#sorry i NEEDED to get this out of my system

[dinoit]

In place of rent I would probably put profit but otherwise yes, you basically just said what I was trying to say, I’m sorry it didn’t come across more clearly. Capitalism doesn’t work in a world with greedy people that are unwilling to comply with fair business practices and who treat business success like a war rather than a cooperative service. If you look at small businesses, they take enough work to keep themselves afloat and sublet to/refer clients to other small businesses in the same field for any work they themselves can’t handle/dont need. I think small business practices are what give me faith in idealized (aka heavily regulated/modified) capitalism, because usually small businesses are able to properly service their customers with fair pricing, pay their employees a living wage, and aid their “competitors” (other small businesses in the same field) in their growth. I work for a small company and we often have to work extra hard to match the force of larger companies in our field but the symbiotic relationship we have with other small businesses allows us all to make ends meet, I don’t know how this holds up in all industries but it’s true for my line of work. So capitalism as it is defined and practiced in modern America will NEVER work, I agree with you, but the original plan of capitalism has some points that we can apply to future financial systems we develop, like I like the concept of (slow and regulated) growth in certain fields because it allows companies to innovate and further improve products and services. The truth of the matter is capitalism was designed to work pre-industrialization, when even if a company got big it couldn’t become a monopoly and reach a national or global scale (unless it was a trading company). Ideally we could make a financial system that allows businesses to grow based on work quality while also putting in regulations such as; after $5 mil in profit 50% of company profit must be used to fund public services/projects to benefit the country (including the environment), and maybe even a salary cap like a person can not make over $500k in a fiscal year (outside of lottery/gambling winnings and selling houses or businesses which would be considered special circumstances), and taxes that are proportional to income with no loopholes to get out of paying them (idk I’m not a economist/expert or anything but those are just a few ideas). So I guess maybe that’s not capitalism because capitalism was designed to be a system without limits (outside of previous technological limits) but I just don’t know what to call that system.

[impish-baby]

Did you get enough love, my little dove? - platonic yandere! Captor x reader - 🤍🩹 (cw: threats, injured reader)

"The fuck do you mean!?" Wren can tell Elijah is ready to pull his hair out if this deal doesn't go through, he's been pacing since the call started. "We already showed you the pictures of them all busted up, we're serious about killing the little shit!"

He feels bad. Normally he can will it away, convince himself that the rich families they exploit deserve it, but from the start you've said over and over and over again that your father wouldn't give them anything, that he didn't care. It seems like you weren't lying.

"Bastard-" the phone smashes against the wall, sending shards of glass and plastic scattering across the floor. "Dammit! What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Wren doesn't get a chance to say anything before a gun is aimed at their latest victim's head.

They look so scared. He can feel his heart constricting in his chest when they start to sob again, God they're young.

"Elijah, wait a minute-" He doesn't know why, but he can't just let this kid die. "We can figure out a new plan, right? Don't do something without thinking it through."

"Like what?" Elijah scoffs, he's so pissed his hands are shaking, he can't even keep the gun straight. "You know what we should do? Send their corpse wrapped in a pretty bow to that asshole."

"The boss should have a say," Wren smiles nervously, desperation seizing his heart. "Yeah? Give it until he's back before we do decide." It's his best bet and it works, the other man storms out of the basement with a slam of the door.

"God.." He sighs, slumping against the wall before glancing over at them. They're still crying, he's going to have to get them to drink something. Wren can do that, a glass of water and some kind of snack.

"I- I'll be right back.." They don't acknowledge his departure, not that he expects them to.

Elijah must have gone off to smoke, the older man isn't around when he comes up the stairs. A good thing, Wren really doesn't really want to explain what he's doing.

The kid doesn't look up when he returns, nor when he kneels down in front of them. "Hey, sweetheart.." he feels so awkward, "I'm gonna untie you for a bit, ok? Don't try to get up though."

Their wrists have been rubbed completely raw, probably rope burn. He's seen much, much worse but he still winces. "Ow, kiddo..I'll get you patched in just a minute, you need to get something in your system first."

He delicately places his hands over theirs when they try to hold the cup, partly because he isn't just going to give them a potential weapon and partly because their hands shake so bad he's scared they'll drop it. "There you go, try for a few drinks, you can do it.." Wren has never thought about being a father, but he has the inexplicable urge to be gentle with them. "Good job, baby. Can you try to eat a little for me?"

The answer is no apparently. They get one tiny nibble of an apple slice before they look like they're about to puke, all the fear and adrenaline is probably making their stomach upset. A few sips of water is good enough for now, he'll try them again with some crackers later.

"Alright, alright, I'm going to bandage your wrists up now. I'll be careful, I promise." They've been shaking the entire time, but it hurts a little when they tremble more as he holds their arm delicately. "I know, I'm scary, huh? It'll be quick, just so you don't get a yucky infection or something." Their tearstained face is pitiful, Wren wants to wipe the dried lines of tears away and tell them it'll be ok. He doesn't want to be a liar, though.

(a/n: sorry for lack of posts!!! This week has been kicking my ass qwq I'll be back to posting regularly soon!!)

[bwat5-blog]

It Was Never Jinx's War

**Spoilers For Arcane**

I have written quite a bit about Jinx, and touched on this topic briefly, but I felt that it deserved more than my sarcastic blurbs. Today I wanted to talk a little bit about Jinx, and her being forced into the role of a revolutionary by her people and fans alike. So what do I actually mean?

I mean to address statements like these from fans:

Jinx should have lead Zaun in a civil war!

Jinx should have ripped Caitlyn apart!

The writers are coward for making Jinx apologize to Caitlyn!

What did they do to Revolutionary Jinx?! She was meant to lead the uprising!

I'm not going to spend time going through her whole story again. I have done so many times in various forms as have many others. And I have to assume if you are on Tumblr reading some grouchy nerd's rambling about Jinx, you already know her story. So first let's discuss one question.

Does Jinx hate Piltover/The Enforcers?

OBVIOUSLY. And she has every reason to. Growing up as a Zaunite means she grew up suffering under Piltovan oppression. And the Enforcers took her parent's lives. Take Silco and his teachings totally out of the picture and Jinx still has every reason to feel how she feels. I don't deny that at all. But feeling that way is not the same as being a violent revolutionary for her own reasons and choices. So let's discuss the moments from season 1 that created this false idea that the Jinx we know was fighting for her people's freedom with what she did.

SEASON 1

As A Kid:

It probably seems silly to most of you, it certainly did to me. But I have legitimately seen the example used that Powder was making bombs and had filled one with nails for the Enforcers to justify this idea. Listen folks, she was 11. I'm not saying she didn't want to help her family or wasn't willing. But equating that with wanting to be part of a violent revolution is foolish. In fact we see that childish (not said negatively just honestly) enthusiasm without consideration of consequence play out when she tries to help save Vander.

2. The Theft:

Okay. So this is her first real act as Jinx that I have seen attributed to her being a revolutionary for Zaun fighting the system. Most of the justification for this comes down to the simple fact that she stole from Piltover and hurt Enforcers. Jinx lights a building on fire, drawing Enforcers in using a fake child's voice, then blows it up killing six Enforcers and stealing the hex-tech gemstone. What does that mean?

Stole a source of power from Piltover that gives Silco and opportunity to study hex-tech

Killed Enforcers

Okay. I can see the revolutionary point for sure. Except for one problem. Jinx didn't do any of this for Zaun. Let's roll the tape!

Our reintroduction to Powder who has now become Jinx is the fight between Silco's people and The Firelights on Progress Day. During that incident Jinx sees a firelight that resembles Vi and loses control. This leads to conflict with Sevika.

Later, Sevika and Silco are discussing what happened. Sevika is angry:

Sevika: "She's a problem and we all know it" Silco shuts her down. It is then revealed Jinx has been listening the entire time and she talks with Silco: Jinx: "one of those firelight wackos was a girl with pink hair" Silco: "todays screwup will set us back weeks" Jinx: "I'm sorry" Silco: "I need to know I can rely on you..... Sevika will clean up todays mess" Jinx: "Sevika? That ogre couldn't clean a dust bunny with a blow torch" Silco: "Take some time" Jinx: "I don't need time" Silco: "Take it anyhow"

Jinx is quite visibly upset and leaves

We rejoin Jinx later in her hideout. She is upset, convincing herself it wasn't Vi, talking to the specter of Mylo, justifying the incident that it was just her getting confused. then she says some key dialogue here:

"Now, he thinks I'm weak...I'm not weak... and I'm gonna show him. Oh, I'm gonna show him. You'll see".

And the explosion and theft are how she does so. How she proves to her adoptive father that she isn't weak. And it works! It gives her the validation she is desperate for. When he first comes in he is the most outwardly angry with her we ever see him on screen.

Until she shows him the stone:

Silco values strength above all. We see him espouse this over and over. Jinx has certainly heard it plenty although unless I'm mistaken we don't see him preaching it directly to her until later. She is worried he sees her as lacking the most important quality to him, so she goes out and proves it and now she feels accepted and safe again. Not to mention the fact that her early childhood trauma left a very real mental scar in her regarding feelings of being weak/not ready/a Jinx. I mean come on, it isn't exactly subtle that the specter we see tormenting her more prominently than any is this fucker (calling the delusion that not the dead child. Don't yell at me lol)-

She didn't do any of this for Zaun. She did it because part of her is still a little girl that's terrified if she isn't strong enough she is going to be all alone.

3. The Bridge:

Alright moving on. The next big one that gets mentioned frequently is Jinx attacking the bridge. Again, I can see the argument to a point. Killing the leader of The Enforcers and reclaiming the stone. Definite points for the "Zaunite Revolution". Except for a few things.

She is watching the bridge when Vi says goodbye to Caitlyn & Ekko. Mostly just arguing with "Mylo" about Vi.

2. She doesn't look angry until she sees the stone. The stone that symbolizes Silco's acceptance and recognition of her strength, and therefore his love.

3. She doesn't attack when she sees the stone. she doesn't attack when Marcus shoots Ekko. She is overwhelmed by her mental illness and attacks when Vi "leaves her" again, running back toward the bridge after the gunshot.

4. The symbol of Silco's love is in jeopardy, and she feels like Vi is leaving all over again. Once more she is a little girl facing the terrifying prospect of being all alone again and it's quite simply too much. Look how big Mylo is over her.

I mean this just isn't subtle. This was not the act of a freedom fighter assassinating an enemy. This was the act of a mentally ill young woman losing control and unleashing violence in an attempt to hold on to what she is terrified to lose.

4. Abducting Caitlyn:

Not much to say here but it is worth mentioning as it frequently gets filed under the "Jinx = Oppressed, Caitlyn = Oppressor, so Jinx abduct and possibly torture Caitlyn = Okeydokey Artichokey!" crowd. This didn't have a damn thing to do with Zaun. Because of Silco and Sevika's manipulations, Jinx's history with Enforcers, and Jinx's mental illness she viewed Caitlyn as the one keeping Vi from her and she acted out jealousy, fear and rage.

5. Attack On the Council:

Ok. This is in the big one that is probably the most hotly debated. By now we all know the context here. Jinx has abducted Silco, Vi and Caitlyn to host her dinner party. Silco is now dead, and in a moment of "accepting" who she is Jinx strikes at the Council of Piltover, unknowingly during the very moment they are ratifying Zaunite independence.

Silco's words echo over the strike while the hauntingly beautiful "what could have been" plays. It is truly a moving moment and all sarcasm or nastiness aside let me say that I do understand how people are interpreting this scene the way they are.

Jinx sits in the chair seemingly accepting herself as the daughter of Silco and inheritor of his legacy

Vi blames herself for creating jinx. The camera cuts to Vi multiple times during the song.

Jinx gives the whole "I thought you could love me like you used to" speech. Onece again just piling onto Vi and implying Jinx knows who she is now.

Jinx is clearly remorseful for shooting Silco and striking at his enemies would be a logically fitting way to respond

However, it is not that simple. Jinx is not making the first strike for her people in the wake of her adopted fathers death. She is a grieving, enraged, and yes mentally ill young woman in the middle of a breakdown lashing out at a symbol of pain and loss in her world.

I recently wrote a short sarcastic little blurb about this and that was my bad. This topic deserves more. But someone responded that I was implying Jinx was not capable making plans or decisions in that moment because of her mental illness. That is not what I mean. What I mean is that Jinx's heart and mind are an open ragged wound in this moment, and she lashes out at something that has always symbolized loss and pain and anger. Smashing it down into a first strike for freedom is not only illogical based on narrative evidence, but robs the moment of what Jinx is really going through.

"What Could Have Been":

This song narratively takes us into Jinx's pov as this moment plays out. It is beautiful, and haunting. The key however, as we are hearing Jinx's perspective play out, is to remember that her mind is not well.

We have been watching her unravel more and more since the beginning of S1 A2. Think back to when she and Vi first reunite. She is clearly ashamed of what she has done with Silco. Put that up against her shooting at Vi even one episode later on the bridge.

2. She is still extremely fresh from the Shimmer procedure that even though it saved her life was horrific and painful to the point it could have killed her.

3. She abducts Caitlyn nude from her bathroom and tells Vi she be Powder again if Vi will just murder Caitlyn.

4. She kills Silco in the middle of a breakdown

5. Quite frankly. The whole "dinner party" itself. There is not a damn thing in the world about her behavior or mental state at this time that suggests she is level or even. Her sudden calm after killing Silco isn't a patricide induced clarity. It is a breaking.

