#the similarities start coming and they don't stop coming!

[nanamiscocksleeve]

A Tight Spot

Warnings: MDNI, pegging, piv sex, voyeurism, slightly subby Sylus A/n: I know in my rules I said I don't write butt stuff, but (no pun intended) I'm coming around to the idea of prostate massage for men.

Sylus was not in the habit of hiding things from you. However, he had his own secrets, things that he felt made him vulnerable, or he wasn’t sure you’d understand.

One of those things was his ultimate, private kink; pegging. He’d tried it once by himself after reading about prostate massage but the unbelievable pleasure it had brought him blew his mind. The intensity, the absolute delight of getting an orgasm from a prostate massage had opened up new realms for him. Of course, Sylus was kinky and he loved having sex with you, but this particular bit of information embarrassed him, and he’d never dared bring it up for fear that you might judge him. 

Which is why he only indulges in this pleasure when he is alone. The mansion was empty, having sent all his henchmen home for the day, and you were heading back to Linkon City. Sylus lays on his bed, naked, remembering the way your body felt against his, the flushed heat and soft sway of your tits as you rode him, the sound of your sweet moans in his ear. His back still carried the lines scratched by your nails as you’d held onto him in the throes of ecstasy. He missed having you in his bed. Sylus firmly grips his cock, pumping his hard flesh, gritting his teeth, little growls leaving his throat as he pleasured himself.

He imagines you kneeling in between his legs, your face looking so innocent before you opened that wicked mouth and slurped him in, your tongue dipping right into his slit, making him pathetically dribble copious amounts of precum that you licked off with enthusiasm. The memory of your small hand as you squeezed his base, followed by the wet noises of his skin being suctioned by your lips was enough to almost drive him to the edge.

Sylus stops, panting, his eyes wild, blood rushing through his veins as he tries to regain control of his breathing. He knew what would take this fantasy from amazing to out-of-this-world. His tip was weeping, and he thumbs at the milky beads forming on the tip before going on all fours. His hand creeps behind his balls and he knuckles down on his perineum, feeling the faint vestiges of pressure on the little gland hidden away under his skin. He lets out a moan, flexing his buttocks, clenching and unclenching his asshole.  He feels his body starting to tingle with need, the kind that builds up when you’ve been teasing yourself for too long. 

He reaches into his nightstand, digging through the various toys that had been used over this weekend, and finds a slim, black, silicone dildo, the one he’d personally tested amongst many for his backdoor pleasure. A similar one but in red rested in the drawer as well; he was careful to never mix these two up. The red one was yours, and he’d never risk your health by selfishly using the dildo meant for your pussy for himself. He trickles a generous amount of lube on his dildo, before sticking the suction cup base to his headboard and gently backing onto it. He breathes in and out slowly, allowing the muscles to relax, then teases his tight, puckered hole with the tip, groaning as it passes through his tight ring of muscles, filling him up so deliciously. 

Sylus wonders if this is how your pussy feels during penetrative sex and the thought has him clenching, drawing the soft silicone deeper inside of him. He hopes it felt as good for you as this was for him. His cock stands proudly erect, the sensitive head brushing against the sheets as he continues backing onto the toy until he feels it press against a sensitive patch of elastic muscle and he lets out a pathetic moan. His hips arch, angling the tip of the toy until he’s able to glide comfortably, feeling the slick dildo massaging his inner walls, stimulating him beyond belief. 

His eyes close as he sets up his rhythm, each exquisite push against his prostate bringing pops of color behind his closed lids. Sweat slickens his skin as he builds up the pleasurable tension, grounding his hands and knees into the soft mattress to keep up his speed and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he pushes back further and feels like his eyes might roll into the back of his head as the toy bottoms out inside his hole, sitting right against the pulsing gland that threatened to shoot his load out. It never failed to amaze him how quickly his orgasm could form with this particular act, and the tantalizing dance of keeping himself on the edge was an intoxicating rush.

A low, gravelly, purr leaves his throat as he thrusts shallowly, letting himself be massaged so intimately at that sweet spot that he’d been oblivious to for so many years. He wondered how long he’d last this time; he had a reasonable period to himself now that no one was home, and he intended to tease himself into a mess, just to test how much his willpower could be stretched.

 He rides the dildo slowly, his hips rolling smoothly, feeling his back muscles coordinate and his ass grip the dildo in sweet ecstasy. As Sylus’s pace picks up, lewd squelching noises fill the room as he gives in to his urges. He can feel the tension building in his balls, in his belly, his hard abs quivering as the heat starts to gather in his gut. Sweat forms on his forehead, his cock twitching as he humps leaking precum all over the sheets. He can see the stains and bites his lip, feeling the way the sensation grows and ripples through him.

The next second is a blur of motion. As he’s in the blissful throes of his own passion, he hears his bedroom door opening and his name being called. His eyes fly open and he splutters in shock as you enter, losing his rhythm and almost slamming the dildo in haste. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you. Your big, intimidating, boyfriend, bared on all fours, with a dildo in his ass was not something you were expecting to see. Sylus scrambles off the toy, his breathing heavy and unsteady, his face burning red as he tries to cover himself.

He’d never been caught in such a compromising situation, the feeling of being vulnerable alien to him, feeling shame burn through him. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. “What-what are you doing here?” He manages to ask after a long moment of silence. 

You don’t move from your position near the door and Sylus keeps his eyes downcast. After a gap, you start to speak. “Luke and Kieran almost got me to the border but there was a really bad sandstorm. It could have taken hours for it to die down. So they brought me back here.”

“Luke and Kieran?” Sylus’s head whips up in alarm, ruby eyes widening in panic and you quickly approach him on the bed.

“They dropped me off here and went back to their place. It’s ok. It’s just me.”

Relief floods his features only to be immediately drowned by embarrassment and he averts his gaze. You see the tension in his shoulders and how fidgety and nervous he is, making you feel strange. This wasn’t your boyfriend, the confident and ruthless leader of the N109 zone that you had gotten to know. Unsure how to proceed, you gently cup his cheek. His glances briefly at you and you realize he’s waiting for you to pass judgment. Your heart squeezes to see him like this.

“Sylus. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” Your voice is soft and you kneel on the bed so that you can thread your fingers through his hair. Your touch soothes his racing heart but he’s still anxious. His voice is low as he starts to admit his actions.

“I like being pegged.” His voice sounds ashamed. 

“Isn’t that a kink?” You haven’t moved, staying close to his quivering body. 

“It’s not one that I think most men would admit to having.” You gnaw at your lip, trying to remember something, anything, that would ease his tension. 

“But…isn’t pegging the only way to stimulate the prostate? That’s a thing right? Prostate massage?” You slowly draw him closer to you so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Your hands dip down from his hair to stroke his back and you feel him shiver.

“Yeah. It is.”

“And…it feels good right?” You probe further, trying to get him to talk. 

Sylus takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. It does.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone and you like it, why are you so scared right now?” Sylus feels some of the discomfort in his chest release as your words wash over him. After a beat, you ask him a question.

“Why haven’t you shared this with me?” There’s no blame in your voice, just a general curiosity.

Sylus swallows, then rests his cheek on top of your hair, drawing comfort from you. “I don’t know. It’s not a norm. It’s frowned upon. Joked about. I just didn’t know how you’d react to it.”

You huff then grasp his chin and make him look at you. “Sylus, do you know how ironic it is that you made me share all the kinks that I’ve fantasized about and you’ve done them all only to hide this from me?” 

