might get a Tommy Begins of some sort).

It possibly would happen through episodes 8x05 and 8x06.

Buck will go to Bobby, Maddie, and Eddie for support during that period.

Buck might find out about Tommy's past (being a racist and mysoginist a-hole) and couldn't accept it, or

Tommy might meet Carla. Carla might tell Buck that Tommy had lied to Abby and used her as a beard in the past. Abby was hurt badly because of it, and Buck couldn't accept it.

Buck might break up with Tommy.

Buck might try to date another man or a woman (if they want to emphasize that Buck is bisexual, not gay).

When I made the above list, I half-jokingly wrote down the worst posssibilities I could think of. The purpose of my post back then is to prepare other Tevan shippers who at the time had doubt about the relationship. I told them that grown-up relationships had all sorts of challenges, including break-ups. I also told them to watch Disney Princess movies if they couldn't handle it.

Who knew that almost 2 months later I have to swallow my own pills?

As contradictive as it sounds, I'm not happy that my predictions come true, including the possibility of Buck dating men & women again (prediction #7) which could happen based on interview with Oliver Stark (link)

Will Buck and Tommy make up?

Negative sign:

There are two interviews with Lou which I still refused to read, because the writers used to be Buddie baiters. But according to fans who have read it, the break up seems final.

Positive signs:

A)) 9-1-1 official Instagram account wouldn't follow Lou in the first place if he wouldn't stay for long term. Last time I check, 9-1-1 account still following Lou.

B)) Things that I wrote in my previous post still stand (link).

Tim and Oliver has said they wanted Buck to get out of the relationship hamster wheel and have a steady meaningful one instead.

Unlike Abby, whom they broke up with Buck because Tim had difficulties in writing her interaction with other 118 family members, Tommy has known most of the 118 family even before Buck does. There is no difficulty in making scripts where Tommy interacts with other 118 members without Buck's presence.

And the most important reason is: THE RATING IS HIGH when Tevan relationship is going strong.

My conclusion: There are 2 options:

The break-up is only temporary, to spice things up. Unfortunately, the timing is really bad because it is aired after the fuck-up US election result 🤦.

Tommy is moving to the new 9-1-1 spin-off, which probably located in Hawaii (link). If this happens, the break-up might be permanent, but it will be good for Lou's career.

What's next?

Although I think Tommy will come back in the 9-1-1 universe, I'm still upset. The 2nd term of Trump and Tevan's break-up happened within the same week! WTF??? I refuse to deal with both at the same time.

This is a list of what I will and will not do, and what I've done:

I will not harrass Tim Minear, Oliver Stark, or even the show on social media. I will not post my disappointment on unrelated social media contents. We have experienced how annoying it was when toxic Buddie fans did it. I refuse to do the same. I suggest other Tevan fans too. We are better than that.

I have unfollowed all 9-1-1 related social media accounts, both official and not. Yes, it is included 911bts and 911cast Tumblr accounts. I think this is a healthy way to voice my disappointment and to maintain my mental health.

I will stop watching the show until Tommy is (or, is officially announced to be) back on screen. The only exception will be when they show Bathena's new house for the first time, because I've been waiting to see it. Other than that, just no. Not even when Eddie reunites with Chris, if that happens before Tommy is back on screen. This step might even save me a few bucks, actually 😅.

I will stop engaging with 9-1-1 related contents on the internet. I will not read any articles about the show. I will not comment, post, reblog or do anything with contents about 9-1-1 on the internet.

I will stop reading 9-1-1 fics because I never comfortable following ships which are against canon. That's why I don't ship Buddie. And now that Tevan broke-up, I cannot engage with AUs where they are still together.

If you think Tevan will make up, why do you quit the show? Because:

I consume entertainment contents to be entertained, not to be depressed. I used to skip sad chapters on novels, and only read them when I'm ready. Buck without Tommy is a sad chapter for me, so I skip it.

This is my way to voice my disappointment in a healthy way. Things that matter the most for the show are rating/viewership and rating/viewership-related metrics. My actions may not have significant impacts to the show, but I am satisfied, nonetheless. Especially, after Oliver's comment that he has actively asked Tim Minear to 'Let Buck F–k' men and women (link). His ask is not only a regression to slutty Buck 1.0 (which we thought he has grown out of), but also strengthening the stereotype that bisexual people are easy to fuck around. A stereotype that a lot of bisexual people want to shred.

Tim Minear and Oliver Stark have the right to make the story as they see fit. This show is not customed to my preference. I'm very much aware of that. This is a "love it or leave it" product. So, I choose to leave it. For now.

To my followers: As I mentioned in my account, you can unfollow me. I use Tumblr as a scrapbook, not to gain followers. I was actually surprised and felt a bit guilty when people start following me, because I don't create arts, gifs, or fics. So, feel free to unfollow me. No hard feeling.

To other Tevan shippers: I know this is beyond disappointing, but please keep your online behavior in check. Please keep in mind that if you post your disapointment in social media, toxic Buddie shippers will eat you alive. Even if you don't, Buddie shippers will be gloating all over the internet. If you can't handle it, I suggest to forgo any interactions in 9-1-1 social media, at least temporarily.

Special thanks to my fellow Tevan fans and the lovely Buddietommy multishippers whom I've met during this journey. I hope we'll meet again. What a roller-coaster ride.

Now, back to Disney Princess movies... 😂

[reiteka]

Denial

I don't really do this but since I was forced to get tumblr I figured I may as well put this up here. Just a Human Alastor x Reader type thing. Murder involved, marriage of convenience, female reader, passive? reader (it's mainly Alastor's thoughts so reader doesn't do much in the fic). --- means insert whatever name you want. I haven't proofread this in a long time so expect mistakes. This is 1 of 2 Alastor X Reader fics I've done so let me know if anyone wants the other one (Also never posted on tumblr before and don't know how it works).