She is angry, she is grieving, she is ill and she is afraid. She feels that Vi cannot love her anymore because of who she is and she killed the only other person she had. So she lashes out. And in so-doing actually obliterates her peoples chance of independence.

Intent:

Now I have seen the argument made that it doesn't matter what her reasons or intent were. Because ultimately her actions served Zaun. Did they though?

Blowing up the building and killing six enforcers caused the bridge blockade Her attack on the bridge almost killed Caitlyn, which all personal character bias aside, if she had successfully caused the death of a council woman's daughter Piltover would have gone nuclear. She also almost killed Ekko successfully who was actually a champion for Zaunites. Her attack on the council opens the door for Ambessa and kicks off the events leading to Caitlyn's strike team and the occupation. The most obvious and one that should be taken with a grain of salt given the extenuating circumstances. But Jinx was a part of Silco's operations. Piltover's neglect and oppression may have allowed bad men to rise up and take control, but Silco was their chief. He flooded the lanes with Shimmer regardless of the harm and Jinx played a part in that.

SEASON 2

Alright, moving into season 2. This is where people were angry and feeling that the show was throwing away Jinx's revolutionary arc. But as I've stated it is my belief that is never where her story was going to begin with. So let's dig into some points I feel lend themselves to this point.

Aftermath of Jinx's attack:

What is she doing in the wake of her first strike? Leading battle planning sessions? Nope. Wandering the streets while Chem-Barons rip Zaun apart. Why? Because she wasn't firing the first strike. She was breaking down. And now she is all alone. Her adopted father gone, his organization failing, her sister lost to her.

Ventilation Chamber Battle:

Alright so I see this battle mentioned as well because Jinx and Sevika let The Grey loose in Piltover in retaliation. I wasn't sure if I should discuss this or not, since some people like to pretend Jinx never did this and I don't want to confuse them. But better to be thorough.

As I'm sure you know this is the battle when Vi & Caitlyn finally confront Jinx & Sevika down in the pipeworks of Zaun. They all engage in a massive and brutal brawl to some truly outstanding music, and in the end Sevika detonates a series of charges that send the Grey up into Piltover all over the city.

I have spoken AT LENGTH about the hyperbole and nonsense the fandom has engaged in when it comes to The Grey and Caitlyn. I can assure you I'm not going to magically assign it some ultra-lethal quality just because Jinx is now doing it.

"Jinx was acting in retaliation against their oppressors for Caitlyn's strike team poisoning Zaun's air!"-- You get the idea

The issue of course is that this was not some strategic retaliation in Jinx's rebellion. This was intended to be her suicide and end Vi as well. Jinx wants to die here.

Hard to lead a rebellion when you intend to die at your sisters hands. However I will give Jinx partial credit if that makes anyone feel better. She was at least retaliating against Piltover as well.

Becoming A Symbol:

Alright. This is where we get into Zaun trying to force her into this box as well. Let's do a very quick rundown of events leading up to the occupation of Zaun under Martial Law:

1. Caitlyn leaves Vi after the battle and becomes the commander 2. Caitlyn and Ambessa's forces hunt Jinx throughout Zaun, cannot locate her. Place Zaun under Martial Law until she is caught and try to get Zaunites to turn on her 3. Zaunites make Jinx their symbol of resistance. Their flag to rally behind. Even the spy Maddie says "we made them desperate for something to believe in".

And what has Jinx been doing the entire time?

Which by the way. AS. SHE. SHOULD. She finally found some fucking peace and happiness. But she was not in any fashion out throwing Molotovs and getting arrested. She did not become the symbol of the rebellion because she earned it. She became the symbol because she's the one they had when they need something to believe in. Even when she frees all those people from prison she only does so because she is trying to rescue Isha. And by the way the show is not subtle about what this means for her:

She and Isha are living happily-

When Sevika comes in angry and slamming things and demanding Jinx consider what Silco sacrificed (aside from Jinx's second family of course) Jinx starts glitching and yells.

2. Jinx tearfully admits to Silco's chair she doesn't want to mess up what she has with Isha

3. When Isha is taken and Jinx has no choice but to rejoin the fight, the show is quite clear about the tone it sets for Jinx.

Pop Quiz class, does it seem like they are implying its a good thing?

Side Note:

Jinx has too many barbs, comments, taunts and so on to name regarding her feelings for Piltover. I didn't include them because… duh? She hates Piltover and she hates Enforcers. Again. That is not the same as being a revolutionary. Not to mention at the least in the context of her talking shit to Vi for putting on the badge, it should be noted that all you usually have to do is go a few words in either direction or consider the actual context and her clever jabs at her sister lose some of their luster.

"I busted half of Zaun out of prison while you were passed out in the bottom of a mug" INITIATING TRANSLATION FROM JINX-SPEAK TO REALITY….. "While you were in a self-destructive spiral that was probably going to kill you and caused among other things by my actions as well, I was chilling with Isha during the entire occupation until she went full feral gremlin and got arrested. I freed the others while I was there to get her also"

And that isn't hating on Jinx by the way. But people like to use all her clever little comments to really sell this whole image of her character and justify screaming about her not leading the massacre of Piltover or something at the end so it seemed worth mentioning.

Conclusion

So. When it is all said and done, why even touch on this? Because I think people so stuck on wanting her to be a revolutionary for Zaun are missing the point. Sure her feelings were there, but the actions she took were never for Zaun's freedom. That isn't her story, just like it isn't Vi's. People watched this show expecting everyone to follow traditional heroic journeys. But not every character is meant to become the leader on the throne. Sometimes, they are the long suffering victim of a system that doesn't really care about them, and although they can fight for and defend their people, their greatest victory is getting to live for themselves and their loved ones in peace.

Think about "Silco's" final speech to Jinx: Break free from these labels and restrictions. These "prisons". Walk away from the cycle because otherwise it will. not. stop. Like most of you I'm sure, I wanted to see Jinx and Vi together as sisters at the end of the show. And I have seen SO. MANY. comments saying it's bullshit that Jinx had to go off on her own so Vi could have a happy ending but these people are seriously missing the point.

Jinx not only gave Vi a chance at a happy ending, but she set off to find her own. She was never going to find peace in Piltover where no matter the circumstances, there were very real people living with the aftermath of her crimes. And she was never going to escape the shadow of Silco returning to Zaun, either being held to account for her part in his crimes or expected to lead their people. And that is to say nothing of the memories of everything she'd lost haunting every corner of Zaun.

I understand if her story wasn't what you wanted. We all had our own preferences and ideas and theories for how things were going to go. But by trying to force Jinx's narrative into a certain box and being angry at the parts that don't fit, you miss out on the story we were given.

A tortured but loving young woman who reclaims her soul, and sets off into the unknown to find her peace. Fulfilling the dream of a bright and inquisitive little girl who dreamed of better days.

*** Yall Tumblr had a seizure right at the finish line and the formatting got all messed up and I wasn't really able to fix it completely. Sorry if this looks weird***

[chronically-ghosted]

your friendly neighborhood dumbass

part i of some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb

AO3 Link | series masterlist | main masterlist | marcus moreno masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: a night in turns into a crucial turning point for your relationship with marcus. what happens next, what he chooses, is entirely up to him - or maybe you, depending on who you ask.

warnings: a nice little smattering of angst and fluff, with just a dusting of crackfic, grinding like horny teenagers, themes of doubt and a lack of self-worth, lots of "i'm sorry"s because the man is a hulk, life not at risk unless you're a couch, insecure people trying to be better than what they are, missy moreno being an absolute menace, peep the references if you can

a/n: was this on the approved list of fics the author needed to work on? Absolutely not, but regrettably she recently finished My Adventures with Superman and now she needs to fuck a kind, good-hearted shitbrickhouse of a man in spandex or she will die. Apologies in advance.

The wine has you believing this time it will be different.

His grip on your hip, possessive and firm, tells you the same: this time it will be different. He will be different.

This time, he won't stop.

The inside of Marcus's mouth shares the tang of the dry cabernet sauvignon, fruity and acidic, sitting in the half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you. His hand in your hair is warm from the open fire roaring in the fireplace, the skin on the back of his neck where you grip him just as warm. Each time you tilt your head, licking deeper and deeper into his mouth, soft lips bumping up against each other, your nose brushes his heated cheeks, your own burning from the rub of his beard.

You dig your nails into his skull and he releases your lips for a moment let out a low groan.

"Fuck."

You grin, your half-lidded eyes taking in the way his own drift close, his swollen mouth dropping open wider and wider the harder you tug on his hair. His glasses have fogged up completely, which under any other circumstances would mean he is moments away from taking them off; it's not like he needs them to see anyway.

It's the opening you need.

With his eyes still closed, you pull yourself closer, one hand still gripping his hair, the other sliding from his shoulder to balance yourself against his solid chest. The first time you touched him like this, it surprised you that his bullet-proof skin actually depressed under the pads of your fingers. Now you know that he feels everything just as any normal man would. He can be distracted like any man can.

You nip at the tender flesh below his ear, your bite just barely on the deep end of hard, and he keens. Hips bucking into nothing, it looks involuntary, his eyes fully closed and head turned to expose his throat.

Encouragement. Don't stop.

Your heart suddenly pounds harder, or maybe you're just now registering it, as an almost panicked frenzy floods your system. God, you've wanted this for so, so, so long. Marcus Moreno is indescribably hot and the longer you've had to wait, the more thoughts of fucking him senseless had taken over your every waking moment.

His grip is so hard it officially sort of hurts. Not that you're about to tell him that.

Excitement and eager desire beating in your chest, you sit up from where your knees were tucked under you, thighs previously keeping a respectful distance between your hips and his, and you completely obliterate any idea of respectability. Throw your leg over his thighs and tug yourself into his lap, not giving him a single second to overthink or reconsider. Gone is the moment where you pleasantly request access to his mouth; you dig your fingers deep into his curls, making sure to scratch along his scalp, and when his lips part in another moan that plunges deep into your core, your tongue licks his as roughly as it can.

With the press of your chest against his, his moan twists high, a gasp, and you lose yourself entirely to sensation. His jeans scrape against the insides of your thigh, your skirt rucked up high, the threat of friction so near your throbbing cunt almost overwhelmingly cruel. That well-behaved hand finally abandons your hip and digs into your waist, then the lower arch of your ribs — sliding without thought towards your right breast. You could cry from promised relief, your own gasp escaping between your lips and his, as his other hand knots your hair at the base of your skull with warm, solid fingers.

"Oh, God, Marcus —," you're actually whining, petulant and begging.

He surges up, forward, flattening your breasts against his chest, his grip in your hair impossibly tightening, and his teeth sink into your jaw — you wail, the heat of his crotch so close to your wet panties, your thighs shake, his right hand pulling your hip down, against him, tilting you back at a sweet, beautiful angle as the tender center of your frustration grinds down against the seam of his jeans and a staggeringly hard bulge —

Marcus pulls back.

More like, he yanks himself away from your mouth, both hands this time almost shoving you off his lap.

That heart-racing desire edged with desperation twists into a light panic.

You dip forward again, seeking out that spot on his throat that made him melt, but his super-human grip holds you at a distance — you couldn't get out even if you tried. And at this point, he won't even look you in the eyes, his head tilted back on the back of the couch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Both of you are panting hard, but with every passing moment, the high of arousal falls faster and faster, until you can feel it crash and burn.

Your own grip on his shoulders twists the fabric of his shirt, this time in anger.

"What? What is it?"

You'd already committed the clearly grievous sin of begging once tonight, so you don't ask him: why did you stop . . . again?

Marcus swallows gulps of air, flush high in his cheeks, his throat tightening and loosening in a way that in your current state nearly sets off that wild frenzy of need again. Every inch of your skin is throbbing, this time almost painfully. It feels like you've run a marathon only to slam face-first into a brick wall inches from the finish line.

There will be no finishing of any kind, he's made sure of that.

Between aborted gasps of breathe, the words form and escape in anger, before you can stop them.

"Marcus," you bark, "what is going on?"

The harshness of your voice snaps him out of whatever fugue state he's slipped into and his head jerks up off the couch. He looks like he's been slapped; shocked, pink-cheeked, eyes unfocused.

And then he swallows.

"I'm sorry." He says quickly. "I'm sorry — I just — it's —,"

Your anger swerves dangerously into sorrow, tasting bitterly of shame.

You climb off him, even though his hands follow, in direct contrast to everything he's said and done in the past two minutes.

He does look genuinely sorry as you cross your arms, the wet fabric of your panties stuck uncomfortably against your curls and that only ratchets up your building fury.

"It's what, Marcus?" you snap. His face visibly falls. The pounding in your chest is starting to hurt. "This is getting ridiculous."

Your words hit him like a physical force; he tightens his eyes shut and leans forward the curve of his brow in the palms of his hands.

"I know it is." His voice is low, addressing his knees. "This isn't what I want either."

"Then what's your fucking problem?" His shoulders lock up when you swear, harden, like he's steeling himself for something. Your ball of fury ices over immediately and plunges fear between your ribs and your heart. "Marcus, are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?"

He blurs and he's on his feet in front of you — not an entirely needed use of his super-human speed, you think distractedly.

