#that’s the only way it’s going to get done folks

[vvampirelust]

just thinking about sevika riding your face xx

warning: smut, oral (s!recieving), face riding, choking, slapping and that’s all folks not proof read as always

i’m sorry this took so long guys

she does it on purpose. whistling sharply to get your attention. proving some unbeknownst point. sevika drags you from your fucked out daze, sprawled naked and spent in the middle of the bed. looking over, you near squeak like a kicked puppy.

raw need surges from sevika. seeping from flared nostrils with each ragged breath. hard eyes glazed over as she steps forward, returning to your side. “ain’t done with you, baby,” sevika shakes her head, discarding the strap she had in your tummy just minutes ago. she’s been fucking you for hours and as much pleasure she takes from it, she can’t deny the pounding between her own legs

You reach for her which only elicits a chuckle from the woman. Snatching your wrists and dragging you towards her. As your head hangs off the edge of the bed, you still manage to admire every inch of Sevika’s naked form. Mouth watering as she towers over you. “Make me feel good, yeah?” It’s not a question. Sevika straddles your face, giving you no choice but to obey. She keeps you locked in her bruising grasp, wrists painfully rubbing together. Sevika doesn’t care, getting off being the only goal in her mind.

Wasting no time and eager to make her feel good. Your tongue laps against her slit, moaning instantly as the taste of her invades your mouth. Sevika curses lowly above you, feeling you dipping between her folds to drink down her juices.

You feel the warmth on your tongue, the subtle throbbing as you circle her clit. Sevika drops her weight, hips bucking against your face. You shamelessly whine into her cunt as you lick her like a kitten would with milk. Unable to get enough, you devour her.

Sevika releases the grip on your wrists, instead pawing at your breasts. Squeezing and tweaking your nipples between the tips of her fingers. “Fuckkk,” Sevika groans, “Keep going.” Demanding with a sharp slap to your tit, just to feel you whimper against her cunt. She gets off on it, your suffering. She’s harsh with each grope, uncaring if a bruise is left, knowing that the pleasurable pain well, you get off on it too.

Sekiva grinds down on your face as you suckle on her protruding and pulsing clit. Lips wrapped around as you flick your tongue against her. Sevika looses control of her pleasure, letting the needy noises drip like honey from her mouth.

Hearing her let loose like that paired with the musky taste of her on your tongue. You can’t help but let your hand slip down your body, reaching for your own bundle of nerves. Cut short by Sevika grabbing your wrists yet again. “I don’t fucking think so,” throughout the pleasure, she still manages to keep her voice steady, menacing. “Don’t be stupid, you get what you get.” Sevika spits out, grinding down harder on your face.

She loves the way you struggle in her metal and unfaltering grip. Free hand sliding to wrap around your throat, squeezing. Sevika fucks herself on your face, hips rutting against your outstretched tongue. Curses and groans of pleasure falling from her lips as her clit slides back and forth over your wet muscle.

Sevika feels you choking against her, air cut off by the tight hold she has on you. Yet it only turns her on more. You don’t let up, lapping and fucking your tongue into her hole. All while gasping and sputtering into her cunt as Sevika gets herself off. “That’s it, doll,” she grunts with a hard thrust, throwing her head back. “Just love licking cunt, don’t you?” she laughs, tightening her hold on your throat.

And then she lets go, for a split second. Just as you begin to gasp in a breath of air, Sevika is seating her cunt back on your face. Cutting you off. Taunting you.

Her breaths become ragged, eyes falling closed as she nears the high that’s been building for hours. You try to keep up with each rut of her hips, mouth working to make her feel good. She holds your wrists against your stomach, leaning more and more of her weight atop you as she looses control. Even lightheaded, you lap, suckle and slurp at her cunt. Moaning and basking in her taste. Sevika’s thrusts becoming faltered the closer she gets. Grunting with each one and tightening her hold on you.

You’re near thrashing when Sevika cums, out of breath and trapped beneath her. If this is how you die, hell it’s a good way to go. You can feel her cunt throbbing with each wave, cum leaking into your mouth. Sevika can’t hold in the long moan that escapes as she rides out her high. Grinding sensually over your tongue, juices spilling and making a mess of you. She wouldn’t have it any other way. “Good…” Sevika sighs, “Good fucking girl.”

Gasping dramatically when she finally releases your throat, Sevika chuckles breathlessly. She steps off your face, patting your wet cheek in praise. It’s the most you’ll ever get and you’re more than happy to take it.