...

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

Being best friends since they were young girls, Alastor and ___ mothers had treated one another like sisters, spending all their time together and even giving birth within the same year to their respective children. How ecstatic they were when one had a boy and the other a girl, how darling it would be if the two would conform to the classic romantic trope of developing from childhood friends to star-crossed sweethearts. Fortunately, for their mothers, they did marry but not due to their fondness of each other. Alastor and ___ didn’t love each other, but they didn’t hate each other either. They married to not only make their mothers happy but also out of convenience, to cease the unwanted advances of the opposite sex and to silence the needless prattling of others with their incessant questions or assertions of ‘when are you getting married?’ or ‘still single at your age?’ or the most repulsive of all ‘your biological clock is ticking dear’.

Though they were married, and to the outside world a happy couple, they lived as strangers. They shared one roof but slept in separate beds, in separate rooms, at separate ends of the house. They had dinner together, engaged in conversation about how her day was or how his radio show was faring or about the recent killings and disappearances taking place. And although they generally enjoyed the other’s company, there was an undeniable line that would never be crossed, an unspoken agreement that they would only ever be acquaintances and never entertain the thought of giving into the charade they had concocted to fool their family and friends. Alastor respected such an agreement and in no way did he want it to change.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

So, when he met the young lad from the bookshop, he didn’t feel anything towards the boy. He didn’t flinch when the blonde’s demeanor brightened like a mutt whose owner had returned home to play with him. He didn’t stiffen at the genuine smile that slipped easily onto his wife’s face when greeting the boy manning the counter, a smile he had spent hours rambling out perfected jokes in an attempt to receive a mere glimpse of, to spy the miniscule curling of her lips, given to him not out of politeness but out of genuine joy.

‘A pleasure to be meeting you my good man! The name is Alastor, yes the one from the radio show. Many thanks for always assisting my lovely wife here in her literary endeavours.’ When he wrapped an arm around her waist and introduced himself, it was because of his duty to fulfill his responsibilities as her husband, not because he enjoyed the look of shock and heartbreak creeping onto the boy’s visage. He took no satisfaction in the way the boy withered under his stare as if shrinking in on himself, both from Alastor’s intimidating aura and his place at the woman’s side.

He didn’t follow his wife around the shop to dissuade the boy from talking to her, he was just interested in finding out what books his wife was currently reading. And yes, his smile did seem rather strained and his eyes quite murderous when the boy happened to glance over in their direction, but it was not an intended hostility, the boy was simply paranoid and misconstrued the polite and friendly stare Alastor was directing at him. He didn’t try and pry information out of his wife later at dinner because he felt threatened in any way, because he didn’t like the way she giggled when the boy made a feeble attempt at an ill-advised pun. He just wanted to know who he was and how often she talked to him and what she thoug̸h̴t̷ ̶o̷f̴ ̸h̸i̵m̴ a̴n̴d̸ ̵i̸f̷ ̸s̶h̵e̷ ̵t̵h̷o̵u̸g̸h̶t̵ ̵h̵e̸ ̴w̸a̸s̸ ̸c̸u̸t̷e̴ ̴̞̍͌͝͝ö̸̩́ŗ̵̟̾͐́̂ ̷͉͙͑h̵̛̘̹̬͑͊̔̎̂a̴͉̥̓n̴̝̯̬̿̋͑d̸̲̱̬͎͉̀̋̈̎̆ş̷̺͙̺͗̀̈̃̄ͅo̶̖̮͐̽̐̑̆̍m̴͖͕̼͈͋̓͗̒ḙ̴͂ ̸̣̙̂o̵̳͗͛̆͗̋ṛ̸͉̯͑͗͐ ̵̭̳̭͕͇͑̇f̸̻̺͙̰̐ű̵̧̫͎̜̥̹̈́ṋ̶̮̀n̶̞̞̐̋̈͐͠ỉ̶͔̦̝͎̱̬̋̽̄͐͠ȩ̷̘̫̩͖͂̇r̷͎̤̒͐ ̴̫̯̺̮̄̈́͘̚o̷͖͙͓͗̅͐̂̕̚ṙ̴̻͓̼.̸̡̞̇.̶̦̇̇̃́͑

He was just curious, and his distaste for the boy had nothing to do with the blush that coated his wife’s face when the boy gave her a forlorn goodbye and wished her the most pleasant evening in the world. As if her evening wasn’t already perfect with Alastor by her side!

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was just tired of the bakery he frequented when his show ended or when he took one of his infamously rare lunch breaks. It just so happened that the new café that had taken his fancy was coincidently located across from the same bookshop where his wife would make a near-daily trip to with the goal of perusing their rather limited stock. His face never darkened, his smile never turned sinister because of jealousy or some other Neanderthalic emotion when he witnessed their interactions, he simply found it disgraceful how shamelessly the boy acted towards a married woman. He didn’t absolutely loathe the fact that his wife was giving attention to someone other than himself, someone completely undeserving of such an affectionate gaze and her indulgence of idle, mindless chatter. Of course, it wasn't her fault, she had always been oblivious to the advances of others who sought to captivate her with tainted promises of friendship while hiding their heinous desires for more intimate relations. It was his job really, as her husband to remove such scum from her periphery, to exterminate the uncultured and salacious boy that couldn’t understand nor respect the simple fact that should have been glaringly obvious by now: ___ belonged to Alastor.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was simply looking for another meal that catered to his...unique palate. It was pure coincidence that he happened past the bookshop which was known for staying open late into the night. It was a coincidence that the boy happened to be closing up, that Alastor happened to be late in finishing up his show that night and that it just happened that not a soul occupied the usually bustling street. It wasn’t that Alastor wanted to prolong the boy’s suffering. Sure, he may have offered the boy several choices ranging from never talking to his wife again to leaving Louisiana altogether, despite knowing that no matter what option the boy chose Alastor was going to kill him regardless. And he may have let the boy run from him for five minutes before he got bored and knocked him to the ground, even though he could have caught up with him in a manner of mere seconds. And he may have allowed the boy a few curtesy blows before easily and pitifully overpowering him, taking no small amount of pleasure in how the hope that still lingered in the lad’s eyes seemed to diminish with the knowledge that the tall, lanky radio host was deceitfully stronger than he appeared. Yes, he did make the boy’s death as slow as possible, letting him bleed out rather than killing him straight away, mocking him the entire time, ingraining the fact that the boy had brought this fate upon himself for daring to covert what was Alastor’s. And he did inevitably choose to dispose of the body rather than contaminate himself with such an unappetizing individual, making it so that the only ones to see the boy again would be the maggots that made him their home. But it had nothing to do with ___.

