#A/V Solutions

[networkright]

Network Right

Network Right is the leading Managed IT Services and IT Support provider in the San Francisco Bay Area, serving startups and tech companies across San Francisco, San Jose, Oakland, Berkeley, San Mateo, Santa Clara, and Alameda. Offering comprehensive remote and onsite IT solutions, their services include IT infrastructure, IT security, data backup, network management support, VoIP, A/V solutions, and more. They also provide IT Helpdesk support and Fractional IT Manager roles, ensuring full-spectrum IT management. Trusted by fast-growing companies, Network Right combines expert solutions with unparalleled customer support to accelerate business growth.

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[ikurko]

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hello! I found your blog and love the writing

Here’s sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea 💡

✨So the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day ✨

Thoughts 💭

ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> 🤒 let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.

for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!

🌪️✂️👘🏳️🏴🦌🐍🪞🎻🔩🐟🕯️

🌪️ Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. You’ve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.

✂️ Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. “Curious,” he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. “It’s not often a little mouse stands in my path—not on purpose.” His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. “Well, you’ve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.”

👘 Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesn’t make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you don’t even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m home,” she murmurs. “Your sweet scent led the way again.” She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.

🏳️ Bi’an’s arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. It’s the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. “Let me have you, just for a little while…” Those sweet kisses he’s so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.

🏴 Wujiu’s arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasn’t uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid “Nothing worth mentioning” when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. “Don’t look at me.” Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.

🦌 Bane doesn’t like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isn’t big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.

🐍 Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and she’s never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You aren’t sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when you’re looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine… There is nothing that binds you to her, yet you’re the only one who never resists her.

🪞 Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. “My mind is a mess,” she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. “Where are you? Come settle me.” The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isn’t concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you don’t care to identify, but you don’t mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.

🎻 Antonio’s fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if you’re nothing more than a doll. “Not a drop to console me?” he complains, knowing you’ve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detention’s fiery glow return to his eyes. “No, perhaps you are right—there is something more intoxicating for me here.”

🔩 Percy - “Hm...” He’s scrutinizing you with such intensity that you wonder if something’s on your face. He leans over to take an exaggerated whiff of you, and your heart sinks in offense. You have half a mind to tell him you showered just that morning, so it’s probably not you — besides, he’s the one who’s been tangoing with carcasses all day — but Percy keeps a thoughtful look about him. “You smell full of life,” he muses. “That fragrance you wear, it was popular back in the day. Transports me to the city again.” He would know better than you; you just found this perfume in the trunk of a dusty old room. When he comes closer, clasping either hand around your face, you let him lose himself in the nostalgia. Moments like these are all you have to keep yourselves sane in the manor.

🐟 Grace’s mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. There’s little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if she’s asking for a deeper massage—but you don’t get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.

🕯️ Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. He’s resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where he’d usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas he’s simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. It’s like your lover’s been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesn’t protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “I’m terribly jealous of this magic of yours,” he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. “It’s always you who brings me back from the stars.”

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 8

Masterpost

"So I think they're using other languages," Tim says, the moment Bernard opens the door.

"Well hello to you too my beloved boyfriend," Bernard responds, kissing Tim on the cheek and pulling him into the apartment.

"Shut up," Tim says, following Bernard to the table. This is hardly the first time Tim has skipped past pleasantries like that, and Bernard seems to find it more amusing every time.

"Aw, I dunno if I can do that. I really like to talk to you," Bernard grins conspiratorially. "Plus, then I wouldn't get to tell you that you're half right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously other people noticed the comment, right?" Bernard, gestures towards the computer, where Tim can see the cryptic comment. It already has dozens of responses. "Mostly people are just freaking out about it, because this is like, our first instance of direct communication from them, but one of the people who saw it actually recognized what language it is."

"Just one?" Tim frowns.

"Yeah. It's called esperanto. I googled it and apparently it's a conlang from the late 1800s which is pretty cool. It was, like, invented to be kind of a universal language, I guess? It pulls from a lot of different languages, so that's why it looks like multiple languages."

"Huh."

"But! There's still the encoded portions to figure out, because the translation as-is doesn't really make any sense." Bernard scrolls and points to the translation that a commenter had offered. It reads To be fqzuhsx-ayccas is to be qtdkv-avnwkwkb; the veil afph-gqkduik but it is meant to igpmtwi-ocdq. Determination in the face of doubt.

"Huh," Tim studies the text, then notices something. "They've specifically encoded the verbs."

"Yep," Bernard shrugs. "I haven't tried anything for the encrypted stuff yet; figured i might as well wait for you."

"Okay, well I guess we start with the simplest? We know they've used caesar ciphers before, plus this is in response to what we did with the first caesar ciphers before, so we might as well try one of your decoder websites for that first."

"Seems reasonable," Bernard says, pulling up the website from before. He quickly copies the first word over and hits the button. "Well shit, that was quick."

"Only the first half, though." Tim mutters. "Do it to the rest of them." Bernard copies and decodes the rest. In short order, they have a the first half of each encryption decoded.

"To be gravity is to be orbit, the veil disk but it is meant to eclipse?" Bernard frowns. "That... doesn't make much more sense."

"What's up with the focus on astronomy, too."

"Oh, right, we haven't gotten that far yet. They keep referencing space stuff. There's like, a running theory about these messages being supposed to have come through a black hole?"

"Is that even possible? i thought black holes ate stuff forever."

"I dunno, I'm not really into space stuff. Besides it's like, sure there's evidence for it, and space seems to be narratively important? But the premise seems kind of contrived to me."