[frogsandfries]

I was introduced to the concept of zines in college, because of a partnered creative project. The first zine I ever contributed to was about social media. It did cost a fortune to print because it was done at the school's favored print shop, in full color.

I don't know how prevalent small bookshops selling zines used to be before the age of the internet, but I think I've only been to one bookshop that sold zines. Which is a real loss, imo. I wish there were more small bookshops and that I had more opportunities to explore zines. I think it's kind of inevitable that the internet caused things to change. Chicken wings and ribs used to be poor people food until they got gentrified. Printing on paper used to be the only way to access and disperse information. Now that we have the internet, it's unfortunately not surprising that zine making has been gentrified.

Plus, I'm sure a lot of people who would like to make zines wouldn't know what to put in one that they'd actually like to share with people. Furthermore, it can be hard to swallow the concept of "if I spend five dollars, I can share this with (let's say three people, for example)" when I can hit reblog or forward or send or submit.......for free.

And then there is the cliche of turning your hobby into a grind. If I can spend five dollars, make three zines, sell them for three dollars apiece, etc etc, maybe I don't need enough money to sell a hundred zines, I just need money to make fifty and I can use the rest of that money for groceries or rent and still keep making fifty zines every time I want to make a new one.

Oh, let's not forget that a lot of USians don't carry cash often if ever, anymore, so now I have to factor in the cost of card transactions, into the cost of my zines. Most people aren't going to find themselves in an avant garde bookshop. Most people may not even find my zines on Etsy or Shopify. This kind of forces an (optional) evolution: if I make a fifty page basically a proper magazine, but because it's full of (idk messages about the best places for poor people to eat in LA), I 'can' call it a zine, I can sell it on like, Amazon, or use a Kickstarter and distribute it nearly infinitely.

I can't look at zines through a pre-internet perspective. I don't have that perspective. I understand that zines should be accessible to those who have very little if any money left over after Life. It can feel tempting to make the flashiest, full color zine. It can feel necessary to print your twenty page zine in full color. It can feel necessary to do the entire thing on the computer. It can feel necessary to make it as professional as possible. It can start to feel like making an "old school" black and white, no computer, xeroxed zine is going to get your zine looked over because it's not flashy enough and nobody likes plain ole boring black and white. Or if I add a cardstock cover, maybe my zine will look a little more professional.

I think a lot of us don't come into zines with any kind of mentor to guide us and regulate the culture, and us younger folks come into it with a mindset that we have to have in the rest of our lives: one upsmanship. If the last guy or the first zine we ever saw had a really professional looking cover, we need one full color page. If that guy used a black and white cardstock cover, we need a color accented cardstock cover, we need a glossy full color cover.

Anyway, all this to say, personally, I don't think zines are the right medium for my creative endeavors. I don't think I say this as like, begging for someone to prove me wrong. I say this as a person who cannot tell a short story. I don't need to rely on zines to get my fanfic (although, even if AO3 did not exist and a monthly zine was the only way to get my Spirk fix, personally, I still wouldn't know where to get some sweet sweet Spirk zines; but that's a me problem).

I feel like I'm about twenty-five years too late to the zine scene.

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[moxfirefly]

This has been in the back of my mind for a while now. So I figured I’d try getting it out. While this doesn’t mean I’m “back” back, it doesn’t mean the few good folk on here shouldn’t (hopefully) enjoy this. For the foreseeable future I don’t feel like I’ll be taking request but you can maybe catch my own doings here and there.

But on with the show.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

You feel you’ll go out of your mind at this rate.

All the staring.

The quiet little gestures.

His passive resistance.

You’ve remained glued to your spot for so long. Hoping that maybe somewhere between weeks in the months of the years you’ve known him, that he’d crack.

Leonardo doesn’t crack easily you’ve gathered.

He hardly moves. He doesn’t allow his eyes to betray him. His hands remain within eyesight, but it’s in the subtle clench of his knuckles. The way his hands ball up and quickly stretch exposing the veins.

While he smiles sweetly, almost submissively at the sound of your voice. You know he doesn’t show this to just anybody. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury but god dammit, you can see that he wants to drink you in.

You’re liquor to him, addicting and burning.

You’re oil to him, never quite mixed with the water he floats upon.

You’re pornography to him, a hidden treasure for when he’s too far gone.

So why does it ache so much to open your mouth? To make a move. To peel back that layer of protection he’s been so steadfast in building.

