#yes this is just elections but worse. why do you ask
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thegreatyin · 3 months ago
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half-joking estival concept: a master-centric tournament in order to FINALLY decide once-and-for-all who gets the domain of dreams. spices and wines accidentally run together and bicker like an old married couple. mirrors formally enters the contest but suspiciously never actually shows up (with special tie-ins if you're a nemesis PC, of course). iron arrives as a surprise competitor solely because it's living up to candles' legacy or something. at the end mr treats somehow wins it all and literally nobody is happy about this but it's a legally-binding contract with the fingerkings so they can't go back on it now. permanent estival rewards include spwines couples counseling carousel and the ability to listen in on mr fires' petty coworker gossip for twelve hours straight
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m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e · 3 months ago
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I hope leftists who think they’re above voting for president or are voting for Jill Stein or whoever because it’s their stupid way of protesting the system feel good about themselves, especially if Trump wins partly because of your negligence 😍 I know you’re not doing shit to plan the proletarian revolution, especially before January, so you guys better not complain about something harming you that you didn’t even bother to try and change
(edit: changed the last part bc I wrote “…if life gets a lot worse for you” cause that does nottt sound right at all and I apologize for writing that)
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reasonsforhope · 23 days ago
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Climate change in 2025: So, what now?
Some real talk for the new year, about where we now stand, and what the next years are going to look like.
(Still ends on a “be hopeful!! or else” kind of note, but definitely gets into some heavy truths about the meaning of recent events.)
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Obviously, between Trump's reelection at the Los Angeles fires, things are feeling a lot more precarious than they did just a few months ago. I know a lot of people are incredibly stressed. I know I'm certainly stressed.
But this isn't the end. This isn't the beginning of the end, either. We're not doomed.
Don't despair.
Yes, things are about to get harder. Yes, the effects of climate change are now becoming truly apparent.
But here's what you need to hold on to:
We have already cut expected warming in half.
More about that including sources here: (x) I'm not going to go into it again in detail, read the source for that. But it's true. In 2000, when I was a kid, they were predicting 4, 5, 6 degrees of warming, plus a runaway greenhouse effect that would boil the planet.
Now, scientists expect that global temperatures will likely land between 2 and 3 degrees.
Which is incredibly shitty, yes. But it's survivable.
And I have for a lot of reasons (check these masterposts on this) to believe with the confidence of knowing that we're going to get expected warming down even further.
And that's something to celebrate.
I’m not saying that the effects of warming aren’t already bad, or won’t get worse. I’m from California, I currently live in LA. My state’s been on fire for half my life. Natural disasters starting amping up early here (and we’re certainly in the middle of another historic number now). And yeah, it's fucking stressful right now.
But like I said, my state’s been breaking horrible disaster records constantly for the past ten years. I've done this before. And you know what? Natural disasters have been getting more and more survivable for years, largely thanks to faster warnings and better mass communication (x).
Does it suck how many natural disasters there are now? Yeah.
Does it suck how many more still there will be? Yeah.
Do we need to keep working our asses off to beat climate change? Yeah.
Are we going to need to organize and mobilize (both politically and especially community-wise) like never before to see as many people through these times as best as possible? Yeah.
But that doesn't mean we should despair. It absolutely does not mean that we've already lost.
An unknown number of the most optimistic futures were foreclosed when Trump won the US election. That’s painful but a reality.
But for twenty-ish of the past twenty-five years, the science said we weren’t going to survive climate change at all.
For most of my life, we were worried that we had set Earth on a course to become like fucking Venus (which is, on average, well over 800 degrees Farenheit). Even if it didn’t get that bad, we were so worried that global warming might wipe out all life on earth - except maybe the cockroaches.
(Literally, when I was a younger the kids at my church put on a play about that. It was like an adaptation of A Christmas Carol where the future only had talking cockroaches. I grew up so worried about this. (Not the cockroaches thing specifically. Mostly the general concept. Only a little about the cockroaches. Also yes my church was very granola why do you ask.))
But starting a few years ago, studies have shown that there wasn’t going to be a runaway greenhouse effect that could turn us into Venus; that earth is warming, yes, but we don’t seem to be in danger of that.
Between that and the fact that the adoption of renewables globally is too fast to be stopped, and we do have the technology and environmental science knowledge to eventually re-lower global temperatures by getting to net negative carbon emissions (x), and most countries and at least 73% of people in all countries for which there is data (x) actually care very much about the climate, yeah, we have closed the door on the lava planet future.
And yeah, I do think that’s worth celebrating.
That’s a massive fucking victory.
There's still more work to do, and I have every confidence that we're going to do it. I also think that, given the loss of the US election, there’s a really, really strong chance the developing world will be what saves us, and we’ll just be lucky to be along for the ride.
Most people have no idea of the kinds of amazing stories and statistics coming out of the developing world and Indigenous communities. The world is changing for the better on the environment, even as disasters (and the US) are getting worse. Solar power is going to revolutionize the fucking world, because it’s going to grant humanity universal access to electricity, and that’s going to revolutionize the world, especially the developing world (aka the global majority). And most people have no idea at all, much less how much it’s going to change.
So, yeah, natural disasters are going to keep getting worse.
But there’s a long, long long fucking way between “natural disasters are going to keep getting worse” and “the extinction of all of humanity and/or the vast majority of life on earth”
So, in the face of Trump, in the face of everything, I still choose to hope. I still choose to celebrate this as a true and profound accomplishment.
Because for over twenty years, I was afraid I’d never get to.
That difference is absolutely worth celebrating.
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tamamita · 6 months ago
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No one's asking to trust our government. We don't even trust our government. Or pigsty of a democracy is barely a fucking democracy. But at the end of the day, Harris is better for this country, and how this country interacts with other countries, than Trump ever will be. With the shit Trump wants to do, your country would probably be destroyed a third time just so his friends can get richer. Frankly, even your odds are better with Harris. And yes, it may be a false dichotomy, but the worst possible candidate has already assembled a mob to go vote for him and explained how he's going to try to make himself an actual dictator. Breaking up the rest of the efforts to stop him is fruitless right now, I'd argue even actively making it worse.
Do you see where my annoyance lies within? This sort of arrogance in Yanks. You're a bunch of reformist who are only concerned about domestic issues. You're afraid that your government is gonna fall into a fascist dictatorship, even though Biden has at multiple occasions sent his militia of cops to crack down on protestors and spread misinformation about them, while allowing genocide to take place and ignoring the settler state from breaking international law. ALL of this is characteristics of fascism. Trump is not an exception to the rule, because of your homonationalism.
75+ years of US intervention and imperialism in our countries, and you never once objected or took any dissenting voice against the imperial machine, because brown and black people's lives do no matter. Why are you in fear now? Why were you all this blissfully ignorant when the US kept ousting democractically-elected governments? Why did you not show this kind of concern with the Bushes, Clinton, Obama, and Biden when millions of lives were taken? We've been saying this for years: you're all living in the dictatorship of the bourgeoise, you're all reformists who refuse to take any revolutionary stance against this fascist state, you will all repeat the same cycle every four years to prevent some made-up dictator from ruling the country. It's almost as if you all want a One-party state government.
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thestrangestthlng · 3 months ago
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Thoughts and prayers rants...
So, now that I've had almost 48 hours to marinate on this and cycled through my emotions, I am in a much better headspace to talk on the whole 9-1-1 of it all.
But this bears repeating: We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.