“So you-you don’t find this weird?”

“I think it’s hot when you’re being pleasured. Isn’t that that a good enough answer?” 

Sylus processes what’s been said to him and you take advantage of his distraction to push him down on the mattress, his large frame falling on it with a thump before you lay down next to him. You reassuringly cuddle his body, pressing into him and nuzzling his neck. 

“You looked like you were on the edge of a pretty good orgasm there. Before I came in that is.” 

Sylus clears his throat, traces of a blush lingering on his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, I was.” You trace your fingers down his chest.

“Would you be comfortable to do that again? With me in the room?” You ask the question carefully trying not to crowd him. Sylus finally looks at you in the face. His expression still looked guarded with a tinge of disbelief.

“You-you want to watch me?” Even as he says the words, he feels a surge of arousal. It was touching, almost intimate that you wanted to be a part of this. 

You bite your lip. “You looked really sexy there for a minute. All hot and moaning. I liked it.��

Sylus huffs, trying to regain his composure but your reaction to the whole situation was calming him down. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Your hands busy themselves on his thighs, squeezing and hard sinew, and you see his eyes softening as he realizes he can trust you with this. It pulls at you and you raise your head to kiss him, enjoying their warmth. 

His hands are working deftly to pull off your clothes, his cock hardening again at the prospect of what was to come. You, watching him, pleasuring himself, and it turned you on. There was no mistaking that little lip nibble you had done. The knowledge that he could share this vulnerability was filling him with a different kind of pleasure. 

Once he’s freed you from your clothes, he palms your breasts, groaning as your hands find his cock, pumping him enticingly. After his interrupted orgasm, the whole organ pulses, heat and sexual need filling him. He doesn’t hold back with his bites, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he touches you fervently.

Soft sighs leave your lips as you play with his cock, and you’re eager to see his demonstration on the dildo, needed to hear him make those noises of ecstasy again. “What do you need me to do?” You ask, still pumping his hard flesh. 

Sylus’s eyes are half closed, clearly enjoying your ministrations. He hesitates but asks, “Do you mind squeezing my cheeks?”

Understanding, your hands sensually leave his cock and instead, start to massage the soft rounded flesh of his rear, and he hums at your touch. You feel the muscles contracting and relaxing under your fingers and Sylus was syncing his breaths to the action. He glances over at his headboard, and you can see the dildo is still there, held in place by the broad suction cup base.

“Needs more lube,” he observes, and you squeeze his ass once more before reaching over to grab the bottle from the nightstand and hand it to him. You take note of how much he applies to the toy for future use and he begins to back himself up against it. He looks at you again, unsure. 

“What is it?” You lean up to cup his face, peppering kisses all over it. 

“I’ve…always fantasized about…someone holding me open as I…get penetrated.” He admits shyly and you feel flattered that he had opened up and asked. You move towards his legs and with care, part his cheeks, seeing his opening fluttering, similar to how your pussy would when it needed to be filled.

You watch in fascination as Sylus continues to back onto the dildo and your heart leaps as he makes contact, and watch, wide-eyed, as it starts to disappear into his hole. There’s a rush of arousal, at how hot the sight was, but you remain quiet, the room filling with Sylus’s contained moans as he pushes himself onto the toy.

“Oh Sylus…the view is so sexy.” You encourage him as he pauses in his penetration, panting. 

“Yeah?” He looks at you over his shoulder, and you nod. Your hands slowly release his cheeks which jiggle slightly as they fall back into place. Then he starts to move.

The noises that leave him drive you wild. You’ve heard him while having good sex but nothing compared to this; the way his hips started to buck in abandon, the husky, desperate way he moans as he fucks himself. Not wanting to miss a second, you quickly scramble back to his face, his expression sending a spear of pure lust straight into your core.

His ruby eyes are wide with delight, mouth hanging open in an O as he rides to climax. His gaze fixates on you and you see the flush that stains his skin and know he’s just as turned on by you, by the fact that you’re watching him so admiringly. You squeeze your breasts, teasing your nipples as you try to stimulate yourself with him, rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts, watching the way his weeping cock drags along the sheets with each thrust.

It wasn’t enough and driven by primal instinct, you quickly slide under his muscled body, surprising him. He pauses in his motions. “Kitten?” he breathes questioningly, gazing at you beneath him. 

“Sylus, I can’t. I need to experience you like this.” He lets out a guttural moan as you spread your legs and begin to guide his neglected cock into your hot wetness, the dual sensation too much for him to handle. His hole clenches, feeling the dildo snugly against his prostate while his cock was being nestled into your pussy. He lets out a deep, sultry whine.

“Fuck, sweetie. You’re going to kill me.” You stroke every inch of his body you can reach and Sylus begins to build up his rhythm, going as slowly as possible to stave off his orgasm but he feels like he’s a lost cause. 

Your pussy grips his cock, spasming with each thrust. Every time he moved forward, he’s gliding through your eager cunt, and every time he moves back, the dildo massages his aching prostate and he feels like a loser, knowing he won’t last too long this way.

You see the struggle in his eyes and talk him through it. “It’s ok Sy. You’ve held on for so long. It’s ok to cum. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Let yourself cum.” you murmur reassuringly to him and he lets out a keening groan, his hips going into overdrive as he pushes himself over the edge.

His vision blurs at the edges as an intense orgasm grips him, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries not to collapse on you. His body shakes, creamy jets of cum filling your pussy as his hole spasms rhythmically, prolonging his state of euphoria as he empties himself into you. 

Sylus carefully crawls off the dildo, then lays over you. Sweat covers each inch of his body as you lovingly stroke his hair. 

“I don’t know why you’d hide something so hot from me.”

“What’s a relationship without a little mystery?”

“Well mystery solved. Next time, we should use a vibrating dildo.”

Your eyes flicker with mischief and Sylus chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[gorillawithautism]

the autism in me can't tell if you're trying to be snarky about it or if you're genuinely asking so if this backfires on me i'll just block and move on but i'll try to act like you were being genuine and not just giving sass to a palestinian for no good reason :)

olly (a palestinian) made a post is discussing the fact their culture is just that: a culture. it is rich and it's meaningful. it's nuanced and diverse. however, olly has also noticed that some people who aren't palestinian take this culture and flatten it. they appropriate it. they wear it like a costume. using aspects of the culture to signal in a two dimensional way that they are Morally Upright by (theoretically) Supporting Palestinians. however, it's impossible to tell how much someone truly supports palestinian liberation and decolonization from just a garment of clothing or something similar. that means that these people are not doing anything substantial for the cause by appropriating the culture in this way. they oversimplify and misrepresent it. and this behavior ultimately harms palestinians. because olly is palestinian, they know exactly how much this hurts them, their people, and their liberation.

now that i've so kindly explained what cultural appropriation and virtue signalling are, we can move on to how your responses were unhelpful at best, and actively antagonistic at worst! :) isn't that exciting <3

you posted "No. Stop this. When a culture is on the receiving end of a genocide, that is not the time to stop and consider the purity of your intentions. Of course it is important, but wouldn't you agree that celebrating any shred of Palestinian culture is what is important right now? Liberals love making perfect the enemy of good. Get out of your head and do whatever you can. This isn't the time for this kind of nonsense."