His dark, liquid eyes are a black hole; you fall harder for him, spin down aimlessly, every time he looks this intently at you. Every time he takes your elbows like this and makes you stand still — something you abhor by your very nature. And he'd happily spend the rest of his life chasing after you and saving your ass, he once told you.

But maybe he had lied. Maybe you were too much.

Marcus shakes his head, eyes wide, his hold on you steady but light, as if determined not to touch you in any way that can be misconstrued as simply polite. Your stomach hurts.

"No, God, no. Shit — no, that's not what I want even remotely." He swallows again, gaze drifting to your earlobe. "That's the furthest thing from what I want, but — I — I can't —,"

You open mouth to scream, you can't what?, when an all-too familiar siren breaks the silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the light beam flicker as it blasts one single image into the sky.

Marcus breathes in sharply and curses again under his breath as he glances out at the city's signal, all but calling his name.

Somewhere, out there in the dark, someone needs a hero.

Too bad it has to be your hero.

His expression is pained as he looks back at you.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to —,"

"Go. You have to go. I know."

"But when I come back, I want to —,"

"No, Marcus." You shake your head and amazingly pull yourself out of his grip. Your grief has been processed enough to melt the confused fury down to icy despondency. You wipe your eyes briefly before you pick up the two empty wineglasses and half-drunk wine bottle. If you couldn't control your voice every time you got emotional, you wouldn't be a very good reporter.

"I want to be alone for the rest of the night," you tell him flatly as you purposefully keep your back to him, which might be a moot point given that he could probably smell the tears in your eyes. Fucking superheroes.

The way he murmurs your name is the only thing in all of existence that could have stopped you in your tracks.

"Please, can we talk about this?"

No.

Not tonight.

Not right now.

"Just go, Marcus. I want you to leave."

You don't hear the door close, or the window open, but you know he's gone when a draft of cold air floods the room, the curtains flapping as if startled by the sudden change in temperature.

You calmly turn off the water and go to shut the window.

You make it back to the sink just as the knot in your throat chokes you enough for the tears to come. You don't sink to your knees, like any other dejected girlfriend of a superhero, but you do cry silently until your whole head feels like it's swollen with salt and water.

"This is the fourth fucking time he's done this, Kat! I am sick and tired of it! Either he's going to fuck me or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind!"

Neither the microwave nor your oatmeal deserves the way you roughly toss your bowl onto the glass plate, or the way you slam the plastic door. You take your frustration out on the buttons as if you could cause an appliance physical pain.

Huffing, you turn back around, arms crossed as the innocent microwave heats up your morning breakfast.

Kat, your best friend at work, smirks as the coffee machine refills her cup.

"'Oh, no, the hottest man on the planet who is also a sexy superhero AND who is also my boyfriend won't fuck me, whatever will I do?'"

You groan. "I'm serious! Every time we are literally inches from it, he pushes me away like I'm on fire or something. And I even wore my good underwear last night!"

Okay, you're officially pouting. But you still feel entirely justified. You snag the hot bowl from the microwave and slump into a chair at the break room table, poking your warm oatmeal with a spoon.

"If he doesn't want to fuck me, then why is he dating me?" You grumble.

Kat rolls her eyes as she sits down next to you and begins her morning ritual of turning her black coffee almost translucently white with a truly terrifying amount of sugar and cream. The break room table often resembles a battle field, mutilated sugar packets and globs of cream everywhere, by the time Kat is finished making her coffee every morning.

"I'm very sure not wanting to fuck you is the actual problem. You are very fuckable."

"Then what? What is it?" You toss your hands in the air, demanding answers from the very universe. "What is he so afraid of?"

Kat thoughtfully taps another packet of sugar into her mug, the first packet lying dead and mangled by her elbow.

"Have you asked him?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

You hide your shameful grimace behind a bite of oatmeal. "Okay, fine, I just yelled at him like he had lost his mind. And then, of course, he was called off to go be heroic, or whatever."

"Unless I am distinctly mistaken, mind-reading is not one of his powers."

Even the rush of sugar hitting the liquid sounds judgy.

"Kat, I am a grown adult woman. I know how to communicate in a relationship. I know how to ask for what I want . . ." You pause, a sense of concern rising in your stomach. You never before had to put it into words and the instant you do, this nebulous anxiety solidifies. "But this is different."

Kat's frown matches your own as she sips her Snow White-colored coffee.

"How do you mean?"

Being with Marcus has been unlike anything else, anyone else, and it's only now how out of your element you feel you are. It's not because he's a single dad because he might be the best father you've ever seen. It's not even his highly demanding job, because you have one too. Is it because he has powers? No, that can't —

Is it because he has powers, and you don't?

That seems marvelously petty.

And perhaps inaccurate because this feeling didn't arise until after he put the kibosh on anything more than virginal hand-holding. He has powers, you don't, but he definitely has a working dick, so why is this so personal for you?

A nudge against your arm brings you back to the office break room. Kat is smirking again, eyeing the clock.

"C'mon, you're That's-So-Raven-ing which means either you've had a startling realization or you've gotten a vision of the future. We only have fifteen minutes before Barry starts nosing around, asking why we think we have autonomy over our time. Spill."

The fluorescent lights are starting to dry out your eyes. This is the first time you hesitate to investigate the truth, mostly because when you pick it up to examine the truth, it burns you in a very tender place. You sigh and rub the backs of your eyelids.

"I don't know," you partially lie, to her and yourself. "Maybe he thinks he'd be better off with someone who doesn't work twelve hours a day, three days a week. Someone who can be present on the weekends, instead of attached to their email. Maybe someone who can be a real mom to Missy —,"

Your voice breaks just as Kat's hand covers yours. Embarrassment instantly scalds away the fresh tears in your eyes and you take back your hand from hers, crushing your fist into your lap.

"I'm sorry." It's breathy and as your best friend, she deserves better, but there's bruise forming, or one you're just now recognizing, and it's been there a lot longer than you thought. You stand and you feel your thighs tremble. "I'm sorry, Kat, I'm tired and I've been busting my ass for this article and it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere — I'm sorry. Thank you for listening, but I've got to get back to work."

Kat is a few years younger than you, a little more messy with her dating life, but an incredible writer and investigator. She has broken as many stories as you have, and in the beginning, it was not uncommon for the both of you to share a byline. She is your best friend and by design, you feel deeply protective of her.

And yet, sitting there in your office's shitty break room, she looks worryingly disappointed in you, staring up with concerned eyes. She knows you're lying but she also knows she won't be able to get anything out of you because that's the kind of person you are. Hidden behind a byline and a spit-fire grin.

"Of course," she says simply, sadly. "We can chat later."

"I'll call you," you say, meaningfully, intending to do it, but knowing you won't.

"Of course," she says again. She smiles and you take that as your dismissal.

Your heart is pounding a ragged and painful beat in the hollows of your throat as you walk back to your desk.

You shake your mouse to wake up your computer, absolutely determined to write something and get it all out of your mind, when you realize your hands are trembling over the keys.

Fuck.

Fuck superheroes and their fucking powers.

Fuck Marcus Moreno for ruining your night and your morning and your friendship with Kat.

Oh, and fuck him doubly for making you forget your oatmeal in the breakroom.

Your stomach grumbles in protest.

A full gallon of Cookie Two Step was reserved only for breakups and while there hadn't been one officially, it didn't take a reporter's instinct to know what was coming. So, on Friday, after days of staying at the office until Steve the janitor was going around and shutting off the lights, and then getting back to the office before Steve unlocked the building, you come straight home after work.

With one single detour.

At least you didn't buy a full bottle of wine, like with a regular break up. That felt way too final.

Something, something counting chickens before they hatch.

So you didn't whip out your grungy sweatpants you've had since college, or your stained but buttery-soft cardigan to wrap yourself up in. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounging shorts and took down the biggest sweatshirt you could find in the back of the closet, something that could swallow you whole — only to realize this was not your sweatshirt, but Marcus's. With Marcus's smell still present beneath the fabric softener you use. Marcus's heat still clinging to the neck hole, you're sure of it.

If this were an actual break up, you would have thrown that sweatshirt in the garbage — no, actually, down the garbage shoot of your building. Or set fire to it on your patio, whichever you decided first.

But as such —

You bury your face in the sweater, inhaling deeply and pressing your fists into your face, a poor substitute for his rock-solid chest.

Fuck.

You pull it on over your head, the soft fabric rubbing deliciously against your bare nipples. At least something of his that won't freak out about my tits.

In the living room, your blanket and spoon await. You flop onto the couch, press play to start the exposé on the evil company behind the tattoo choker of the 90s (a competing documentary on the same subject, but this one on a different streaming platform already queued), and pop the lid to the ice cream.

Marcus hasn't called you all week. Which is why your phone is face down on the coffee table, far enough away you have to lean forward to reach it.

The office knows not to bother you tonight. You made sure of that. Unless the world is literally ending, you are not a reporter tonight.

You are a sad sack who doesn't know where you stand with your boyfriend. Or maybe he just wants to be friends —

Huffing, you stuff your face full of ice cream again, trying to focus on the talking heads describe the corruption and duplicity surrounding the iconic vintage fashion choice. Oh, God, did they really just describe that plastic choker as vintage? It can't possibly vintage — you're not that old —

The harsh buzz of your phone startles you out of your spiral and your spoon drops into the half-melted tub of ice cream with a plop. You watch it sink as it is slowly submerges, before you grab your phone.

Missy Moreno is calling . . .

Your heart leaps into your chest. Back when you and her father were starting . . . whatever this thing is — was — is, you gave her your phone number and told her to call you for anything, especially emergencies. She has one of those phones meant for children (without internet access and can hold only, like, six numbers), but she seemed delighted to add another contact. Marcus made her promise not to bother you, but you pushed back, telling her you would always be there for her, so she could call day or night.

While she had taken you up on that offer and secretly used you to get ice cream when her dad was working late, she had never called at night.

Because Marcus was usually with her at night, which means he could handle anything she needed. Unless he wasn't with her. Unless he was —

"Missy?" You cradle your phone to your ear, as if you could hold her through the phone. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing! Nothing's wrong." She responds, perky as ever. You roll your eyes as the spike of adrenaline fades and you huff a sigh of relief.

"Then why are you calling me so late? It's almost ten. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I am in bed. Got my pillow behind me and my glass of leche on the bedside table. Abuela is here too."

You put aside the melting tub of ice cream and stand up. You never handled a crisis situation sitting down . . . even if this increasingly didn't look like a crisis situation.

"Okaaay," you say slowly. You mute the TV just in case you misheard her. "You know I love talking to you, Missy, but is there a reason you're calling me so late?"

"Are you doing anything tonight?" She asks as if you hadn't said anything. Brisk, abrupt, on mission. Focused. "Like, are you out somewhere or, like, do you have someone over?"

You blush harder than that time your father caught you making out with your boyfriend in his 89' Camaro.

"What? Missy, that's not — you can't — I'm — no, I'm not out and no, I don't have anyone over. What's this about?"

"So you're alone at home, doing nothing?"

The eleven year old is judging you on your abysmal social life. Great.

"Yes! Okay, yes! I am home alone with nothing going on!"

The doorbell rings.

"Oh, good!" Missy exclaims on the other line. "Just making sure! Good night! Oh, wait, can we go to the pier next weekend? You said we could go just the two of us."

The door bell rings again.

Maybe you're dreaming. Maybe you fell asleep to the world's worst documentary and this is all an absurd dream.

Maybe you dropped your ice cream, slipped, and cracked your head on the kitchen tile.

This time, there is a knock. A pleasant knock. One announcing arrival but not demanding attention.

"Did you hear what I said? I said can we go to the pier —,"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, Missy, we can do that." You can't take your eyes off your front door. "But would your dad mind?"

There is a full, long silence, where Missy Moreno is quiet for the first time in her life.

"He's right there. Why don't you ask him?"

Yep, that's dread you're feeling. And panic. And horror. And —

He calls your name through the wood and stops your heart.

"Bye!" Missy trills and the call ends. You feel the need to reach through the phone, yank her out, and demand she explain herself because there is no way in hell you are opening that door!

He calls out to you again. "Baby, please, can we talk? I really need to see you." Then, "I want to apologize again, and I want to explain myself. You deserve to know what's going on. If you want to break up with me after that, I won't stop you."

Oh, that maniacal, twisted, little —

You wrench the door open. His gaze drifts, all too slowly, from your bare feet, up the curves of your calves, your thighs, to where the giant sweatshirt (his giant sweatshirt) hangs down, and then to your face. His own pales slightly.

"Me break up with you?" You snarl. "How honestly fucking dare you!"

"You didn't call me all week! Or text! What was I supposed to think?"

"I was waiting for you to call! Or text! You were the one who ran out of here like his ass was on fire the instant I touched your dick! And now you have your daughter trick me into opening my door to you because you know you fucked up but you show up anyway, looking all sad with flowers and —,"

Hang on, he brought you flowers? Chrysanthemums, your favorite. A fact you've told, like, one other person besides him. How he glowed when you told him your favorite flower AND how you never told anyone that you even had a favorite flower — and he fucking remembered.

A pounding on the door across from the hall startles you both.

"I am eight-five goddamn years old," a muffled voice shouts through the wood, "I don't need to hear no stories about my neighbor's dick touching!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Sanderson!" You and, to your immense surprise, Marcus chime in unison.