Because he could still reject.

He could push away your pulling aura.

So when you stand next to him during the group picture April insisted on taking. Feeling the cold of his skin so close to your arm. Your little hairs sticking out to somehow feel something of his. You don’t think, don’t linger on the possibility of rejection. Because when your pinky reaches for his palm, gently caressing his hand, begging for permission you somehow only whisper in your mind…

You hold back the gasp as his own finger wraps around yours.

It’s tentative and charged with electricity.

He’s a knife.

You chance a look at him from the corner of your eye and watch his throat bob. The tension in his broad shoulders, the shakiness of his irises. The fight to turn and stare right back at you, to cut you with his blue eyes and inquire if his fantasies have become fact for once.

When you feel an arm around your shoulders as everyone screams cheese, it takes your entire will to muster your designer smile. Leo seems to do the same, a defeated retreat from the prize.

You still feel him weeks later. The way the top of his hand rubbed against your own.

What you’d give to have that palm right now between your legs, trying to rush the blood to your brain and drowning you in the ecstasy he could give. You wonder if he’s done the same? Have you driven him insane all these months? Made him question every waking moment of his life?

Are his pretty beaten hands wrapped around himself right now?

Is he begin for you?

Is he dying for you?

Somehow this all comes to fruition one evening. Another night with your friends. Celebrating another big win.

You get sent to the supply closet to get something (because at this point you forgot what) and as you rummage through a box, that tiny bulb swinging around you like a halo. You feel that rush when the door opens.

A hand reaching and gripping the back of your neck and pulling.

Lips.

At the shell of your ear.

You gasp.

Leo feels mortification sink deep.

But before he allows the logical side to quick in, you grip the fabric of his pant leg.

“Don’t-“ you hold him there, silently begging him.

Leo let’s out a breath he’s been holding since his feet took him to you.

Several heartbeats pass, tension building and swirling around both your souls. Somewhere between bravery and madness you grab those hands press those palms around you.

And hold on for dear life.

Presses you against himself like a security blanket. Greedily inhales and exhales you. You’re shaking but god Leo is shaking worse.

He slides down you, comes to his knees and watches you turn around his embrace and watch him as he lets his vices win this time.

It’s the way those eyes look up at you, apologetically, fascinated, tormented.

His stomach drops when you cup his face, fear overwritten his features.

He looks weak, he knows it.

But to you? To you he’s the most beautiful creature. Gentle features, eyes as blue as the sky. Lips surprisingly warm, hesitant and yet needy. He’s kissing back just as your hands run across his cheeks and neck. Lips molding, desperation kicking in because now he’s had a taste. Now he knows what paradise tastes like.

His hands fall to your hips, gripping as he leans up more, still tall enough on his knees for your comfort. When he feels your moan, captures it inside his throat; he knows he’s done for.

Weakened by you.

Overwhelmed by you.

He can hear himself panting, the blood inside his veins pumping. How your sounds pick up the more he kisses you back.

You smile against the corner of his mouth as he grabs your waist and stands up with you in his arms. The contents inside the supply closet rattle to the ground but his hold is bruising and the prospect of his hand marked on your flesh make you euphoric.

Leo’s tongue and yours.

His nails digging into your rear, yours at his neck.

His teeth meet your bottom lip.

He’s hard and rubbing against the spot of your underwear.

You should stop, lead him into something more understandable.

But the greedy little creature inside of you chants ‘more!’ Just as he moans into your mouth for the twentieth time. A sound hitches in the back of your throat when you feel something warm gush and connect with your wetness.

You’re doing this to him.

You’re causing this.

He’s cumming for YOU.

That desperate point of no return is there, the two of your skating down it. His kissing is erratic and out of sync because his eyes are going wide.

His locked to your own blown out pupils.

He wants to apologize, to stop but your hips just rubbed up against him just as you start to cum. His name seeping out of your wet parten lips.

The haze will clear.

The mess will remain.

But what will you say?

What will he say?

[aeonsaeons]

I have no idea why I’m not seeing anything about this anywhere, but I’m wanting this video to really blow up. At least show people there’s more than 2 options nobody really wants. The working class can work together and allow for a viable third option. I really think this is possible this election!! Everyone’s pissed!

