#that's how superior they are

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[uncanny-tranny]

The leftism/anticapitalism leaving people's bodies the zeptosecond you imply that disabled people who aren't "productive" still matter in society and need to be treated like intrinsic equals who have a place in this world:

[wavewavethoughtsonly]

It all started with an enchanting introduction…

Part 2

[writer-and-thrasher]

I get why the real-life players are mad about the Rat Grinders doing power leveling -- like, that's fucking annoying. I get it.

But I love Riz's anger about it. I need more of that, to be honest. What do you mean, he's had to save the world 3 times and he's maybe 17? What do you mean, his friends have died in front of him over and over? What do you mean, after all of that, it's still not enough to keep his mom from worrying about his future? What do you fucking mean???

Gorthalax said that the fucking Rat Grinders have killed like 80,000 rats. At 10XP a pop, that's 800,000 XP just for the rats. Which puts them at, like, level 12 or 13 or something when you divide it up.

They didn't have to die or watch their friends die. They weren't kidnapped by a mirror person or confronted with watching their parents be interrogated in hell. They got to go into the forest after school for hours and kill tiny forest creatures over and over.

It didn't have to be this way. None of this had to happen. They got a fuck ton of trauma (that they're only vaguely dealing with, really, if that) and pain and time spent away from their loved ones and birthdays missed and none of it had to happen.

So yeah, fuck the Rat Grinders. But, more than that, fuck the whole fucking thing.

[bedforddanes75]

im not american but some of you guys are just fucking stupid ong what do you MEAN youre not gna vote because you disagree with like one part of what youre voting for. like okay me when im fucking thick

[spirk-trek]

really love that for the metron design they went with "androgynous angel dressed head to toe in glitter"

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[bear-vi]

Give us a push, Sancho!

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

see here's the thing about Adar...

MY MAN JUST KEEPS WINNING!!

Sauron at the beginning of the Second Age? STABBED.

Orodruin? ERUPTED.

Eregion? SIEGED.

The Ring of Power? SECURED.

Like ffs, if the elves had just DONE WHAT HE ASKED, my man would have dealt with Ost-in-Edhil's Sauron infestation by LUNCHTIME.

JUST LET HIM COOK.

[bixels]

Be honest, what are your thoughts on appledash? Do you hate it or its more of not a big deal

Not a big deal to me. I like it, I see all the appeals, I just personally like Rarijack more.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Somnophilia smut with Sol? Reader doesn't wake up (Tʖ̯T)

No Rest for the Wicked (Sol x MC/Reader - Somnophilia Smut)

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PRESENTING TO THE STAGE, YOUR FAVOURITE TKATB WRITER !!!

SKY FORTRESSES AND BURNING CITADELS, WITH A LONGTIME-AWAITED, PROMISED SOLIVAN BRUGMANSIA S.M.U.T.!

*bows*

Anyway, just a reminder this is rape, non-consented, probably slightly OOC, and I'm a (slightly more than) tad rusty in writing. I've also never written smut before, so do give feedback if you deem it necessary. Toodles, my sexy motherfuckers.

You could even say I came back with a bang. ;)

P.S. Also the M/C is written as a virgin in this, if your character isn't then congratulations! They hid their previous sexual escapades impeccably well, for Sol to not know.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Wicked: evil or morally wrong.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room was pitch black, so heavily ensnared in the gaping shade of the darkened night that even shadows disappeared under its tarlike veil. Any ordinary, random burglar would be blindly stumbling about like an idiot, if they happened upon your apartment with…impure intentions.

Sol wasn’t a burglar, and he was definitely not ordinary. He wasn’t a mindless passerby on the streets, with a forgettable face and unassuming nature. Sure, he acted the part well, played the weak-minded shy kid well. But that act, that mask? It’s for the faces that litter his vision, that plague his sight and try to distract him from his goal, his mission, his messiah.

Faces that exist as a way to try and deter him from his forever, from his life and his bride, from his venerant Annabel Lee.

You.

He’s saving his true, adaptable, self for you. He’s willing to morph into anyone for you, alter himself, hurt himself if you so merely asked!

You could ask him to kill for you and he wouldn’t even blink until said soul was eviscerated; and their body exsanguinated and dumped in an outskirt lake.