"So fucking lucky I don't complain. The shit I hear coming from that door . . ."

Marcus has the audacity to look slightly ashamed, red on his neck, as he looks back at you. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him, the both of you knowing full well he could pick you up and toss you across the room with one hand.

"Chrysanthemums wilt rather quickly if you don't put them in water." He holds the bouquet up to you.

They really are gorgeous. Not halfway as gorgeous as their owner — no, bad thought.

"Fine. Come in. Just shut the door so I don't get the cops called on me."

Marcus grins as he steps inside and toes off his shoes, just like he always had, even though you never told him he needed to do that. "Yeah, but I'm pretty chummy with the chief of police so I could probably get you down to just a warning."

He follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter on the other side of the sink. He watches you fill up a vase, a soft smirk on his face.

"But I can't promise anything if there's a lot of noise."

Usually, you enjoy his terrible one-liners, his ridiculous puns. Marcus is probably the funniest person you've ever met, even if he doesn't always intend the humor. But tonight, his jokes only serve to remind you of the distance between you two. How long it's been since you saw his face, heard his voice. And for him to joke about that, after everything —

"That's not funny, Marcus." You snatch the flowers of his hand and drop them into the vase, eyes on a single bright petal. "Don't make fun of me."

The flowers spin from the force of his speed. He's in front of you in an instant, hand inches from your cheek. When you look up, all the levity is gone from his gaze, replaced by something so serious, it's almost stern.

"Baby, I would never make fun of you. That wasn't me laughing at you, I was being self-deprecating. All of this is my fault and I know it."

The covering you'd placed over that vulnerable bruise you'd found with Kat in the break room, on the precipice of a deeply painful realization, starts to peel with just the brush of his thumb against your skin.

You push out of his arms, yanking your head back.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better or are you just too much of a coward to admit it?"

His gaze tinged with panic, his eyes widen, the sharp line between his furrowed brows growing deeper. "Admit what? What are you talking about?"

You wish more than anything you had picked literally any other sweater to wear tonight. Agonizingly, you can still smell his cologne around the throat of the sweatshirt. Or maybe you'd just forgotten what being this close to him felt like.

You shove the overly long sleeves up your arms then ball your hands into fists. It's embarrassing to be your age and dress like a toddler, but here we are.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know! You wouldn't run away from me if you didn't feel this way!"

"Baby, please —," Genuine fear colors his voice and for some reason, you're even angrier because of it. So angry, your vision blurs. No, wait, you're —

The gulp of air you try to take in comes out as a sob.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, bending forward into your hands—

but instead, you fold into something solid. Your feet leave the ground and you cry into his chest, his smell both overwhelming and relieving all at once. Your back touches against something plush, the arm of the couch, and he props you up against his chest, his thighs under yours, his hand holding your hip to him.

"Please talk to me, baby. I'm worried," he murmurs against your forehead, taking care to brush back your hair from your face. He holds you across your shoulders, curling you into him, taking all of you for himself.

Despite your shaking, despite knowing what could happen if you screw this up, what you could lose, you wipe your face and sit up straight. Marcus is pale, stricken with fear. You sniff and smear the snot dripping from your nose on the back of the sweatshirt sleeve.

"Why do you keep running away, Marcus? Just as we're starting to get anywhere, you act like I'm revolting to you. Why — do you even want me that way?" His broken, defensive murmur — "Baby, no —," has him tucking you in closer, his hand coming to your cheek, then cupping your skull.

But you still can't tell if this is the end or not.

"Do you need . . . someone stronger? Someone who is also bullet proof and . . . is it because I don't have powers? " Quietly. Fearfully. In opposition to everything the world knows you to be. You stare at your thumb as it rests on his collarbone, touching his skin but far from his neck. "Am I not enough for you?"

You feel the gulp of air, the swallow, as it shivers down his chest.

Marcus Moreno, the superhero, his hand shakes as it turns your chin up, guiding your eyes to his.

"You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, everything I need and more." There is no hiding the tremble in his voice, the weak tremor as if his incredible strength is failing him. "I should be asking you that question. Around you, I am completely powerless. You are my strength."

This time, amidst all the other times he's tried to make you believe him, this time is the time you finally trust him. When it finally sinks in. When you finally admit to yourself that this thing between you two is nearly tangible, pounding with vitality, that it eclipses both of you and drags you beneath its waves, rendering you helpless.

That's what this is.

You are helplessly, hopelessly in love with Marcus Moreno.

"Then why? Why, Marcus, won't you let me touch you?"

You adjust in his lap, only trying to look him in the eyes at an even height, but your hip brushes up against the seam of his jeans and he inhales. So recklessly sensitive.

He exhales, slowly, then drags his tongue over the curve of his bottom lip against his teeth, his eyes fluttering close, then open. For a moment, the man looking at you isn't Marcus, but a version of himself that has succumbed to something, who has been digested and used, stripped down and made hollow, save for one single desire. He is adrift.

"It's not a matter of want," he begins, lowly, in a pitch that sinks down between the bones of your hips, to that place that houses a creature prone to madness whenever he gets his hands on you. Your breath shudders and he notices — of course he does — his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, then your throat. Gently, as if testing some sort of boundary, he rubs the soft hairs at the base of your hairline on your neck with his thumb. The grip could turn greedy, overpowering, in an instant. "Believe me when I say this: I've lost sleep over you. Over how you'll feel. Over how you'll sound. How this —," he cups you between your legs and you whimper. Helpless, remember? "— will taste."

The linchpin to Marcus's seduction is not predatory, but his honesty. His blinding, truthful inability to lie and simply lay his desires at your feet.

"Then just tell me — why, Marcus."

He still hasn't removed his warm palm from your cunt, one thumb slipping beneath the edges of your shorts to run smoothly over your skin. You arch into him and his next words start as a rumble in his chest.

"I could break you."

And then he removes his hand again.

Again, his hand settles respectably on your waist, only this time it doesn't settle. His fingers drum uneasily against the bones of your hip, his eyes trailing up and down your bare legs.

"You know, I like it when I can't walk the next day. Marcus," you thumb his thick bottom lip and, dragging his attention back to you, you feel his teeth scrape against your skin. The deep brown of his eyes is darkening fast. "I want you to bruise me a little."

Your kiss is hestitant but he sinks into it anyway, the small groan too soft to be discernible as protest or pleasure, but he takes your mouth all the same. Cups your neck and holds you close as the kisses elongate, heat, and take your breath away.

When your fingers wrap around his wrist, it's like a shock to his system. He pulls away, gaze blurred, mouth potent and plump — you're about two seconds away from clawing that stupid face up —

"I haven't fucked a non-super since my wife died."

Plainly. Stately.

Simply.

"Actually, I haven't fucked anyone since she . . ." He searches your eyes for something but you don't know what. Disgust? Horror, maybe? The words tumble out as if you'd pulled them along by a string. "We were kids when we met so we had all the time in the world to help me to figure out how . . . h-how not to hurt her. How to help me f-finish without . . ." He swallows. Eyes on your mouth again like he wants to keep eating but worries about overfilling. "I haven't been with anyone since her and I think I've . . . forgotten how to do it. Do it, I mean, without hurting the other person."

Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics and star player in all your wet dreams, blushes.

But when you don't say anything, his palms warm and suddenly the necklace around your throat trembles, the backs of your earrings start to twist. Your TV flickers.

"I need you to talk to me, please. Please be honest. I think about you and I think about this all the time and I've gotta know now if I have to get you out of my system — out of my head. I don't know if I even can, but I swear I'll try if that's what you want —,"

The dripping spoon rises out of the ice cream tub, wavering uneasily in the air.

"Marcus, honey, slow down. Breathe." The spoon splashes back into the ice cream. Your jewelry settles and that terrible documentary is back on the screen. With a sigh, he tucks his head below your chin and presses his ear flat against your chest. His thumbs rub circles into your back.

The room is quiet, excluding the hum of your air conditioner.

"This is still all so new to me." He murmurs. "Everything about dating is different now. I'm . . . different. You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me and I'm so paralyzed that I'm going to screw this up, I — I . . . I end up fucking it up anyway. I'm sorry."

Sometimes you cannot believe this is your life.

Suppressing a grin, you twist locks of his hair between your fingers, scratching lightly to relax him.

"So you won't fuck me because you're afraid you're going to, what, shatter my pelvis?"

He looks up at you, that stern seriousness wildly adorable. "That's not funny."

"Marcus, baby, you control your strength all the time. You manage to hug me without crushing my bones into dust, so what's different about this?"

He swallows, eyes glancing away from your face, down your throat, to your bare sternum. The neck hole of the sweater slings low, just above the rise of your chest. Marcus looks like he's experiencing this revelation in real time.

"Because." He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut and settles back against the couch, his arms around your back and across your lap again. "Sex is made up of a lot of involuntary actions. I don't know what I'll be able to control and what I can't."

"Ooh, Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, just said sex." You grin into his face, despite his disapproving glare. "Can you hear that? I think the Virgin Mother's ears are burning."

"I'm serious. This is very real —,"

You slide out from his grasp and ease into the cushion next to him. Take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. You smile.

"Baby, before you do an abridged version of Twilight's 'as if you could outrun me' speech, I know you're serious. I know you're worried. But as a hero that's kind of your job. And it's my job as the intrepid reporter to tell you to do the thing you're scared of anyway."

That look of staunch determination melts when you put your hand on his cheek. His hands curve over your bare knees. "I think some of your sources might be biased in their opinion. A conflict of interest, and all that."

"Oh, my sources are very interested," you smirk as you slip his ear between your fingers, nose nearly brushing his. But your levity fades as you swipe your thumb over the corner of his mouth, a beautiful mouth that is so often turned down in worry, or concern, or anger. Every inch of you loves every inch of him, even down to the bristles of his beard. Every wrinkle and gray thread in his curly hair. "What makes you think we don't have all the time in the world to practice getting it right?"

His mouth slips open as you watch the question occur to him for the first time. A nebulous question he had never challenge or asked directly. Instead, with you by his side, his anxiety solidifies.

"I think I thought that we just didn't have that kind of time." It's an admission that releases him but turns your touch to iron. Immediately, his eyes fly to you and he grips your hand against his cheek as if he knew you were about to tear it away. "I mean, I think I thought that . . . that I'd somehow lose you too. That this kind of love isn't meant for me, nowhere near as lucky or deserving. I thought —," he swallows, hands dropping to your knees, then sliding with slow purpose, up the sides of your thighs. He breathes deeply, eyes tracking the way your shorts crinkle beneath his palms, as inches of skin are slowly revealed to him, resolve trickling like sand through his fingers. "I thought that if I loved you enough, someone would try to take you away from me. So I tried not to. But I can't. I can't stop loving you but I'm so afraid of hurting you, of hurting us that I —,"

It's colossal, this thing that sits in your chest and screams his name. It's unwieldy and too big to be put away, but it is determined. Determined to finally feel his love.

His head knocks back, teeth clashing against skin, from the force of your kiss, from the transference of your soul into his because you put everything, every feeling, every joy and fear and excitement, every ounce of love you can hold in your hands, into that kiss. Despite being a writer, you've never been good with words outloud, so this is how you tell him everything.

He doesn't push you away when you crawl into his lap, pinch his waist with your thighs, and roll your hips into him. This time it is different.

This time, his hips lift up into yours and the explosive pleasure is staggering. Gasping breath, temporarily jolted out of your mind.

You need it. You need it so fucking bad.

You dip back from him, hands curled around his shoulders, your shorts riding high, the fabric bunched against your wet pussy, and you watch his face fall as you drag your hips slowly, testing, over the seam of his jeans.

This time —

He pins you to him with two hands on your thighs as he meets you grind for grind, eyes, flickering, distracted between your shared intense gaze and the place where he grinds into you. The zipper catches the cloth over your clit and you whine quietly, high and muffled.

"Wh-what — what are we doing?" Marcus murmurs — the question bizarrely genuine — neither slowing down nor stopping the subtle drag of your hips over his. "Not that I don't like it but I — this —,"

"You're starting over, right?" Your voice is breathless, almost as startled as he looks. Marcus nods. "Then it's over the clothes stuff. I think the kids call it dry humping."

He nods, his eyes dropping shut when you roll higher up and he groans. "Y-yeah, but — fuck, there, that feels so fucking good —,"

It's about finding where you fit best against him, where desire crackles with intensity, instead of dripping like warm syrup. Your hands leave his shoulders, press flat against the couch on either side of his head, and watch the steady grind of your hips to his. He alternates between biting and licking your jaw, before dropping open-mouth kisses along your throat.

But the thing is you're not kids, no longer wayward teenagers, far from it, and you have something else in mind entirely.

You dip your hand between his legs, finding that hardening length and squeeze. Marcus lifts his head up from the couch, eyes wide, the press of his hands around your hip bones harsher than before.

"Stop," he says. "Stop, I'm gonna — I'm gonna come in my pants—,"

His grip is bruising now, borderline painful, but you don't stop, not now. Not when you need to know how far he can go. You squeeze him once more before returning to that slow, patient grind.

"Then don't, Marcus." You don't stop. And neither does he. Weakly, unsteady, he continues to rock up against you. "Don't come."