With a lighter step, a jauntily whistled tune, and the sequel to his wife’s favourite novel tucked under his arm, Alastor made his way home, thoughts of how he could convince his wife to let him purchase her books so that she needn’t bother herself with leaving the house at the forefront of his mind.

Alastor didn’t love his wife...

But that didn’t mean someone else was allowed to love her either.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Love Heals | Jaemin Imagine #18

Title: love heals

Genre: college au, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions and graphic descriptions of self-harm, depression, blood, breakdowns. please do not read if any of these topics make you uncomfortable.

Word Count: ~1.4k

Author's Note: I guess I went from writing some sweet fluffy stories to sad and dark stuff again. I apologize, I know my lighter stuff might be what you guys like more. But whenever I write about this sensitive topic in particular, it means that my mind is spiraling again and I'm stuck in the dark place I've tried so hard to escape. And in this dark place, I write what I feel in hopes that I can comfort others who might be experiencing something similar. Please know that you are not alone, and there are so people that want to help and support you. If you feel like there isn't anyone in your life who can do that right now, know that God loves you and wants to help you get through this. Thank you for reading and I'm sorry ^ ^

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

The heavy silence falls on your dorm room again, as you relive every dark thought that has ever entered your head. Once again, your mind attacked and you lost the battle. All the progress you’ve made to fight the negative self-talk is meaningless. Positivity, optimism, hope— are all strangers, fleeting and unreachable. Depression is the friend that you’ve become too attached to.

Sitting in your bed, you glance down at your arm, now littered with straight lines of red— the faint sting of them just starting to settle. They vary in length, most of them small but numerous. The cuts started just below your elbow, and stopped at your wrist. Somehow it has become your goal to ensure that no space of skin goes untouched by the razor blade that’s resting proudly on your desk. Each line seems like a scarlet promise— a release, a brief surge of something other than emptiness. And your mind echoes with the familiar justification: I’ll stop eventually…just not now.

The quiet creak of the door, left unlocked by your roommate, pulls you from your thoughts, and you know without looking who’s come in. Jaemin. He’s always had a way of moving softly, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the air. You’re grateful for it, but you wished he hadn’t come tonight. You just wish he’d go home and not see you like this. Yet, your boyfriend must have a sixth sense of something. Despite all the effort you put into hiding it, he seems to sense your sadness from even miles away.

“(Y/n)?” His voice is tender, but you hear the worry beneath it. 

Jaemin’s eyes sweep over her as he crosses the room, his gaze landing on your arm. Out of instinct, you pull down your sweater sleeve out of instinct. But you both know it’s too late— the damage is done and he’s seen it. Although you want to appear unbothered about it to him, your heart still clenches as his shoes come off and he approaches you cautiously.

He exhales as he reaches for your hand gently. “Princess…”

You want to pull away, to avoid his touch— another instinct. But his hands are so warm, so careful. You feel like you don’t deserve it, yet it keeps you from pushing him away. Jaemin turns your arm over, exposing the fresh wounds. His expression softens even more, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he crouches down under your bed, to open the bottom drawer where you kept the first-aid kit he bought for you after the first time this happened.

Silence lingers as he moves to sit beside you on the bed, the dark blue comforter from your childhood beneath you both. Without a word, he takes gauze from the kit, pressing it softly against the cuts to stop any bleeding before reaching for the antiseptic wipes. Jaemin cleans your cuts with the same care he always does— gentle, tender, yet heartbreakingly serious.

Although his focus shifts to bandaging your wounds, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. You never can, knowing this has happened too many times by now. Shame bubbles in your chest and you bite down on your lower lip, trying to think of what to say. You search your mind for an excuse you didn’t use the last time. Coping with stress? Releasing anger? Punishing yourself? Wanting to feel something instead of nothing? Maybe all of the above, you suppose.

When the last area of marked skin is covered with an “extra large” Band-Aid, you finally dare to glance up at him. By now, you’ve learned that Jaemin doesn’t react with anger in general. Especially in these moments, he never raises his voice or purposely uses words to make you feel worse. Instead, he simply lets you know that he’s here when you’re ready to talk, before asking if you’ve eaten yet. These incidents always end with a shared meal and cuddles in your bed or his.

But the way he looks at you now, with such concern and despair, chips at the wall you try so hard to keep up. Once the first-aid is closed, he holds your hand and brushes his thumb lightly over your knuckles. That’s when you notice his fingers are trembling.

“Jaem... are you okay?” you ask, though your throat was dry from staying quiet for so long.

Then you see water gloss over his eyes and this hits you. Jaemin never cries. 

His head drops and his hand tightens around yours, almost like he’s afraid to let go. “(Y/n)... I... I don’t know what to do.”