He was the only one for you, your only soulmate, your only lover, your only.

So why did you always neglect him? Ignore him; spend time with him as a last resort, all in favour of that insignificant bastard-born slug?!

What did he have that Sol didn’t? Hmm? 

The queries began to flood his mind, onslaught his body. He barked out a laugh, a cold, brisk sound that reverberated across the walls, before cruelly biting the skin of his knuckles.

Hush, can’t have you wake up now darling, not when you’re so serene and at ease.

He didn’t want to do anything bad to you, of course not, he loves you…! But even the best of lovers need to be taught a lesson…or seven.

Boots softly thud against your floor, their path marked by years of memory and intuition, and like normal, he makes his way to your bedside.

Sol might not be able to see you, but he doesn’t need to. He already knows how you sleep, he remembers the precise dosage of medication he needs to do this…he’s all set…

Yet the longer he stands there, the more time ticks by him, gently ageing you both second by second closer to a fated death, he was struck by an epiphany:

Why the fuck should he settle for this? He’s been in the darkness long enough.

The kid at the back.

The afterthought.

The forgotten face of the world.

If Jericho Ichabod gets to see you…then so shall fucking he.

In a bout of ornery, he ditched his boots and marched into the lightless expanse of your lounge. He knew you had a torch hidden somewhere, might as well finally make use of it. 

Like he will of you.

Most people would’ve already ditched or aimlessly clambered around; but Sol wasn’t most people. He knew your residence inside out, all of them.Each place, grandiose or minimalistic, apartment or house. No matter where you go, he’s always watching, tonight’s just a little more…intimate, a touch closer than his usual escapades.

His hand softly searched the drawers, each soft click sent a thrilling chill down his spine, his body shuddered as he tactfully manoeuvred his way about the room. His fingers casually map each surface, fondling for anything remotely cylindrical…until, after what felt like millenia, he finds it. How lucky.

A lava lamp. Bright enough to see you, dim enough to not awaken you; and look at that…it’s red, like his eyes, like his lips…like his cock.

Were you thinking of me, beloved?

With methodical steps, silent as the grave, he strode back to you, placed the lamp in the closet door…and by God’s holy grail was he once more rendered stunned.

The soft crimson rays paint your frame in a way he prayed to one day replicate, with his own blood, perhaps? Paint wouldn’t be enough to perfectly capture your divine essence. 

Your lips look so fucking good. 

He wanted to have you so damn badly it hurt.

And he would’ve…until something crossed his peripherals.

A small photo, about the size of his palm, lay tucked away on your bedside drawer.

To say Sol was intrigued by this was an understatement, and his bubbling wonder continued to froth as he took in the details of this quaint square and halted. 

All intrigue turned to rage, white and hot like his flesh and it pelted his mind like hail on an abandoned car; before an idea, comical as it was repulsive, crept into the depraved depths of his mind.

What better way to avenge himself than make the whore see? See how much better he is, both in appearance and in bed?

A lifeless grin moulded into his face, Sol positioned the photo to ensure it stared right at him; The slug isn’t worthy of seeing the pretty things you’ll do; he thought.

He bored his eyes into ones of disgusting cobalt, before turning down to the grandest feast of his life.

Slender fingers, corpse-like in colour, caressed your face, measuring once more the map that is your body, his eyes hungrily raking over your sleeping form.

Against his better judgement, he lowers his head and drags his tongue, languid and unhurried, across your neck, his teeth softly rubbing across your zen pulse. 

He swiftly rose up, his face burning and his breaths stuttering; all the while his cock —  like the night before, and the one before that — began to fucking ache, straining horribly against his pants, almost begging to be allowed freedom from its constant confines. 

The urge to tear off your clothes and piston himself so deep inside you that your body would refuse any other dick was so tempting. The mere thought made a small wet spot appear, yet Sol would take his time, after all, this was merely you making up for teasing him, right?

Fuck it.

In one swift motion, he’s at your side, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his hand casually dived under your shirt, worming its way towards the mounds that lay atop your angelic heart; but you couldn’t possibly blame him, they’re so malleable and beautiful; just like you!

He inhaled sharply, before closing his eyes and stifling a pathetic whimper.