"Please —,"

"No. Control yourself. Show me your strength. Show me what I mean to you." With the swipe of your palm, you push his curls up across his forehead, the edges of his hairline damp. His eyes plead with you. They're nearly damp too. You lean down and gently lick his warm neck. Your lips curl by his ear and he shudders beneath you. "Show me your love."

A strained groan, his heaving chest, and he opens his eyes. A few more gulps of air, and . . . he settles. Then swallows.

Breathing hard, his thighs trembling slightly beneath your ass, Marcus looks up at you with complete and total adoration.

A love that overwhelms all else.

"There," he whispers. I did it, he doesn't. His fingers loosen their grip and you consider if it's possible to hide the incoming bruises. You know shame has no place here, not between the both of you, but he's going to feel some kind of way about seeing purple spots littering your skin.

You slow your grind, halting your hips over his, and you smile. You smile and run your fingers through his hair. He turns his face to your palm, like a reach towards the sun.

"That was good. So good." Marcus hums. "But you have to apologize to my couch."

"Huh?"

He lifts his hand and the white stuffing goes with it. Five wide holes, where he tore through the fabric and the cushion. "Fuck, your couch, I'm sorry, I'll replace that —,"

"That's right. Fuck my couch. You didn't hurt me. Everything in this place, and I mean everything, is replaceable. But you, this," you press your thumbs to the warmth of his cheeks, "is not. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Marcus nods. Slips his fingers under yours on his cheek and laces them together. "I do. I promise."

His mouth parts when you kiss him. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Now," you say, pushing up to waver over him, "let's take a break. I can come over tomorrow, and see if —,"

The hairs on your thighs, your arms, the back of your neck and in between your legs arch, a static, electric shock crackling in the air.

Marcus grins up at you.

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

"There's my good boy."

series masterlist | part ii

[theoneandonlyech]

in february 6th 2023, an earthquake hit turkey kahramanmaraş pazarcık(where i was living at the time) with an alleged magnitude of 7.8(i think its higher??? that shit was NOT a 7.8, it was way worse)

at least one million people died, probably, because this shit affected like. 11 different provinces. and 3 different fucking countries. so many cities ruined. there's a neighborhood that's ENTIRELY gone. reduced to nothing but rubble and corpses. and the government did absolutely nothing, just so they can use the dead people to increase their votes in elections. "oh, five million people didn't vote, let's get them on our side lmao they're probably under the bricks anyways so who cares"

i hate earthquakes

fortunately i lost nobody, but still it was a very horrible event that ruined millions of lives, hundreds of thousands of families.

it's the second feb 6 after the earthquake, and in the area they shut down most government workplaces and schools just for this day, out of respect for the ones that were lost. i don't think this was approved by the higher ups, yet they still did it anyways.

wait what was the main topic again? the world ending today? lmao. it ended exactly two years ago for so many people, you were sorta right i guess

anyways. sorry for the rant. i just felt like i needed somewhere to get this out of my system because holy fuck

how is the world going to end?

February 6th, 2025.

Ooooooh wait nevermind you said "How." You can ignore this.

[fairlyang]

Smut Wade Wilson headcannons 🙏🙏🙏 or anything Wade, it’s been so long

I’ve been depriving you guys of wade I’m so sorry 😭😭 last month was hectic for me but more soon i promise<3 (also had the worst week ever bc of my migraines)

Like a Prayer ⚔️

w/c: 1.3K

tags: 18+ smut. catching him, he’s clingy, you’re a perv and watch, can’t help but touch yourself too, voyeurism, he is sniffing your shirt while he jerks off, wade being wade, dirty talk, accidental moan, you get caught, and you both cum

a/n: send ideas yall think wade would do or like bc i need something solid and fresh to work on🤝🏼 also this was gonna be hcs but i did too much shsjsj

wade wilson masterlist | main masterlist

he wouldn’t like to admit when he missed you and because you left him for a girls night, he was going to be stubborn instead of clingy and messaging you to come back asap.

so he thought the best way of giving you the middle finger was by touching himself.

because of course that was the first thing that he had in mind.

now he did not enjoy using his own hands as much since he’d much rather prefer yours or any of his toys but given he was going to be petty in his head towards you, he got right to it.

he had been edging for two hours straight when you came home, trying to walk straight after having a couple drinks. he, being too deep into his own pleasure, didn’t hear a peep.

his loud moans were instantly heard once you stopped to take your heels off. they were clear as day and had you feeling bad that you left him, even though he leaves you more often than you can count.

but yet that didn’t stop the guilt coming in while you tiptoed to your shared bedroom, his sweet moans filling your ears. the door was left ajar so you opened a tiny bit more until you were able to make out his body.

there he was, legs spread out, head on your pillow with the shirt you changed out of right in his hand and well, on his nose. his right hand was going fast on his cock while he inhaled your scent, and your favorite perfume.

it was something he was not so secretly obsessed with, it’s the reason you spray a good amount because it was obvious he loved it.

but you didn’t think he loved it this much that he could just easily get off to it.

yet you didn’t think it was weird, it was hot if anything.

and now it was getting you hot and bothered because you were just as much of a horn dog as he was. something about watching him masturbate, completely unknowing of your presence just did something for you.

how could it not when you were just gone a few hours and he had you on his mind while doing this for who knows how long?

maybe leaving him for a little while was a blessing in disguise and you wouldn’t need to endure the foreplay and teasing he usually does to you. maybe you could flip the switch on him a little bit and just go straight for what you want, for what you both need.

but maybe just watching could suffice for now..

you stood against the wall and just peeked your head to watch, your hands going up and down your body softly. you groped your tits for a few seconds before quickly getting impatient and pulling the top of your dress down. deciding to go all the way, you lifted your dress up to your hips, being mostly exposed in the middle of the hallway and went back to properly watching wade.

you squeezed your thighs together and bit your lip to refrain from letting out any noises yourself so it could be a little secret that you were home and watching him. it would be something that he would do so why not switch the roles?

especially considering you were just as pervy as him so of fucking course this was going to turn you on.

you watched him closely and moved your right hand down to your clit, rubbing it quickly over your panties. not only was this whole situation making your head spin but the drinks in your system were only making your aroused state worse.

somehow there was already a wet patch in your panties and you’ve barely started. if he could see you now he’d be having a fucking field day with that fact.

fortunately, he didn’t have a clue.

he let out some groans and was squirming around while he slowed down, wanting to edge for as long as he could handle. he had to always be extra with it, hell maybe after he came he’d send you a picture of the aftermath out of spite.

when he edged for hours at a time his loads would be even more than they usually were, by an excessive amount.

which was why he wanted to do this in the first place because he needed you to feel bad for abandoning him.

so your name started slipping out of his lips like a prayer. a very repetitive and breathy one, but still a prayer.

you bit down on your lip harder, your arousal seeping through the thin fabric and making it nearly impossible for you to rub your clit. but you had no other choice because if you pulled your panties to the side to do it, you just knew all of a sudden he’d have super hearing.

you did your absolute best to still be able to play with yourself while watching him grip your shirt tightly to his chest and continue moaning your name. at this point you were struggling hard to keep it together, wanting to fold and just go inside and sit on his dick but this was better.

this gave you the chance to see what he did when you were out of sight because clearly you weren’t out of mind and you loved knowing that. you loved knowing the effect you have on him and even better that he doesn’t know about it.

he then started mumbling things but your shirt was back to his nose so you couldn’t understand a word. you could only see that he was going faster once again so you followed his exact pace.

he started squirming again, his body slightly shaking while he continued yapping into your shirt. the muffled noises were getting louder and he was starting to thrust upwards in desperation. he pulled the shirt away, hugging it close to his chest then moaning, “f-fuck- i’m gonna-“

hearing that plus add the pretty sight in front of you, of course you let out an accidental moan.

you covered your mouth with your left hand and watched with widened eyes as he turned his head slowly to look at you.

his eyes roll to the back of his head and you take a step inside, leaning against the doorframe while you continue rubbing your clit. his eyes were back on yours and you uncovered your mouth, letting out all the moans you’ve been keeping in.

“dirty fucking girl-“ he groans earning himself whimpers from you.

“l-learned from the best.” you breathe out making him moan.

with that his orgasm came and his load was spurting out, landing on his stomach and chest while your body followed suit. you came along with him, not stopping until you reached your high and making sure your eyes were locked with his.

your legs were trembling and you tried your hardest to stay standing while he let out his final moans and let go of his dick after abusing the poor thing for hours. you both calmed your breathing down and once his heartbeat stopped ringing loudly in his ears he spoke up, “c’mere pervy girl.”

he opened his arms out making you smile and slowly made your way over to him. he moved a bit over to make space for you while you quickly took off your bra and slide your dress all the way down. you left them both on the floor then climbed in, getting comfortable in his arms as he picked some of his cum with his fingers to give to you.

you have him a look in pure disbelief and he just shrugs, “it’s your fault this happened in the first place, cupcake. just be a good girl and clean it up for me yeah?”

you rolled your eyes but opened your mouth nonetheless because as if you’d really mind doing that for him. you'd gladly do anything for him even if it’s just for his dirty pleasure, hell that makes it better but he doesn’t have to know that.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

May I request something from Sonic Fandom? I would love to see romantic hcs for Surge the Tenrec and Kitsunami the Fennec.

I will absolutely do this for you! I actually had to refresh my Sonic knowledge for this request. I have discovered my new found love for the Imposter syndrome mini series thanks to you so, hopefully it is up to your standards, feel free to throw a Robotnik roast at me if it's not.

Warnings: Spoilers for the Imposter Syndrome Sonic Mini Series

Surge has major trust issues. I'm just gonna put that out there right away. Ever since what happened with Doctor Starline, the battle against Doctor Robotnik’s minions and then her defeat against Sonic. Trust is almost a foreign word to her. Only Kit holds any form of trust in her books but even then. The line is as thin as paper. 

This is definitely a difficult road to cross in the beginning of a relationship with her, friendly and romantic. Surge will question every choice, every thought, every look. Nothing will go unnoticed by her. However, she is open to talking, something she does a lot. She trusts someone more if they let her get everything out of her system. Rant, yell, scream, throw things. Granted she will not do those things to you. Slowly her walls will come down and when they do. She is the best person/animal-hybrid/creature eh you get the point.

She is not a touchy person. PDA is almost Alien outside of privacy. This is however a one-sided coin. She will not touch you outside of a private space. No engaging on her end. If you initiated it however, Surge will respond in kind as she does value your happiness, so touch her whenever you need to. Hand holding, hug, arm in arm. Go for it, just don’t expect her to do it first.

Private however? Total 180, her confidence and attitude completely changes and she just becomes putty in your hands. You are her home, her comfort, her life. To Surge this is the one time in her life she can be at peace. Just the two of you together, watching a movie, talking about goals, her hatred for the blue hedgehog, everything and anything. Laying in each others arms is one of her favourite past times, often with a movie on in the background. Surge is partial to marvel.

Thor is her favourite. It's definitely not the Lightning thing (it's the lightning thing)

Surge can cook surprisingly well, granted she’s banned from using the stove after she blew it up last time. The eggs and her had a… disagreement.

She is an overly cocky person. When it comes to ego, she puts Sonic to shame. More often than not, her ego has resulted in a fight or two, almost all of them were started by her. Whether she was the one to finish them is still on the table. This has caused a couple arguments between the two of you, but her temper will not remain for long. Give her an hour or so to calm down. Surge might be hot headed and ego driven, but she will listen to you. She always listens to you.

Although her hatred for Sonic runs deep, she has no ill will towards his friends. In fact she and Knuckles get along quite well, the pair have spared together on multiple occasions. Something you are often invited to watch. Tails is a different story. Surge does not trust him after his fight with Kit, after all Kit is the closest thing she has to a friend minus you. So if you happen to get along with the twin tailed fox, don’t expect her to join your activities.

Surge will never say the words “I’m sorry” to you. It is not because she believes she does no wrong, it is more of a personal thing, believing the words to be a waste of time. Actions speak louder than words in her mind. So she will often use her actions to apologise if she ever upset you or went too far during an argument. Gifts, food, service, whatever will make you forgive her.

That being said, her love language is Acts of service and quality time. More specifically guard dog kind of service. She is your sword and shield as you are her life line. Without you Surge views herself as nothing. Unable to remember anything from before Doctor Starline's hypnosis and only ever knowing hatred. With you, she views herself as everything. 

Whilst she views Actions more highly than words, Surge talks, and she talks a lot. If she gets riled up, good reason or bad, prepare for a monologue. It's honestly adorable when she starts talking about a passion of hers.

Hand talker. She emotes with her hands. She has zapped you a few times before, never hurtful more a static shock, like when you touch a cat and you get that tiny zap. 

One time, Surge took you out in a thunderstorm as an experiment. She wanted to know what would happen if she tried to zap lightning. Let's just say Kit now has a permanent photo to use on the birthday card every year.

Surge will defend you every and any chance she gets. Like I said, guard dog. Someone tries to hurt you, they're on the ground. Insult you, oh look is that Surge’s fist? Unwanted comments or touches, you get a personal lightning show!

She has a sweet tooth and I mean a sweet tooth. Donuts are her weakness, especially those dark chocolate ring donuts with the little white sprinkles. Give her a box of those and her life is yours. Kit also has a box on standby which he named “the just incase box” 

Can be over protective, and very jealous. Not the, you can’t see any of your friends type of jealous. More the, I don't trust them. Are you sure about them kind of jealous. Her scepticism is to everyone, not just your friends or family so she will often step in front of you during conversations with strangers. She will move out the way if you ask her to, but the stare off between her and whoever you are talking to could go down in history with how intense it would feel.