So, first and foremost, I've decided that canon stopped for me at 8x05. lol. I am going to continue with my BT train like that shit show didn't happen. And for me, for a while, I am going to let the show end there. I will go back, probably after the hiatus, but not how I was. I do love all the characters on this show (some more than others) and I still want to be able to see their journey, but I need a break from that manipulation stunt. I'm still going to share all the positive BT stuff I see and all the beautiful Lou content I see.
Secondly, now that I am over the initial hurt of the breakup, I'm just mad. We were manipulated intentionally with 8x05 for us to feel worse when the break up happened. That was unnecessary. And that was cruel. And I know that a lot of this is because it was the icing on a shit week. Emotions were already raw due to the election and it was reallllllyyyy bad timing for this, but that doesn't make the way they did it okay, just that it can explain why there was such a strong reaction for many of us, on top of the completely justified anger.
Breakups happen, and that's okay. If it was the end of Tommy's time on the show, that's okay. I am a Buck girlie and I always will be. But... the breakup was reductive, stereotypical, and just poor storytelling. I get they want to leave doors open a crack, because you never truly know, but turning him into an OOC stereotypical biphobic gay man is disgusting. You had this beautiful thing and you shat on it. I am going to do another post about my personal relationship with groundbreaking storylines next.
That was a miscommunication. That was a breakup where someone chases after you and is like wtf actually just happened. It felt like whiplash, because that is not how breakups are formulated in media. You know how else you could have written him out of the story?
At the date (and the basketball tickets are actually a really sweet touch when you think about it) Tommy could have told Buck that he got a job offer in another city or state or that his parents are ill and he has to go home to take care of them and asked Buck to go with him. At the apartment, it could have been buck telling him that as much as he could see a future with him, he can't go with him.
Would it have sucked? Yes. But it wouldn't have induced this amount of rage.
For over six months Lou and BTs have been at the receiving amount of a ton of vitriol. And that's not to say that there weren't antagonizers on this side of the fence or that BTs never did anything wrong, but this isn't a both sides bullshit piece. People can suck everywhere, but only one "side" harassed an actor and his family with death threats, he read about the "stoning" calls, used slurs on a regular basis. All of this persisted for months for it to turn out that he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about the story and it's representation. There honestly doesn't seem like there would have been anyone better for it.
You know what's ironic? It was the Buddie's hate and vitriol that pulled me into fandom and made me love Tommy and then Lou. When they would run their mouths, I would look into it and I found a man who genuinely seems like (he is still someone we don't know) a wonderfully kind, sweethearted, genuine man. He looks like a bundle of light and his smile can warm even the coldest hearts. So their vitriol made me a fan. So thanks BoBs.
Buck and Tommy wasn't just about Buck's queerness and definitely not about "wanting to see two white men kiss". It was about our love for Buck. We saw him happier and more fulfilled than he's ever been. We see his life being lived and full of love and stuff and joy.
Again:
We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.
And you know what, not matter how reductive and all the phobics that breakup was, they can never take that away from us.
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fromorigintofinality · 10 months ago
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i dont post on here a ton but i gotta say the growing attitude on tumblr that voting in the US is somehow useless is really concerning.
just recently i saw this post that was basically making fun of people saying that voting was the way to change the system, and that's just.. wrong? like seriously, how do you think roe v. wade got overturned? its because despite everything, republicans are smart voters and know how to play the long game.
but leftists as of late have lost that quality i feel. instead of advocating for people to vote, they advocate for some "revolution" they think will solve everything. among the people in the post mentioned earlier being glorified as revolutionaries were mao zedong and stalin, and when asked why the poster was glorifying these horrific figures, they said, "yes. Mao freed my family and stalin defeated the fascists. Get with the program sugar"
do you notice anything about that? do you notice how it sounds like the way a child describes the world? "stalin defeated the fascists" like he's some hero who defeated the evil horde of thieves? the way things like the red guard, struggle sessions, all of that, are completely ignored on the side of Mao? how this person, despite having a trans flag in their pfp, is ignoring how the utterly homophobic state of the Chinese government at present is the fault of Mao? how they ignore horrific things such as the Gulag on side of Stalin? this person cannot think, and the only way they believe that the world can move forward is a revolution, and revolution's don't work when the people advocating for them do nothing.
maybe one could argue that this was just a one off type of thing, and that all of the thousands of people liking and reblogging this post are just weirdos. but whether or not thats true, this growing sentiment of praying to a revolution that will never come is indeed growing. and its not just like these people stay in their lane, they actively encourage and probably will cause people to not vote.
so i want to remind everybody. elections are not a moral choice. joe biden is complicit and actively funding a genocide, but not voting for him, third party or not (if you still think third parties are viable please look into the history behind them), will make it more likely that trump will win, and that things in palestine and other things that joe biden has failed in will get 1000x worse. candidates in elections are a bus stop to the real goal, and treating them as such is smart voting, republicans proved this with the overturning of roe v. wade.
please do not be selfish. this last bit may seem out of nowhere, but i need to say this. this type of thinking is selfish. it is selfish and almost impossible to detect as such for the people who believe in it. if you are the type of person who believes in this style of thinking, you have created a completely arbitrary moral code, and care more about your conscience than real political change. you believe yourself to have completely good morals that are universally good, and for the consequences of following these morals, you don't consider the real change that will occur, just your conscience and peace of mind. as for what happens because of that moral code, you will always find a way around looking inwards to how you contributed.
this election season may be the most important yet, please learn to take the practical route instead of the "pure" route.
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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago
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Nexus II.
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Yandere Blade x F Reader.
Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.
Nexus index.
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The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll. 
The other twenty-two are, though. 
Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it. 
“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums. 
You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.
Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.
“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.” 
Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?” 
He bristles. “You…!” 
On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time. 
Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap. 
“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?” 
You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query. 
“It’s nothing,” you dismiss. 
She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”
“Mm?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.” 
“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”
“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”
Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?” 
The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch. 
“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.” 
You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.” 
“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments. 
You both elect to ignore her. 
“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?” 
Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away. 
You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.” 
The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck. 
“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.” 
Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey. 
When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease. 
“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.” 
Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.” 
“I never needed one before.” 
A glass shatters violently. 
You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath. 
No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving. 
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.” 
The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.  
‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’ 
Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly. 
Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew. 
You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you. 
It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether. 
Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged. 
You’re aware of your physical surroundings again. 
Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you. 
This paroxysm has run its course.
Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.” 
They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement. 
Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it. 
“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede. 
You have to stand on your own strength. 
Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago. 
You grumble a few choice words. 
“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks. 
“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.” 
Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods. 
And so the three of you part ways. 
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Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office. 
Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially. 
Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond. 
The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist. 
“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.” 
He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong. 
“Who will be there?” Blade asks. 
Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality. 
“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.” 
At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps. 
“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?” 
“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.” 
“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone. 
It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic. 
So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment? 
“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?” 
“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.” 
You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely? 
“What do you consider a sin?” 
“Anything that defies the natural order.” 
“Such as…?” 
The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over. 
“Defying death.” 
“Not inflicting it?” 
“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.” 
This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity. 
“Show me what it’s like to die.”
Is this request self-flagellation or redemption? 
If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper. 
“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.” 
“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.” 
This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature. 
Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys. 
This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. 
“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.” 
He leans against the wall with a hmph.
“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?” 
“I can multitask.” 
“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.” 
Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting. 
“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan. 
He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?” 
You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.
“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.” 
“Hm.” 
Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that. 
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Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds. 
Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary. 
The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not. 
The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back. 
“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression. 
He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply. 
This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous. 
“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?” 
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond. 
With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world. 
“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks. 
“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”  
“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.” 