You smell so fucking good.

His whole body was like a bomb, ticking away until either his time runs out and he leaves to care for himself elsewhere, or until he allows himself to… indulge.

If Ichabod got to revel in your presence, then so shall he.

“Mhh??”

Shit.

He froze, his body arched over you, his hoodie half off, exposing his burnt abdomen, carmine circles and purple dots peppering him like seasoning. 

Ahh…you told me I was beautiful in your eyes once…but I won’t risk you rejecting me from these, darling.

Another reason why he loved you oh-so much. You’re so pristine, so pure, so perfect that it stung. He didn’t deserve you, he wasn’t remotely close to reaching the bar of whom someone like you should have; but he didn’t care anymore. You were here, beneath him.

And he was going to have you if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Soon enough, his mouth returned to your pulse, suckling on the throbbing flesh and his teeth cautiously caging the arteries, until a mark — angry red like the burns that paint his skin — started to blossom.

His hand inched up your breast, the pads of his chilled fingers encircled your areolas, the nips hardened and prodded at him, begging to be pleasurably satiated — and satiate he inevitably would.

He swiftly moved to straddling you, this time in entirety, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your torso. When you’re lying so prettily before him it was almost too easy to forget how much bigger than you he was, how small and dainty and delicate you were compared to him.

Using his other hand to lift your nightshirt to your collarbones, Sol redirected himself fully to your breasts, his teeth grazing over the buds before rapidly digging them into the warm fat, his nails clawing at your sides like they were pencils upon a blank canvas and the artist had the eureka of a lifetime.

His face felt torrid, his whole body felt like it’d been set ablaze and he’d barely started.

Look at what you’ve turned me into, but I’m not complaining, how can I?

Sol suddenly wished he was a snake, so he could coil around your body forever, his fangs lodged in either your neck or tits, while his tip would remain buried so deeply within you that you’d forget what it meant to move normally.

But hey, he could still do one of those things. The drugs are significantly stronger this time.

As if to test the waters, he delicately shifted your blouse off of you, tossing it somewhere else on the bed whilst he — perverted as he knew he was — admired your figure, his hands mellowly brushing your arms and kneading your curves, wanting to ingrain this image of you for the rest of his life.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. How are you so pretty?”

His cock was shrieking now, hell, he was struggling to contain himself. But he could hold off a little longer, right?

No. No I can’t.

His hands weren’t even his anymore, by the time he’d ceased gazing at you, his belt was being yanked out and he was aggressively tugging his pants down, a sharp slap! bouncing off the walls as his dick emerged from its confines, dribbles of translucent white steadily seeped out the shroomy head. 

He inched closer to you, deciding to fully ditch his clothes as he tenderly brought your hands into his. He covered them each in kisses, suckled on your fingertips, before guiding them towards his throbbing crotch, your fingers tightly clutched onto it; it’s like you’ve wanted this as much as him!

Shit. Fuck. Fuck you’re so pretty.

Blanketing your fingers with his longer ones, Sol slowly pumped himself into your palm, his whole body almost falling on top of you with how violently he shook at the sheer magnitude of carnal pleasure that coursed through his veins.

A pitiful whine emitted from his tongue as he commenced vigorously propelling himself into your hand, the drastic change in speed and temperament making the sensations nearly overwhelming. 

It forced him to hold his weight up over you; like his arm was a pillar to a divine shrine, one that he deems you more than worthy of. But he supposed this is the best way to be close to a god, to worship a god.

Shit, I love you. I love you so much, you don’t know how crazed I get when it comes to you.

Sol turned to the small picture of Ichabod, before looking respectlessly at the view under him, and smirked.

From his nigh-omniscience when it comes to you, Sol knows you’ve never had sex, and he’d be damned if your first would be Crowe.

He continued to piston himself into your palm, contemplating whether he should move on…elsewhere, while he could. 

Your hands weren’t gonna be enough, he wanted Ichabod to see him fucking you, making love to you; you didn’t have to be conscious, you’d still love him either way. 

Sol relished in the thought, as his thrusts grew erratic and variable, his abs clenching and his arms locking in as he prepared to release, to paint his magnum opus — to paint you white with his cum.