The quiet confession makes you hold your breath. You watch as his shoulders begin to shake, and he uses his free hand to cover his face. The first tear slips down his cheek, and then another, until he’s full-on crying, letting soft, choked sobs escape him. This is all the heartbreak you needed to witness for you to lean forward to wrap your arms around his broad frame. 

It hurts more to see his usual steady composure shattered. “I-I’m so scared, Princess,” he blubbers.

“Every time I see this—” Voice breaking as his fingers ghost over your arm. “Every time I find you like this... I can’t help but fear that I’ll get here too late. That... that one day you’ll just be gone.”

You haven’t been able to cry since you first picked up the razor blade today. But seeing your boyfriend break in front of you is enough to make tears well up in your eyes as well. You have never seen Jaemin like this before— so raw, so completely undone. 

All you can do is hold him a little closer as if that could somehow mend the pain you’re causing. He sinks further into your embrace, his body trembling against yours. You try to soothe him by stroking his hair, as you often did as a gesture of affection. But the brokenness in his sobs only grew louder.

His forehead presses against your shoulder as he clings to you. “I just... I want to see you graduate. I want to marry you, and buy a house together. Have kids with you as we’ve always wanted. I want to come home to you and the family we’ve made together.”

Your heart feels like it’s splintering. The dreams you both share weigh down on you, each one sharper than the last. Tears fall freely for you now as his own ones slow. He pulls back slightly to look at you with his red-rimmed eyes, vulnerability etched across his face.

“(Y/n), please,” he pleads desperately, “I can’t lose you. I love you so much... Please don’t leave me.”

Jaemin consistently shows his love in every possible way, whether it be through words, hugs and kisses, gifts, all of it. However, this is the first time you truly understand the depth of his love— the way he wants you here, not just in fragments, but whole, alive. A surge of resolve fills within you. 

As your fingers reach up to brush away his tears, you whisper, “I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I didn’t realize how much this was hurting you too.”

His leans into your touch, compelling you to cup his face in your hands. You feel the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

“I’ll... I’ll get better. I promise, I’ll try for you. Because...,” you swallow, struggling to find the right words. “Because I love you too.”

Of course, you have returned those three words to him. But these ones in particular carry so much more to them. Although you may feel deeply trapped in Hell, your love for Jaemin is stronger than this punishment you’ve given yourself. He deserves to have someone he can give his love to and have every ounce of it reciprocated. And you want to be that person for him, you can be that person for him.

The calmness in him seems to appear, as his tears finally subside. He moves closer to let all of his emotions pour into the soft kiss he presses against your lips. “You’re not alone, Princess. I’ll be here with you, every step of the way,” he murmurs in assurance. 

A strange, fragile hope blossoms inside you as the two of you kiss again. For the first time, you want to believe there is something more than your own pain. If your love with Jaemin prevails, you have the will to heal. For him now, and for yourself eventually.

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[messyzoranablog]

Zorana's Guide To The Poke Classic Network!

Do you want to connect your DS Pokemon games to the internet long after Nintendo shut down their servers? Do you wish to trade and battle with your internet friends who play the gen 4 and 5 Pokemon games? Do you have a desire to watch and upload battle videos like you used to years ago?

If you said yes to any of these questions then I have the thing for you!

The Poke Classic Network!

This is a fan server for Pokemon DPPT, HGSS, BW, and BW2 that's running with the help of the Kaeru WFC! Not only does it let you connect your games to the internet again, the site will let you see what Pokemon are up on the GTS for both the gen 4 and gen 5 servers!

Below is my guide on how to get this working for you so you can bring a new life to these wonderful Pokemon games. Also I thought this would be shorter but it's rather long, so under the cut it goes! Please let me know if I missed anything in here! I'll try my best to fix it if I can.

Getting Started:

Before you get connected, make sure you are using the device you plan on doing all of your online connections with! For some reason you are locked to one device for this stuff and using another one will wipe your PalPad, and assign you a new friend code. Since what's available in the GTS search function is based on SEEN Pokemon the most reliable way to get particular pokemon (without marking everything as seen via cheating) would be trading them from people you've registered in the PalPad.

If you only plan on using the GTS then you don't need to worry as much about this.

The Poke Classic Network works on ALL DS/3Ds systems!

I will note that the Gen 5 games are easier to set up if you're using a 3Ds since they can see and read the Wifi settings of the 3Ds and can just have the DNS swapped without additional set up.

Connecting DPPT/HGSS on all systems and BW/BW2 on the DS/DSi:

I will go over connecting via Emulator in another section, this section and the next one is for if you're PHYSICAL HARDWARE.

What you'll need:

The console of choice

The game of choice, preferably played to the point where you can access the GTS for testing purposes. --- In DPPT you can find the GTS building in Jubilife City. --- In HGSS you can find the WFC building in Goldenrod City. --- In BW/BW2 you can access the GTS in the top part of every Pokecenter. --- I don't remember when exactly the GTS is unlocked for the games unfortunately.

Some way to create a Wifi network point with a compatible WEP (password type) or just no password. --- The easiest way I've found is just using a hotspot without a password. --- I know some modern routers will let you create an extra network like this if you know how. I do not and it'd likely be different for each router anyways. --- There are also some programs that can make one using your computer. I've used one for a bit before it locked what I needed behind a paywall.

What to do:

The first step is setting up the connection!

Start up the Wifi network point so it'll show up on your system.

I recommend using a hotspot that doesn't have a password on it. Make sure you change the bandwidth to 2.4 GHz, since 5 5 GHz doesn't seem to work. DO NOT PUBLICLY OPEN YOUR HOTSPOT IN A PUBLIC PLACE! You do not want someone deciding to eat up your data while you're trading pokemon, so only do this in a place you know is safe to do so, like at home or at a friend's place.

Once you've done that you'll want to open your game and go to the Nintendo WFC Settings. The button will look like one of these depending on the game you're playing:

This will take you to the DS wifi settings that are saved to the cart!