“Have an underling do it.” 
The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.
“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.” 
You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence. 
“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.” 
You rise to your feet. 
“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…” 
What have I sacrificed my freedom for? 
Blade’s eyebrows furrow. 
“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.” 
During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes. 
You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter. 
Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.
The product is ready. 
A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received. 
You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again. 
This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too. 
This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump. 
“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?” 
Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better. 
“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?” 
It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament. 
Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.
“Accident prone, then.”  
This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!” 
(It sounded better in your head). 
“Are you positive you’re over a century old?” 
An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground. 
There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end. 
What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished. 
You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness. 
The planet itself is frozen for a time. 
There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon. 
The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire. 
Then the screaming begins. 
You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind. 
The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes. 
Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone. 
“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?” 
You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus. 
There’s movement in the corner of your eye. 
You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin. 
Upon closer inspection, your heart stops. 
The dark swath — that’s Blade. 
He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely. 
He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch. 
The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!
This begs the question: how are you alive? 
You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold… 
Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed. 
Unless he chose to shield you. 
You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions. 
Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are. 
Blade stirs. 
You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it. 
Or so is your conviction until he moves again. 
You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position. 
“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket. 
He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice. 
“Don’t bother.” 
Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place. 
A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand. 
If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.
“What hurts?” Blade asks. 
You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid? 
He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause. 
“If you can’t speak, point instead.” 
Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy. 
“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”
“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”
A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short. 
“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”
Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision. 
He speaks your name in a low, warning tone. 
Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest. 
“It’s not my priority,” he says. 
He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches. 
The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!
In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated. 
You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye. 
The previously formed shards come into focus.
It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework. 
This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights? 
You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle. 
This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later. 
Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded. 
Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop. 
The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated. 
This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle. 
How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second? 
Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.
A seal halts your progress. 
Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out. 
The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts. 
Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate. 
What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks. 
An invisible force hauls you back. 
You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader. 
You blink and you’re back in reality. 
Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you, 
“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.” 
Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet! 
There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape. 
Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against. 
What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…? 
“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.” 
The sentence has been delivered. 
You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber. 
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crooked-wasteland · 6 months ago
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i feel like that clip gets worse the more i think about it. like;
1. why does charlie treat baxter like a replacement for sir pentious? why is she treating one of the only patrons she had a connection to (at least a hell of a lot more of a connection then she has with angel,) as if hes easily replaceable? like, i know its supposed to be funny because they roughly fit the same trope of "wacky evil guy who makes evil stuff", and it IS funny.. when i dont actually think of the implication of how charlie is treating sir pentious in memory through the way she talks about him after he was killed right in front of her. its like they thought about how funny the joke would be before they thought about charlie and sir pentious's relationship in s1, and just went with that so they wouldn't have to write charlie acting any different. which sucks, because charlie legitimately mourning him would be a GREAT conflict for the main character to have in s2. tbh they still might do that so they can have their cake and eat it too, but i dont know if itll feel sincere after that scene with her and baxter.
2. does she know sir pentious is alive in heaven? how could she know? nothing about the way she speaks in the clip makes me think so, but at least if she knew he was actually okay and redeemed, you'd resolve the issue of her trying to replace some guy who died defending HER hotel with his life, and the issue of her having no reason to redeem sinners after learning heaven is corrupt and seemingly wont let in even the sinners in that deserve redemption. because replacing someone in a cast whos technically still living in heaven isnt nearly as bad, and his existence alone would probably be proof enough alone to motivate charlie to keep trying to redeem sinners, which would be especially satisfying after her faith in heaven would understandably be broken after the trial and the extermination coming right to her hotels front door. so knowing that, this is probably whats NOT going to happen
3. why is she specifically even trying to replace sir pentious anyway? is it a coping mechanism after her loss of him? its obviously comedic so we're not supposed to take it seriously, which means the writers probably wanted to make a joke about how obviously baxter is going to be the replacement for sir pentious's role at the hotel, god i wish we had seen them interact together at a voxtech con in a competition like in vivs old post pilot series pitch in 2019 but i'd argue its a joke at the expense of charlies character development. the way she acts in that clip is something i'd expect from s1 charlie, but not s2 after everything that happened to her.
i think s1 had the issue in general of making things funny or fun over making them make sense for the characters in context, so its not surprising to see that issue happen again. it's just slightly more infuriating when you remember hazbin was supposed to be the serious show compared to helluva, but now hazbin has way too many mean spirited or dumb jokes at the expense of its own characters youre supposed to automatically care about, just for comedys sake, and helluva became the soap drama nobody asked for.
Absolutely! I side stepped my own opinions as I genuinely wanted to see what others had to say, and @tommycorriander pretty much hit that nail on the head for my interpretation of the narrative. The biggest issue is how the first season elected to prioritize things happening over their characters and their relationships. We never actually see the cast grow close over the season, we are simply told that's what happened.
But by mixing together Pentious and Baxter, my first inclination was that, yes, outside of superficial characteristics, Charlie cannot connect to sinners. They are all the same to her, and based on her character being so broad and general in her appraisal of Sinners, it definitely feels like she doesn't see them as individuals.
And the travesty is that if the show actually went in that direction, I would eagerly welcome it. I would love to see some self-awareness from the writers and a character with a legitimate flaw of personality; not just "she made a mistake, but her heart is in the right place" contrivances that have riddled all of Medrano's work. I would love to see that story of Charlie being forced to change as a person, and I would probably love Charlie as a character as well if the show went this route. Instead, good characters just do bad things but with good intentions. Instead of good people actually being complicated creatures with some genuine flaws of character that they are always working to mitigate and be better.
Characters who are working to be good people feel like good people. Those that just act good with no effort feel conniving or disconnected and apathetic. They feel fake and vapid. Having it be a genuine effort would do so much in giving Charlie some ounce of depth.
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eldritch-spouse · 7 months ago
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Not the same anon from the last Patches ask but I can imagine this scenario:
When Patches was alive a woman who sold flowers fancied him, and he fancied her. She was gentle and lady-like and was around to greet him and ask how his day was. Being scared of women that he was, elected to run away from her or only said enough for less than a few sentences. She takes it as a sign that he's not interested when he's anything but. Next time he sees her there's a ring on her finger. She tells him her parents set up an arranged marriage because she was taking too long to find herself a husband. She says her fiancé is nice but he just wasn't her main choice (aka Patches/Fabio). Next time he sees his infatuation, she's on a date with a well to do man, both look as happy as can be. That was something that chewed him up when he was Fabio: knowing he could've had her. Fast forward to modern day. And he sees her, a carbon copy of his past infatuation. Not just in looks but in personality too, heck she's even selling flowers for a living, just like she did. The way she greets him and asks him about his day is like a warm blanket on his cold undead skin.
That's a good one, really.
I've always liked the interpretation of Patches just being awful with women as a living man. He had a pasty, almost sickly appearance and hardly interacted with others when he became an adult. Sure, maybe he had talent, but no one would elect to show him off at social gatherings, purely because he kept putting everyone off without meaning to and wanting to leave immediately when he sensed people were starting to look at him like a freak. Fábio could have become someone bitter and relentless because of this constant rejection, but the fetishes he developed from constant belittling by beautiful women sort of cut off the development (or at least manifestation) of more outwardly aggressive behaviors. He would act out so as to be caught and punished, mostly.
Indeed, someone who showed genuine, non-degrading interest in him during that time period would be heavily avoided at first. Because Fábio just doesn't know what to do with himself, he feels awkward and wrong. He wonders why you aren't kicking him or calling him gross when he stares at you for too long, wonders why you let him touch your hair. It's weird. But the infatuation is inevitable, yes. Shame Fábio is a little coward who did nothing to keep this woman in his life while he still breathed.