"You think they're doing something bigger than what everybody is seeing." Tim stares at the forum thread. If anything was going to give Bernard's theory some credence, it would be what literally just happened.

"Exactly." Bernard posted on a forum arguing that he thought the game ran deeper than people realized. And the creators, who so far hadn't interacted directly, had responded to that post, with a triple-encrypted message.

"Each shift was one further away than the last," Tim thinks rapidly. "It started with language, which could be either a part of the effort to encrypt it, or a part of the intended meaning. Possibly both. Then, they used caesar ciphers for the first layer of encryption, the same thing they used in their first post. How did they encrypt things in the second post?"

"I think I kind of mentioned it before, but the second post used a vigenere cipher. The names of the people in the first video were the keys, if I remember right."

"The first is the key to the second."

"What-"

"Take the second part and decode it with the first."

"Dude your mind is scary sometimes," Bernard laughs, but moves to do as Tim says, revealing the first encrypted word. "To be seen. That works..."

Tim starts writing down the full message, as Bernard decodes the rest. Finally, they have the full text of the message the creators intended to send.

"To be seen is to be remembered; the veil distracts but it is meant to hide. Determination in the face of doubt." Tim reads.

"Huh," Bernard says, leaning over to read it for himself. "Well, now we know what it says. Now we just need to figure out what that means."

[hitlikehammers]

AVOIDANCE: the only real solution to all of Eddie’s your falling-in-love problems!

(0 out of 10 participants in this approach have proven its INeffectiveness; talk to your ✨love interest✨today to avoid this heartbreaking waste of your energy!)

It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.  By simply avoiding Steve Harrington. 

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, eddie munson and his newfound obsession/unprecedebtedly-close-to-love feelings for steve harrington, answer: avoid steve harrington like the plague, excellent and emotionally-mature ways of dealing with your problems! /s, primary hiccup in existing plan: forgetting steve harrington doesn’t take well to failure, (oops), miscommunication, boys so dumb, confessions, hint of angst (because eddie is a very silly boy with very silly ideas sometimes), self-confident!steve, steve harrington facing the issues head-on, feelings confessions, peak eddie dramatics, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day fifteen: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”―Jane Austen, Emma

True fact: Eddie thought he was playing things cool. Thought he was totally copacetic, in, you know, keeping it all subtle. He can do subtle, y’know: being loud and proud, shouting on tabletops and shit, screaming at drunks—that was a choice, not a…a rule. He’s a freak, he’s an outcast, he’s a weird-ass motherfucker: he’d have had far more brushes with his actual-factual demise in this podunk town if he was literally incapable of blending in with the background, and not just kinda sickened by the concept, let alone the effort involved to appease fucking…normies.

So yeah, he’d…he’d thought he was flying under the radar. And anyway; why the fuck would Steve Harrington even notice eddies absence in his day-to-day? They were apocalypse ‘friends’. Hospital buddies at best.

They’re back in the real world now.

Eddie supposed Vecna or whatever the fuck his name is will come crawling back in the foreseeable future, but brighter minds than his are preparing for that shit. The sheepies will let him know if they need his assistance—pending what that assistance may or may not be worth dependent on how far along his PT journey he stands at that point.

But it’s not like they were glued to the hip. It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.

By simply avoiding Steve Harrington.

It’s kind of a foolproof plan, really. He starts wrapping Hellfire earlier, tells the little shitheads he’s gotta run, Wayne needs a hand with a revolving door of household projects now that they’ve got their own place with more than one bedroom. Gotta mount that hangers for that ball cap collection just right, you know, yadda yadda.

He thinks they gave up being suspicious without a week or two, now just hit him with annoyed eye rolls. God bless the scourge of self-centred teenage bitchiness playing directly into eddies hand.

What he failed to account for, however, about eleven weeks into his up-to-now flawless scheme, was…well. The leading man himself.

Showing the fuck up at Eddie’s door, which Eddie answered for once like a fool and now can’t back out of cleanly because there’s no truck in the drive—it’s clear he’s here on his own.

Motherfucker.

One thing can be said for the plan, in terms of like, general side quest observations—absence definitely made the heart grow fonder. Or at least didn’t contribute at all to the opposite. Which Eddie hadn’t been entirely sure was possible, because the speed and strength of how he fell with every fucking cell in him had honestly terrified the shit out of him on its own. But after avoiding Steve, nodding at best if he canoed paths and sneaking away when the man called out like he was gonna snake through a crowd at any of the number of the family dinners for interdimensional-trauma-survivors-anonymous that Eddie couldn’t weasel out of: it’d been clear pretty fucking quick.

The almost-indefensibly-absurd affection he’d developed for the King of Hawkins—it wasn’t just reign over the high school if the parents were so charmed, if the fucking hospital has cowed into acting and quick when they tried to hesitate in treating an accused murderer, as Eddie’d been regaled with by everyone but Steve, who shrugged his kinda crucial role in saving Eddie’s ass with a shrug and of course, man, like there was ever even a question—but his indefensibly overwhelming and absurd infatuation that spent every month expanding further to try and crack his fucking ribs, well.

It was chronic, at best. He wasn’t gonna shake it…any time soon.

Any time soon.

So: best to at least keep the catalyst at bay, stop it from causing the condition to worsen.

He’d made the mistake of thinking it couldn’t get worse already. Learn from your mistakes, and all the shit.

So what if it’s been months now and not only has the malady of being ass-over-nipple in-fucking-love persisted, but got so much fucking worse? Deeper? More, when that shit should have even been possible?

No. He just has to be persistent. Keep at the plan. Eventually, it’ll die off. It’ll whither and blow away. It’ll fucking fade—

He does, however, fail to calculate all contingencies.