Next you'll want to tap on the big blue button which will take you to this screen.

You may or may not have connections here already if you've played before Nintendo's servers shut down. Erase them now if you do as they will no longer work. Then you'll want to tap the None button for Connection 1.

I'll be demonstrating using Connection 2 myself, but stick to the first connection.

Tap on the Search for access point button. This will bring up a list of nearby connections that your system can see. You'll want to tap on the one you started earlier. It will test the connection and the boot you back to the screen with the big blue button. Tap the big blue button and then the Ready button that's now showing up for the first connection.

Now scroll down to the very bottom and turn off Auto-obtain DNS and change the primary DNS to 178.62.43.212. You can also change the secondary DNS to the same one as well or keep it all 0s.

Once you're done it should look something like this:

Save the settings, close out of the Wifi connections menu, start your save, and try connecting to the GTS!

If you connect to the GTS then congrats, you are now able to use the Poke Classic Network! If it doesn't work the first try don't worry and try again. You can also swap the secondary DNS to the other one you weren't using and try again that way.

Connecting BW/BW2 on the 3Ds/2Ds:

This one is super simple and doesn't require any additional set up! Sorry I don't have any pictures for this one atm. I may edit this to add a couple later.

What you'll need:

Game of choice

Console of choice

What to do:

Open the internet settings on your 3Ds and tap on Connection settings.

Tap on a connection you know is working, tap Change Settings, then go to the next page.

Tap on DNS and tap No, then tap Detailed Setup. Change the primary DNS to 178.62.43.212 and either keep the secondary one as all 0s or use the same DNS address you put in the primary DNS slot.

Save your settings and go start your game, then try connecting to the GTS.

If you connect to the GTS then congrats, you are now able to use the Poke Classic Network! If it doesn't work the first try don't worry and try again. You can also swap the secondary DNS to the other one you weren't using and try again that way.

Connecting any DS Pokemon game using MelonDS (emulator):

This method will let you connect to the Poke Classic Network if you don't have the physical hardware or can't connect your system to the internet for any reason and know how to back up your save to your computer.

What you'll need:

The MelonDS emulator [Link] --- Desume doesn't have Wifi functionality so you'll need to move your saves over if that is your primary DS emulator. --- If the latest version doesn't work for some reason try again with the second newest one.

Game of choice

What to do:

The steps are nearly identical to the first section once you have the emulator running! Instead of using your own connection though you'll be using the one MelonDS makes for you, so there's no need to worry about finding a way to make one yourself.

The access point will look like this when searching for an access point:

[sourbites]

Can I request a Kirk smut!! Friends to lovers kinda thing. For instance yall are smoking weed at your place and feeling a bit insecure about still being single and he makes a move on you???

Can't Tell You Why

thank you for the request! this was a lot of fun to write. i chose to write this imagining early 80s kirk, just to really amp up that clumsy love that friends share. hope you enjoy :)

The tip of the joint crackles, embers glowing as you coax smoke down into your lungs. The atmosphere in your bedroom is thick, smogged with smoke and giggles. There's soft rock playing in the background — some band Kirk chose.

"You're avoiding the question," He laughs, all love-me-tender brown eyes and crooked white teeth. You're both having fun, he's teasing you, you're teasing him. But still, you hesitate, exhaling smoke from your nose thoughtfully.

"I don't know," You wipe one hand on the front of your jeans. "I've only done it, like, once. Wasn't that fun, either— we were in this tiny car, and there was so much bumping around."

You twist on your bed, leaning up against the wall. Kirk moves, too, leaning his weight on a hand. "Once?" He repeats, surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I've been around?" You laugh, although there's some discomfort at his reaction lurking around in your mind. His mortification catches up with him two beats later. Eyes wide, laughing nervously along with you.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kirk exhales, smoke floating and swirling around the both of you. It hazes everything up: the light from your lamps scatter differently. Shadows look hesitant. He mulls over how to explain himself, self-conscious as he adjusts his position again. "I— I just meant, that you," He swipes a hand over his face, groaning in embarrassment through those hesitant chuckles. "You're smart, and— and real pretty. And charming enough to get anyone you'd want, so— I dunno, I mean, I'd..." He trails off. He speaks unintelligible nonsense for a few moments, before trying again. "You get what I mean." He concludes.

"Do I?" You take the joint from him. Something within you makes you feel sick with a feeling you wouldn't like to meet.

Kirk, ever the conversationalist, gives you an eye-roll. "So who was he, anyway?" He gestures to you, his index and middle finger steadying the shrinking joint.

You shrug. "Just a friend of a friend. I already told you."

He didn't say anything after that. Just hid behind his curly bangs, working his fingers into your bedsheets. Honestly, you're unsure why you even entertained this conversation. It's not like you'd find camaraderie within Kirk, not these days— tons of women want his attention. They want to taste his plump lips, hold his baby face, and kiss the crease between his brows when he frowns. You want to claw this bitter taste from your mouth. Gut the barbed vines in your stomach. As cool as you want to present, it isn't the most brag-worthy thing. Your first and only time being a half-baked hookup in some cramped-ass Ford Pinto? Get out the confetti. Your train of thought became an internal train wreck.

"Well," Kirk begins to roll another. "Where would you rather it happened?" Just briefly, his brown eyes glance up at your face to read your expression.

"Where else could it happen?" You ask no one in particular, voice hushed and ironically smoky in your fogged-up bedroom. You hum thoughtfully, picking at the thin rolling papers sprawled out on your bed. "Is it boring if I say a bed? Nothing else I can think of sounds appealing."