He's tried to get over this as an undead, to reflect on his own nature and try to rationalize that there's more to women than just pleasurable abuse, that they're people just like him and it's not as if all of them will see him as a parasite. Internalizing this is harder than it sounds for the dullahan. The nature of his new job has also brought out a tad more assertiveness in certain settings, which is probably what gives him the motivation to insist when he finds you. The woman he believes to he a reincarnation of his flowered beloved.
Problem is, this is the wrong type of motivation. He's insisting too much and too quickly, afraid that he's not being assertive enough and that he'll find you with a ring around your finger once again. He won't make the same mistake! But Patches will make many others, much worse ones.
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bp-zb1fics · 2 years ago
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this has been in my mind for while , but omg can i req a student council pres shanbin and vice pres reader 🤭 maybe a angst-fluff?? like what if the reader likes hanbin but yk the cliche idt he likes me after the reader saw him smiling at a confession he received , this thought has been stuck in my mind for awhile have been deluluing abt it 😞😞. Hope you have a amazing day btw!! drink lots of water!! stay healthhyy💟💟
-🦝
you do like me?
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pairing: student council president shanbin x vice president reader
pronouns: none used
genre: highschool au, angst, fluff
tw/tags: student council things, pining, many many confessions, how is hanbin real, having feelings and not wanting them, confusion, misunderstanding, lowkey heartbreak but not really, lack of self care, implied fainting, fainting aftermath, worried bin, swearing, reader is exhausted by everything and their own feelings honestly same
wc: 1797
summary: you’re not confessing to hanbin, even if it hurts, it simply is not professional.
a/n thanks for requesting 🦝 anon! This au was so perfect for shanbin 💜💜 lowkey reader is kinda done by the end of it but like in the nicest way possible~ pls let me know what you think 💜 hope you have a great day!! take care of yourself as well!!
Check my pinned for more fics!!
Let’s face it. Everyone in school has had a crush on Sung Hanbin at some point.
Handsome, polite, impossibly nice, infinitely patient, smart, talented, an incredible dancer, good-looking and did you mention handsome? Yes you did. 
Okay. It wasn’t like you were too bad yourself seeing as you were able to get elected as his vice president. But seriously, how do people like Sung Hanbin exist?
You swear he gets a confession every week. Sometimes more than that. And you know this because you’re coming out of the council room and there the poor boy or girl stands, waiting. Usually holding something like flowers or chocolates or snacks or a little trinket or a handwritten note. One time, it was a giant stuffed hamster. You didn’t even want to know how they managed to bring that to school. 
And there’s always just a second or two of awkward eye contact before you call for Hanbin. He goes out and you walk away, not wanting to intrude. Some of them take it gracefully, they thank him politely for taking the time to hear about how they feel and leave looking maybe a little shaken but unbothered. Sometimes he even receives the gift they prepared if they insist and offer it to him without any obligations. You’ve seen your fair share of criers, running past you down the hall, furiously wiping away tears. And some of them got a little crazy. But that’s a whole other story.
Which brings you back to your point. Everyone has had a crush on Sung Hanbin at some point. Some of them confess to him. They get rejected. They get over it. And you? Well you thought if you ignored your feelings enough they would gradually disappear. They didn’t.
So yes. Everyone has had a crush on Sung Hanbin at some point, you included. It’s just that you’ve never got the nerve to confess. And worse, you haven’t gotten over it.
“And these are my recommendations for the committees moving forward, any questions?”
Polite applause. No one asks questions. Hanbin takes his seat next to you as the teacher presiding over your meeting thanks all of you for your time.
“Hey,” He whispers to you. “Thanks for organising all the committee info for me.”
You had taken the time to put everything he was going to present for the meeting into flashcards and even finetuned his presentation for him.
“I’m the vice president,” you whisper back. “It’s what I’m supposed to do. Literally don’t worry about it.”
“Still,” he smiles. “You really went all out. I couldn’t have done such a good presentation without you. So thank you.”
This is precisely the reason why you still haven���t gotten over your crush on him. How is this man real??
“Let me buy you dinner,” he offers. If this was any other guy, you’d think he was asking you out. But it’s Sung Hanbin and he treats all of the council members all the time.
“I’m going out with the events committee for a planning session. And you have a dinner meeting with one of the school board members later for a possible sponsorship for the event that we’re supposed to be planning so you might want to go to that instead.”
“Right! Right, I nearly forgot. Seriously, how are you such a lifesaver?
“I do my best.” You deadpan in an effort to not blush dammit, just because you have a crush doesn’t mean you have to be such a simp. But really, it’s not good for your heart when he compliments you like that.
He trails after you as you walk out of the council room.
“Maybe dinner tomo…?” Your suggestion dies in your throat as you meet eyes with the latest in Hanbin’s long line of confessions.
She must be one of the underclassmen because you don’t recognise her right away. But she’s so aesthetically pretty, smiling so beautifully when she sees Hanbin behind you.
“I’m sorry to bother both of you but can I talk to Hanbin-oppa for one moment?” God, she’s so polite that you feel bad for disliking this. She even thanks you when you nod and step aside. You’re surprised that she addresses him so casually but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind at all. And Hanbin, the way he’s smiling at her makes all feelings in your heart die, stone cold and shattered.
Stupid crush. You don’t know why you have it in the first place. It’s annoying and unnecessary and completely unprofessional considering how you work together.
You don’t know how long you’ve been walking down the hall when the girl skips past you, greeting you again politely and going on her way. She looks…happy. Did Hanbin accept her confession?
It bothers you. Of course it bothers you. You want to go home and burrow yourself into your bed like you always do whenever you think one of the confessions goes well. Even if it actually doesn’t. Maybe you’ll even cry a little. Or a lot. So you do. After your planning session with the events committee, that is. A little heartbreak isn’t going to stop you from being a responsible vice president.
Being under the blankets, just hiding from the world, it’s nice. You can pretend. Maybe there’s a world where Hanbin does like you back….And now you’re sad again. Maybe you should confess. At least you can cry about it one last time and be done. But at the same time, why risk ruining the friendship you and Hanbin have going? Council meetings would be horribly awkward, maybe not for him but for you.
So you do what you always do after these little pity parties. You wash your face, drink a glass of water and try to sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be fine. Or at least, you’ll look fine. Hopefully.
You’re not fine. I mean you don’t look like shit but you’re definitely just going through the motions. At least, you’re busy. There are committees to check in with, teachers to talk to, your fellow council members giving updates and you just organising everything for the next meeting.
It’s a whirlwind. You barely see Hanbin beyond class and passing him papers or messages for all the school-related matters he needs to deal with. It’s easy to sink into it. To put your feelings aside and just work. You’re the fucking vice president and you need to do your job right.
Maybe it’s beginning to wear into you, just a bit. Missed meals, lost sleep, running around school, it’s all bound to build up. So maybe you’re not that surprised when you wake up in the nurse’s office. She’s helping you sit up, giving you vitamin water to sip and scolding you for overexerting yourself. If you had been out of cold for any longer, they would have sent you straight to the hospital for an IV. She actually offers but you say you’re fine. Instead, she insists you rest until the next period and then go home for the day. You can’t. You have meetings. But apparently it’s that or the hospital so you stay put.
Hanbin comes in a little later to check on you because of course he does.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, quiet and gentle in a way that makes your chest hurt and it’s not from passing out.