in the first two sentences, you commanded them to stop. you positioned yourself as more powerful and more knowledgeable than olly. this established two things right off the bat: that you do not know anything at all about olly and that you believe yourself to know better than them despite this. in the third sentence, you act as though it is unquestionably impossible for nonpalestinian antizionists to truly have pure intentions when engaging palestinian culture, community, and liberation. there are people out there who listen to palestinians when they speak. there are people out there who believe that being kind to palestinians is just as important as ending their genocide. there are people out there who know that just because the nature of genocide dehumanizes its victims, that does not mean we must also treat them as though kindness is not a priority. in the fourth sentence, you pose a question. a question that acknowledges that kindness and sensitivity is important in one breath but then acts unkind to olly in the next. you act as though "celebrating any shred of palestinian culture" is a service, regardless of whether that celebration is a respectful one or not. you act as though respect is not important, despite starting the question itself with "of course it is important" which tells me that you don't really believe that yourself. respectfully engaging with palestinians as though they are real people living real lives with real families and real cultural history is clearly not as important to you as being a Good Person who (theoretically) Supports Palestinians. that is exactly the sort of virtue signalling discussed above, both in olly's original post and when i (a nonpalestinian white person) re-explained it. perhaps some part of you realized that olly's target audience was people like yourself. or perhaps you missed that entirely because you weren't willing to try listening to them. either way that's kinda embarrassing ngl. i can see why you might get defensive instead of doing any amount of self reflection. finally, we come to the last bit of your initial reblog. honestly it's not that important to discuss bc i think i mostly covered everything but i do want to point out that it's kinda funny that you called olly a liberal. and you said that they are making "an enemy of good." who's the "good" in this? is it supposed to be you? are you the good guy here? is being disrespectful to palestinians on the internet something that good guys do?

anyway hopefulaly you now see that there was not a single person saying anything about "hesitation and inaction" since i was so gracious to do an analysis of olly's post :) one that you should have done yourself :) and next time, if that analysis is something that's difficult for you, i recommend asking questions instead of immediately jumping to being a dick. as long as you're cordial about it, i'm sure people won't mind explaining a couple things

palestinian culture isn't something for you to "consume". buying as many "palestinian themed" things as possible isn't being an ally. please focus on real life decolonization rather than being a performative ally. pay attention whether you are actually appreciating the culture or just consuming it for your own self interest and gain.

[baphometsss]

I don't wanna sit here and act like I'm a professional or anything, because I'm not, but as someone who has had to do a lot of work to overcome trauma and reconfigure my brain more or less from the ground up, there's a lot I have to say about Solas's mental state

We know that Solas was essentially used and abused by Mythal for millennia. Even if he wasn't under a geas, he was twisted from his purpose by being made to fight, and then created the Wolf's Fang which was used to make the Titans tranquil and started the Blights. He made those choices himself, but it's important to understand that no choice is ever made in a vacuum. She took advantage of his vulnerability when he was given a body after however long as a spirit semi-existing peacefully in the Fade, and moulded him into a weapon.

He is broken, because Mythal broke him. I'm not incapable of seeing why she did what she did because like I said, no one makes choices in a vacuum and I could write about her for a long time too (in a similar way to how I have had to do myself in my own life in understanding why others abused me). He was so traumatised by everything that happened and he was trauma bonded to Mythal pretty much from the minute he gained a body. Trauma bonds are not about love. He definitely interpreted it that way, as most people do, but that's the weapon abusers use to keep the victim under their control. Abuse abuse abuse show a scrap of love and then abuse some more. If I just take it, I'll get the love/attention I need. I will earn it, because love is suffering, and I have to suffer to earn getting my basic needs met from my family/friends. Mythal, as his creator, was the one who he would've attached to in a similar way to spirit Cole/human Cole.

Trauma bonds are pathological. Mythal made him believe that if he did as she asked, and kept supporting her, then eventually he would gain her favour and they would be able to free all the elves, and he'd be able to live according to his true nature, which is one where he doesn't have to fight. (Remember his personal quest in DAI? He actually kills the rebel mages for corrupting his friend--another Wisdom spirit--into Pride.) In reality, she was just using him. She always kept the bone just out of reach for her lapdog. The line from Rook where they say (paraphrasing here) 'you know, I was actually excited about getting your approval... That's how you do it, isn't it? Keeping giving little scraps of approval to keep someone loyal, and then you turn around and betray them' is so telling too.

Where--or from whom--do you think he learned to do this?

It literally reeks of a pathological trauma bond and honestly, with how isolated, 'grim and fatalistic' Solas is, it is not a surprise that he's so broken.

Solas, essentially, is little more than a lap-dog to Mythal. He followed her like a lost puppy, because especially in his early days, that's kind of what he was. You have to remember that most of the insight we get about Mythal is from Solas's perspective, and he is not a reliable person when it comes to her after so long being repeatedly terrorised and twisted and manipulated. There are several instances where he describes being betrayed by her, and mentions some of the things she did, but he never quite holds her fully accountable and ends up directing his rage elsewhere. (The parallel between Mythal/Solas and the rebel mages/Wisdom is important here.)

This awesome post by @mythalism only reinforces this. He is so messed up in that scene, he is broken, he is holding the Wolf's Fang up, trying to give it to her because it symbolises the burden he has carried for thousands of years trying to avenge her death. He never wanted the Fang, like he never wanted a body. Mythal just stands over him, fully aware of what she did to him, and only getting him to stop because Rook petitioned her successfully, and the reunion with the more benevolent Mythal within Morrigan tempered her anger. She was a goddess, with the unequal power dynamic, right to the end.

As a side note, on the potential romance element between Mythal and Solas, I read an excellent breakdown of it on Reddit a while ago about how out of character it would've been for Solas to keep something like that from a romanced Lavellan, especially in Trespasser when he comes clean about his plan/past. I can't find it now because it was pre-Veilguard release, but it made a lot of sense to me. Solas and Lavellan never have a love scene in DAI because Solas didn't want to 'lay with them under false pretences'. Lying about who you are when sleeping with someone is nonconsensual. You can't consent to sleeping with someone if you don't know their true identity, and someone who knowingly lies about who they are to get into your pants is a sexual predator. For someone who led a slave rebellion (no doubt many of them being sex slaves), and a former spirit of Wisdom, Solas would've been well aware of this. In the unsent letter from Solas to Lavellan he says he came so close to breaking and desperately wanted to stay with them as Solas, with the implication being that that is where he planned to sleep with them once he'd come clean. But because he stops, because he's still unable to forgive himself or release himself from his trauma bond with Mythal, he breaks away, and they never have sex.

Bottom line: Solas would've been honest about it. Especially that. As the Inquisitor says, he can't lie about his heart.

And it's why the Solas/Lavellan romance is so powerful because quote, 'you change everything'. Solas thought he knew what love was, that love was loyalty, devotion, worship, etc. It's not just his plans or worldview that Lavellan changes. Lavellan sees him for who he is, without the mantle of Dread Wolf, and because of that he's able to express his true nature to her, even if he's not being totally honest in Inquisition. Lavellan got much closer to the real him than most, as he says, and changed his understanding of love completely. Unfortunately, he has unfinished business, an unresolved trauma bond, and his crushing sense of duty to the past is what keeps him from taking that final step towards letting go of it entirely. Trick also says Solas doesn't think he deserves love, which tbh is kind of a hallmark trait of people who have survived abuse.

And honestly? Call me a simp but I think he really was trying to get the Inquisitor to stop him. He saw himself being unable to let go because he was so broken and burdened by his guilt, and knew he couldn't save himself--was too proud to admit that he couldn't, because how pathetic does it make him look? And how could he stop now without rendering all the damage he'd wrought pointless? Yet here was someone who had changed him right down to his core, who understood him in a way few people ever had, whom he trusted, whom he loved in a way he hadn't loved anyone else before. It took him 'centuries' to build up rapport with the members of his rebellion. The man doesn't not know how to form attachments without trauma, and suddenly he forms a strong one with someone who loves him completely and without condition. It's a jarring change.