For some reason, you're allowed first drags. Pouring over you, Kirk lights the fresh joint between your lips. "Not boring at all. It's a classic for a reason, real nice when it's done right." He speaks easily, shrugging slightly. He's trying to soothe you. His smile makes your insides twist— and you enjoy it, in some macabre way. Teeth vibrantly white against warm lamplight and fuzzy shadows and black curls. You want to eat his mouth.

"Right." You sigh. Smoke billows from your parted lips. "I suppose you have? Done it right?" You're not sure why you ask that. You just want something to say. Preferably not about your (totally lacking) sex life.

Finally, it's Kirk's turn to bristle hesitantly. Easing his nerves, you pass him the joint.

"I've had some good nights, yeah." His answer is guarded. Your eyes glitter. What's he hiding? You nudge his side with your knuckles.

"But...?" You invite.

Kirk watches you for a moment or two, concluding you won't let this go. "But," He echoes, nudging you back. "I wouldn't say I've done it right."

"Why not?" You lean in. Drinking up the smoke that rolls off of him. You can smell him in the air, too, smoke-smouldering something spicy and musky.

He tilts his head to see you better. "Can't tell you," He whispers, grinning, wholly contradicting the inviting way his body slants to indulge you.

"Kiiiiirk."

Sigh. He's giving you the eyes. The eyes. Round and big, brown eyes so sparkly that they disarm anyone he's gazing at. You lean to him, attentive as a statue. You could soak him up if you wanted to; you're that close. Discarded smoke, already exhaled with all that high-inducing goodness soaked up, swirls around the both of you, murky white tendrils making you want to sway with them, beckoning you to move. Speak. Breathe. Live.

"Ideally," He shifts again, wanting to reshuffle his atoms. "Ideally, it'd be a bed..." A warm palm brushes your wrist and sneaks the joint from your fingers. "With you..." Your heart pauses. You stare at him, bewildered. "And me..."

What. The. Fuck.

Kirk takes your silence as a sign you want him to keep going. One hand cups your cheek, so tenderly you're tricked into thinking you're made from glass. "C'mon. How many more hints do I need to drop?" He coos at you before taking a much-needed drag of the joint to ease his own racing heart.

The funny thing is, you've hoarded his name in your throat for months. You didn't realise he had been holding his own breath for you.

Why? Out of everyone— you?

Kirk runs his tongue over his teeth, getting antsy. Softly urging you, he brushes the pad of his thumb along your lower lip while you just stare at him, amazed. You watch him from beneath your eyelashes as if he hung the stars in the sky. It comes again: the longing. The desire with no name, because no one has yet given you the language to speak it in.

Wordlessly, you draw his hand into yours. "That, um. Sounds nice." You reply, with what limited cohesive brain cells you have left.

Testing the waters, Kirk brushes his lips against yours, his breath mingling with your own. And it's hands down the most intoxicating thing you've ever had— you want to swallow it down in handfuls. Your eyelashes flutter again, and you almost feel drunk. He holds your cheek with clumsy, gentle fingers. He puts a heat in you that you didn't think was possible. And it feels so unfathomably perfect to feel wanted.

It's slow. Gently, you gravitate towards Kirk as if you're floating. Your mouths connect with a little more certainty this time. He laughs softly against your mouth. There is no better taste than that, you decide. Someone's honeyed laugh on your tongue. You're dizzy— should you feel dizzy? You want this feeling to stay.

Restless, he abandons the joint in the ashtray. With both hands in use, they swipe over your back, worship your thighs by the handfuls, winding and sewing roots in your hair.

"Can I take care of you?" Kirk whispers into the edge of your face, right underneath your chin. His mouth- wet and wanting, marks the uncharted territory of the soft underside of your face with a slow, hot kiss that ripples through you, reshaping you into something with an emptiness that's hurting to be filled. His tongue is laving wet and dripping with eagerness, building a taste for your skin as it glosses his spit down your throat. He tilts in to suck below your ear.

"Fuck, Kirk. Yeah— yes." You stumble out, nodding, your hips squirming in their cage of your jeans. You sweep your aching palms along his back, mussing his curls. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth, grazing the bluntness of his front teeth slowly along your skin. His breath sends chills down your spine. He grinds both hands beneath the waistband of your jeans, reading your mind.

He's aching to get a taste of you. The softness of your inner thighs swath around his head, dark curls rasping against your skin. His hot mouth is drinking you up through your panties, nosing into your pelvis. He wants to breathe as many 'I love you's' as he can into your skin, he wants to rake his tongue against your slit, lick your cunt open. Kirk can tell you're soaked— arousal drooling through the fabric that covers you, teasing him with the cock-hardening punch of girl flavour that he loves so much, seeping along the edge of his mouth.

Your underwear is thumbed off, his face shoved right into your cunt, and yet you still want to steer him by the shoulders and pull him closer. He takes slow, indulgent sucks on your quickly throbbing clit, that snowball into big, broad licks, tongue flat and mopping up your slick from bottom to top. He sinks two fingers into you, each pump straight down to the knuckle, creating crude squelching noises with the purest, stickiest arousal simmering within you. It's all burning hot, hot, hot.

Kirk swoops down again, filling his starving mouth with what he thirsts for: your leaking pussy. His cute nose is smooshed against your pelvic bone, and every dirty lap of his searing tongue forces your hips to scatter restlessly and yanks a whine from your throat. He's wild and heartache and sin, and it leaves you reeling from his every touch, every curl of his fingers and every relentless, starved suck of your clit, until his cheeks hollow.

"Can't believe I went so long without this," He groans with lusty delight, releasing your aching clit with a pornographic, wet pop. He kisses your parted entrance, tips his head down and spits on your slit. Whatever honey-soft brown was left lingering in his baby-love eyes has been devoured by total blackness, glimmering in delight as he watches his work of art, your soaked, spit-slick sex. He goes back in, shoving his parched mouth onto you, sucking in a fold, nipping the other, thumbing at your throbbing, swollen clit. He wants to eat you whole. Every salacious lick of his neverending tongue thunders within you— your cunt, tight and hot and so adored by Kirk's divine mouth, squeezes of arousal building within you until they morph into full-body trembles, your abdomen clenching and un-clenching, taut.