Namely Steve Harrington’s incapacity to accept defeat.

He’s also too fucking scatterbrained to check the door before opening it when there’s a knock, just after Wayne’s left for his shift. When Eddie has no excuse to slam it back shut on the exceptionally exquisite face waiting when the hinges swing open.

Exquisite, but looking…pinched. Sour.

Pissed the fuck off.

And worst of all of it—because so far the list only server to underscore that unfortunate state of being fucking beautiful, on every possible level—but worst of it all, because it’s worst on its own but also because it twists, distorts all the beauty, and it’s so clearly Eddie’s fault because Steve is standing right here, and not elsewhere, after all this time.

Looking hurt, under everything else.

“I’m done with this, yeah?”

Eddie could run. He’d only make it to his room; Steve would probably be able to break down the door and get to him before he could slither through the window and run, but he’s still not 100%, right, he’s physically at a disadvantage anyway, it’s not even gonna be a question—

Steve’s got him cornered.

So he just stands. Blinks.

Doesn’t…know what Steve’s ‘done with’, but he feels his literally twist, wring like a dishrag, when he figures out the most likely answer is just:

 Eddie.

Even trying to keep the maximum distance, he either knows, and hates it, hates him, or…

He doesn’t know, and doesn’t need to. He just is over Eddie and his bullshit.

It’s in the heart-piercing distraction of either and both possibilities that Steve pushes past him into the front hall.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?”

Steve crosses his arms as the door latches closed, caging them in.

Eddie’s heart starts kicking hard, which is painful. He assumes that’s because it’s been pierced by the hurt still on Steve’s face.

“I thought we were, like, that at least we were friends?”

He says it like he also has maybe had thoughts like there’s something else they were, or could have been. That by association and context would be somewhere more than friends?

Eddie’s pieced-through heart switches to a double-thumping sort of thing that’s really just as confused as the rest of him.

Hurts like a motherfucker, too.

“Did I do something?”

Steve asks, finally sounds more defeated than any of the other things Eddie can pick up in how he holds his body, and honestly that’s what breaks Eddie’s resolve, of everything; after everything. After holding out this long and failing for the entire fucking effort, after hurting Steve, the last thing he could ever want, probably the main underlying reason he’s been running from him the whole goddamn time—to not hurt him.

He’s suck a fuck up. He’s such a fucking fuck up.

“You know how sunflowers grow?”

Steve startles a little, grows the slightest bit.

“They find the sun, and the grow toward it,” and Eddie’s not stupid enough to think the whole disaster that’s unfolding in front of him, from his own chest, his own fucking mouth—he’s aware.

He can’t do nothing, but he also doesn’t think he can sugarcoat this in a way that goes down easier; sand the rough edges to make it make better sense.

He has to wrench it raw and bloody from his ribs, caught on the jagged bone like the messy fuck he is.

“You were the sun,” Eddie finally says it out loud, and his voice is so small and wondering, he can’t hide it. “You were the sun and I woke up broken, I had to grow back so much and I did, because I had the tools,” he swallows, takes a shaky breath:

“I had the sun right next to me, to do all the growing toward. To…rebuild around.”

Eddie’s always been a weirdo, and outcast—he’s spent a lot of time in libraries; often hiding.

But he’s read a lot of random shit. And enough of it’s stuck to make some sense of this fucking mess.

Steve’s face gives nothing away. It’s usually so…so generous with its feeling, even if there are some feelings Eddie knows Steve’s careful to never let show.

But in the now, he just stares.

“Otters,”Eddie blurts out, fingers twitching, wrists shaking; “they hold hands when they sleep,” and he looks up for a second before looking away again, pulse a mullet in his throat.

“I used to hold onto your hand when I fell asleep in the hospital,” and he says it like it’s a secret, a confession, even though of all people, of course Steve already fucking knows. The part he doesn’t, though:

“I still reach, and how fucked that? Like I deserve it as a rule, like it’s mine.”

Like you’re mine.

He can’t say it. But he doesn’t have it. It rings out on its own.

“But then there are the trees that shoot up all tangled,” Eddie can’t remember what they’re called; “where the trunks split off into one another, or they’re so braided up together the share their bark, whole pieces left Bernal’s, naked but the other tree covers it, makes it strong and safe but only so long as they’re literally fused together indefinitely,” and Eddie hopes that one…that one explains itself.

He pauses, waits for any reaction.

No dice.

“Bats sleep in pitcher plants.”

That at least gets the slightest lift of the chin. Probably because it’s weird, and also…bats.

Right. So Eddie’s gonna have to spell it all out.

Which he kinda knew. The examples are fucking weird. But they’re…they’re true. They’re where he is.

“If I get too fucking close, I will destroy you,” Eddie says, because that’s the fear, right—or no.

That’s the fucking truth. Eddie always ends up with the tatters of the things he loves the most.

“I’ll take too much, I’ll take everything,” Eddie confesses, pleads in his tone to be seen, which Steve’s always been weirdly good at, and understood—the bigger gamble.

“There won’t be any stoplights, there won’t be a barrier or a boundary where I’ll know I’ve gone too far because I won’t even think of what that fucking is, what it could be to even watch for, like the barebones idea of ‘too far’, let alone what it looks like, I won’t,” and his breath runs out, so he gasps, and he thinks he sees Steve move to reach, to help, to steady.

He thinks.

It’s probably just wishful thinking.