Lavellan says that maybe they're being prideful themselves, refusing to see their own folly. But I think in admitting that they might be wrong, that it might be wishful thinking borne from misguided love to a truly terrible person, they've rendered the point moot. It shows self-awareness, which isn't folly.

If anyone can make Solas understand true love, it's Lavellan. Lavellan loved him when he was being his true self. Lavellan loved him after his betrayal was revealed. Lavellan loved him when his guilty conscience and terrible actions almost destroyed the world. Lavellan loved him because they knew the real him, and knew that his heart and spirit were broken, and knew that their love would endure, that their love would heal him.

And that's exactly where they end up. Healing the past, soothing the Blight, and loving one another completely.

[elbiotipo]

Something worth noting is that the constitutions of many Latin American countries were based in the US constitution, which was at the time seen as an example of a liberal republic. So yes, indeed, Argentina once had an electoral college for example.

And indeed that electoral college and restrictive voting laws (the República Conservadora of 1853-1916~) was used to suppress popular will (something like 1% of the population could vote). After the reforms by the UCR, universal male suffrage was achieved, the electoral college always voted proportionally to the popular vote (unlike the US where it's a winner takes all system), though afterwards there was decades of coups so there weren't many elections. Woman suffrage came with Perón and Evita, as well as the 1949 constitution that enshrined worker's and social rights (later repealed by the military dictatorship, though worker's rights are still guaranteed explicitly by the current constitution)

It was with the 1994 constitution when we finally stopped that stupid system and went directly with the popular vote. In any case, as I said, the electoral college voted proportionally to the popular vote so it was more redudant than anything. (I understand, though my knowledge there is limited, that Brazil and other countries had a similar history)

This all happened because like most constitutions, the Argentine constitution has been reformed multiple times. It started mostly as a copy of the US constitution which was a model at the time, but situations changed. Worker's rights, women's right, indigenous rights, environmental rights, changes to the procedure of state, the defense against our history of coups. Many things changed (and indeed the constitution and I argue the whole political system is overdue for a change) and they did by long popular struggle.

The United States remains the only country in the world with an electoral college. Many archaic and unequal things like the all powerful supreme court or the strange voting system in the United States simply aren't found in other such democracies because they changed. It's strange to pretend the United States is a paramount of democracy because their own model of democracy is actually very obsolete, and in fact doesn't even approach the ongoing developments in popular sovereignity in countries like China (which I don't have time to write about but they're very interesting) or indeed, other "average" democracies in Latin America, Africa, Europe, and the rest of the world. And yet democracies in general are having a hard time in responding to the needs of the people (which is natural given the state of class conflict) and there are some that are particularily ossified and not a model for anyone, such as the US and the UK. If you attempt to study or measure "democracy" by their standards, you're doomed to failure.

In the coming decades new ways of concieving the state and the "res publica" will emerge. From an outsider's perspective, the liberal capitalist model of the United States is hopelessly outdated and those who cling to it (like our own Milei) are walking fossils. There is a future for democracy but it will be very different from what we know.

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

*Blasting the door and coming from the smoke left by it* I demand to KNOW more about how poor Jack ended like a headmaster on your crazy awesome sauce AU because AAAAAAAAA 💥 (when you can and if you got more, of course!)

Ok, this took a while 😅 referring to this post

Also art... because I took too long zkjdhkzfhsj

Anyway this is going to be very long, so have a cut as well lol

SOOOOOOOOO I yet don't have a full timeline of events due to working on other stuff, but the premise of this is me pulling up all the Headmasters and Super-God Masterforce lore into TFP. Jack was just the unfortunate soul who I chose to go through all this HAHAHA

In short, while on a mission as always, Miko sneaks out and Jack has to follow her so she doesn't get hurt. But in this mission, there were no Decepticons, it was all a trick from a team of humans who were looking to capture Team Prime. These humans were nothing like Team Prime had encountered before...

Nothing like MECH, like Morocco, or just nothing like they have seen on Earth. These humans had bracelets that when activated gave the human a weird-looking armor, just for a giant headdle robot to appear out of nowhere and then, set human to turn into its head and begin controlling it...

Team Prime knew what those robots were, Cybertronians. How did some humans manage to get those bodies? We don't know. How do they manage to control them? We don't know. Are they actually... Cybertronian bodies? We don't want to know.

It didn't take long for chaos to take control and everyone blasting each other... so the kids had to find a place to stay safe while the ¨fun¨ was happening.

But things just got worse and worse. No space was safe from these weird mechanical humans. So the kids had to keep going deeper to keep themselves safe.

As they keep plunging into darkness, as rocks keep crumbling over them, and as the sound of the blaster keep increasing. The kids could just run. Until it all seemed to stop. Finally! A safe place for the two!

And it seemed normal until Miko had to press one button, and from the ceiling... a giant robot body called. Tied up with chains, colored fully gray colors, no signs of life... just empty. From it, also two bracelets very similar to the ones of the humans had fallen off the robot.

Miko was very curious, but Jack just took them off her hands with one slip. He was very tire, very mad, and just didn't wanted to deal with more...

And they could just have kept quiet, sat, and waited for Ratchet to open a ground breach for them, if for the giant metal hand that destroyed the ceiling and that was trying to squick them...

They were both going to end dead if they didn't found a quick way to scape, but the rumble had already taken that option away. It seemed... if it was possible... one chance to escape.

So Jack called the one about and did a Miko.

As soon as those bracelets clicked on his bare hands, the robot had activated, but at difference of the other humans who became the head of their robots, this one already had one. Instead, when the robot activated this one unchained itself and begin running towards Jack and grab him like a mouse, then, putting the boy on its abdomen that closed like a cage. In seconds, a weird green liquid begin to fill the robot with Jack inside, as if it was juice soda...

Miko started to panic, it seemed that she had given Jack a death sentence and it seemed that it was about to be her turn as the big metallic hand leaned closer to give a hit...

But then, and luckily for her, she was swooped away and taken with safety before the worst.

-

-

-

Jack was not dealing well with this. Like not well... Miko was screaming how cool this was but Jack... the sounds of this new body, the liquid that was all around him, the new heavy limbs he had... it was just so wrong!

They had so much luck managing to scape... but now, BUT WHAT NOW!!?? What is going on and what how is Jack going to get out of this robot suit!!???

Maybe the others could help him, if they don't blast him first...

[raileurta]

So @gyancastle had this idea and made cool art that when the apex armor is piloted by a human they turn into a cybertronian. Miko also gets this sick battle axe! Here's the link to the post(s) if you want to see it. So anyways I'm yoking that idea.

After Miko gets the apex armor instead of taking it away from her the team decides to let her keep it. They train her in self defense, strategy, Cybertronian's martial arts, and how to use her axe. She becomes quite the force in the field.