He glances up at you, dark eyes glittering behind his curly bangs, eyeing the heave of your tits with each tremoring breath. He touches you where hands simply cannot. His thick tongue eagerly tastes your heat: flesh, sweetness, salt. His cock is bursting against his too-tight boxers. You roll your hips against his mouth, chasing every lap of his tongue, every brush of his calloused hands. Softly, he becomes endless in you, and the searing pleasure he paints for you becomes explosive. Your volatile hands fist into his hair and yank, grinding down against his pretty face as gasps block your airways. He's drinking your soul - stuffing his mouth with every morsel of your worship-worthy pleasure.

You wail through the orgasm, something deep within you awakened and booming; how you survived him, you don't know. Your cum, sticky and warm, ebbs down Kirk's plump lips, smearing on his chin as he laps you up, thumbs spreading your cunt open to ensure he's licked every part of you clean. Even then, the impish flicks of his tongue do not go unappreciated.

To get him to stop his (wonderfully feeling) assault on your cunt, you peel Kirk away from you, a hand in his hair and your other palming at his shoulder. "How'd," You breathe, stupefied, "How'd you learn to do that?"

Kirk hides behind his curly bangs as if he has the right to get coy after gorging on your pussy so filthily. His teeth, white and charmingly crooked, glitter as he grins flusteredly. He wipes his mouth of spit and slick with the back of his hand. You feel a pang of emptiness without both his hands somewhere on your overheating body. "I, uh, I have a thing for it, I guess."

Great. You sigh, lost for words.

"Can we keep going?" You murmur out, gingerly pressing a warm palm to his worn-soft denim jeans, which are all warped and taut from his hard bulge.

Kirk's hands, all slow tenderness to soothe you, cup your cheeks, fingers sweeping into your hair. He lays a kiss on your lips with his own hungry mouth, kissing away at your senses. "Of course, beautiful."

His bulge swells right beneath your pussy, your orgasm simmering away and dirtying his denim jeans. Handsy with it, he palms off his belt and throws his jeans and boxers somewhere in your room. You let one of your legs fall open while he scoops up the other, forcing your thigh high up his waist, his palm sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. He sinks inside the molten ache of your eaten-raw cunt. He kisses you into oblivion at the sight of his thick cock disappearing within you.

The odd thing is, it all feels so easy. You're choked with the sincerity of the moment. Kirk's hands are devoted worshippers, thumbs stroking along your skin where you tremble, holding you where your thigh and hip meet, cradling you. Weightlessly, and yet with heavy limbs, you lay into the bed. You're full of paradoxes tonight. Light, heavy, friend, lover. They're all the same.

Your hands glide up his taut biceps, sliding down the slope of his back, tracing along muscles and bone. You hook him in, keep him close. Kirk's biting down on his lower lip, his eyes lidded, fluttering at the dreamy feeling of your dripping cunt clenching down on him in searing hot pulses. You shift your hips a little— you can feel his cock smushed into your cervix. Kirk groans low near your ear.

This hot, fulfilling fullness seems to seep deeper and deeper within you, endless. With a hitching breath, Kirk's hips withdraw, taking his body-hot heat with him. Until it pours all over you again in waves, easing your abuse-swollen sex, his thumb dipping down to gather the sopping wetness of your slick, cum, and his drool, and stir it around your puffy clit in full circles. All while he takes you in long, eager strokes, delicious friction causing your hands to skirt around his shoulders, putting a cramping, throbbing, ache in your hips.

You shudder, going tight around him. Kirk presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. You can feel his baby face, sweet cheeks and plump mouth, those fawn brown eyes of his squeezed shut. Those charming features on a man who is fucking you with so much impeccable spirit that you're surely driven crazy with every rock of his hips, snapping up to wallop into the tenderly sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Every wet sound of his mean cock scraping the velvet insides of your aching cunt draws sobs out from deep within your stuffed-full belly. Your heart feels like a bass pounding in your ears, surrounding you with so much noise, every throbbing thump causing your breaths to shake.

Tangled bodies feel like they're cooking with all the hot friction between them. It smoulders, threatening to ignite— as if the hazy smoke of your social chainsmoking wasn't enough to put you in an awestruck daze. You clench your teeth, scraping your nails up the hollow of Kirk's shoulder blades, your own back arching off the bed, (which he uses as an excuse to get another gropeful of your ass) while he works your throbbing clit even harder. You want to squirm and writhe, but that'd disrupt the gorgeous rhythm of his cock. He drags himself through your wound-tight pussy, sloppy, indescribably thorough whacks of his pelvic bone right on the beginning of your slit.

You forget who's air you're breathing. Or if you're breathing at all.

In carnal screams that scratch up your sore throat, you murmur something akin to more more more don't stop, Kirk. Please. Kirk. His pace stumbles, landing right on his high while you're already curling around him, nails anchored in his skin, cries spilling from your lips. You squeeze around him with so much zeal that Kirk quite literally cannot move for fear of splitting you in two. All epic highs have lows, however: you scrape your hands down, tracing where your cunt oozes out your climaxes, feeling the boiling heat settle down, watching Kirk's glistening cock withdraw from you.

Everything feels suspended. Mid-air, hanging on the edge of something. Maybe it's longing. By some phenomenal stroke of luck (maybe it's your lucky day), the joint you were sharing is still lit. Kirk takes a long drag, exhaling against your clammy, bare skin. His mouth reaches your shoulder, and he kisses it with that pretty, insatiable mouth until you feel faint.