“I won’t stop holding on just when I’m sleeping, I’ll,” Eddie licks his lips, because now…now he’sstarting to hurt, closer to what it felt like with teeth ripping his flesh than anything has felt, than any loss has threatened. He has to clear his throat, because otherwise the rest will just spill out like a sob:

“I’ll tear your bark so you bleed, and you’re exposed and you die off slow, because I was selfish, so selfish, I held to close, I fucking…” eddies voice cracks; his eyes fucking burn; “because I fucking demanded the whole of you, and damn the cost because I couldn’t process an end, why would I stop doing to even think to be logical and careful when an end to you was, is, well, fuck,” he huffs, and a tear spills out white hot down his cheek;

“It’s incomprehensible, because that would be the end of everything, that was made real fucking clear for me with the bats, both times,” and Eddie means that—he’s had time to think through the origin of his aching and it was early, it was any hint of being in the world without this person in it, too; “and the end of everything, well,” he shakes his head, some of his hair sticking in the single trail of salt on his skin:

“Tied up in you, so tight we couldn’t physically untangle?” His voice drops to a whisper, and he knows his smile has to look sad, but he means this is the deepest places his heart even holds:

“What better way to go?”

He maybes watches Steve’s throat bobbing. Maybe.

Probably not.

So Eddie just sighs. Because…none of that matters. None of that matters in the face of the core truth:

“Those pitcher plants dissolve things inside them, it’s how they eat,” he half-recites, retreating into those deep-heart places, where the feeling is most saturated, but hard to find, somewhere to hide as he whispers, cowers in himself as he flats his own flesh:

“I’ll leech from you for wanting too much just the same. I’ll fucking destroy you, Stevie,” he moans, feels his arms wrap around his chest, protective. Trembling.

“I’ll love you so hard I’ll suffocate you, I’ll tear you to pieces trying to get closer, trying to hold the heart of you closer to mine,” he doesn’t even make a conscious decision to press a palm over his flailing heart where his arm already holds, hugs himself so fucking tight. His lungs are sore. It’s tight, trying to breathe.

“It’s not an overstatement, though, the other plants, the flowers,” Eddie feels overwhelmed, suddenly, with a need to make clear that there’s only one person at fault for this, and it’s him—Steve didn’t deserve to get hurt. Eddie should have found a better way to keep him safe—from Eddie—from the very start. Because—

“You are my sun,” Eddie makes himself look up, look at Steve. “I didn’t realize how little I was growing even before spring break. I didn’t notice, how fucking thriving wasn’t even in my goddamn vocabulary, until there was you.” His breathing shudders again, followed by the rest of him:

“I turn toward you as a rule,” because here’s the thing. All these weeks and months.

Eddie’s been shrivelling. Eddie spends his nights dreaming of sunlight.

It’s inescapable.

He was going to have to find a more sustainable compromise soon, anyway. Might as well…lay it all out now.

He’s already ripped off his bark. He’s already prepared to dissolve in the acid, to burn for what it means to have left the feeling grow so big.

“I hope,” he coughs, starts slow, formal-like: “I hope you can do me the favor of just,” he has to clear his throat again; fuck, it’s hard; “politely ignoring that part. Like, even at a distance, it’s not something I can seem to stop.”

He was aiming for apologetic for that last bit, honest.

He fucking fails spectacularly, so. That’s cool.

“I swear, I won’t bother you,” he tries to convey how he’s sorry, for all of it, save for the core of the loving, because he as granted. A taste, no matter how it’s fallen to ruin; he’s selfish that way anyhow, to have seen some of the sun versus darkness alone for always.

Still:

“I won’t come near, I’ll do what I’ve been doing but better, I’ll be better, I’ll try harder, it will—“

Eddie thinks maybe he’s finally died. Of heartbreak, of whatever the Upside Down did to him. Of living without his sun for a long.

Any. All of the above.

Because the next thing he knows is pressure. Heat.

On his lips.

He barely processes responding before its town away: of course death wouldn’t be a reward. Not for him.

“Are you fucking telling me,” a voice bites out close enough to Eddie’s lips that he can feel how sharp they cut:

“That you have been avoiding me, running awayfrom me,” and Eddie knows that voice—

“Breaking my heart,” and fuck, fuck Eddie knows he knows that voice because when it’s hurting—and those words are irate and disbelieving and they’re hurt—

“Because you’re fucking scared of loving me too hard?”

And Eddie pulls back, opens his eyes: Steve.

Steve’s eyes are fucking vibrant with feeling, so many feelings. He’s…he doesn’t think he’s dead, because a lot of those feelings are ones Eddie’s not familiar with, and how would he know to place them there if he’s never known them at all?

He doesn’t know of it’s better or worse, to not be dead right now.

Because he just apparently got to feel Steve’s lips on his lips.

But then:

“Because that’s what you’re saying, right” Steve raises a brow, demands in posture as much as in tone:

“You’re in love with me.”

And then on the flip side of being alive-or-dead: he has to deal with the consequences of spelling out the answer to…that.

Which he’s apparently broken Steve’s heart over handling…the only way he could figure out. And still fucking it up.

“That sounds less than what it feels like,” Eddie whispers; it’s the only thing he can latch on to.

Steve’s eyes narrow at him, contemplate him.

“And you think me, of all people,” Steve finally asks, slow, his tone wrenchingly deliberate; “that Iwouldn’t meet someone loving that big and that much,” “and he huffs, shakes his head in searing disbelief Eddie almost wishes he could flinch from, but it’s so warm, it’s his sun:

“That that wouldn’t feel like there actually was a heaven, and I’d died and somehow made it there?”

Eddie’s breath catches, then stops entirely. He can’t seem to properly suck in another one because…

“That finding that wouldn’t feel like I’d won the lottery, like I’d figured out what it meant when people talk about a blessing, and all that shit?”