I love you, I love you so much, I want you so much, you’re everything to me IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

He moaned, gripped your hand and placed a messy kiss to your lips, using his other appendage to pump faster and faster, until his body physically stuttered into it —  until his whole being shattered, and a fountain of his sperm splattered onto your skin, leaving your body glistening under the vermillion light of the lamp.

But Sol wasn’t done this time, for how could he be? He had to make sure nobody got to you before he did.

He kissed you again, his tongue diving into your mouth, exploring the wet cavern, his hand — the one that formerly served as a buttress — coming down to the band of  your shorts, his fingers gently prying them down with your panties, and judging by its appearance, it was one of the few he hadn’t touched — how cute. It’s like you wanted him to gather every garment that’s pressed against your core, that felt your slick as you touched yourself.

Gah, the thought of your fingers buried inside you, toying with your clit, playing with your tits.

Anything you do arouses him, but the thought, oh fuck him, the thought of you using yourself whilst thinking of him — like he about you — makes him feral.

Without even thinking, he plunged two digits into your pussy, silently (s)creaming at how smoothly they entered. 

Your body knows it’s mine, hahah! Fuck…you’re hot.

Pressing a thumb to your clit and his other hand over your mouth, Sol feels himself going sexdrunk, watching in slick satisfaction the squelches and pretty little Os your hole made around him, trying to crush his bones and slurp them into its warmth, as if it wanted him there forever. Not that he mind, he’d curl up inside you and live as your sentient sex toy if he had his way.

He sighs, his cock turning a brutal shade of red as his eyes observe the beauty that lay within how well cocooned he is inside you, and that’s with his fingers!

Repositioning your wrists so that he could comfortably hold them in one of his own, he redirects his attention to your pussy, thrusting with vehement pleasure into your depths, feeling your wet rapture on his skin, and his pace only increases; like fire on drywood.

The flames of his lust for you, the burning pyre of his love for you, it wasn’t enough in his eyes to see you so shortly each night. It shouldn’t be normal for him, he wanted to take you, to have and hold and love and worship and admire and caress you each day and night, for all his life until both of your ephemeral existences fell by the threads and you both lie in a shared sepulchre next to the sea.

He goes faster, his thumb circling the fleshy nub with affection, a small whimper stirring from your lips.

“Mh…C-crowe?”

Sol ceases, ears alert, eyes widened as he realised whose name you uttered.

Hah. Hahahahah. That motherfucker.

He was gonna go nice and soft on you, gonna be loving to you; but clearly, clearly you needed a little…reminder, of whose thick, fat, juicy cock was inside you.

Removing his sticky fingers, Sol tore apart your thighs, his nails etched so callously in your flesh he barely registered the groan that slipped past your mouth.

Crowe huh? My gorgeous darling, you’re so beautiful but you should know you can’t say such vile things.

He moved his cock with a tenderness towards your gaping entrance, the head brushing against your labia, a waterfall of gasps tumbling out of his mouth as the contact — evasive yet so direct — sent rushes of cold adrenaline down his spine, making him arch himself into you, searching for the closeness he’d wanted for so long.

Cupping your hand in his, he forced himself deep inside you, an onslaught of euphoria surging past any potential despondencies he might’ve had and he slammed his lips onto yours, the slapping of skin and the popping of each entry and exit his cock made out of you left him dazed in the sensual chorus of a symphony built upon ecstasy.

Even in all the times Sol’s touched himself to you, fucked himself into your undergarments or clothes, he’s never thought how immaculately well you fit around him, as if you were the warm, tight nut to his aching, etched bolt.

He was in pain, a beloved pain that came only from first love and lust, his heart screaming as he kissed your lips again and again, squeezing the life out of your hands as he muttered an obsessive, possessive manta:

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

He spent so many years waiting in eager anticipation for you to be his — to feel this sick love that he felt for you — like he was yours, and now, now he had you, claimed you. He wished Crowe was here so he could spit down his stupid throat. The idea felt tempting, maybe Hyugo could help him one more time.

But that’s for later, he’s with you now, and nothing is more invaluable to Solivan Brugmansia than you.