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[vensnus]

"In the creation of the animated series Arcane, the roles of lead writers were primarily held by Christian Linke and Alex Yee, who also served as co-creators and showrunners. They were deeply involved in developing the narrative and overseeing the storytelling process,additionally, Amanda Overton contributed significantly as a writer and co-executive producer, particularly in the second season. She played a key role in shaping character arcs and pivotal scenes, such as the development of the relationship between Vi and Caitlyn"

I'm taking the 3 of them in consideration, what Amanda Overton said:

So the whole police brutality theme, and high class vs working class conflict was so the writer could get off their oppressed/oppressor + the aesthetics look cool.

Arcane is a show based on real life politics, mainly USA,and police brutality does happen in every part of the world,not only USA, if you going to make your show a political commentary, then people are allowed to bring politics to the table and discuss it.. of they didn't want that,they shouldn't have.

2. "How about some queer perspective"

I don't need to be queer to justify hitting your partner,or comparing it to a parent hitting a child vs a cop woman hitting her girlfriend,who was a victim of police brutality, this goes for anyone: man,women,and everything in between,bisexual,lesbians,pan, omni,gay,trans,poc,disabled,etc.

It's not the same as a parent that hits a child, out of frustration vs an fully adult hitting their partner another adult.

also you are the one that doesn't take POC queer's perspective, especially black queer folks.

I'm assuming the "woman who hates right wing" you referring too is Pugs4Thughs ( @garythesnailsupremacist ) who is a mixed race (black/white) genderfluid lesbian.

and the other video is made by anansy's library, a black queer person (they/them) who did face brutality.

taking out the caitvi part, both talked how they related to Vi, how she was their favorite,and how she got done dirty, pointing out despite being her lol lore (where she got amnesia,thing they could have used it on her lore to make her decision make more sense),they knew she was a cop, but the way they handled Vi becoming an enforcer wasn't done right, and remarking that Vi, not masc,she is LABELED by creators as BUTCH bringing out why butch lesbians never engage with cops. (Twitter threads that appeared in the video)

Both videos explored her character and even pointed out how mad and dissapointed they were when Vi's trauma (enforcers,her dead ,etc) were never that adressesed properly in comparison to Jinx's trauma. both expressed how they rooted for caitvi in season 1, but they feel uncomfortable with how dirty Caitlyn got done, they both talked about how the fandom normalizes femme lesbians hitting their butch partners because "they are masc looking,they can take it".

I bring them out because when it comes to Vi , they make good points about her.

Oh wow,queer black people hating right wing ideology?, feeling uncomfortable when police brutality,prisons,politics are used as an aesthetic?, oppressed x oppressor, JEEZ I WONDER WHY THAT IS/s

If anything you lack black queer perspective,because it's obvious a yt queer experience it's not the same as black queer person.

Because trust me, both got done wrong, it saddens me because caitvi in season 1 was great.

You know what's also disrespectful? Turning violet's alcoholism self-harm and suicidal tendencies into a fucking montage. Not to mention trying to frame it like she's only upset about Caitlyn and losing her abusive girlfriend? She has a lot more to be upset about.

Also we never talk about the fact that she's literally homeless? Like without Cait she doesn't have anywhere to go and we never talk about this the show sure doesn't. The show also doesn't give a fuck about her alcoholism on top of the fact that they made it into a montage it's either never talked about or it's seen as like a funny haha. Which pissed me off to no end.

[telesodalite]

I need to be weirder about the scavengers and cannibalism...

[sebbyisland]

akanematic.mp4 (youtube link)

[frameconfessions]

What I love about Warframe as a newcomer is that there doesn't seem to be any sort of shipping wars or fandom discourse at all. I've been into a lot of shooters before (ie. Overwatch, Apex Legends, etc.) so Warframe is a huge breath of fresh, clean air.

💯

[chamerionwrites]

First things first: yeah! That’s an entirely valid interpretation of the story - in fact it’s probably the most straightforward interpretation of the story - and one that I have zero problems with. I can see how this might not be immediately clear, but I do not in fact have any objection to that reading. When people break out the above quote to argue that - as you said in the tags - “grimdark hopeless isn’t any more realistic or true to life than all the other types of stories we tell to each other,” I agree with them!