One day in battle a weird ground bridge is activated but it looks nothing like a standard one. It's huge, a distorted look to it, and a deep yellow. It starts sucking everything in which of course includes Miko. When she's spat out she's millions of miles in the air, after falling for a bit she crash lands in a forest. Distorted she walks to the nearest body of water near which is a big lake. Washing herself off of tree branches, leaves, dirt, and other kinds of debris Miko hears a crunch. Turning around with her battle axe ready she comes to a strange sight. It's Optimus, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Ratchet and a random human girl??? But there's something wrong with them, first of all they're comically much smaller and look different. (This during season 1 btw because I haven't finished the series yet but will be reconed in the future probably)

Miko demands to know who they are which they of course give their names which makes her more confused. Falling back on her training she realizes she needs information. So she decides to go along with whatever is happening. They ask for her destination which she responds "joyride prime" because Miko is still Miko she's going to do some trolling. She looks weirdly similar to her own Optimus when she's in the armor, plus Miko doesn't think she could handle being given orders by a fun sized Optimus. She barely tolerates orders back home!

Anyways she goes with them and when they ask what alt mode she wants. Miko has to awkwardly talk about how she can't transform. Miko "explains" that her t-cog was removed a long time ago and she can't replace it for whatever reason. The bots are horrified but she just plays it off.

They go back to base and Miko hangs out with Sari for a few minutes, she finds it really neat that this kid is like a mini her. Miko finds the other bots very charming as well; they're like a softer version of her own autobots. Especially Optimus, he actually shows emotions here!

Then a alarm goes off; decepticons are causing trouble of course and Miko goes along with them to fight. She hitches a ride with Bulkhead since you know she can't drive there. It's starscream doing whatever plot he's doing, he starts monologuing and Miko is like fuck that. I already get enough of this from her own decepticons. She throws her axe and cuts one of his arms off. When it spins back to her Miko starts rocking this twink's aft. It's like embarrassing easy to her; yeah starscream was a little incompetent in her universe but at least he could fight. The fact this one was much smaller and hasn't been fighting a lot, so yeah an easy win. When Miko goes for the kill she's stopped by Optimus. This dude has such a horrified look on his face that it stops her in her tracks. This gives starscream enough of an opening to escape. She's pissed™️ and asks why he stopped her? Optimus is also a little mad because wtf, we don't kill! They then head back to base to continue their argument there. It's really messy because remember in Miko's universe it's more violent and death is sort of normalized. So she doesn't get what she did wrong!

Miko storms off somewhere. Sari tries to follow her but is stopped by bumblebee. He thinks this new mech is a little too violent and dangerous for her to be around. The young girl doesn't listen and goes after our wrecker anyways. Sari finds the older girl brooding on a random donut shop. They have a talk and Miko accidentally reveals she's not a Cybertronian. She decides since the cats already out of the bag she tells Sari everything over donuts and go back to the base.

Everyone is a little mad at Sari but glad she's safe; Miko is a little offended. Yes I did just try to kill a guy but I'm not going to hurt a little kid! Sari tells them about how Miko is from a different universe and the war. (She leaves out the being human bit) . Now knowing her situation the bots better understand her behavior. The autobots set off of trying to figure out how to get Miko home.

Meanwhile the prime autobots are freaking the fuck out. Miko's been sucked into a whole other dimension being subjected to who knows god what!

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

Meanwhile with the animated bots:

Miko: Then my Bulkhead ripped that venhcon's whole guts out! I practically felt the sparks on my skin!

Everyone: 😨

Optimus covering sari's ears: great........

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

If we're being completely honest Miko is terrorizing this universe not the other way around.

[space-antlers-in-space]

Election dumpster fire aside, I have been consumed with thoughts of Azmidi since the Halloween BA and I must put them somewhere. Discussion of age-restricted Patreon content and adult themes below

So it may or may not be obvious but I LOVE Erik's demons. Themes about humanity, learning to love/care, immortality, true self etc tinged with some eldritch magic shit? You got me. I'm in, baby. So Azmidi being revealed as a new type of demon has me HYPED I'm spinning that spooky boy around in my head so fast. Some details about the BA caught my attention, and I'm wondering if other people visualized/interpreted things differently.

One detail is Azmidi's voice, where it comes from and how he uses it. For the majority of his audios, he only speaks to Sweetie through the phone, and his voice sounds solidly human through the speaker. However during the BA, once their scene is reaching it's peak, his moaning and breathing can be heard outside the speakerphone, accompanied with the low droning sound I associate with telepathic communication in Erik's audios. And then, once he's asked them to speak his name out loud and they seem to comply, what I interpret as his REAL voice is heard. Deep, heavy and irrefutably demonic.

Also, from what I can tell, Azmidi only ever describes touching Sweetie and never actually does.

The way I imagine the scene is that Azmidi is not visible or directly audible to Sweetie when he's speaking on the phone. I don't think he has one that he's speaking into either, I think he's using magic to make the phone into a conduit for his voice, if that makes sense. He's in the room but they can't sense him. As their pleasure builds, so does his, and his voice breaks into their mind telepathically as his magic "leaks" out around the phone conduit. Then the effect of his real voice dropping into the room so suddenly gives me such a strong visual of him physically materializing over Sweetie for the first time since they started this game. It sounds to me like he becomes solid leaning over them, breathing into their face but still never actually touching them at all. Then, interestingly, once they've reached their climaxes, all the sounds of his voice retreat back into the tinny phone speaker. He doesn't seem to stay physical in the aftermath, even now that their role play is over.

So my questions are these! Does Azmidi usually stay invisible to Sweetie even when they're not playing? Does he use telepathy or the phone as their primary source of communication? We know that Vega behaves in a bit of a similar way; he will often stay invisible to his charges, especially unempowered ones, unless he intends to be intimidating. Vega also rarely, if ever, speaks out loud, preferring to speak telepathically. He's explained that he simply has disdain for human methods of speech and doesn't care to talk out loud for the comfort of humans around him. Appearing human or following their social norms is of no interest to him.

I'm so curious if Azmidi has similar motives, and if so why they would extend to Sweetie, a human he seems to genuinely care for. Aftercare for their scene seems to be minimal, at least what we get onscreen, but he does ask if they're alright and confirms that there is a safeword in place that they've discussed. I wonder if he just doesn't prefer to be in a physical body? Or if he is being mindful not to hurt Sweetie? Based on his description of the size of his hands and body it seems like his form is enormous. That might make it annoying to try and move around, and tricky to avoid hurting a human accidentally. If he is physical when his voice sounds like it's fully in the room, it seems like Sweetie isn't truly afraid of the sight of him, at least not so much that the fear that would make them stop the scene. I don't think he's hiding himself to avoid scaring them, so why does he disappear again, once the game is over?

Blegh this is a big wall of text and for all we know this audio was just a tiny window into their relationship. Im just foaming at the mouth for more information. Pairings between humans and demons interest me sooo much and the different ways they accommodate each other are so fascinating to think about. If you read all this way thank you for humoring me and let me know if you have any thoughts or you imagine anything different!

[enigmaticexplorer]

Wow - it's bizarre to me hearing that you were talking about this with someone else! It's hard to wrap my mind around haha. But I also feel excited knowing that you were talking about it!

Are you saying you just started writing it after you read hers?

Simply put, I got obsessed. And then I couldn't stop. :)

I love your portrayal of him. He was almost friendly without being too much so. I enjoyed him a lot. I feel like she's going to be the hesitant one here, not him, and I like that. We often see it the other way in Fox fics.

Thank you! I always feel a little nervous about how I characterize beloved clones. I have different opinions from the main fandom when it comes to Fox, especially, so characterizing him can be a wee nerve-wracking haha. And I haven't read much Fox fic, so I didn't know that he's usually characterized as the more reserved one! For this fic, I wanted Fox to be somewhat reserved (I don't imagine him as overly flirtatious or outgoing) but I also wanted him to be more "warm" than the Reader. He's the one driving this; he's the one making the first moves; he realizes she is never going to break the ice first, and he's more than willing to breach the space first.