He couldn’t cease his gratifying motions, his suppressed moans, or the blitzes of unfiltered joy that rained down his face as he cried; fell apart both bodily and soulfully. His lips fell to your neck again and he marked you, tainted your priceless flesh with his teeth, contaging you with the plague that long since infested his mind.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his body was boiling as he stuttered out a hushed whimper:

Shit, I love you, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I love you so much-

And with a sharp bite to your shoulder, a callous bracelet of bruises to your wrists, and blood seeping from your swollen lips, Sol came deep within your heat — oceans of his desire-fueled suspension tumbling about inside you, painting you in white, his dove-white passion. For you.

Only you.

Yet as the waves of his lust left him spent and empty, he rose his sweating body above your form, tears running down his pallid face, and cupped your cheek.

He knew he should clean you up before he loses himself once more, but whilst he remained buried within you — his kingdom, filled with the seas of his undying adoration, he turned to the photo of Jericho Ichabod, yanked it off the wooden surface — and tore it to shreds.

[quiet-admirer]

You all know I love soft feedist themes - they're my ride-or-die constant in my personal kink life - but soft feedists have GOT to start doing some more reflection on the ways we talk about our kink because I am seeing post after post saying things like "I like soft feedism so much better than other kinds of feedism because only soft feedists want connection with their partner and treat their partner with respect and like they're a whole human being, and can balance kink and real life because of how wholesome and nice our kink is."

Not only is that super ignorant and condescending towards people who aren't into soft feedism, who are no more or less capable than you are at healthy kink practices and treating their play partners with respect and love, but it's also a really unhealthy pattern for so many members of our community to say things that reinforce the stereotype that hard dom/sub dynamics and fatphobia play are abusive or unhealthy, or that they are in any way excepted from risk-aware consensual kink (RACK) practices.

When these beliefs become widespread, it means people newer to feedism get the message that any abuse they experience from partners is par for the course if they want to engage in anything but soft feedism. If you're labeling soft feedists as the healthy, supportive, respectful feedists, it means you're ultimately dismissing a huge portion of feedists as 'barbarous' or 'beyond saving', and regardless of whether that's true or not, you're showing yourself as willing to abandon those feedees you see as subjecting themselves to abuse and disrespect instead of working to make sure that every single feedist knows that ALL feedism IS healthy, IS respectful, IS about connection and intimacy when the scene is over. Anything else isn't feedism: it's abuse, exploitation, harassment, rape culture, and fatphobia.

It's also extremely important to decouple in your head that any particular identity or way of being, whether it's identity labels that correspond with your kink fantasies, gender or sexual orientation, or anything else is *inherently* safe; trustworthy; and capable of healthy, respectful, and deep interpersonal connection. The fact that you like popping mini muffins into your partner's mouth in front of a fireplace instead of pretending to force your partner to funnel a weight gain shake doesn't mean you magically know how to communicate well, practice adequate aftercare, or listen to your partner's needs. It doesn't mean you are more knowledgeable about fatphobia. Preferring cuddling and gentle feedings doesn't make you a supportive person to be around or make you incapable of creating a controlling, hurtful, pressured, or shaming environment. We have to learn these things explicitly, we have to practice them, and we have to keep practicing them.

It does you and your potential partner/s a disservice to be actively creating these blind spots in your mind where you never have to examine your own actions or patterns of behavior because you're a Soft Feedist, so that means you're automatically "good." On a community level, you are creating a culture where abuse and mistreatment can go unchecked because "we're soft feedists so that means we're all nice".

That's a culture that makes it harder for people experiencing abuse and mistreatment to speak up. If abuse doesn't happen here, maybe I'm just imagining it and making a big deal over nothing. If abuse doesn't happen here, am I going to ruin the image of soft feedism if I speak up? Will people even believe me that another soft feedist could be mistreating me since everyone knows the people here are so nice and wholesome and care about their partners?

I'll say it again: ALL feedism is respectful, ALL feedism is consensual, ALL feedism is about mutual connection and intimacy, and ALL feedism means treating others as whole autonomous human beings. Claiming otherwise hurts all of us, including other soft feedists.