“I’ve been better.”
“I was really worried, seriously.”
“You need to worry about the meeting later. Getting sent home after this so someone else will need to do my part of the presentation. Also need a replacement for the committee session I'm supposed to be checking in with.”
“I’ll take care of it, honestly don’t worry, just take care of yourself.”
“I will, I will. And you don’t need to do that, Gunwook’s been wanting more responsibilities, let him take it. Really don’t worry about me.”
Hanbin’s quiet for a moment.
“I really can’t help it. Don’t you know how much I panicked when I saw you on the floor? It’s a good thing you didn’t hit your head too hard, I-”
“I’m fine now, you really don’t need to worry.” If he acts any more concerned, you swear you might cry.
It’s quiet again.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t not worry about you.”
You lean back on the cot, just watching him. Hanbin’s working up to something but between the slight dizziness you still have going and the fatigue that’s come crashing down, you have no idea.
“You know I really like you a lot?”
Damn, you’re definitely hallucinating.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I’ve been really obvious about it. I thought you noticed and just didn’t say anything because you didn’t like me and saying it would mess with the council.”
You sit up.
“Wait, you're serious?”
Hanbin looks confused, maybe a little offended.
“Do you think I’m not being serious?”
“I don’t know, okay? You literally get a confession every week.”
“And I always tell them no because I like you.”
“How about that girl the other day?”
“Oh you mean my cousin? She just wanted to see you and then tease me about it when you left.”
“...Your cousin?”
“...Yeah?”
You sigh, collapsing back onto the cot, too exhausted to react properly.
“For the record, I’ve had a fucking crush on you for like forever and I can’t believe this is happening and I’m probably going to freak out about it once I’m less tired.”
His expression goes from surprise to happiness and back to confusion but he’s definitely shuffling closer to you.
“So why didn’t you tell me?”
You look at him incredulously before letting out an even louder sigh. God, this man is going to be the death of you.
“Maybe take me out to that dinner you promised and I’ll tell you why.”
“Okay!”
There’s a very pregnant pause before he goes:
“...Sooo you do like me?”
“Yes! Oh my god, yes I like you. I like you Sung Hanbin so fucking much I’m a little mad that you’re making me say it right now”
He smiles, reaching out to take your hand in his.
“Well that’s good because I like you too.”
“...Mhmm”
“What? What else do you want me to say?”
“Oh nothing, I don’t know, I think that was a little underwhelming compared to what I thought it would be.”
And then he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead, all shy and bashful, the audacity of this man. And he says your full name.
“I just want you to know that I like you very, very much~ and I’m glad you feel the same way~”
Fucking right, you do.
Everyone in school had a crush on Sung Hanbin at some point. But he’s only ever liked you.
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ceilidhtransing · 6 months ago
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I see people saying “a vote for a third party isn't a vote for Trump, no matter how much you try to tell me it is” and while this statement makes sense from one perspective, it also sadly just misunderstands the material reality of politics.
If we're talking about voting purely as something that affects the moral tally of your individual heart, then yes, a vote for the Greens or whatever isn't morally equivalent to a vote for Trump. If the way you think about this is in terms of getting to the pearly gates and being asked “and did you always vote for the purest and most morally clean person?” then yes, a Green vote is not the same as having to say “actually I voted for Trump”.
But down here in the real world where voting isn't about maintaining your own personal sense of having a Morally Untarnished Heart but about, you know, real material consequences, a vote for a third party is functionally, if not morally, equivalent to a vote for Trump. You might not be voting for Trump but you are voting in a way that only makes it harder for the only candidate that has an actual chance in hell of beating Trump to win. There is no world in which that does not simply help Trump. You are splitting the anti-Trump vote and making it easier for him to win because that is how this voting system unfortunately works. Frankly, you may as well be voting for Trump.
“But my vote isn't an endorsement of Trump! It's an endorsement of the exact opposite values of Trump!” Yes, but again, this terrible first-past-the-post voting system does not produce “the average of all the values that people voted for”. Any votes that don't go towards the winner are wasted votes. And the winner, especially if that winner is Trump, will not care that you voted Green. They will govern just the same, and your voice will carry no weight at all electorally.
“Stop blaming people who vote third party for all the terrible things Republicans decide to do! Those things aren't my fault; I didn't vote for them.” There is a certain value to the argument “it's not my fault for voting third party; it's the Democrats' fault for not putting up a candidate I could vote for”. But this slightly falls apart when it comes to the people who have already decided they will always vote third party, regardless of how perfect a candidate the Democrats run, so this whole “it's the Democrats' job to convince me” is purely theoretical. And I too hate the way our society often defaults to blaming leftists for whatever the right does, as if leftists are the only ones with political agency and the right can never be held accountable for anything. But when leftists had an opportunity to prevent the right from doing something evil and they chose their own moral purity over an imperfect choice that would nevertheless have prevented some harm, then no, I don't think it's entirely unreasonable to place some of the blame on those people.
US presidential elections hang on relatively tiny numbers of people in only a few crucial swing states. And because 132,476 people in Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin decided to vote Green rather than Democrat in 2016, abortion is illegal in 13 states. That's less than 0.04% of the US population. Even margins that small matter. And no, those people didn't vote “against abortion”, but their failure to tactically unite behind the candidate who would have protected reproductive rights and who had a chance of actually winning directly led to the victory of the anti-abortion candidate. I'm sure all the people who now can't access abortion (ironically, none of whom lives in MI, PA or WI) are really glad that those people voted with their hearts rather than strategically. Votes have consequences, and things do change (for the worse, as well as for the better), much as some people like to harp on about how “nothing ever changes” and “your vote doesn't matter”.
“But why are you blaming those people? What about the people who actually voted Republican? Or the people who didn't vote at all?” Well, first off, this post is about third-party voting, not Republican voters or non-voters. But I do feel there is more ground to be gained by talking about the consequences of third-party voting than by discussing the others. Many Republican voters are essentially unreachable; they're not remotely progressive, so trying to convince them that they should be voting Democrat is mostly like talking to a brick wall. And non-voters are the people who didn't show up anyway; arguably they should have shown up, but they didn't. But third-party voters got involved, made sure they were registered to vote, got all the way to the voting booth, and then decided to vote not in the way that would defend at least some progressive values, but in the way that would only make it harder to beat the ultra-regressive candidate. There's an understanding that a lot of third-party voters are on the right side, they're just not making the right strategic decision, which is why so much more progressive energy gets put towards trying to convince e.g. Green voters than towards trying to convince people who aren't even remotely on our side to begin with.
“But both major candidates are agents of capital who will ultimately work for the continuation of the American empire. I'm voting for the benefit of the world, not just for the benefit of a few people in the US.” I'm not going to argue with you over that first sentence, because yes, you are correct. Both Democrats and Republicans ultimately support capitalism and both Democratic and Republican presidents have been responsible for some absolutely heinous crimes of US foreign and military policy. But as a non-American, the idea that voting in a way that makes it easier for Trump to win rather than uniting behind the person who might actually beat him - who is still flawed, but orders of magnitude better than him - is in some way liberatory to the rest of the world is just... what??? Do you not hear the people who are screaming “please stop the guy who's basically in favour of Putin annihilating Ukraine and endangering the rest of Central and Eastern Europe”? The people who are screaming “please stop the guy who seems like he just can't wait to drop nukes somewhere”? The people who are screaming “please stop the guy whose victory will only embolden the far right in our own countries and make it harder for us to beat them here”? Non-Americans are, by and large, not saying “ah yes, we are grateful that you chose moral purity rather than supporting one of the two capitalist candidates who will continue US imperialism”; we are screaming “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T LET TRUMP GET ELECTED; THIS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE FOR ALL OF US”. Your Green vote does not help the world right now. Please get behind the person who isn't a massive, immediate, almost unprecedented threat to everything we hold dear, and then we can fight for a better world together.