As for her protective nature, she would be ready to take a bullet for you. Often putting your safety first and never even questioning her own. The amount of times she has jumped head first into an army of Robotnik’s drones is uncountable. Always make sure to carry a first aid kit on you when out on missions with her. Or five.

Little bonus thought. Surge has a collection of batteries. What are they from? Why does she have them? You will never know. You did walk in on her trying to eat a battery once so theory build away on that one.

Kit is the total opposite of Surge when it comes to trust, in you at least. He has put his life in your hands and trusts you full heartedly with it. Others however he's on Surge’s level of distrust. Using caution and smarts instead of actions and fists.

Thanks to his side of the hypnosis, his loyalty to Surge transferred onto you after she left him on the battlefield. His loyalty to you is unmatched, he will follow you to the depth of hell and back if that's what you asked of him. In short, your wish is my command kind of fox.

He adores holding your hand, walking, sitting, standing you name it his hand is intertwined with yours.

You make him feel safe, so he often lets his guard down with you, his ears perking up whenever you talk to him, sometimes you swear you can see his tail wagging. And he isn’t even a dog.

If Surge is a Yapper, he is the listener and he will remember everything you’ve ever said to him. Photographic memory level. Listening to you is one of his favourite parts of the day. Please ramble to him, you will make his day.

He is an introvert through and through, after what happened to him, going outside isn’t exactly something he looks forward to, he is much more fond of spending time inside or working on his garden. Thanks to his water manipulation, he made himself a little garden to occupy himself. Kit lets you name all the plants he gets.

Doing domestic tasks with you is something he really enjoys, doesn’t matter what they are, he is just happy to be doing something with you and feeling important.

Kit is naturally a very quiet and reserved person, using brains over brawn. But don’t get me wrong ,if you are in danger, he will go above and beyond to protect you, often out doing Surge in aggression when he's angry. An extreme rarity he despises showing to you. 

That being said, arguments are few and far between for the two of you. He can’t get mad at you and he will berate himself if he ever raises his voice at you for any reason. The communication between you both is enviable, as you are both able to talk through any situation.

He apologies first and instantly. No questions asked even if he’s right. Kit will apologise for being right.

Dude is a walking dictionary, Kit knows the meaning of almost every word off the top of his head, he can even tell you different meanings to the same word, asking him to do maths would make your head spin with how fast he would complete any equation. 

That being said, he cannot spell, he can write, and write well. Kit has a fantasy story he started writing to occupy his mind after Starline, however his spelling is horrific, either he will ask you to proof read it if you are a good speller or will have his phone next to him with a spell checker ready.

He loves fantasy films, The lord of the rings is on repeat a lot in this household. Never watch horror with him however, he may actually cry. Surge once showed him John Carpenter's The Thing, he got so scared that he doused the TV in water by accident. He wasn’t even wearing his equipment! Gave Surge quite the shock.

Speaking of Surge, he does not trust her around you. After everything that happened, her leaving him, them reuniting, her enraged feelings towards Sonic. Kit is extremely cautious of her but he does want her around. Just like Surge, she's his only friend next to you and his hypnosis still lingers in the back of his mind.

He holds no ill will to Sonic, as Kit could see the reason behind the events leading to their downfall. Knuckles he never met, though he knows of the Echidna. Tails and Kit get along surprisingly well all things considered. For a while they did a Mechanism Monday where they would both hold a competition to see who could complete a mechanical task first. You would always Ref these competitions.

They stopped the race part after they set Surges tail on fire, granted she shouldn’t have stood so close to a burner. Not the fox’s fault.

Little bonus thought, Kit collects rocks. And no i don't mean crystals. I mean rock rocks. You have seen him on his hands and knees sifting through rocks to find the perfect one for his collection.

[vonspe]

Knowing this might sound weird now…

 I actually DREAMT of Scipio and Emmerich. And no, I do not mean as in a daydream. I mean DREAMT of them in the middle of the night, because apparently I adore this soooo much, my brain went like… ok you haven’t thought about this for the entire day so now we need to make up for it.

The scenario was, Emmerich feeling a bit insecure in using necromancy freely on their adventure, because he knows that outside of Nevarra necromancy is seen as “evil” or so and people looking weird at him, and Scipio there was assuring him like “You’re the most amazing Necromancer(Person) I know and if anyone says otherwise, I know of several ways of how to murder them”

So look what you have done to me ;)

Also I do have an actual question. How did you come up with the Eye desing? I know you explained in another post that it comes from a childhood injury… But how did you come up with the IDEA? Like that seems to be way to specific to just be something that pops up in your head like… yeah he needs a constantly dilated pupil… Did this happen to you? To someone close to you? Did you overhear it somewhere? Or were you really just like, … wait, lets see if that is an actual thing, oh yeah it is, nice imma give it to my Rook.

Sorry for rambling, I needed to get this out of my System :)

Whaaaaat I wish i had dreamt of them! That sounds so in character too 😆

I gave him one black and one blue bc i do that in every rpg that gives me the option! then later i actually thought about it, SO. I think i already said this in the replies when someone pointed out the guy from X files has the same condition; Im a huge David Bowie fan, and Bowie had that exact thing happen to him as a kid. That’s it!! I didn’t come up with it, i just love Ziggy so much I knew that about him off the top of my head for some reason 😂😂

[fanfictin]

#something something parallels. sage wasnt there with him. he was on his own. role swap from the sa2 ending but nobody was there to catch him#instead of flying back to the ground he fell the entire way. the other 'stars' were falling with him but he wasnt a shooting star#he was falling with them#he had everything and lost everything#he got back up with a smile#<<< DO YOU SEE THIS. i love this dlc with my whole heart#sth#doodles#sonic frontiers spoilers#frontiers dlc spoilers#SO sorry for the spam today i need to get it out of my system#also i wish i could make polished art rn .. ive just got little crumbs but they work

falling star

[genderqueerdykes]

Trans person (specifically genderfluid) from Sweden here!

This is gonna be very my-experience cuz I know people who have had AMAZING experience being trans but I sure as hell haven't 🙃

It's practically impossible to get clear pointers on where to get help if you want any kind of trans related care, if you actually do manage to find your way there you can straight up be denied some things unless you have a gender dysphoria diagnosis, which in turn seems impossible to get unless you have a mental break down during the screening. Also if you're not MtF, FtM, or strictly nonbinary, no bigender, genderfluid, agender etc, they don't exist here, if you identify as anything other than the three you can forget being considered trans at all.

I went through all this some years ago so I pray to the gods things are different now. Swedish healthcare over all is a shit show but that's a story for another day.

Being queer in public changes a lot depending on where you are. I can go out looking like a clown threw up on me and if I'm in a large city like Stockholm or Gothenburg no one will really care, except for a small few parts of town but they're easy to avoid, people are too busy with their own lives to care. If you're in smaller communities however you may get a few odd looks or even harassed, guessing cuz they aren't really used to people anyone who isn't cishet white person™ over all. Again results may vary from place to place.

I hope to get back into the healthcare system later this year and see if they can offer any support, cuz I really want short term HRT and top surgery, I'm gonna try to report back if I remember to do so!

- 🧶

that's rough i'm sorry you've been going through that. i have no idea why people are so strict like this no matter where you go. what's the point of forcing your patients to identify as a certain way? who does that benefit? why does only caring for Some trans people make sense? you don't deserve to be having such a hard time. that's just absurd. you deserve so much better than that

i wish you the best of luck in getting HRT + surgery because that sounds like such a mess. right now trans people don't have it easy anywhere. i hope things improve for all of our sakes. take care, let us know if you need anything or just want to provide more insight

[writing-whump]

Feeling cold today

Because I neglected the Hector x Olive pair something terrible. Hector with a cold and scratchy throat and Olive caretaker. Some emotional talk and emeto included.

"You should take vitamin c, vitamin d, omega three, this syrup for immunity-"

Hector rolled his eyes, although he couldn't deny that he found Olive robbing out the pharmacy for him super adorable. "Oli, I'm not dying."

"Oh, you mister, shut up." She flashed him an angry glare, dark gray eyes wide and burning like coals. "Why can't you take one thing regularly? When I say three times a day, you only take one-"

Hector sighed. He was perched on the sofa in her living room while she packed out all possible bottles and boxes on the small table.

Olive's apartment was a small thing, just a bedroom with a couch in one and something resembling a an electric stove and kettle in the entry hall. And a mini bathroom.

Hector always felt bad when they were here, because he was basically forcing her into this tiny place, when he had a huge apartment and a nice new building...but this was a lot less complicated than smuggling Olive over around the pack.

Christ, Hector couldn't even think about Olive and the pack in one sentence.

But it was still too soon, wasn't it? They were dating—or seeing each other or whatever the right word was—since the summer solar system exhibition. It was soon gonna be 6 months. Time sure flied.

Not that Hector was counting. He wasn't promising himself anything, cause how would he know how it worked? And it didn't make sense to stress about the future he didn't know if they would need.

He still woke up sometimes not believing how lucky he was to know her.

"I also got you magnesium and Chatgpt said-"

Now Hector had to laugh. "You are Chatgpt-ing my cold symptoms?"

Olive's round face grew cherry red under her black bangs. "How would I know what works best for wolves?"

Hector rolled his eyes again. Since she found out, she tried to study and be so considerate of him, but truly, he loved how ignorant and innocent she was.

The blond was quite proud that usually none of his shadow mannerism or wolf life bled over into his time with Olive. Yes, there was the shadow possessiveness, the obsession with her smell, the territoriality that felt seated only when he could find his scent on her things...

But otherwise he could be very human around her and her pixie artist interests he had no idea about. Going to her was always like a doorway to another world.

"Alright, that's enough." Hector didn't need to reach for to grab her around the waist and pull her into his lap, then flopped over the armrest to snuggle with her on the couch.

It creaked under the movement, reminding him to get her a new one. Maybe that's how he could start, by renovating her place when he couldn't share his.

Olive squeeled, but then melted against his chest, her plum scent filling his nostrils as she pouted at him. "I'm just so sorry I got you my cold-"

"Hey, it works for me. At least I don't have to worry about passing it over." He kissed her on the nose, shifting so she could lie on top of his chest. His throat was scratchy, but he thankfully didn't have sniffles, so he didn't feel too stupid. He could swallow whatever shit was pooling at the bottom of his throat just fine.

She buried her face against the inside of his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't know wolves could catch it so easily."

Hector huffed, wrapping his arms around her small frame, giving little pats on her back where his palm landed. The reminder wolves were more vulnerable to viruses irritated him more than any cold.

"Do you want some soup? I bet that will feel good."

Hector almost growled. "No. This is perfect as it is. No moving."

"O-okay," Olive said quietly, squirming in his hold so she could perch his chin on his chest and stare at his throat.

Her breath ticked againt his neck, causing a shiver of excitement and thrill. She was so clueless about these positions that gave all kinds of firework signals to his brain.

She loosed up a hand from his grip to trail a finger around his cheekbones. "My art profession must be going insane. You are the only thing I keep drawing in my sketchbook."

Hector gave her a smug smile, more than pleased. "Can't complain about that. I'm the most handsome model you could find."

"And so modest," she said teasingly. "As much as I love this view, I should get some work done. Social media posts need to be scheduled for work and I have a hand in at the end of the month."

"It's not even Valentine yet, why are you worrying about something so far away?"

"Because when I'm finished I'll be free for the semester holidays..." a new blush crept up her cheeks. "And I wanna be drawing some new places and..." and spend more time with you going there.

Hector grinned again, tipping his head back. He might have been clueless about art as much as Olive was about wolves, but he could take her to trips and places she could never afford alone.

Hector had always been rather territorial. As a pack with set places that were theirs, he didn't feel the need to travel, always locked to a specific location.

But there was nothing more beautiful than Olive's wonder in a cathedral or getting her to a nice view or her sketching a cityscape while on the steps with cheap coffee and fingers black from coal.

And since she was there with him, it never felt like he was not anchored. Her presence had a gravity to it, and to his surprise, he quite enjoyed being pulled in by her field. Like the moon around his sun.

Hector leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "Only if I can stay and watch you draw."

Her cheeks were crimson now. To hide her fluster, she kissed him, making him lean back again before slipping out of his grip.

They ended up in their usual position, his head on her lap, her elbows on his chest and the armrest as she worked on her laptop and took breaks to add something into her tablet or her sketches.

Though Hector was quickly finding out that lying down was not ideal. His throat was overflowing with something gooey.

The blond tried very hard not to cough and just clear his throat five times in a row, but it wasn't helping the drowning sensation. He curled up a little more against her tights, wishing he could fall asleep and forget about it.

His chest hitched with an aborted cough, almost involuntarily. He wheezed out a breath, a weird choking sensation-

"Get up." Olive threw her laptop to the side unceremoniously, grabbing his arm. "Come on, handsome. You can't be lying down like this, it makes it worse."

He sat up reluctantly, finally letting himself cough. It was all wet and didn't feel good at all, making him fold forward with the force of it rattling his chest.

Olive rubbed his back along his spine, those smoky grey eyes going all wide with worry. "I'm so sorry, Hex. What about some cough syrup? So it calms it down?"