Right off the bat, your first author's note made me giddy:

Haha thank you! I was chuckling to myself when I wrote it :)

And I'm glad you're writing this fic, not only for yourself, but for others in a similar situation. I think it's very important. Thank you for being willing to do that.

This made me tear up. Being this vulnerable is a lot, and I ended up removing the author's note because it felt like too much, but this means a lot to me. I felt like I had to explain why the Reader would be experiencing these types of body issues, and the support I've seen from you and others has been very kind.

Let Me Love You - Part I

Masterlist | Next Part

General Summary. An opportunity to expand your grandmother’s business brings you to Coruscant and a chance-encounter with Commander Fox. Friendship is your intent. But feelings grow, and with them, renewed fears. 

Pairing. Commander Fox x female!OC

General Warnings. Self-esteem issues; intimacy issues; trust issues; explicit sexual content. 

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Word Count. 2.4K

A/N. Happy Kinktober! My kink is the hyper-independent FMC who’s convinced she’s incapable of being loved, and the confidently-patient MMC resolved to prove her wrong.

Also, this story wouldn't exist without @/dystopicjumpsuit's In the Matter of Marshal Commander Fox vs. the Stocking Kink, the Court Finds the Defendant Filthy. There is zero correlation between the two, but DJ's one-shot reminded me how much I love Fox. And thus, this story was born.

9 Yelona, Zhellday

Autumn on Coruscant elapsed like the other seasons of the year—controlled temperature, heavy traffic, and malodorously polluted air. The environment was a stark contrast to your home planet, Lefaepa. 

With its fields of amber, and its hills of autumnal red, and its valleys speckled with clumps of asters and sunflowers, Lefaepa was the planet to visit for the annual Harvest Festival. 

It was a tradition that dated back ten thousand years. Month-long festivities concluded on the 35th when everyone gathered in their local towns and shared the reaping of their harvest. 

The communal and unevolved technological aspects of Lefaepan culture set it and its neighboring systems apart from the rest of the galaxy. “Backwater,” they were called. “Archaic.” 

But the Lefaepans didn’t care. They were so far removed from galactic societal expectations and dictations that the opinions of those located billions of kilometers away hardly mattered. What do the people who live in cages know? they laughed among themselves.

You missed it—your home, the silence at night, the fresh air with its honeysuckle breeze. 

Since you first arrived on Coruscant two years ago, you’ve returned home twice for the Harvest Festival. Your parents appreciated the extra help on the farm, and you enjoyed the pitchers of apple cider, the twangy music, and the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. 

This year, however, you were missing the festivities. An argument with your mother left you too raw to visit home. No matter how much your heart longed for the stars and your soul yearned for the quiet of those red hills, your pride kept you away. Your mother had gone too far this time. 

Her constant pressure to settle for the first man who gave you attention—her constant remarks that you weren’t “getting younger”—had coalesced into a resentment unbreakable. Even now, three weeks after your argument, a bitter taste filled your mouth. Ire clenched in your jaw. 

Was it not enough that you had performed well in university? 

Was it not enough that you had expanded your grandmother’s business?

Were you not enough on your own?

Conflicting thoughts clashed within your mind, a war raging. 

Swords clanging—an adamant acceptance of your independence. 

Cannons blasting—a defiant roar against your mother’s comments and interferences. 

Arrows piercing armor—a desperate, silent plea for someone to see you, to believe you were enough to be loved.

Over time, many battles were fought. 

For weeks, the armies fell quiet, re-strategizing, allowing you a moment of peace. And then they surged forth, a surprise attack spurred by your mother or your insecurities or—

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

The voice plucked you from your spinning thoughts and you recoiled, looking up from the thin coin you were cleaning. Weaving his way through the glass cases of artifacts strolled a man in red armor: helmet tucked beneath an arm, curly hair close-cropped, groomed stubble faintly shadowing his jaw.

A member of the Corrie Guard. You were familiar with them. 

After the Clone War ended two years ago, the Jedi uncovering and preventing a massive scheme to destroy the Republic, the Grand Army of the Republic was restructured. A tentative peace encompassed the galaxy. There was no longer a need for full battalions of soldiers. 

Pension plans passed, many soldiers retired. Some remained, though. Some, like the Corrie Guard, who were organized into an internal defensive bureau—the Department of Security��dedicated to protecting the New Republic from terrorist cells. Cells that were keen for chaos and anarchy.

So, the Guard’s random visit to your gallery was surprising.

“Can I help you?”

The Guard approached your counter—where you conducted all final transactions—with an aplomb that clued you into the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you the owner of the gallery?” At your nod, the Guard extended a gloved hand. “I’m Commander Fox.” The handshake was firm and brief. Matter-of-fact, just like the commander’s tone. “Yesterday, two Weequays were spotted on a public cam just outside this gallery. They were wearing black cowls and dressed in dark clothing. Do you know anything about them?”

The description, while slightly vague, was familiar. Your eyes narrowed. “They came inside and looked around a bit.”

The commander maintained eye contact with a calculation that made you tense. “For how long?” 

“Maybe five minutes.” You rounded the counter and motioned for the commander to follow you. A couple paces led you toward an unseemly case in a corner near the locked door that led to the backroom. “They spent most of that time looking at this: the Sword of Skander.”

Commander Fox peered into the case, eyeing the ancient sword inside. “What’s its story?”

“The sword belonged to Emperor Skander of the Meso civilization that existed ten thousand years ago,” you said with a cool, blasé inflection born from years working in this field. “When he assumed emperorship, his empire was close to collapse. To fight off his greatest enemy, he went to a sorcerer-type people and begged for an undefeatable weapon. They gave him this sword.”

“Undefeatable?” The commander raised his gaze to yours. A white scar cut across his chin. “It’s a sword.”

You offered him a bland smile. “The metal of the blade is unique. It no longer exists. It’s either been depleted so much it’s undiscoverable or it’s been hidden.” 

Commander Fox observed the sword with an unreadable expression. “And yet the metal in the sword remains.”

“The sword is protected by both cultural heritage laws and general artifact preservation laws,” you explained. “It was given to my grandmother forty years ago by a local community with ties to the Meso empire. One of their children was playing in a random cave when she found the sword. The locals recognized it from their legend. They wanted to protect it. So they asked my grandmother to safeguard it from those who would test the metal and replicate it.”

The commander ran a thumb along his lower lip. “Did the Weequay ask you any questions about it?”

“No.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “When I asked if I could help them, they left.”

“What’s so special about a rare metal?” Commander Fox mused aloud. At your silence, he pinned you with a hard look. “You know something.”

You hesitated. When you inherited the gallery, you had promised your grandmother to protect the sword’s secret capability. A capability that would earn the interest of different parties, including terrorists. 

“Very few people know this,” you said quietly. The commander shifted forward. “The sword’s blade can cut through any material. Including beskar.” His eyes widened. “And its blade is imbibed with a quick-acting poison. One little scratch and you’ll be dead within a minute.”

“That makes it a dangerous weapon,” Commander Fox murmured. He surveyed the front windows. Stained glass. An assortment of colors. They shielded visitors from Coruscant’s environment, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of ancient times, transplanting visitors from the modern world into history. “In the wrong hands—”

“That’s why only a handful of people know the truth.” You gestured to the case’s peeling wood and scratches. “And why its appearance is so modest.”