[krysmcscience]

Don't mind me, just slacking on a big Billford comic by making other far more ridiculous Billford comics and also some AU art (please excuse my slapdash human!Bill thank you please, also before anyone asks the art style is messy and all over the place because idgaf LOL)

This started out as an excuse to design a Bill Cipher-inspired "wedding" dress, but then spiraled wildly out of control. Various rambles and a bunch more human!Bill arts under the cut, including another silly little comic at the end! (Feel free to skip the rambles, I won't be offended. I know I'm bad at shutting up. XD)

I may or may not write some comedy stuff for this AU, which I'm calling 'For Better Or Worse (But Mostly Worse)'. While Ford DOES remember getting sloshed enough for one thing to lead to making out with another after karaoke, neither he nor Bill remember this wedding, At All. The Love God did nothing to dissuade them from going hog wild on their marriage spending, either, so it got...uh. Exorbitantly Expensive. As in, the grand total could probably buy the entire fucking MOON sort of expensive. (It's fine, don't worry, Bill's good enough at crime to be able to afford it.) Also, because the logic of this AU is mostly dictated by Rule of Funny, the Love God's powers are close to unlimited when it comes to matters of romance, but ONLY when it comes to matters of romance. (Like weddings!)

Want an empty human vessel to smash the soul of a triangle into for date nights or when it's convenient, or perhaps even when it's NOT convenient? Easy peasy! Want the marriage to be recognized in every corner of the multiverse from now until the end of time, thus making any potential future divorce nigh-on impossible? Can do! Want to buy an entire beach for the ceremony and honeymoon and in general, and totally not at all because it would be Super Hilarious to prevent any specific movies from being made on that very same beach in the future? Fine, whatever, it's not his finances he's ruining!

Does the Love God also provide special rings that just so happen to turn incorporeal as long as the "happy couple" doesn't remember that they barged into his dreams to bully him into presiding over their marriage? ...No comment!

He spends the next thirty years trying and failing to get in touch with either of them for payment. This is why you should always demand half the money up front, my guy!

Also it's absolutely a traditional Jewish wedding, because I like the idea of Bill demanding all the keepsakes from the marriage that he paid for, and being completely confused when one of the things he's handed is a fancy container full of broken glass. He gets it later, but in the moment, he thinks the Love God is just fucking with him some more.

Ramble over! Here's the full dress that caused the comic to happen, along with what Ford wound up wearing at the wedding (and begrudgingly agreeing to put on again later for Reasons), aaaaand also a close-up of Bill's ring:

I may have forgotten to draw Bill's hair floofier when drawing the back of the dress, lmao

Since double ring ceremonies have been leaking over into Jewish wedding customs for a while now, Ford also has a ring, but his is the much more traditional plain gold band. There's definitely a message engraved on the inside - embarrassing, cringe, or incriminating somehow - but I haven't decided what it is yet, so use your imagination for now. XD Bill, on the other hand, saw the phrase 'traditional plain gold band' and said "No Thank You" before proceeding to embellish his ring to his liking. And because he's a secret sap who adores Ford's extra fingers, the triangle points add up to twelve, as do the engraved stars. Yes, they're stars, not dots, I just got lazy. There's also six lashes on the eye gem, and probably an eye engraving on the inside with another six lashes. (Bill's got it BAD, okay? We all know this.)

Here are the initial scribbles of Bill's custom vessel in more casual attire, please ignore the wonky anatomy and the fact that I flat out refuse to ever draw him with a proper top hat:

He does actually need a cane in this vessel; since Bill tends to possess men and especially Ford more often than not, he's used to having a higher center of gravity when in a human body, so his ability to balance is pretty garbage. (He may or may not topple over with concerning regularity.) As for his empty eye socket, his bangs don't do much to hide it since he's so high-energy (dude is constantly on the move), and he also refuses to wear a patch over it, because 1.) why bother, and 2.) it's more fun to freak people out.

To better align with Ford's attraction towards the strange, the vessel was designed with super minor shapeshifting ability - Bill can look like a perfectly normal human, but he can also make the teeth and fingers sharper whenever he likes (which is mostly just when he's angry or being more of a menace than usual), as well as slit down the pupils or outright ditch the irises altogether. He can also have whatever he wants in the downstairs department, just because I'm an indecisive bitch on that front, lmao. Maybe he can have boobs if he wants them, too, but I ain't drawin' tits on no triangle, nuh-uh, no sir. His powers are otherwise limited down to what humans can do, because for some reason, the Love God doesn't trust Bill to not snap into Immediate Apocalypse Mode if he's given a physical form that's actually all his and no one else's.