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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 years ago
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❝ You're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you ❞ [part 1/2]
Peter Parker x male!superhero!reader | break-up, light angst, mentions of nsf(t) stuff, 'nudes' | wc: 2k
masterlist; part1; part 2;
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Peter had made sure to erase any traces of (Y/N) from their once-shared apartment. He finds himself tonguing his cheek as he confronts his ex-boyfriend on 'their' rooftop with a naughty Polaroid of (Y/N) in his hands.
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Peter regretted even agreeing to spend the night out with Flash. He knew why he had but now he wished he hadn't - if he could, Peter was sure he would punch himself right in the jaw, so he'd experience this spiderweb (hah) of pain that climbed from up his jaw to his temple then and not now. The club he'd gone to was called Highball, nothing at all special other than the fact that Flash got VIP lounge access because of a friend. Peter had mulled over the thought for hours before deciding he needed something other than Grey's Anatomy to take the edge off his breakup. Flash had a whole entourage of friends and Peter mostly nodded his head to the bone-shaking music on the booth seats. He didn't hate the blonde for inviting him out. Sure, he had a somewhat complicated relationship with him, what with him being his high school bully and all. But Flash was just being nice and said something about Peter looking particularly pathetic. I probably look worse now, he thought with a muffled moan. He was hunched over his desk as he squirmed and knocked his knees together. A few concerned classmates glanced back, wondering what kind of drinks he'd gulped down to be this hungover. Sure, the brunette was clumsy, a bit messy too and came off as snarky if the smell of coffee wasn't emitting from the stains on his shirt but he was so studious! This was new. "Mr Parker" his head shot up faster than his headache liked, Peter grimaced and pursed his lips but mumbled out a 'yes, sir?' The professor eyed him apprehensively, was that slight disappointment Peter saw through his squinted eyes? "Your opinion on the current discussion, Mr Parker?" Peter bit back a snappy retort but his eyebrow twitched either way. The man had disturbed him just to ask for his opinion on whatever the fuck he'd been droning on about at 8-fucking-am? "It's uh, it's great, sir" he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodding just slightly. "You...you think the modern-day slave trade is...great?" A few heads turned to stare and Peter's eyes widened. "O-Oh! Oh my God! N-No! Not at all!"
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Peter elected to be the last student out of the lecture hall, worrying over his backpack which only had two wire-bound notebooks, stray pens bouncing around, a few crumpled receipts and his web shooters. His professor gave him a pointed look as he approached the front. Peter grinned sheepishly, "I'm sorry I just..." he trailed off. How was it easier to find an excuse for web-slinging than it was for getting drunk? The guilt probably made it harder to lie, he thought. "You have been concerning me as of late, Mr Parker. You show promise. I'm willing to look past your tardiness if you're alert and aware in this class, however, lately" Peter looked at his shoes as he scratched the back of his head. "I know, sir, just been a tough couple of days" his professor arched a brow. "Something to do with Mr (L/N)?" Peter's eyes widened, fist tightening on the strap of his backpack. It's been weeks since the breakup and Peter had taken the liberty of completely cutting-off contact, he'd even emptied their apartment of (Y/N)'s belongings. Hearing his name now felt so taboo. "He's been absent for a while now...after your" he scrunched his face up in pity "...tense, sudden, uhm, distant seating from each other". "Oh God" Peter was now covering his face. Had it been that obvious? A goddamn professor had taken notice! "I'm an old man, seen it all" Peter nodded while still hiding his face "Please don't let this ruin two of my best student's grades". "Yes, sir" he groaned as he walked out of the class.
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The only comfort from today was the fact that he only had two lectures. Only one of which he had made a total buffoon out of himself. He'd have enough time to recuperate before it was time for patrol - AKA, nap time. Peter entered the apartment and greeted them aloud. No one answered. He felt stupid as he stood on the threshold of his front door, his grip on the poor doorknob making it squeak in alarm. Peter all but growled as he kicked it close and tossed his backpack on the stupid, lumpy, couch. "Come on, Petey. Lay with me" Peter grits his teeth together as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He'd been petty in telling (Y/N) to get all his shit out of the apartment. Hell, he'd even opened all the windows to air out (Y/N)'s scent after a rough fight with Doc Ock which had left him bruised and annoyingly in need of (Y/N)'s tender care. He had no privilege anymore, but he wished he had, he could hear what (Y/N) would've told him. "Shh, I got you taken care of, pretty boy. Don't worry, I'm here, shh" "Fuck" he should have probably taken off the clothes he'd worn to the club - and his lectures - before he fell onto the mattress, but he felt his throat burn with the familiar rise of a sob and he simply turned to his side. "Fuckkk" (Y/N)'s side had that familiar dip, Peter could feel it, and it felt achingly foreign since he never laid on his side. Just an arm or leg tossed over the territory, maybe even his whole body if (Y/N) had gotten him in a pliant enough mood to spread his legs apart. Peter felt as though the dip was heating up in retaliation. Equally as peeved that (Y/N) wasn't there. Where he rightfully belonged, a voice whispered in his head. Peter felt tears slip past his eyelashes and he began sniffling.
The mattress wasn't exactly something he could simply toss out. Being a college student and freelance photographer whilst paying rent for a shitty apartment in New York meant that buying a new one wasn't in his budget. The whole gig as Spiderman didn't exactly pay well. Maybe he was being dramatic, imagining a dip in the mattress had feelings? Wanting to throw it out simply because his ex-boyfriend had slept on that side? He was definitely losing it. But he could do this, he could get over a boy. He had gotten over his previous partners, albeit, they did stay as friends...and they never made him feel as (Y/N) did but he'd gotten over them. For Christ's sake, he's fought against such a fantastical array of supervillains that would rather have him dead and squished on the sidewalk. He could get over a boy. With that thought in mind, Peter peeked open his eyes to stare at (Y/N)'s side of the mattress. The shitty round rattan bedside table (Y/N) had gotten from a sidewalk and refurbished for fun left a dust imprint on the floor that made Peter sigh, he'd need to wipe that away... He paused as he noticed a gleam of white stuck between the floor and mattress, hidden slightly by the bedsheets being bunched up above it. The brunette reached down, thinking nothing of it as he pulled it out. 'Meet me here, Spidey ♡ ' That was (Y/N)'s handwriting. Peter could not not know it from the hours they spent studying together. He turned it to the front and his face erupted in such delicious shades of red he did not know it could even make, it reach all the way up his ears and down his chest. (Y/N)'s vigilante suit was bunched around his hips, skin looking ever so delicious with only the camera flash, moonlight and New York lights washing over him. Peter felt his mouth go dry as he took in every little detail that shitty little Polaroid camera he'd gotten for (Y/N) for Christmas managed to capture. His lips were exposed, teeth slightly covered by a wicked tongue that was mid-lick and one of his eyes were exposed. His mask was lopsided in a way that reminded Peter of the times they'd meet up during patrol to kiss each other until oxygen ran out. "Fuck" Peter didn't need to look at the background to know where (Y/N) was. He knew exactly where the shithead had taken this picture. "Fuckkk" This day could not get any worse.