The commander released a contemplative sound.

Unease pricked the back of your neck. “You think the Weequays may suspect its true origins.”

His demeanor was impassive. “If I asked you to move the sword to your backroom, would you?”

“Only if you answer my question.”

“You haven’t asked me a question.” The corner of his mouth curved at your annoyed eye roll. “But…I believe there’s merit to your suspicions.”

You gave a sharp nod. “There are cases in the back with strong security systems. I’ll move it into one of those.”

“Thank you.” Commander Fox adjusted the helmet beneath his elbow. “Do you have private cams set up?”

“I do.” You extended your head to the one behind him, well-hidden among lacy drapes. 

“Good.” He scanned the gallery, most likely searching for the others. “Can I get a copy of the last week’s footage?”

“The last week?” His nod was perfunctory. You pursed your lips. “I don’t have time right now—”

“I’ll return to tomorrow.” He glanced once more at the sword. “If that works with your schedule.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Commander Fox offered his hand and you accepted it. Again. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

10 Yelona, Benduday

“Commander Fox.” You greeted the man with a close-mouthed smile. “Give me a minute.”

The commander, with his helmet cradled in the crook of his arm, nodded. The patient apathy on his face hid his true thoughts as he appraised a glass case housing five clay tablets inscribed with an indecipherable language. Your radiocarbon tests dated them nearly one-hundred thousand years old.

“As promised,” you said to the elderly man opposite your counter. Removing the lid from the large, nondescript box, you beckoned the man to peer inside. Joy played on his withered mouth.  

“Your payment,” he said, brandishing a bank card, “as promised.”

A swipe of his card deposited the credits into your account. It would take no more than thirteen hours for the transfer to complete its process. 

With a wave at the elderly man, you turned your attention to Commander Fox. 

“As promised for you.” You slid a datafile across the counter. “The five days preceding the Weequays’ visit, and the day of.”

Commander Fox rested a hand atop the ‘file. Like yesterday, red armor accentuated by a white chest plate covered his body. A black kama encircled his waist; a white utility belt sat snuggly on his hips. He set his helmet atop the counter.

“You must make a lot of money to afford these pieces.”

“I don’t sell the artifacts,” you said. The commander straightened slightly at your terse tone. “A majority of them were gifted to me by my grandmother. The rest are on loan from museums or private collections.” Your arms crossed your chest. “Artifacts are meant to be admired, studied, and respected. I’m not in this trade to buy and sell rarities just for the ego of having lots of money.”

If he was bothered by your sharp response, he didn’t show it. “Then how do you make money?”

“Through appraisals and consulting, mostly.” You rested a hip against the counter. “Preserving certain artifacts is expensive. If you don’t know what you’re doing, it can be either dangerous or ruinous. Lots of people will pay a good amount of money for an expert to preserve their family heirlooms or treasures they’ve accumulated. And they’ll pay even more to store their collections. I also document and organize assets for clients.”

Commander Fox dipped his chin toward the front door. “And that man—what did you do for him?”

“A cleaning.” You shrugged at his bemused frown. “Inside that box was a stack of plates that have been in his family for eight generations. Each plate is painted with a unique decoration. The paint is hundreds of years old and frail. A regular cleaning wouldn’t suffice, so I handled it.”

“That’s a lot of work for…” The commander cut himself off.

“Junk?” you surmised. He offered an apologetic grimace. “It may be junk to you. But artifacts mean different things to different people. Not only are they a way to study history and cultural nuances, they also connect you with people you might have nothing in common with. They offer a new perspective.”

You gestured to an ornamental warrior’s mask hanging on the wall behind you. “This mask belongs to my oldest client. She’s lost mobility in her hands and her eyesight is waning. She asked me to store the mask for her granddaughter, who will inherit the heirloom on her twentieth birthday. It’s been in their family for nearly two thousand years.”

Commander Fox whistled lowly.

“That’s a lot of history stored within a single, material item.” You scanned his face. “But it’s not just about preserving that family’s history. The mask is symbolic—it represents the family’s drive and resilience in times of turmoil. It’s survived horrific times, and so can they.”

For several seconds, Commander Fox scrutinized the green-blue mask. 

“I…don’t have anything like that,” he said slowly, almost as if to himself. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I’ve never been one for history. I prefer a quantitative approach to my work.” 

“Different methods of thinking,” you said. “But equally important to society.”

He levelled a shrewd look at you. “What does it mean to you?”

“I told you—”

“I don’t want a practiced answer.” He arched a brow. “Why do you care about this stuff?”

“It’s history.” Your eyes drifted across the gallery, perusing a set of dry scrolls, a painting of unfamiliar constellations, a set of vases detailing a primitive form of hunting. “Being around these things—holding them…it reminds me that my life is short and insignificant. History won’t remember me, so I might as well live my life how I want.”

For someone like you—someone who experienced the heavy, debilitating pressure of responsibility when making even the smallest of decisions—it was comforting. 

Commander Fox braced an elbow on the counter. “You don’t think you’ll be remembered?” 

“I’d rather be known than remembered.”

“A contradictory sentiment for someone in your industry.”

You conceded his point with a small smile. “There are people who leave a lasting impression on others. I’m not one of those people.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You left an impression on me.” 

A doubtful eyebrow quirked. “Is that so.” 

“You shared a secret with me.” The beginnings of a smirk ghosted his mouth. “One that only a handful of people in the galaxy know.”

A quiet laugh escaped, and you shook your head, amused. “I hope I don’t regret that decision.”

Commander Fox tapped a slow rhythm against the countertop. “Nah. You won’t.”

“I gave it some thought,” you said, while Commander Fox pocketed the datafile. His silence demanded an explanation. “A Guard investigating something is serious. I mean, you jurisdiction is terrorism.” Whatever vestiges of humor remained vanished. “Tell me, Commander, will my gallery be safe?”

“You’re concerned with the gallery?” At the incredulity in his voice, your eyes squinted in confusion. He searched your face. “Not your life?”

Your blank blink earned you a displeased frown. 

“They’re after the sword,” you said plainly. “If I don’t get in their way, I doubt anything will happen to me.”

Displeasure remained present in the scoured lines of his forehead but the commander didn’t press. Instead, he grabbed his helmet and gave you a final onceover. “I’ll be visiting every day for the foreseeable future. To keep tabs on things and to sweep the area.” 

Dark brown eyes—like the blackest of caf with just a dash of milk—held yours. He waited for your nod of acknowledgement and then turned on his heel.

“ ‘Til tomorrow,” he said in farewell.

Masterlist | Part II

A/N: I was ten when I started hating my body. The obsession with curvy bodies was breaking headlines, and I spent the next twelve years of my life never fitting into the “ideal.” I hated myself. Throughout college, I refused to look in mirrors; I resisted being in photos; and I stopped dressing up and going out with my friends. The thought of a male finding me attractive was unfathomable. And when my friends complimented me, I rolled my eyes. I didn’t believe them.

Two years ago, I attended a family friend’s wedding. After, the mother of the bride called my mother. She was concerned that I had an eating disorder. Her reasoning: A woman in her 20s should be "fleshier."

Four years ago (when I was in college), I came across a TikTok video. It said: “real men like meat.” (No, it was not an anti-vegan post. I checked.) It was intended to be a body positivity video. Instead, for me, it was another reminder that my body is not attractive to “real men.”  