Due to the body being all his and no one else's, it's also not really a standard possession so much as it is just...Bill being temporarily human. He's a lot more aware of and in tune with his human body's senses than he ever was with his "puppets", which makes things like pain a lot more intense. (He is mostly fine with this, because he's a fukken masochist.)

A bit more fashion stuff, including beach and party attire~

The beach outfit was mostly me trying and failing to nail down his body shape, which is still not bottom-heavy enough. I then decided to slap a bikini on it, before making it supremely unsexy with a pair of fugly shorts, because Bill's fashion choices are not allowed to be conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, the party outfit was mostly me looking at the casual attire I designed, asking 'how would Bill make this Worse', and then drawing the result. The mismatched thigh-highs are killing me inside! :D

No, his vessel can't actually summon fire, I just drew it for funzies before I decided on said vessel's limitations. Yes, the gold brick tattoos are absolutely a reference to the fic 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I simply could not resist.

I also HAD to draw Bill in one of his canonical(?) shirts, just made tank-top'd:

He is absolutely about to over-correct and fall backwards after this. USE YOUR CANE, GOOFBALL!!! (I meant to draw Bill closer to this degree of bottom-heavy in the other images, but. Alas. I am bad at anatomy, LOL)

And, last but not least before More Comic Time, I attempted to draw him closer to Gravity Falls style:

Jury's out on whether or not I succeeded, but - hey. I tried. Now have some Handyman Bill AU, but with my goofy human design, instead:

Hey, it's a 'mystery snack', and the guy wanted A BITE to eat - the joke was right there, guys!!! (Based on this post, because it just screamed BILL CIPHER to me.)

whoops i forgor bills ring and cracks ahaha too late now

I WILL SHUT UP AND STOP RAMBLING NOW K THX BYYYYYE

[respectthepetty]

I love these two for various reasons.

First, the restaurant owner has blackout sleeve tattoos.

Beyond that being sexy *bites knuckles*, it's also gangsta.

Which is why he was guarding the entry to his establishment, and only let Qian in but not his schoolmates.

This is also why meeting there bothered Xiong so much.

Because this is a gangsta's restaurant.

Yet later on, we know Xiong frequently visits the restaurant on his own accord, but even more importantly, that he is allowed to visit. It's now a mutual respect.

And this is a gangsta's clinic.

They are NOT a front for gang activity (probably, most likely, maybe?), but a majority of the clientele are gangstas.

Which means these places serve the community and as a safe space for gangstas because they need to trust that the people who make their food and stitch them up won't snitch or try to kill them.

Which is why Zu Guan knew Le Ge was back, and it's why Le Ge was at the restaurant and not his office. He needs to make his presence known, but also, it's a sign of respect to visit the people who held it down while he has been away.

Le Ge knows that Qian doesn't trust him, but there is a level of respect and honor among gangstas, which is why Le Ge trusted the restaurant owner to keep his gun, and it's why the owner was ready to leave it all behind to go with Le Ge knowing full well what Le Ge was planning.

Because he knows that life.

It's also why Le Ge made sure everyone got their shot including himself.

Le Ge stated he doesn't deal drugs, so he probably is in money laundering and reinforcement by offering protection and collection for a fee.

And Qian owes him.

Le Ge gave Qian a legit job, then when Qian needed more money, Le Ge gave him a less legit job. Le Ge not only gave Yuan his name but the official documents to go with that name. Le Ge's clinic fixed Qian and his family up for a nominal fee. Le Ge's restaurant gave Qian the privacy to do business without prying ears. And, yeah, Qian could've died trying to get out, but Le Ge isn't asking anything of anyone else that he, himself, wouldn't do.

And as much as Qian doesn't like or trust Le Ge, he respects him.

Because Le Ge is a man of his word. He doesn't blame others. He takes responsibility. And he keeps his promises.

That's why, unlike A Hu who sees Yuan as Qian's weakness and uses Yuan again to get to Qian, Le Ge understands that Yuan is Qian's strength. It's why he got upset that A Hu took Yuan the first time, and it's why he is pissed when he sees the video A Hu sent him.