Because what…what it almost sounds like Steve is saying can’t actually be—

“That finding it, with you,” and oh, oh Steve is a lot closer than he was last Eddie processed the world around him, his chest is grazing Eddie’s chest when he seems to have no trouble breathing, just is doing it really deep and reallt fast—

“That it’d be anything less than a gift,” Steve murmurs half against Eddie’s lips; “a dream come to life?”

And Steve’s eyes flick up, and it’s when they land on Eddie’s and see him that his lungs shiver and he chokes out the only word he thinks his every molecule knows by heart:

“Steve?”

And Steve doesn’t move, neither. Loser nor farther away.

Doesn’t look away; doesn’t blink.

Just asks:

“Do you love me?”

And something in Eddie unfreezes, some string holding him up, holding him back snaps free and he just grabs Steve’s hand and presses it to his chest, like he needs to be tethered now that the string in him’s been cut, and the touch, this touch: Steve is really all he’s been wanting to keep him.

To keep him at all.

And maybe this is the one shot he gets.

But Steve, Steve said…

He presses Steve’s hand to his chest a little harder, because he’s bathed in the sun again. Their hands are linked, and they’re not asleep. He’s peeled off all the pretense, he’s as bare and vulnerable as he can possibly get. His heart’s beating into Steve palm. Eddie will happily fucking drown in this, dissolve and be…

He’s already consumed.

How is it any different, save that maybe, just maybe, beyond all odds and against everything he’s feared—

“More than I can hold in here,” Eddie scarcely finds the air to breathe; “more than I can say.”

“Then share it,” Steve says, the assuredness, the rightness in his gravity that’s always been at his core radiating forth and warming Eddie in a way he’s never known to feel before.

“Let me know it, let that feeling not be alone anymore,” and the words hold more than their syllables, by so much; “let it out to see the sun,” and then Steve’s flipping their hands so eddies the one caught agains this chest, but he’s always pulling them close enough that Steve’s knuckles are still catching the drum of Eddie’s pulse. It feels…

Eddie didn’t know what to expect, to let the feeling be felt beyond his own chest.

It’s breathtaking in a new way. It’s…

“Let it meet its match here, in how I feel,” Steve doesn’t suggest, just speaks, instructs, leads with a match to what Eddie feels, has been drowning in, save where it stole his air it’s breathing into him; where it took his light it’s reinventing the sun as Steve murmurs close, so close to his lips:

“Let it see how it was killing me all this time without you,” and Eddie whimpers for the cost of what he’s done, what he felt so sure he had to do—

“Let the feeling inside here,” and he presses his touch back to Eddie’s chest just a little bit firmer; “know how much sharing it’s like stitching my broken heart back to rights.”

Eddie’s exhales shakes so fucking hard; he can’t be this lucky. It can’t…he can’t…

But his heart’s beating so hard, so fast, so free.

So fucking alive.

“You can’t say it, big enough?” Steve pushes, his breath so goddamn warm, his lashes so thick, Eddie wants to feel them on his skin like a blessing, a sacrament:

“You can’t say it? Then show me, instead.”

And Steve looks up at him before he grabs around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulls him close enough that speaking rubs their lips together, more combative than affectionate but still undeniably intimate as Steve growls:

“Fucking months, Eddie, Jesus,” and his grip is firm, but there’s no force, Eddie could pull back, Eddie could try to run, and fail, but how could he, how could he ever—

His hand’s crushed to Steve’s chest. The same wild thrum he feels in his veins is there.

Let it meet its match.

“Make up for it,” Steve’s breath trembles on Eddie’s lips, taunts him, begs him, asks so many questions.

Eddie flips their hands one more time, presses Steve’s hand to his heartbeat with nothing less than desperation until his ribs goddamn creak, and then he leans, makes the pressure bigger—

Meets the feeling in Steve with all the feeling in him with their lips on each other like they mean it this time, ready to dissolve in it. To grow themselves to protect around the soft parts. To keep their hands entwined for always.

To come alive inside this sun.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[vivika-ka]

Some instances that I feel show how some messages in MHA are detrimental, especially on how victims react to their abuser, can be gauged by responses that tend to be highly prevalent in the fandom.

(Definitely not every fan, but a great majority).

Endeavor is a great example. Whenever you post criticizing his approach to atonement (and ultimately criticizing Horikoshi’s writing), you get BOMBARDED by people either belittling you for not liking his character or essentially forcing you to like his character by frantically writing “at least he tried” arguments.

If I have the CHOICE whether to forgive his character or not, especially given he goes through an atonement arc and not a redemption arc, why is any form of criticism about his abusive behavior and essentially his abuse of power practically ignored by the story unacceptable?

The message was detrimental because people operate on the notion that for victims to be good people, they must forgive and even help their abusers. MHA presents people who choose not to forgive him as either a monster (Toya) or inconvenient (Natsuo). And if they are still unforgiving, they must admire the abuser for doing the bare minimum (taking responsibility; this is also about Natsuo).

Essentially, they are considered "imperfect victims" because they weren't merciful in their approach to their abuser.

The majority of the fandom tends to ignore the lack of actual consequences for Endeavor's actions because he vows to talk to Toya every day. Insisting that doing the bare minimum, which is recognizing his son's existence and suffering, became his "hell" is a wildly fucked up message, in my opinion.

It harps on the issue mentioned above that if a victim isn't receptive to forgiveness or doesn't act "demure," they are seen as an inconvenience—which is how the Todoroki family ultimately views Toya.

On a less critical note, I'll vent, so if you don't like this, just ignore it.