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(Y/N) felt him before he heard him. Call it his spidey senses if you will, but (Y/N) could tell Peter apart from the millions of brunettes on this Earth even if his senses were taken. He'd worshipped that body too much to ever forget it. The usual thwip and thud came but then cool silence. (Y/N) hummed, feigning amusement as he straightened up from his crouched position on the ledge of the building. "Took you long enough, Spidey" "What is it that you want, (vigilante name)?" He turned his head ever so slightly to peer at Spiderman from over his shoulder. Peter gulped at the sight of (Y/N)'s darkened profile. The way the shadows sharpened the planes of his handsome face, his fingers ached to hold him. "Still bitchy?" And suddenly all that aching turned into ash in his mouth as his hands clenched into fists. "I don't have time for this" (Y/N) laughed, so sharp and loud it made Peter flinch. "No time for me but plenty of time for Flash Thompson and his goons?" (Y/N) faced him, taking steps towards him and a part of Peter cursed at himself for not moving back. He stood his ground, glaring at his ex-boyfriend through his mask. "You seriously think you can replace me with him?" (Y/N) sneered. "You seriously stalked me?" Peter said incredulously. A flash of hurt came across (Y/N)'s expression, his eyebrows sloping all pretty and it made Peter equally as hurt as he was angry. "No, I wasn't...I"
(Y/N) was so close, their chests nearly touching. But then he pulled away, arms crossing his chest as he turned to stare at the city instead. "I got worried" Peter swore his brows reached his hairline from that statement but he said nothing, knowing that (Y/N) was chewing on the insides of his cheeks as he tried to find the words to speak. Peter hated that he knew that about (Y/N). "I was an asshole, yelled things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment but I just, I can't sleep without knowing you're okay so I..." he took a breath, shoulders hugging his neck as he let his hands go limp by his side after a loud exhale. "I did some light stalking. Not Edward Cullen shit, I just make sure Spiderman isn't doing something stupid". Peter crossed his arms, watching (Y/N) for a long minute, urging him to continue. "You're usually back by 4 am when it's quiet, no bullshittery brewing. I checked the police scanners, so I know. I checked all the usual crime hotspots too, so I know. I checked if you were home so-" "You knew" Peter finished. (Y/N) swore he couldn't remember what made them fight so badly that he hadn't even fought when Peter told him to get the fuck out of their apartment. All he knew was the hotel mattress he had been sleeping on felt so foreign, uncomfortable, and strangely unclean - despite the hotel being on the higher end. (Y/N) couldn't sleep. Physically could not get his mind to shut up. Too spoiled by Peter's lips on his neck, drowsily sleep-talking, and Peter's arms around him holding him close so he didn't untether into the land of nightmares.
"...How'd you know I was at the club?" Peter scratched the back of his head and (Y/N)'s shoulders droop. His head shook as he chuckled. "Flash, asked me if I wanted to join" "But he knows we-" Peter scoffed as realized. Right. What better way to get your friends to get back together than drinks and dirty dancing? Nice try, Flash, Peter thought. He leaned against the door leading up to the rooftop, watching (Y/N) as he sat on the ledge, still facing each other. (Y/N) leaned on his hands, in the same pose as the Polaroid. Which prompted Peter to tongue his cheek. He reached into the neck area of his suit, mask lifting above his nose in the process, to pull out that goddamn Polaroid. His ex-boyfriend watched, crossed legs opening as Spiderman marched close and shoved it to his face. "Oh". "Oh," Peter mocked. "The 'light' stalking, I can forgive" (Y/N) perked up at that "But nudes?" With his mask partially lifted, (Y/N) could tell that Peter wasn't angry enough to be taken seriously - his lower lip trembles when he's excited. "Partial nude" he defended. "Unwanted partial nude" Peter retorted which made (Y/N) tilt his head as he pushed himself up to stand. Since Spiderman was between his legs as he towered and berated him, as (Y/N) rose, their breaths fanned across Peter's lips. They were closer than before. "Unwanted?" did he have to whisper so seductively? Peter felt his face warming. Peter tensed as (Y/N) pressed forward, their chests now touching. Peter scolded himself for wishing the suits they wore wasn't in the way. "Is that why you haven't tossed it away? Why haven’t you ripped it apart? Because you" his finger ghosted along Peter's sternum and towards his navel, "didn't like it?" Peter's lower lip trembled and (Y/N) fought back a smile as his hands wrapped around Peter's waist and he pulled him in. Closer. So close Peter swore the very air he was breathing was (Y/N)'s. "Never said I didn't like it" Peter whispered, his hands reaching between to cup (Y/N)'s face.
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menfenced · 3 months ago
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I've seen a lot of posts in the last 24 hours about why Kamala lost and I feel like most of them are failing to actually look at reasons voters are giving. Instead, they're putting forward what they personally didn't like about Kamala's campaign. But here's the thing to remember... You didn't like that thing about Kamala's campaign. You still voted for her. There's something else going on.
Because people didn't just vote against Kamala. They voted FOR Trump, and early polling results are showing they did it across the board in almost every demographic.
I've seen the calls for investigations into voter fraud and voter suppression because "this doesn't just happen!" and I agree with one thing. This doesn't "just" happen. There's a reason and democrats aren't listening. Because it's not just a handful of counties that got hacked or had crazy people trying to stop votes or didn't get all of their ballots counted. That's not to say that none of that stuff happened, of course. There may have been serious issues in some counties. But across the board, in nearly every state and every county, even if he didn't outright win, Trump made gains. The only two states where he didn't make gains: Washington State and Utah.
If that's due to voter fraud or hacked elections, it would have to be on a scale unlike anything we have ever seen before and honestly, we don't have any evidence of that right now.
So what happened? What do we know?
We know that since the pandemic and since the record inflation that caused, incumbent leaders all over the world have been losing elections at higher rates than usual. That crosses all political persuasions and again, has been seen across the globe.
Based on polling prior to the election, which remained fairly consistent throughout the election run, 3/4 US voters think the country is on the wrong track and 2/3 are unhappy with the economy.
Biden's approval rating when this election started was 40-41%
This is all a recipe for an incumbent losing, which to be frank, most people still saw Kamala as, even though she was running instead of Biden.
In addition to all of that, let's look at what the exit polls showed.
Kamala's approval rating in the exit polls was 48.5%
Donald Trump's approval ratings in the exit polls was 44.54%
And I know he wasn't running, but just for context Biden's approval ratings were 40%
When asked if Harris's views were too extreme, 46% said yes, 51% said no.
When asked if Trump's views were too extreme, 55% said yes, 43% said no.
So how did he win?
People like him less and think he's more extreme. Why did they vote for him?
Well, let's look at some other polling data.
45% of voters said that their family's personal financial situation was worse off than it was four years ago.
Only 25% said their financial situation was better than it was 4 years ago.
75% of people polled said that in the last year, inflation has caused them either severe or moderate hardship.
When asked who can bring needed change, 73% of voters said Trump and only 25% said Harris.
What that means is that a majority of American's don't like Trump. They don't think he's a good person. They think he's too extreme. And yet they still voted for him because the issue that was most important in this election was the economy.
Will Trump be better for the economy?
No.
But there's a perception that the current administration did not do everything they could have to fix it and people were willing to roll the dice on someone different.
Maybe we could have done more. Kamala only had 110 days to make her case and no matter what she said, the fact remained that she is the sitting VP. Maybe there was no way for her to escape the incumbent/status quo perception.
I hope we can learn something from the behavior of the American electorate this year, and I really hope Trump doesn't fuck things up too bad before we get another chance to step in, because the Republican Party is learning things too. They're learning that they can be as extreme as they want, but if they can make people believe the economy will work better under their leadership, even if it's not true, they'll still get votes.