When Qian told Yuan he could come home, we understood that Qian was "home" for Yuan. And we understand that Qian's entire life is his family. So Le Ge knows Qian will fight harder for Yuan. Le Ge knows Qian will kill for Yuan. And Le Ge knows Qian would die for Yuan because Qian's life is nothing to him without his family.

Which is why he reminds A Hu that his leg is the way it is NOT because of Qian, but because A Hu underestimated Qian. Le Ge tells A Hu he must take responsibility for his choices and his life.

Because Qian has always taken responsibility for his life.

I'll pay you back. Everything I owe you.

Because his entire life is his family.

Everything I own is yours whether you want it or not

And Le Ge gave him that.

Qian is Yuan's entire life, from beginning to end.

I can sum up my life with two words, Wei Qian

And Le Ge gave them that life love.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Today, the country indeed looks alien. The America many of us believed we knew now appears stranger in retrospect: The anger and resentment we may have thought was pitched at a simmer turned out to be at a rollicking boil. And one of liberals’ most cherished shibboleths from 2016—that Trumpism is a movement for aggrieved white men—unraveled in the face of a realignment that saw the GOP appear to give birth to a multiracial working-class movement. A second Trump presidency is the result of this misjudgment.

Democrats are a coalition party of the center-left

The Left has traditionally been associated with egalitarianism, which is by necessity concerned with the masses, the common people, the working class, but also the dispossessed, the marginalized, the disadvantaged

The modern Democratic party traces its roots most directly to the New Deal coalition of the 1930s, which it understands to have been a robust working-class and labor-rights movement

They also see themselves in the 1960s cultural revolutions and their repudiation of hierarchy, itself generally seen as the position of the common person, the masses, but also the dispossessed

The party takes its name from Andrew Jackson, great champion of the Common Man, at least as understood at his time, but it goes back to Thomas Jefferson, famous for declaring that "all men are created equal," and now excoriated for failing to live out that egalitarian principle

The Democrats are a party for the people, understood as capaciously as possible, the party that repudiates narrow nationalism and jingoism, in favor of spreading the benefits of American society widely, in opposition to favoring the privileged few

Why am I reminding you of all these things that you already know?

Because they believe so deeply that they are right in every way that matters, or at least incomparably superior to their opponents, they cannot begin to imagine repudiation from the very people in whose interests they thought they were acting, let alone in favor of the very person they swore was an existential, even murderous threat to those very same people

I think to appreciate the sensation, you might imagine a thief broke into your home, and then your family kicked you out in favor of the thief; someone broke in to ravish your spouse and they called the police on you; a sex offender told your children explicitly what he wanted to do them, and your children fought you to get out of your arms so they could crawl into the van knowing full well they'd never see you again

The shock is so existentially horrifying, such a betrayal of reality itself, that it would require rethinking all your most basic assumptions about the political order, human beings, and worst of all, yourself. Why would they do such a manifestly insane thing? Is there something I don't know? What did I miss? What did I do wrong? What do I do now?

Democrats cannot meaningfully internalize that they are the party of the privileged and the elite, by their own philosophy they are themselves the enemy, they write a blank check for the most lurid excesses of anti-colonial violence and call it "exhilarating" without dealing with the fact that given their assumptions, in this society, they are the power and not the resistance

But it's hard to ask yourself these kinds of questions and most people don't have the nerve for it, and so what we see instead, in another little paradox of human nature, is they're going to blame not the ravisher but the spouse

TL;DR, self-examination is hard, so now Democrats hate Latinos

[lunamond]

Love it when a modern "progressive" show makes all the evildoers physically disabled.

Larys has a Clubfoot, Aemond gets his eye cut out, and now Aegon is burnt and missing appendages.

Isn't it convenient that we can immediately tell a person is bad because their body looks different?

And of course, we don't explore any discrimination against these characters because they're horrible, and we shouldn't feel bad for horrible people.

People were mean to Larys because of his Clubfoot? But don't you know he has a gross foot fetish?

Aemond has impaired vision? But his eyepatch looks cool, and he is still a good fighter, so what is he even complaining about?

Aegon has been severely burnt? But he is a rapist and so let's make jokes about his dick burning off, lol.