I share these stories for two reasons. 1) This fic deals with body image issues. I know that some readers may find the Reader's issues annoying and might not be able to relate. But the struggles in this fic are real. The comments made about the Reader's body are things I’ve either heard in passing or have been told to my face. And the Reader's attempts to build her confidence—to appreciate and value her body for what it is—are also based on my personal experience.

2) I’m still learning how to love my body. It’s a tiresome process. I still don’t handle compliments well. And I loathe comments about my body—even if they’re well-intended. Funnily enough, I'm finally in a place where I like my body and my appearance. But there are many days when I struggle to believe a man could find me physically attractive. Even the fictional men. It's an odd blend of self-love and self-hate I haven't quite worked out yet.

This story exists because I wanted to see someone like me fall in love, and be loved. I wanted to know it’s a possibility for me.

[fisheito]

my princess nonsense is being encouraged watch ouyt imabout to be eneaabled

OK WHATF ATHAT'S SO CUTE I HAD TO MAKE IT i know realistically there's little to no chance that rei DOESN'T know how to work heels 🤣 BUT IMAGINE.....ING.... YAKUMO GENTLY GUIDING REI IN HEELS, WEEKS BEFORE THE BIG GALA AND HAVING NONE OF HIS NORMAL FEAR OF PHYSICAL TOUCH BC HIS [TEACHER MODE] IS OVERRIDING HIS INSECURITY

[jessmalia]

I'm super visual when reading books and usually see the whole thing playing like a movie in my head, and when I first read the PJO books I had a very clear mental picture of Percy, but this time around it's much more blurry... cause Percy's kind of just faded into me in my mind.

[dullgecko]

"Stop hovering. I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire if I fuck this up." Riz laughed, shooing Kristen away from him as he dug into the mechanism for the trap barring their exit from this room. He'd clocked it almost immediately after entering but he wasn't quite sure WHAT it did, only that it would be bad news if anyone triggered the pressure plate near the exit while they were still in the room.

"Actually I'd feel WAY better if all of you waited outside the door we came in through." The rogue held his arm still in the mechanism until his party had gotten out of the way, stretching up onto the tips of his toes as he followed along what he was sure was the triggering mechanism even though he couldn't see it.

He was good at disarming traps like this, hell he'd already done three today with no issues, but his luck was bound to run out eventually. He felt something slip free under his fingers and froze in place, ears straining as he waited to hear if anything had been set off before carefully trying to disentangle himself from the arcane machinery. He was almost totally free when he heard a loud 'click' from deep inside the wall, the rogue only managing a quiet 'fuck' before the anti-tampering measures for the trap kicked in. An arcane bolt of lightening striking his hand that was still partially inside the wall and stopping his heart before he could even really register what happened.

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

It was never a good thing when Riz swore like that, especially when he was working with something fiddly. Adaine had been watching him nervously from the hallway, a feeling prickling under her skin that something bad was going to happen that she just couldn't shake.

Riz had frozen for a few seconds, swishing tail going completely still before he started pulling away from the trap mechanism he'd been working on. Adaine wasn't quick enough to teleport him away though, the goblins quiet swear word the only warning she got before he tensed visibly and collapsed to the floor. The distinct smell of burning meat and hair hitting her before she registered what had happened.

'OH FUCK! Kristen!" She wasn't going to risk entering the room jusylt in case he'd accidentally tripped the main trap, instead using scatter to pull the limp body of their friend directly into their midst so Kristen could bring him back.

Kristen was quick on the draw, less than twelve seconds elapsing between Riz going down and their cleric trying to bring him back up but it didn't work. Diamond going black and crumbling to dust as a confused look crossed over her face and she tried again with similar results.

"Cassandra please. What do you mean his soul isn't available?" Kristen was frantically patting down her pockets for spare diamond that might have fallen out of her pouch, Fig dropping her own single spare into their clerics had for her to try again but.... nothing. Tears starting to form in Kristensceyes as their last diamond crumbled to nothing and Riz was still dead.

"He's..... he didn't come back?"

one of the bad kids (Riz?) dies when Kristen is out of diamonds and the others run a heist on heaven to bring him back

//Welcome~ Risen soul, to the fields of Bytopia.//

Riz blinked, an expression of pure confusion adorning his face as he stood frozen in the middle of a lush field. This wasn't right. He'd been disarming a trap in an abandoned temple in the Red Wastes last thing he remembered. It was an easy one... though perhaps that click he'd heard while elbow-deep in the mechanism had been a bad sign.

He glanced down at his watch, tail flicking backwards and forwards as he waited for Kristen or Fig to bring him back. Grimacing when the hands ticked over once... twice... okay three minutes since he died something had clearly gone wrong he should be back by now. They were almost done fetching that material component for Ayda he couldn't be dead.

"Hey kid. I'm so sorry."

Riz's head snapped up when he heard his fathers voice, ears perked up happily despite the circumstances. "Sorry? They're just taking a little longer than normal that's all."

"Not this time bud. It's your time I'm afraid. On the bright side you're a risen soul at least?"

"My time? I'm only seventeen?"

"Yeah, that's just how it goes sometimes I'm afraid. Come on, lets get you a hot drink and sit you down so you can process all this."

Pok place a hand gently on Riz's shoulder, the younger goblin still a little confused. He nearly unbalanced himself and fell over backwards when he unconsiously flexed his wings and shifted his center of gravity but his fathers hand on his shoulder kept him mostly upright. The older goblin leading him to sit down under the tree near his desk while he went to fetch him something hot to drink.

Riz was incredibly confused. He SHOULD have been brought back almost immediatly. It was only a matter of time though, he told himself. There was no way his friends would let him stay dead for long.

[willow-p012]

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka is basically exactly how I feel as someone with chronic pain but no diagnosis

[theflyingfeeling]

...💩

[cosmic-kinglet]

I need to be stopped. I've written an entire page and a half more in my notes app from what I posted here last night. Thoughts just keep appearing, and I don't think they'll stop until I've written out all of these ideas. Like, I'm about to write Eclipse returning to consciousness and wondering what the hell happened. I want to write Ruin Eclipse accidentally triggering the effects while Eclipse is in his normal state, leading to both of them being equally confused and freaked out. I want to write Ruin Eclipse taking control again while Ruin has the protocol active, leading him to call Moon for help because 'why is he just standing there?? Why does he not seem like he wants to cause pain?? Why is he not saying anything??' Moon would then connect some dots and eventually request that Ruin Eclipse try to give some sort of command. To which Ruin Eclipse would give the order to take a step to the right and then to the left, leaving Moon to use every bit of his willpower to not scream, "Take it back now y'all! One hop this time!" Moon would realize what must have happened, and would use his earlier temptation and record Eclipse following along with Ruin Eclipse's orders, which Moon ensures are the exact movements for the Cha Cha Slide. He would use it for his own amusement and to utterly humiliate Eclipse once they got him functioning again.

Yeah, welcome to a small fraction of what goes on in my brain. I had to force myself to stop thinking about that last thing so I wouldn't just start laughing uncontrollably in public.

[violetganache42]

Yuamu Ohdo 🤝 Scrooge McDuck

Experiencing semi-permanent hearing loss

(What makes this parallel funnier is both sources of the loud noises are taking part in something for the first time: Yudias with a student council election and Webby with a sports event.)

Yudias! Don't blow out her eardrums!

[bewby]

soooo insane how depression actually affects the way i talk/speak/my speech patterns/etc like not only have i lost motivation to even talk to myself and it's rotting my brain away but i also forgot how to talk to others entirely because it has become. exhausting for me. awesome