And I do think it’s important, here, to acknowledge the context in which those discussions are often taking place. Namely: there exists a very tired argument wrt SFF in particular that speculative worlds aren’t believable without racism/homophobia/misogyny/etc, and that defends even the most slapdash and thoughtless writing about such issues as “realism”. Funny enough this concern for realistic worldbuilding rarely seems to get raised in the name of exploring sociopolitical injustices, and how they’re created and reproduced, and their effects on people’s lives. Instead it’s usually deployed as an argument for slapping those injustices unchanged and unexamined onto every imagined world - with zero thought about all the other ways a setting might be wildly different from our own! - and also for Why All Protagonists Should Be Straight White Men. Nobody else in the universe has ever done anything interesting or worth reading about obvs! (This is an ideological position that we’re going to describe as “realistic” and “historically accurate” without the slightest hint of irony!) We love the mental puzzle and challenge of creating and imagining other worlds and ways of being….but in this one specific respect, the way our world is and has been is the ONLY realistic way that a world can or could (…or should?) ever be!

This argument has been done to death enough and we’re on the same page enough that I don’t feel the need to say much more about it here except that yeah, on top of being nakedly reactionary it’s also mind-numbingly stupid and boring. Long story short, my frustration in the op is very much NOT about people insisting on the artistic validity - or the artistic value - of imagining other, better worlds.

What does frustrate me is a loud minority of folks who insist on making a super unfounded (imo) rhetorical move from “[not] only pain is intellectual, [not] only evil is interesting” to “pain and evil, failure and darkness, CAN NEVER be interesting.” They’re not just arguing for the value of imagining better worlds. They’re arguing that their own preference for happy, escapist fiction is a moral imperative, that dystopia and tragedy are a failure of artistic and political imagination. And it’s that, specifically- that smug disdain for sad or dark or confrontational stories, the insistence that they could only ever appeal to pretentious reactionary edgelords - which I was objecting to up top. First because I think that’s an equally simplistic and ungenerous and impoverished way to engage with any fiction. Second, because I think it’s a wildly unjustifiable reading of Omelas specifically.

Because whatever sort of story you prefer and whatever you believe that Le Guin is saying, the truth is that the power and punch of that story derives from dystopia. The reason that people remember it, and argue about it, and write spin-off stories about it or in dialogue with it, is because that vividly horrific premise - the tortured child and the society that turns on the child’s suffering - gets into people’s heads and haunts them. I have enough respect for Le Guin to believe that if she had solely wanted to make a kind and just world real to the reader, and defend the artistic merit in doing so, she could have. But she didn’t. She sketched a society so upsetting that it practically spawned its own micro-genre of professional fix-it fics - and then she pointedly refused to elaborate on any alternative. (“The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist.”)

THAT is the context in which that quote about “the treason of the artist” exists. Which means one of two things. Either “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” is astonishingly lacking in self awareness, an abject failure by its own artistic standards - or Le Guin was making a more complex and graceful point than just dystopias bad and boring. Those are the terms.

I happen to think she’s making a more complex and graceful point! I think those internal tensions in the story are productive, not self-contradictory. I don’t think that “a story about the world as it is” and “a story about the world as it should be” are in any way mutually exclusive. I think you can engage with an unjust reality without dismissing alternative possibilities. (eg “We live in capitalism; its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings.”) I think you can harness the metaphorical and emotional and provocational power of tragedy and darkness to insist that other, better worlds are possible. Isn’t that precisely what Omelas is doing? Isn’t that what a story like Black Sails is doing? The narrative works not despite but BECAUSE the audience is watching from a future in which we know there was no widespread successful 1715 slave revolt that overthrew colonialism in the Western Hemisphere. And yet the dramatic tension relies on some part of you believing in it. For the tragedy to work, you have to be able to imagine and mourn for that better future!

Does all of that make sense? I’m not saying your above reading of Omelas is wrong (to the contrary). Nor am I claiming that dark fiction is more intellectual & interesting, or that people aren’t entitled to their genre preferences. But ngl I have zero patience for anybody ripping that quote out of context to claim that a story about prevailing injustice can have no possible value. Injustice prevails every day, in real life. Many revolutions have failed in real life. We already live in Omelas - except that our version devours the lives of far more than one child. If the human mind and heart could comprehend the magnitude of corruption and colonialism, suffering and slavery, torture and rape and murder, ruined ecosystems and communities and dreams and lives and futures, that has been required and is STILL required so that you can buy bananas for sixty cents a pound at any time of year, then at almost any given moment you would be falling to your knees and weeping brokenly in the street.

Failure of imagination is one reason that kind of injustice is allowed to continue, for sure. A closely related reason is complacency. Because the proverbial Omelas kid is locked away in a basement where we don’t have to look. Because - as Black Sails spends a whole lot of narrative and thematic energy trying to illustrate - Civilization™️ is a machine that runs on mind-breaking amounts of devastating violence, and yet that violence is tolerated or celebrated when it isn’t entirely invisibilized.