Hector finished his stupid cough, sagging back in exhaustion. "I'm fine." He hated he was taking it worse than her.

"I'll get you tea," Olive said, ignoring him. "The warmth will help melt that stuff in your throat, I promise."

He hated the cold space left behind her when she got up. God, he was getting so whiny without her. The wolf threw an arm over his face, enjoying the little moments when his chest wasn't wheezing and his throat didn't feel full...except that lasted about five breaths and he could feel slime filling back in.

Fucking great.

Maybe he should just go home and cough this crap up on his own? But then he would have to face Arnie and he would be out of Olive's reach...ahh there was no compromise to this.

Olive returned five minutes later with a steaming transparent mug of black tea with lemon. "Drink this while it's hot like this. It will feel warm you up."

Hector wasn't cold, but didn't mind her sliding against his side as he took the mug from her. "It's really okay. Just keep being this concerned and cute, I really can't complain."

She shoved his arm, but the little frown between her eyebrows almost covered by her bangs didn't disappear. He would have to work on that.

"By the way, now that there are holidays, do you not want to spend some time with your family?" Olive brushed a strand away from her face. She leaned a bit away to have a look at him, but also couldn't meet his eyes. "Not that I don't love having you over, I'm just not sure if it's fair to steal you away like this."

Hector shook his head, taking a sip from the tea. "It's alright. My older brother is busy with work and my younger has like 10 exams for law school." First semester was truly intense.

"But he had been studying all semester...and you are here way more this week than before."

Hector clicked his tongue, looking through the window. He was surprised she picked up on that. Were they really getting to know each other to such a degree now?

"Arnie is...getting his stubborn ideas again. I think a little break from each other will do us some good."

Her eyebrows jumped up, as surprised he actually said something as he was. "Stubborn about what?"

Hector took a bit bigger sip of the tea, the warmth pleasantly spreading through his throat despite how much tighter it felt. "He got into his head he wants to move out and try a a hu-" he cut himself off with a gulp,"a dorm."

Olive watched him with a quizzical expression. "And isn't that good? He wants to meet new people, spend more time with his classmates, be more independent...as his main caretaker, it's good news, right? Spreading his wings and all."

"He is not even 20 and not a bird," Hector grumbled. A familiar spike of anxiety went through his lungs.

"I moved out when I was 18," Olive said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Isn't it about the right age? To experience student life and all."

Hector struggled to swallow over the lump in his throat, not sure if it was the phlegm or the anger.

How was he supposed to sum up years of concern, their pack name, his position and Arnie's special vulnerability as a perfect human hostage to two of the most influential powerful wolves in the city?

Olive might call him overbearing or Arnie spoiled. And he didn't want to sound like he came from a mafia movie or spook her with some danger talk. But this was a nuanced issue and...and it freaked him out something terrible that Arnie, of all people in the world, didn't see it the same way as Hector.

Cause that didn't make any sense. Cause Arnie was supposed to understand, on basic, instinctual level. He was supposed to know better, enough not to ask something like that in the first place.

A growl he tried to suppress shook inside him. He realised a bit late it wasn't a growl but a cough as he finished the rest of the tea in one big swing.

The cough and the liquid exploded in his throat. Now this was drowning. It reminded him of the moment in sea when he fell of his water scooter.

Hector coughed brutally, shaking and leaning over his legs and the sofa as he tried to get the offensive force and the liquid out. The cough turned into a gag and the tea, still burning hot, rushed out in a torrent all over his legs, the edge and the floor.

"Jesus christ, Hex!" Olive's voice was more concerned than angry though as she swatted his back with all her strength.

Hector gagged again, then kept gagging as little sprinkles of tea that got where they were not supposed to jumped out.

"Okay, you are okay. Shhh, shhh," Olive chanted, rubbing his arm up and down. "Can you breathe? Hex? Talk to me, hey-" She took his face into her hands, brushing away little stress tears that came out.

He nodded in her grip, then pushed his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. His chest was still heaving and the hot liquid on his pants was getting colder. "I'm sorry, drunk the tea too fast," he rasped.

"No, it's okay, I shouldn't have attacked you like that, I'm sorry. You are sick, I shouldn't-"

Hector scoffed. "I'm not that sick or upset, chill out. I'm sorry about the mess though."

She opened her eyes, their foreheads still touching, her whimpers huge from this close. "It's okay. You want a shower? Hot steam would probably help. I can wash these in the meantime."

Hector chuckled. He didn't exactly have a change of clothes here, but he didn't mind strolling around half-naked either.

He swabed his hand over his mouth, getting rid of the moisture and the rest of the conversation.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

I agree with a lot of your rant about Eddie's move to Texas. It is refreshing to see this take. I don't think it is supposed to show Eddie as being a good father. At least I hope not. To me, it is a sign of him hitting rock bottom. Which would make sense if they are indeed paralleling S5. Because he heard Brad talk about regrets and made a knee-jerk decision that on the surface seems noble. But there is a reason why in emergencies you are supposed to put on your mask first before helping your child. He has blinders on his eyes because he again thinks he found a simple solution for very complex problems.

If Chris needed space to come to terms with big feelings, than the separation was a chance for Eddie to heal as well, and mostly to figure out who he is and what he wants outside of being a dad. But he never did. He just fell even deeper into depression and lived at the whims of his kid and his parents. And neither of them was healing.

Moving to El Paso, instead of just going there temporarily to actually talk with Chris and put down some rules about their healing, individually and together, is borderline self-harm. But I don't think he is realizing it because he is basking in the hope of seeing his kid face to face. But it will have to hit him at some point soon that by leaving, he is not only breaking his promise to Chris - that he will be able to come home at any point. He is leaving his only support system and essentially his whole life he built there behind. Of which Buck is a huge part. And when it hits him, it won't be pretty.

If the show doesn't do this justice, some writers definitely will.

Frankly, the only thing worse that Eddie moving back to El Paso being seen as good parenting, is Buck moving with Eddie being seen as romantic.

IM SO SORRY FOR LETTING THIS SIT FOR SO LONG BUT I ONLY JUST NOW HAD THE CHANCE TO SIT DOWN AND WRITE OUT MY THOUGHTS BUT I AM DOING IT NOW

(i’m gonna kinda go down the list of things you mentioned and respond to each thing just for my own sake so i don’t completely derail and go off-focus)

first of all- i half agree half disagree about this being an intentionally bad decision; like i wish i had enough trust ij the writers to think that, but looking at the mindset of a lot of the fandom right now, and how they’ve played off bad behavior/choices as being completely normal/acceptable before keeps me from completely trusting that this is supposed to intentionally be eddie making the wrong choice- i feel like it’s going to be played off as yet another example of “it’s hard, but it’s what you need to do” which is…. not true, but i digress

i think i am in the minority when i say i’m getting tired of the constant “paralleling” of previous seasons… when we keep seeing the same beats and arcs played over and over again, the show just feels stagnant and repetitive, and unfortunately since s7 started that’s all it’s been for me- like how many times does eddie have to hit rock bottom before they finally start actually moving him forward? maybe that’s this plot, maybe it’s not, but i don’t have any hope that it is since every time eddie’s hit rock bottom in the past he’s never actually grown from it.

And the whole listening to Brad thing, who he had literally met like 5 seconds before… i’m not even gonna get started on all that bc i could write an entire 10 page thesis on why i hate brad and why s8 felt like the biggest wast of time because of him.

But anyway…

i agree that 8a should have been the time to show eddie healing- yk, like they said he was going to before they completely scrapped his arc and turned it into a lackluster seven minute catholicism propaganda moment… but instead we had to focus on brad and also focus on further retconning racists (tommy into this “good boyfriend” that we still never saw any evidence of, and gerrard into just a grumpy old guy). The way they are constantly pushing eddie’s storylines to the side and scrapping/rewriting them to be boring, nonexistent, or self-destructive is just getting old, and i am tired of him being the narrative punching bag

it’s literally gotten to the point where s8 has made me really start to dislike eddie bc it’s like… that’s not the character i fell in love with, and it’s not in a “he’s acting ooc bc he’s depressed”

i’m hoping that he does suffer s little bit- both for completely disregarding his son’s feelings on it all, and disregarding the only people who ever truly supported him in his life. like i get wanting to give chris space, but it’s been 3 months- telling him it’s time to come home is not “strong-arming” him; teaching him that it’s okay to just leave when things get hard is a worse parenting tactic than eddie bringing him back to LA even if he doesn’t want to go.

and then the buck of it all- i really hope it is what gets him to actually realize how important buck is (since buck dying apparently wasn’t enough but i digress), but i somehow still seriously doubt that it will amount to anything more than the post-lawsuit “i already forgave you, but just don’t do it again 🤪” thing from s3 which is not only a disservice to the fans, but a disservice to the story and to the characters.

the fact that people expect buck to just be ready and waiting for eddie to just come back and for him to automatically forgive him tells me that a lot of people don’t actually know what it’s like to have their trust broken like that… when someone you care about is so completely unaware of your feelings onna situation after knowing you for 6 years, and that person actively chooses to ignore that there are other options other than just completely tossing the frienship aside- it cuts like a knife.

ik some people say “they can be long distance friends” but very rarely do long distance friendships last and remain as strongly connected as they are… it would be perfectly natural for eddie to move on while he’s back in texas, and if that were to happen, buck has every right to need time and space

now don’t get me wrong, i don’t want another divorce era when the time frame of buddie realistically going canon is quickly closing, but i feel like not having buck be completely hurt and unable to trust eddie is disingenuous to him as a character, and also undermines the real human emotions that go along with being left behind like that

unfortunately- i just don’t think the writers are talented enough to do something as nuanced as that which means we are left w three options:

a) it ends in buck and eddie reuniting and its angst for one day before they’re just back to being best bros like nothing ever happened which is lackluster and disappointing

b) it ends with a long drawn-out angst plot that by the end of it, tim will have changed his mind about buddie canon and it will just be a lackluster best bros thing again

or

c) it ends in automatic buddie canon but completely disregards buck’s abandonment issues, as well as the choices eddie made that explicitly hurt buck, providing the most anticlimactic moment in their relationship trajectory because it doesn’t feel at all earned

unfortunately, i feel like the first two are the most-likely routes just based on how the show has gone before

anyway, sorry for the long response but i never have anyone who ever agrees with me/wanted to have an open conversation about these kind of takes, so it’s refreshing to have someone willing to talk about them! thank you for the ask, friend <3

[sky-forest-inn]

Happy 1 year anniversary for the day we finally accepted our systemhood after 2 and a half full years of denial (february 7th) [AEST timezone]

As of now, we’ve gotten 108 headmates (as far as we’re aware…) with valkryie being our latest formed (💐YAY!!!! IM SPECIAL) shut up anyways hell yeah

Special thanks to our dearest partner system @luckyclovercollective for being there for us and being the safe space we needed after all our years being surrounded by extremely gatekeepy systems who made us struggle to accept the idea of being a system in fear of gatekeeping

It’s thanks to our partner system that we were finally given a space with no judgement or concerns, and to be loved both when we initially believed to be a singlet and when we finally figured out the ropes of systemhood. We’ve over like 25 relationships between our systems now, can you believe it? (I didnt actually count i just estimated LOL)

Anyway, shout out to our siblings, sysblings, close friends and moots (plural & singlets) who stuck around with us all the way through our long journey. Weve learnt so much more about ourselves than we thought we ever would, and as insufferable as many situations were, we wouldnt sacrifice a thing in our lives if it meant ending up where we are now

Thank you to our moots, followers and those we follow on this blog whove made posts and helped us with our systemhood even more, whether directly or not. You guys have really helped us learn about ourselves a ton and we’re thankful to get to know many of you

Terrified to @ directly, but especially thanks to okimi, the ellipses society, circular system, and anybody else i may have missed. The mentioned above are just the ones i can remember at the top of my head (i have the memory of a pebble please be nice) we love you all plenty lots very much and thank you all for being in our lives, whether directly or not

Massive thanks to those who were there during the transition of us figuring out our systemhood and still supporting us on our other side blogs, continuing to engage with us and even asking about our systemhood in curiosity to understand as better. You guys are real one, we love you guys a hell lot

Also huge sorry to anyone we also accidentally awoken a syscovery to via coming out as a system /SILLY

In summary, WE LOVE YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH and THANK YOU for giving us a space to be ourselves (bad faith hate sending losers not included xoxo) but you get the gist. Love you all and hope you all enjoy the rest of your day/night. \o/

-post written by chord (🎤) with small additions from aristris (💛), shotz (💙) and valkryie (💐) [Sky Forest Inn]

[transfemme-shelterdog]

could I get an opinion on this? (extremely transandrophobic and intersexist bingo board)

to clarify some of the vaguely iffy ones on here-

trans women often do get more visibility, positive or negative- (this does not correspond to violence rates)

male/female socialization as in people raised male or female have different, though not necessarily bad, perspectives + experiences.

guys/dude is generally gender neutral but if someone's uncomfortable respect that

this has like. 800 notes and most from transmascs that are agreeing with this sadly. the creator of this board is self described tme

I'll go point by point, left to right/top to bottom:

There's nothing wrong with they/them pronouns, or any pronouns honestly. This just comes across as exorsexist (which is on par for these people)

Wow, two points in and already contradictory. Honey, you're the one saying that you can't have a complex gender by shitting on people who are enby

The fact that I engaged once with these people just last night and I had self described TERFs in my comments and reblogs, shitting on me, and calling me a "he/him" and "male rapist" and other fun things says everything I need to know about this issue. I've never once seen a "transmisogynist" (read: transandrophobia poster) reblog from a TERF, and I'm very active in the disk-horse

Sis, you're the one shitting on trans men. These guys are just defending themselves.