I'm so fucking tired of stories depicting imperfect victims as people who deserve death and torture. Plus, having to be on the brunt of so many people acting like you're morally fucked because you're not impressed with how a writer handled abuse. Horikoshi is not the first writer to try to atone a character who is an abuser (and he isn't the first to fail at that, either).

I'm not about to dick-ride every decision every author makes. Especially if the message convinces some audience members that victims are inherently broken if they can't bring themselves to forgive and/or admire someone who hurt them.

[shrews-art]

Pain reminds us that we are alive or something I guess

[sweetmage]

Yeah, getting angry and yelling at V doesn't have the effect you think it's having, Vik...😇

[sapphicmuppet]

I’m sorry as of now in the series Jace Stardiamond they could never make me hate you. Bro has been so stressed this year literally let him be evil as a treat. He’s a single mom who works two jobs and loves his kids and never stops with gentle hands and the heart of a fighter. He’s a survivor.

[cafulur]

Modern / College AU Labru Snippets:

- Laios and Kabru meet as classmates who get paired together for a project, and although they initially clash at first, through the assignment they find themselves clicking in the most unexpected ways.

- After the project is finished, they still keep texting each other. Laios sends Kabru a photo of an opossum that was lurking right outside his bedroom window late one night. Kabru later texts him a picture of a fluffy stray cat that won’t leave him alone every time he walks up to his apartment. He initially acts as if he doesn’t like the cat and that it’s bothering him by always following him home, but Laios constantly enthuses over text about how he would love to meet this cat someday. Suddenly Kabru is sneaking this cat little pets and treats in hopes it’ll stick around for when Laios may eventually (hopefully) come over. Before he knows it, Kabru has formed a soft spot for the stray.

- Both of their friend groups mesh and the two find themselves wondering each day when they’ll get to see each other next. They instantly attach in group settings without a second thought, and everyone notices the spark they have going on but them. Laios is excited in a ‘wow this is the coolest, nicest, most interesting friend I’ve ever had!’ type of way, while Kabru recognizes & reconciles with the fact that he’s crushing pretty early on.

- Toward the end of the semester, Marcille hosts a house party, and there’s actually a moment where Kabru sits with Chilchuck on the rooftop ?? It’s an extremely rare occasion and odd for them to ever be alone together, but Kabru had wondered out onto the second floor balcony for some fresh air + a moment to think, and spotted Chilchuck smoking a joint by himself atop the roof shackles to the right of him, just beyond the balcony.

- They watch Laios and a few others down below do something stupid and party related, like chug a drink or eat something fast in one go. It’s mostly quiet between the two up top, save for the few awkward hellos in acknowledgment when Kabru first shows up. Until Chilchuck, of all people, decides to finally break the silence between them. 

“I’d just be straight up with him at this point, if I were you.”

Kabru jumps a little at the unexpected suggestion, glancing toward him with wary eyes. He does his absolute best in every interaction to present himself in a very particular way. Had he been that easy to read all this time?

“Straight with who?” Kabru questions as innocently as he could pretend with a smile, brushing a curl behind his ear.

Chilchuck takes a drag and blows smoke up toward the sky, slightly annoyed but not trying to bite this time around. “Laios. It looks like you want something so bad, but you’re holding back or something. He’s not going to pick up on anything unless you spell it out for him, y’know.”

Kabru covers one of his ears as he feels them burn, looking down into the plastic cup barely filled with beer in his hands. “It’s not— I don’t…” he starts, but feels dumb finishing any semblance of denial. Surprising himself, he caves in, swirling the drink. “It’s just… I don’t want to lose this. His friendship has become pretty important to me.”

“Does Laios come across as someone who would make things awkward?” Chilchuck asks, snuffing out the nub of his joint into the roof and turning to Kabru. Kabru furrows his brow at him.

“Not typically, but I somehow can never figure him out when it comes to things I’ve never tried with him before. Risks with him are truly unpredictable.”

He hums in disagreement, watching the last of the smoke escape the joint before it completely fizzles out. “Eh, I don’t know. Think about it like this. If he doesn’t reciprocate the feelings, do you think he’d have trouble still being friends with you? Laios, being the way that he is, I mean.”

Kabru thinks about it for a minute. Laios really was different from other friends he’d made throughout his life. He didn’t waste time putting up fronts just to save face, and he can’t really pick up on things being awkward for either party. If Kabru confessed and got denied, it would hurt himself mostly, but it wouldn’t rapidly change the air between them. Laios probably wouldn’t want to stop being friends or need time apart just out of awkwardness, which is what one would normally expect after rejection. “I think I get what you mean. I suppose not.”

Chilchuck put the burnt out nub into his pocket to save for a final short smoke later. “I don’t know exactly what all goes on in that guy’s head, but being an observer, I’d think you’d notice by now when he’s actually looking back. I guess it’s easier as a third party.”

Kabru takes a sip of his beer as he carefully considers Chilchuck’s words and watches Laios down below. In that moment, Laios happens to look up and catch Kabru’s gaze, immediately smiling and giving him a friendly wave. It feels like it’s just between them, save for the audience member right next to Kabru witnessing the whole thing. Chilchuck sighs and stands up, dusting his pants off.

“You guys do you. I barely understand my own feelings and how to go about them these days, but if you already know yours so confidently, then there shouldn’t be much stopping you from sharing them. Bottling up seems a lot more painful. It’s hard to watch, anyway.” He stretches before crawling down from the roof shackles onto the balcony. He offers a small wave as he passes by to head inside. Kabru turns to watch him go, saying a soft “Thanks Chilchuck,” as he disappears into a hallway, presumably toward the stairs.