So yeah, I agree that there’s a lot of value in imagining more just worlds. I’m simply not willing to concede that there’s no value in engaging with unjust worlds, because some people feel squeamish about injustice when a story asks them to truly look at it.

Guess I’m never going to stop seeing red about the unholy number of times I’ve seen people quote “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” out of context in order to condemn stories that focus on dark or troubling subject matter or that don’t end happily (“The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain”), when THE STORY ITSELF is about a society that closes its eyes to suffering and evil in order to live in comfort and has a hopeful but at best bittersweet ending

[maryasmorevna]

why are you, as an adult in 2024, still hung up on reylo. why are you still mocking the shippers. why do you believe yourself to be superior only because you dislike a stupid ship from a fucking space fairytale. girl (gnc) get a grip

[crossbackpoke-check]

Looks like that video is about a month & a half after The Trade and trevors broken ankle 😣

re: this video… anon 😭 i had suspicions but it is so much worse to have them confirmed that really was like. trevor’s first Public Appearance without jamie AND post-broken ankle which is traumatic in and of itself no wonder every beat reporter was like ‘oh yeah trevor’s just devastated’

wouldn’t you be miserable too if your best friend just got traded and your body betrayed you and what if it was maybe all your fault!!!

[silveredlies]

Half truths and lies of omission were where he worked best. To twist something poisoned and corrupt so that it resembled beauty to be offered was a skill all on its own. There was no need for spells to charm of hypnotize save for some here and there when he had the power of words at his fingertips. Gaining desired information, turning others against their closest allies, stirring up battles in times of conflicts, all for his own gain. It was always nice that his hard work was noticed rather than those that bought in to a beautiful lie. Fools only bored him in the end. There were no true games if there was no challenge or perhaps he had simply become jaded in more ways than he thought. As for play acting, "Fior was smart to play along, though I am a little disappointed he knew already. I put quite a bit of effort in to that one. The necromancer boy, though...all it took was a drink. The Deathrunners leave a lot to be desired if they make someone so foolish their Underboss. I felt bad for him, truly."

To be brought into a lie so easily, there had been a touch of guilt when Mathias had left. Just barely, he had certainly done far worse in his long life. But now likely, his games wouldn't work any longer save for perhaps the bottom of the barrel folks. The ones ranked so low that they wouldn't be brought in to conversations of the Blood Witch. A true shame. Seeing the games come to their conclusion was always a bit disappointing but there were things to do before he found out what a deity could do to an insubordinate blood witch.

As he felt the small push towards himself, Corvinus wasted no time pushing back with his own aura of magic. Letting it seep through just slightly, pressing against the naga. But while the other radiated desire, his own was tainted with rage. Not towards Suresh, not right now, but often how his magic displayed itself. It was hatred and spite that allowed him to obtain his powers and still the powerful motivators that kept him going rather than secluding himself in his estate and watching the world fade away through the windows. But he was quick to pull his back and draw the small taste back into himself. They toyed with different weapons. "I think I'll just keep this one. Though it is adorable how keen you are to keep my jacket away. I'm not above self-maiming to get blood I need if pushed." Suresh had seen how quickly he had healed, there was no point pretending as if blood draw wasn't a tedious task. He felt the tail loosely wrap itself around his ankle though he didn't pull away. "Careful now," he gave a soft warning. The touch was fine so long as it didn't descend into violence and fighting again.

Still at the topic of the Nameless leader, Corvinus gave a sigh that was annoyed. As if it was a topic he didn't much care for. His lips pursed, leaning back into the couch with his arms stretched over the top and legs crossing. An image of openness and walls at the same time. His eyes moved to the windows, a long silence as he focused on the scenes down below. Fingers of one hand were tapping, dancing on the couch as though he were trying to come up with the perfect words. "...I'll grant you another trust," he finally spoke and attention rounding back to Suresh, "I said before you were the reason I came here. True in a way, but you weren't the one that initially drew my attention to the city. Just a happy perk." He thought about how far he should go, how careful to be. Whatever story he gave for the Nameless was a truth in a way considering where he was, so was the other. "I've been hunting while exploring the lovely city. The reason you haven't been able to reach the leader is because, well...he hasn't been here."