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beanibon · 1 year ago
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Do you do g/t requests? If so, would you be willing to do something with a Giant! Knives and a Tiny!Reader? It could be sfw or nsfw. Much appreciated!
Of course! Fair warning I may not be the best with g/t, but something about a tall Knives coddling his tiny human makes me soft!
CW: nothing! Just pure tooth rotting fluff and wholesomeness, sorry Anon I really wanted to give Knives some loving from his tiny mate.
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If anyone were to ask where you'd see yourself in the future, the first thing that came mind would be the opposite of this. Enjoying the sunset on the tallest building in Julai city, with an oversized, 10 foot tall, independent plant wrapped around you like a cat.
Still, nothing could change this, not even if world was offered in its stead. How could you ever possibly replace the rare affection of your odd relationship with the planets most deadly creature. You simply couldn't.
As your hand brushed through those soft tresses of platinum blonde hair, humming as the wind began to turn chilly, you couldn't contain the smile from appearing on your face.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" You asked softly, afraid to stir the partially snoozing Knives.
A huff sounded, ice cold eyes staring up into your own as they solely focused on the sky. "I suppose, though I find gazing at you much more preferable."
"Is that so?" You giggled.
"Is it wrong to compliment my mate?" He queried, often getting confused at your teases. Knives had never quite grasped the concept of human behaviours, characteristics and personality. Why would he when his soul intention was to free his sisters from humans? Yet he tried around you, finding it difficult at times when you playfully teased him.
Gently you grasped his face, a loving kiss placed between his brows. It was enough reassurance that you only teased, leaving the plant to untense and bury his face against you.
These times spent together were rare, as Knives spent more and more time travelling to reclaim what was his. Never did he take you with him, for fear of you getting hurt or worse. So you remained in the care of the Eye of Michael in his absence, that way you were always protected.
He stirred, shuffling into a sitting position where he gently scooped you into his lap, arms wrapped around your small frame. The warmth you provided was comforting, easing Knives into a light slumber.
"Are you tired, my angel?" You asked, gazing up as his eyes opened reluctantly.
Those cold eyes were only ever filled with warmth when gazing upon you, the moment you weren't in view that stare turned stone cold immediately.
"Yes, but if you wish to stay beneath the stars longer than I'll stay."
"Ever the gentleman," Your laughter was addictive, if only he was more skilled in bringing it out. Humor wasn't his strong suit. "But I can enjoy it inside just as much as out here, so please take me inside. That way you can rest, you've had a long journey and I'm sure others will allow their god to relax for a night."
Knives elected to ignore your mockery for tonight, ever since you happened to hear him refer to himself as a god he's been the butt of your jokes for months. Not that he truly minded, if it meant to hear your laughter.
"Hush, unless you wish for me to gain a headache." Knives attempted at a joke, which seemingly worked as he hoisted your tiny body with ease into his arms.
"You only get headaches when you leave me unsupervised in your piano room, I can't play those notes properly with how big everything needs to be for you."
"Well, maybe you should stick with the one I had specifically crafted for you. After all, that did take a bit of funding to put together." Knives shot back, a gentle smile present as you playfully slapped his chest.
"It's not as fun!"
A deep laugh rumbled from your beloved, face nuzzled into the curvature of your small body. How he enjoyed such light-hearted banter, if only Vash were here to join, then maybe he'd feel even more complete.
"If you behave and let me rest, perhaps I'll allow for your 'artistic key smashing'." A kiss was placed against your stomach, earning him several along his forehead in return.
"You have a deal."
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communist-ojou-sama · 9 months ago
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Surely inquiring minds wonder why I am so frequently so hostile toward liberals and especially rationalists when I encounter them online, and you might be surprised to know that it's less emotional than it may seem.
Indeed, it does try my patience to see moronic whites discount the work of the global south revolutionaries and thinkers who have done basically all the hard work making the world a better place in the past century and change, but the sum total of that irritation is not anger but disdain, the disdain necessary to basically say whatever comes to mind to make sure their interactions with me are as hurtful and humiliating as possible.
And you may ask further, okay anomie, whatever you say, but why That though.
Well you see, my maximum conflict, maximum hostility doctrine toward liberal "intellectuals" is borne not of an emotion, but of an heuristic.
That is, when you have a clique of liberals who are exposed to the thought of global south intellectuals and revolutionaries, exposed to the thought of Marxists and communists, and still choose liberalism, that says something very important about their values.
Specifically, it means that for the time being, at core, their allegiance to the imperial core and to its masters is greater than to the oppressed of the world, and certainly to any "leftist" principles they claim to be fond of.
And that is bad, yes, but more than being bad, it is a liability. Liberal pseudo-intellectuals like these are worse than dead weight in any serious left-wing movement, they are a net negative. And what's worse, despite their arrogance and lack of intellectual talent, they sometimes catch the ears of well-meaning communists largely out of being half-decent writers.
Personally, the thought of a liberal pseudo-intellectual being in a serious decisionmaking decision when the shit hits the fan makes my fucking blood run cold. That's what motivates me.
And so, I have elected to do all that I can to make these people the right's problem. I'm already reasonably certain that once a major economic crisis happens in the US most of them will join the ranks of cresting explicit fascism anyway, but just in case any of them might keep cosplaying left and undermining the communist cause, I will engage in every hostility to get them to leave the left, because they aren't needed and indeed we need to have as few of this type as possible
(Incidentally this is why I am civil to those whom I recognize as genuinely talented regardless of their current ideological leaning)
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thelocalmuffin · 2 months ago
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Hey everyone, it's time for me to go on hiatus until late February!
For the record, I won't be entirely gone - but I will be gone a lot more than usual!
I know a lot of people have questions, but the short of it is that I'm moving! If you'd like to help, you can either donate to my ko-fi or check out my gofundme post!
If you can't, please don't feel pressured to. Even sharing the original gofundme post would help so much. I really do need the word to spread around.
My friend @irritable-dumpliing also has sketch comms to help out. Their art is beautiful, so if you'd like a comm, please check them out.
If you want more details about the whole thing or have questions about my move, please read the readmore! I may have answered them there.
Note: these are theoretical questions. I know they will be asked at some point, so here they are.
Q: What if I commissioned/did a trade with you?
You will still have your pieces worked on! I have time set aside for you to work on your pieces! I will keep you updated on the dates I definitely can't work on your pieces.
Q: Will you directly open commissions?
Not right now. I'm so sorry, but I'm way too busy to add more to my plate. I probably will after my hiatus since I will have a bit of a cost of living spike.
Q: After this hiatus, will you be reactivating your X account?
Absolutely not. I'm just going to be hanging on on bluesky and here. I was debating on deleting it next month and I just got tired of it yesterday.
Q: You said you will no longer be modding for zines on X. Are you still going forward with this?
Yes. I have been modding for zines for three years and I want to focus on my own projects now when I have downtime.
Q: What about the zines you're currently in?
I'm pretty good at time management and have no intention of abandoning the projects I'm in, either as a mod or contributor. All mods are aware of the dates I move and when there is no access to the internet for me.
Q: Where are you moving?
I'll be moving to Colorado. I won't give specifics as to what parts besides to close friends, but if I post some photos of Chuu with some iconic Colorado places, that's why.
Q: Will you miss Utah?
Absolutely the fuck not. As I mentioned in my gofundme, this move was bigger than just the election results and a long time coming. It has gotten so much worse since November and I'm very delighted we are moving.
Q: Who did you draw?
Me! That's more or less what I look like! I did want to share this until later, but I am planning on making a persona for announcements when things settle down.
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