When Kabru turns back around and glances down, Laios is in fact still looking up at him. His face heats up a bit, unsure what to say or do in response, and then Laios is grinning brightly and motioning for him to come and join them. Kabru nods, downs the last of his drink, and then hurries inside, heart pounding in his chest.

[moeblob]

They're in love... thank u.....

[wildfyrevalkyrie]

Saw this post by @ffxivxd and it got me thinking about the complete history of Arcanima. What follows is my current understanding of the timeline (alongside citations):

The Earliest Lore: Allagan Summoning:

In the Third Astral Era, Allag develops Summoning, a type of magic that uses "arcane geometries" in response to a Primal threat. It’s unclear if they already had Arcanists, or if they only ever developed enough to Do Summoning. (STB, "Performing for Prin")

During the latter half of the Third Astral Era, some Summoners started abusing their power, leading to Summoners as a whole being persecuted and killed. Afterwards, a lot of information was struck from the historical records, such as the existence of Sari, one of the founders of Allagan Summoning. (STB, "Performing for Prin")

At the end of the Seventh Umbral Era, Y’mhitra (alongside the Sons of Saint Coinarch), uncovers in Mor Dhona Allagan texts that reveal the existence of Allagan Summoners, alongside a Summoner’s soulstone (ARR, "Austerities of Flame")

By the Seventh Astral Era (modern day), Ul’dah creates a Summoner unit based on the principals of Allagan Summoning (as only the Warrior of Light has been trained in Trances/Demis so far). (SMN 60-70, 80)

Probably Independent: The South Seas Isles

Near the end of the Fourth Astral Era, some Lalafells settle on Aloalo Island (Aloalo Conservation Record (ACR), "The First Settlers of Aloalo Island")

At some point prior to the Fifth Calamity, arcanima is developed by the Lalafells of the South Seas Isles. Specifically, the inhabitants of Aloalo develop wooden familiars called "quaqua", a precursor to Carbuncles. (ACR, "A Not-quite Deserted Island"; "A Familiar History")

During the Fifth Calamity, these people vanish, leaving behind a mysterious statue called "the Speaker" (ACR, "The First Settlers of Aloalo Island")

During the Fifth Astral Era, Aloalo is repopulated by new settlers. (ACR, "First Settlers"). While studying over the jewel in the statue of the Speaker, these settlers redevelop arcanima. (ACR, "Under the Boughs of The Great Tree").

Still during the Fifth Astral Era, some of these settlers then migrate to Vylbrand and found Nym. (ACR, "First Settlers")

During the Fifth Astral Era, rudimentary magic glyphs are discovered in wall paintings/caves, and are incorporated into Nymian military tactics (@ffxivxd's post, original source unknown (I'm assuming one of the EEs?)). Additionally, Nym discovers how to create faerie familiars, and develops the art of Scholars, which has its roots in arcanima. (SCH 30-50)

During the Sixth Calamity (the Great Flood), Nym falls, and the survivors migrate back to Aloalo, bringing with them the knowledge of faeries. (ACR, "First Settlers"; "A Familiar History")

In the Sixth Astral Era, Limsa Lominsa is founded by the crew of the Galadion. (Hildibrand, "The Ink Thief Pt 3"; I think some of this is brought up in the HW and EW patches that deal with Limsa/Ga Bu/Ketternam, but I don't have a source off-hand)

Later on during the Sixth Astral Era, some of Aloalo's inhabitants again migrate to Vylbrand and found the Arcanists' Guild. (ACR, "First Settlers"; Thubyrgeim, "On Arcanima")

Approximately one hundred years before modern day, an undersea volcano erupts near Aloalo, forcing the island to be abandoned and much of the knowledge on it to be lost (ACR, "The Roots of Arcanima")

Following the events of Endwalker, the Systems Aetherologists of the Ragnorak begin working alongside the Arcanists' Guild in order to develop microwaves (Margrat Delivery Questline)

Definitely Independent: The Milala

During the Fifth Calamity ("The Age of Endless Frost"), the inhabitants of Aloalo journey to the Ninth and become the Milala. (ACR, "First Settlers"; Dawntrail MSQ, in Living Memory during the Volcano section)

These Milala eventually develop Electrope tech. This tech works by carving arcane geometries into electrope, which are activated when the electrope absorbs lightning-aspected aether. This is not relevant to arcanima on the Source, but it is super cool. (Dawntrail MSQ, Living Memory; The scene with Gulool Ja and Otis in the original Alexandria's ruins)

Notes

I could see an argument for "Under the Boughs of The Great Tree" occurring after the Nymians return to Aloalo, but given that "First Settlers" notes that only some of the second wave of settlers went to Vylbrand and that "Under the Boughs" is about a settlement just starting out, I think it's more likely that it occurs where I placed it.

Sari is from a city named Madain. This is a 9 reference to Madain Sari, the city of Summoners that Eiko is from.

The Milala in the arena during the Volcano part of Living Memory don't use any constructs, wooden-cored, gemstone-cored, or electrope-cored. I initially took this as evidence for the invention of quaqua being done by the second wave of settlers (alongside Kalika personally knowing that the quaqua were both protectors and companions of the island's inhabitants in "A Not Quite Deserted Island", while he only knows vague stories about the Milala in "First Settlers"). However, "A Familiar History" states very explicitly that the quaqua were invented and left behind by the original "forgotten settlers". My personal theory is simply that the second wave of settlers studied the quaqua the same way they did the Speaker's stone and reactivated/reinvented them, at which point Kalika saw the inhabitants and the quaqua live alongside each other the way he describes it in "Not Quite Deserted".