"Fuck," You take the joint he offered to you. Although you're not sure that this moment can get softer and warmer. "That was definitely better than my first time."

Kirk grins at your words, grunting quietly as he lays beside you, guiding your splayed-out hair away from your neck. "Just you wait. That was just a warm-up."

[triggs-jpg-reblog]

YES, YES, VERY MUCH THIS. I also read him as a very sympathetic character.

Curly caused harm to his crewmates, and he didn't mean to. That is SO human and equally as frustrating.

His good qualities (i.e., believing the good in people and optimism) are both working against him because people like Jimmy gravitate towards people with those qualities. Curly's attitude towards Jimmy is 'proof' that he is a good person without actually needing to act like one. The "Jimmy" clings to that feeling like they'd die without it. This feeds into a cycle that usually breaks when the "Curly" sees something they can no longer brush off.

This happens to Curly as he's lying in the med bay, physically and metaphorically unable to close his eyes to it any longer. He has been completely betrayed by someone he really trusted. Inevitably, thinking back on everything he let go of, especially what Jimmy did to Anya. Now he can't do anything, and has to watch. To me, that is one of the most tragic aspects of his character.

This doesn't undo anything that Curly did or did not do, but their dynamic is so incredibly unhealthy that it makes him worse. It corrodes what would be an otherwise good characteristic and turns it into a hazardous flaw, alongside his ignorance. Both of these make Curly more interesting story-wise than if he had noticed and not overlooked Jimmy's bullshit earlier.

Many of us have found ourselves in a position similar to Curly, where someone you care about has done something terrible. Even if you can no longer give that person any more chances, removing the memories or hope you had for them can be really challenging and, importantly, a process.

The difference is the gravity of what Jimmy did and the responsibility of care Curly had as Captin. Curly needed to atone for his ignorance and enabling but, in the state he was in post crash, he was unable. He has to look his mistakes in the eye without being able to help resolve them. He has to stew in his own pain and suffering, see everyone else's, and know that, partly, it is his fault.

There is more nuance to this than what I've said, and I find myself agreeing with a lot of different stances on this topic, at least on some level, but being able to do that is in itself proof of how interesting the characters of Mouthwashing are.

Mr. Curly Mouthwashing is such an interesting and tragic character to me. Not tragic in the way that Anya is- good God, not in the way that Anya is. But tragic in the way that he is a victim of himself, of his own naivety, of his own limited perspective and blind trust. A victim of his own actions and arrogance, and a victim of the direct consequences that stemmed from his poor decisions.

I see a lot of people reading Curly’s character in a way that I just personally didn’t. I could very well be wrong, and I’m certainly open to the possibility, but I actually prefer to think that I’m right, because it’s these layers and dimensions to his character that make him so interesting and complex.

He wasn’t a “bad” guy. Not in the way that Jimmy is, who had every opportunity to do the right thing just ONCE, and yet failed to, because that selfishness and cowardice is ingrained in his very core. Unlike Jimmy, Curly was just an ignorant guy. Not malicious by intent, but ignorant nonetheless. That doesn’t justify anything he did, or anything he failed to do, but it explains more about him than a simple write-off of his character does.

Curly was operating under an illusion of grandeur. His belief of his power transcended his position and extended into every facet of his life. His approach to confronting Jimmy wasn’t because he didn’t believe Anya, but because he viewed Jimmy as misunderstood just as much as Jimmy himself did. He inappropriately sought nuance in a situation that didn’t need it. On top of Curly and Jimmy’s history and camaraderie- as well as Jimmy’s raging victim-complex that so obviously influenced Curly’s perception of him- the fact that he was disillusioned by the extent of his control ultimately led him in failing to protect his crew. Anya especially.

In the very beginning of the game, we see him talk about how he knows he should have raised more of a concern about adding a fifth member of his crew without enough cryo-pods to accommodate Daisuke. It is this blatant dismissal of safety protocol that reveals just how shortsighted and ignorant Curly can be. And when Anya revealed her abuse to Curly, it’s this same ignorance that led him to confronting Jimmy.

Curly wasn’t trying to dismiss Anya, and he certainly wasn’t trying to betray her. He simply lacked her perspective. As a man, he couldn’t begin to fathom the feminine experience with the intrinsic evils of masculinity and the patriarchy. He has this almost childlike sense of optimism, thinking Jimmy would reveal himself to be a deeply flawed and misguided- but ultimately good- person, only to be confronted with the reality of Jimmy’s narcissism, insecurity, and apathy. By then, it was too late. He was an enabler. He had protected Jimmy. He had given him all the resources to hurt the very people he was entrusted to protect. It was a wake up call that came too late, a raising of red flags after Jimmy’s evil had already been revealed.

Curly should be held accountable for his failures and shortcomings- “take responsibility”- but I also believe he should be viewed sympathetically. It’s too easy to brush past the little details that make him so damn human in pursuit of a simple explanation. There are some people, like Jimmy, who have a full understanding of their privilege, and weaponize it as a means to control, coerce and abuse the people around them. Then there are others, like Curly, whose privilege has been so second-nature to them that it becomes entirely invisible. Had Curly realized this earlier, he very well could have prevented the fate of himself, of Anya, of Daisuke, and of Swansea. Even as a victim of Jimmy’s derangement himself, Curly ultimately was a perpetrator in his own right.

I don’t think Curly is a “bad” guy. I think he’s just a wrong guy. A guy who was arrogant, but not malicious. Ignorant, but not evil. He’s just as easy to blame as he is to mourn. He’s a walking paradox. He’s an absolutely brilliant character.

[goodplace-janet]

my executives aren't functioning, help me decide which task to focus on. both are due tomorrow at midnight

[fictionadventurer]

There's something about reading really great writing that's so relaxing. You can just sit back and let the words wash over you, knowing that you can trust the writer.