You fuckers literally accused me of being a rapist/predator with a "laundry list of fetishes" who "has teen girls tell him about their fetishes", nice try

Ok, this is a complex one. Systemically, misandry (as used to describe cishet males being oppressed) isn't really a thing. Is there going to be individual instances of cishet men getting fucked by the system? Sure. But systemically, cishet men have a lot of advantages that others aren't afforded. That being said, we both know they mean "hatred of any men for any reason" which is bullshit. These people shit on trans men all the time.

Well, they are? They call trans men TME and trans women TMA and never apply it to cis people, thus it's just another sex based binary

We are? Just in different ways.

Refer to point 1 and 2, hypocrite

What's their point? So what's the minimum amount of examples that you need to prove a point?

I don't think any trans mascs say that, and those that would, probably would apologize and make an effort not to call a trans woman dude if she's uncomfortable with it. I do agree, it's not neutral, and hate being called it myself

My sister in christ, you likely use the term "theyfab"

n/a

Well, perisex trans women can't get pregnant, and trans men/mascs can, and have dysphoria around it. Not to mention corrective rape. It's a valid form of oppression that only affects perisex afab trans mascs.

Don't know of any zionist trans mascs, also did fucking TW make this?

Yes, you do, and you are. Good girl!

I've had these women hyperfocus on my kinks and shit on me for it. Never seen a trans dude do the same.

Yeah, well at least trans dudes are willing to fuck trans girls. Can't say the same for you lot (transhet t4t my beloved)

Yeah, we are hyper-fucking-visible. Look at any studies done on "trans people", and it's always trans women. Music wise? Typically all the traction goes to trans girls. Media? Mainly trans girls. Online? Mainly trans girls.

Really gonna act like you aren't taught "how to be a girl/boy" growing up? I know how to fit in with cis men, and easily boymode because of that.

Well, you can. This is Tumblr baby girl, make a post, tag it, and send it off to the world. I do it all the time, and people listen to me.

You girls are trans radfems and TERFs, sorry. Don't like the label? Change.

Isn't this the point you're making in the last box?

Trans men experience a shit load more misogyny growing up than trans women do after coming out. This is just a fact. Even more so in non-western countries (looking at you @that-satireguy my beloved non-western trans peep)

????????

[secret-71845th-thing]

Ok so quick warning: this whole post is basically me rambling because I desperately need to get this out of my system, so I apologize in advance for the possible lack of coherency.

The topic I really want to talk about is Silco's funeral. I've been thinking about it since s2 ep2 came out and I've never really been able to come to a definitive opinion on it. It's honestly a very beautiful and atmospheric scene (without the constant flashbacks to past episodes of course because writers don't Actually know Why the flashbacks are sometimes shown on screen) and at first glance it seems like the perfect send-off for Silco...but it kept bugging me. It bugged me and bugged me and bugged me, kept me up at night, mocking me for the confusing feelings I had towards it. I've been walking in circles in my very personal torture chamber, all up until today. Like. I think it was literally 30 minutes ago (at the time of me writing this sentence). I finally figured out (at least) 5 reasons why I don't like this scene (and the very fact of its existence) the way I do, why it bothers me so much that I can't sleep.

CONTENT WARNING: DROWNING AND ITS OUTCOMES

Reason №1: the uncomfortable, the bad and the ugly.

So uhhhhhhh....I haven't seen literally anyone talking about it but uhhhhhh....you guys. Know what happens to dead bodies when they're placed in the water, right?...They um. They DO sink at first but then uh. Then they resurface and they uh. They look way Way WAY worse than before. Um. It doesn't happen with all of them, but the absolute majority does eventually resurface. We don't know if Silco's body will actually be able to resurface due to extreme pollution of the Pilt, but this is still a very possible outcome. And needles to say, this is a very cruel fate for any character really, and especially for Silco. He had to struggle with deformity and the consequences of Piltover's exploitation his whole life, so to have his body being even more deformed due to being in the water, and toxic water no less, is well..........Listen. I believe in the artistic thought devoid of real-life context as much as the next person, but Silco is Too realistically written for that. I can't do that to him. And I don't want anybody else to do it to him either. Call me overdramatic, but I can't possibly help it. I don't want him to go in a way he doesn't deserve to.

Reason №2: muh theeeeemes

The general consensus for Silco being buried in the water is that it suits his character thematically. He's always associated with water, his trauma is connected to water, the weapon his daughter made in his honor is literally water animal-shaped etc etc. He's the Posidon of Arcane itself, if you really think about it. And while I absolutely 100% see the point, I don't necessarily agree that this is enough of a reason to bury him in water. While Silco is undoubtedly a water-themed character first, he's also very closely connected to earth as well. Think about it. Where did Silco work in the past? In the mines. Where the dream of Zaun he dedicated his entire life to turning into reality was born? In the mines. Think about this as the 2/3 of the water circulation process. The rain goes into the ground and then into the underground waters, which are then become a part of rivers/seas/etc. Earth and water are interconnected in the most intimate sense, so burying Silco in the ground instead of the water wouldn't actually be a thematic "betrayal" as it may seem at first.

Reason №3: the trauma

Once again, sorry for the incoherency, I just don't know in which order I need to put these points out. Well, anyway. If we remember Silco's monolog at the start of s1 ep3 he describes his experience during the drowning as water talking to him, and his subconscious asking him "Have you had enough?" on the other side. Imo, this is a very important detail, because it shows us the starking contrast between the trauma and the burial. When Silco was being drowned, he could hear, think, and decide, while during the latter everything the water was whispering fell unto deaf ears. Silco couldn't hear what it was telling him, couldn't feel the way the water (or Jinx) was holding him, couldn't hear that important question, couldn't decide his fate. So, placing him into the water after his death kinda feels like taking away his agency and his choice away, as not even for a second in his life did he ever stop trying to get out of said water. Constantly reliving the same trauma over and over again, stabbing and cutting Vander (and Piltover) countless of times, desperately catching air with his mouth. And you know what is the most important part of this flashback? We never actually see Silco get to the shore, to safety. And while Silco claims that there's peace in water, this peace is very clearly illusory, as he never really came to associate water with it. Earth, on the other hand, does have peace in it, because this is where people finally get to rest and truly get away from the world and its problems. Also (at least from what we know) earth in Zaun isn't polluted, unlike the water. So, I think giving Silco actual peace would only be possible by burying him in the ground.

Reason №4: choose your fighter - Zaun vs Piltover (only losers choose Piltover btw)

There was also a point about how different death is in Zaun and Piltover. In Piltover you get an actual burial, a proper ceremony, a grave and a headstone at the cemetery etc etc, while in Zaun you just. Die. That's it. Your body can be taken away by anyone, dumped anywhere, no ceremonies whatsoever, no headstone no nothing. You'll be heck of a lucky guy if you get even a small mural somewhere (like the Firelights do), but otherwise you just. Dissappear. And your loved ones never actually get the chance to say a proper goodbye or mourn you. So, in that sense, in "canonical" s2 Silco died like a true Zaunite, his only trace in the world being his office in The Last Drop. But isn't it kinda an antithesis to everything he was fighting for tho? Silco wanted for Zaunites to have what Piltover has, proper burials and cemeteries included, and while he didn't get there by the slightest of margins, I think it would be a beautiful symbolism if Jinx and Sevika and possibly somebody else buried him "properly", showing us that they'll finish what he started. I took properly in quotation marks because it doesn't have to be a traditional funeral as we saw with Cassandra. Because Zaun is anything but traditional, and Silco loved this with all his heart, even if to a fault. So, Silco's death and funeral could've been a symbol of a new era for Zaun, and while it's was going to be different from anything before that, it's still a step forward towards Zaun's liberation and progress. A True progress.

Reason №5: STORY PROGRESSION AND CHARACTER DEVELOMPENT WHWOOOOOOOO!!! YEEEEEAAH BABYYYYYYYY THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT

Jinx and Sevika never communicated on how Jinx killed Silco and it's WRONG (loud buzzer along with vine boom effect). Silco was not only a boss to Sevika, but clearly a very important person in her life and someone she saw Zaun's future in. While their relationship did sour during the events of the show, it was only a fraction of what we saw of them and wasn't representative of their overall dynamic. In fact, I think that the said souring (?) could've been a good punch in the gut for her. Think about it. Literally earlier that very same day Sevika could've killed Silco herself, but now she has to face what his death ACTUALLY means to her. *Harry Osborn from spider-man 3 impression* So good. And the fact that he was killed by JINX of all people. Mmmmm oughhh!! Even better. But remember kids! Dead bodies decay really fast, so Sevika and Jinx have to put their differences aside to say goodbye to someone they both loved. Bonus points if because of this they become emotionally vulnerable in front of each other for the first time ever or in many Many years. "But secret-71845th-thing, this literally happened in s2 ep2!" ya. There should've been more.

Also on the topic of gut punches. I really loved how Jinx and Sevika talked to Silco's chair, showing how they couldn't really cope with his death and still desperately wanted him to turn around in it and ramble his usual boring speeches to them. But you know what could've been even better? If at the end they finally came to talk to his grave, accepting that he's no longer here, but caring about him and remembering him all the same.

Welp, it was sure a long post *audience laugh track playing on the background*. It took me *checks my non-existent wristwatch* about 3 hours to write. Talk about jobless behavior hahahaha.....(please hire me I want money/hj). There's a high chance that I have forgotten to say something, but I'll simply add it to a reblog because I don't actually bother rewriting this post besides spelling checks. Uuuuh yeah. *scratching my head* *crickets* Oh yeah, will gladly hear out your opinions on this topic, so be very welcome to reblog and comment 🫶🫶 If you'll be civil, of course. My house is only for cozy haters, toxic haters are strictly prohibited.

Edit: "#dw babygirl I'll steal your body and commit horrible atrocities to bring you back🫶🫶" <-- *points at myself* Am I?..... Singed??.......

[website-enjoyer]

Hey I read your post about stuff like UBI still relying on imperialist resource extraction, do you have any resources specifically related to what a healthcare system that isn't imperialist might look like? I've been trying to find some kind of resource about this for two days and haven't come up with anything.

At a certain point it started to feel like maybe there isn't a solution and due to the current Empirical Collapse Era, everyone living in the core is just Fucked and we're about to be sent back to the stone age once infrastructure collapses and we won't have any food, medicine, electricity, etc. And there's nothing we can do to meaningfully stop it.

So I really hope you can at least point me in the right direction cuz I'm really scared about everything happening lately

hi anon, sorry my little screed against social democracy was your wake-up call re: the blood soaking everything in society. it’s understandable to feel distress. yes, things might keep getting worse before they get better. that being said, let’s unpack this worry that there’s nothing we can do to prevent a total collapse of organized society.

there would be a dark comfort in this being the case, right? we wouldn’t have any responsibility to each other, to humanity, to our environment. no need to take action, to organize, to have a political project. nothing left to do but choose how to individually distract yourself as the world ends. doomsday prepping, apocalypse prophecies, noble savage tropes, brunch and cartoons as an act of resistance, getting high, etcetera. convenient, no? i’m not trying to ascribe this viewpoint to you, just pointing out where it leads in practice. it’s self-fulfilling. think for a minute about how people being oppressed by imperialism around the world right now might feel about this outlook amongst people in the core.

so what are the other options? for one, consider that capitalism could survive. food, medicine, electricity, and infrastructure could all continue to exist but in a society with much harsher conditions for the working class, deprived of imperialism’s bribery. this isn’t a question of infrastructure decay, it’s about the system of private property, wage labour, and commodity exchange. never underestimate capitalism’s ability to sustain itself. it’s crucial that in recognizing this possibility we find solidarity with the global working classes, rather than resorting to racist politics in reaction to “falling to their level”. this is what my original post was about. personally, the possibility of capitalist civilization continuing, being reformed, scares me more than any potential break from it.

global working class solidarity brings me to the second option: socialist revolution. when a society is organized around meeting working people’s needs rather than maximizing profits, things are possible that seem unfathomable to those who have only ever known capitalism. countries like cuba and north korea, despite constant imperialist violence in the form of sanctions, isolation, and military threats—and despite the many other contradictions arising from trying to survive in a global capitalist system—maintain universal healthcare systems which result in vastly better health outcomes compared to other countries at similar economic scales. socialized ownership of the means of production is a different game entirely than reformist forms of redistribution like UBI that leave society’s productive forces under the ownership of capitalists.

this requires a revolution. if we recognize revolution as a possibility, as our historical responsibility, what does that lead to in practice? organizing. this is how people under siege by the most powerful countries in the world have been able to build some of the most advanced healthcare systems ever to exist. this is how at the height of the cold war, the ussr was still able to play a primary role in eradicating smallpox globally. i leave you with a few very short reads: che guevara’s on revolutionary medicine, n.a. semashko’s the work of the public health authorities in soviet russia, and wu chieh-ping’s medicine and health: for workers, peasants, and soldiers.