He'd been traveling, giving orders from afar, while gathering supplies and powers since his binding to the god. And trying to find a way to sever that same bond. "He came in to my country a few months ago. While I don't claim her lands, I ensure that my isles, my homeland, is safe. You wanted to know why I was here, I was drawn out. Forced into a game I had no intention of getting involved in to ensure me and my own are left alone. You want to know why I chose you three over the Nameless? You didn't interrupt my peace of mind. So I provoked, I taunted, all to create more noise to lure out what I wanted. Honestly, you lot did most of the work for me. And once I'm certain this is handled with the meeting, I will return home to my domain and continue my own works." Everything was stated so bluntly with that hint of annoyance on the topic. It was truths....though it was more the deity itself had lured and forced his involvement rather than any Leader in the shadows.

"I imagine he was still rather stuffy, even eighty years ago. Though an improvement over his predecessor." He listened and nodded, the reason why Callum as still alive was the one where their stories matched up the best. He survived simply because the Witch hadn't felt like killing him. But Corvinus' need to gloat was a delightful bit of petty that Suresh could understand. A sly smile breaking across his lips at the dog comment. However Suresh did have a healthy respect for Death, the Goddess and her chosen. Suresh didn't believe anyone, even Corvinus could outrun her indefinitely. Gold ophidian eyes drifted thoughtfully over the Witch's face. It was what he would do. Drop small seeds and hope the roots caused cracks... And the best doubts were plausible ones. Why would Callum lie about the reason behind the fight? What did it matter if he was following the charge of his Goddess? Suresh already knew how unhappy the Lightless Leader would be finding out how this exchange went between the Witch and him tonight.

The sly smile turned into a graciously amused grin, and the Naga shook his head. "Please. Take this as the compliment that it's meant to be. You are one of the most accomplished half-truth speaker I have ever met." Suresh shook his head, he was a prideful creature but he was careful and observant. Even while he played the total hedonist Suresh knew there was far more under the surface of Corvinus. He'd gotten a small peek behind the curtain and he had gotten a taste of how much was still hidden. Labyrinthian depths. "I heard you went play acting to a few others too... I hear everything... eventually."

Suresh relaxed a little, letting his body uncoil slightly. He had only glamoured his hands, not bothering with the rest of it. The talons were useful but they were just one small brutal piece of his arsenal. "The offer to replace the one I ruined is still there. But you do look nice in my shirt." His eyes drifted over his shoulder and chest, nodding, "I knew that one would fit you." Eternity was a long time to have to plan, to remember slightly, to hold grudges. Suresh slowly manipulated his little game board of the city, making moves that were designed to not pay off for a generation or longer. Position himself carefully in order to strike the quickest and best blow. The people that truly drew his ire he dismantled brick by brick. Methodical and cruel until all they desired was release from the misery. But it had been a long time since he'd felt the need to do that.

The feel of the warm hand in his own, electricity that he couldn't help jumping from skin to skin, it was just part of what he was, a soft pulse of desire. But nothing that couldn't be shrugged off by the Witch. Because yes, to touch someone that could ignore that soft current that drew people to him was lovely. Dangerous and alluring. His eyes watched as Corvinus brought Suresh's hand to his lips and kissed it. Terribly charming. And Suresh's eyes softened at the caress as he searched for the lie, for the flinch. The Naga wanted to tell him that he should fear them... but who was he to correct the other? A mischievous glint came into his eye as he drew his hand back. Letting them rest in his lap, golden nails tracing his own scales absently, "I have to confess, I haven't been that excited in ages..." He let his tail drift down and loosely curl itself around one of Corvinus' ankles. The Witch had accepted the hand, so why not push a little?

Listening to the Witch again it had that taste of truth enough. Missing pieces. What was one witch? The sentence made Suresh reguard Corvinus' thoughtfully before he answered, "Depends on the Witch..." The comment about the not being considered a god made the Naga shrug. "One cultures monster is another's god. Who knows? Maybe in another five hundred years someone will make a shrine to the Immortal Blood Witch and burn effigies to you?" Suresh's mind drifted back to his Advisor and the Lightless Emissary. So many coincidences... "Something I am curious about, where did you find him? You might be a wonderful lure but you had to post up somewhere to get his attention... And we've been attempting to reach out for a long while now... I simply must know, where was it?"

[yuribalisms]

I hope rats chew away at the electrical wires in all the management’s houses and cause electrical fires and they all explode

[anarkhebringer]

I wanna draw this new OC now