During the Margrat Deliveries, Grondilvet remarks that arcane geometries originate from the South Seas Isles, which makes sense, as his experience with arcanists is through the Arcanists' Guild, which was founded by the South Seas Lalafells, and he probably does not have the Aloalo Lore™️. However, we know that arcanima actually originated at the latest during the Third Astral Era, as Prin explicitly notes that Sari used "arcane geometries"--the exact same term, down to the quotes that Thubyrgeim uses when explaining arcanima (though the Aloalo Lalafells likely independently discovered arcanima, as opposed to this knowledge surviving from the Third Astral Era until the Fourth Astral Era without any additional lore). I personally think that Grondilvet just isn't aware that the South Sea Isles were only populated after the fall of Allag, especially since not only does he himself point out that Systems Aetherology uses the same underlying principles are arcanima, but he's also one of the most likely people to know that the Allag empire had access to that tech and beyond (The Aitascope, "Starfaring Ark Construction Records")

[girderednerve]

Low quality books that appear to be AI generated are making their way into public libraries via their digital catalogs, forcing librarians who are already understaffed to either sort through a functionally infinite number of books to determine what is written by humans and what is generated by AI, or to spend taxpayer dollars to provide patrons with information they don’t realize is AI-generated.

With Hoopla, librarians have to opt into Hoopla’s entire catalog, then pay for whatever their customers choose to borrow from that catalog. The only way librarians can limit what Hoopla books their customers can borrow is by setting a limit on the price of books. For example, a library can use Hoopla but make it so their customers can only borrow books that cost the library $5 per use.

“Investigating these authors, their book covers, their social media, etc takes A LOT OF TIME, especially with the volume of questionable material increasing month to month (and that's not including the sheer amount of legitimate books published each month in adult fiction that I'm looking at),” one librarian who asked to remain anonymous so she could talk openly about her job, told me. “Is it the best use of my time doing this work on top of my other duties when customers may or may not care? And with the rising multitudes of AI generated content, will there come a point where it just ‘is what it is?’”

This type of low quality, AI generated content, is what we at 404 Media and others have come to call AI slop. Librarians, whose job it is in part to curate what books their community can access, have been dealing with similar problems in the publishing industry for years, and have a different name for it: vendor slurry. While the term now encompasses what seems like AI-generated content as well, it predates the rise of generative AI, and also refers to the glut of low quality, often self-published ebooks or book “summaries” that are common on Hoopla. As some librarians told me, the sheer quantity of books in Hoopla’s service makes it seem more valuable because it offers such a large number of books, but in reality that number is misleadingly inflated by this slurry.

Several of the librarians I talked to said that they are worried about discussing [the problems raised by Hoopla's weak, unclear selection policies, including the 2022 inclusion of explicitly white nationalist texts,] because of the growing hostility towards libraries and groups like Moms for Liberty demanding that books about LGBTQ rights, race, and ethnicity be removed from libraries. One the one hand, librarians want to curate their collections and make sure their patrons are getting access to quality information. On the other hand, they don’t want people to think that they are trying to censor what materials patrons can access in way that’s comparable to what organizations like Moms for Liberty want. None of the librarians I talked to suggested the AI-generated content needed to be banned from Hoopla and libraries only because it is AI-generated. It might have its place, but it needs to be clearly labeled, and more importantly, provide borrowers with quality information.

[the-masquerade-council]

An element in the development of chronic dissociative disorders is the lack of non dissociative coping mechanisms. As in disassociation becomes habitual, meaning that it ends up becoming the default response to even mild adverse experiences. The dissociative symptoms usually originate in experiences where there was no external escape from the situation, so in the original instances disassociation was often the only option.

So it's only natural that a major cornerstone of treatment is developing alternative sets of default reactions, and solidifying the fact that the dissociative response is no longer necessary.

The thing is none of the literature I've read has ever addresses people with chronic dissociative disorders who also experience chronic pain. Oftentimes those with chronic pain need to at least on some level disassociate to manage it enough to complete required activities. Which causes problems for dissociative disorder treatment because it means the disassociation is still necessary for people who experience chronic pain. I think there is definitely a lack of consideration of this in treatment guidelines for dissociative disorders.

[rosemaries-shroom]

Here comes another plea into the void, can we please start stating solutions instead of simply being angry?

What are local governments capable of? State governments? They are capable of putting safeguards in place, they're capable of challenging the federal government when it gets out of hand. What solutions can be presented at those levels? What protections can be put in place to prevent every level of government from falling into fascist hands again?

Anger without purpose is going to burn everything down. How can we direct it in ways that genuinely help?

If, by some magical chance, we manage to drag every Nazi out of our political system, I have what would be a radical solution to propose.

Every single person who has been voted into a government position, from federal seats to state seats to local seats, no matter the political alignment they have, all of them are to be removed from office and barred from running in any future elections. New elections would have to be held to fill everything, which means people of my generation will have to actually step up and take on those roles.

A person will be disqualified and barred from running if their campaign promotes any ideas that harm another group of people. A person will have to be able to say, with full conviction what it is that they believe *specifically*. No "this group wants x" or "I agree with x person". Say what you mean. "I want to implement universal health care so any person who is sick can get the treatment they need when they need it"

"I want a complete police overhaul, with standards and guidelines being contributed by and agreed on unilaterally. I expect members of every minority in the country to have their voices and concerns acknowledged and addressed within these guidelines so there is no room for hate to lurk. I expect them to protect not only the rich white men in this country but every single person living on this land"

Say what you want to see happen. Stand by your words and prove that when you say you're going to serve everyone , *you actually mean everyone*.

What are your solutions?

[colgatebluemintygel]

WE ARE SOO BACK