#I think the better option would be for the world to agree collectively to be a place for refugees

[gxlden-angels]

Do not stop talking about Palestine. Do not forget about Palestine. This is not a battle of religion and I do not think it should be treated as such. From the river to the sea, they will be free 🇵🇸

Disclaimer: I am not an expert. I am just some guy in the US. I am not a direct source of information. Please listen to Palestinians. Please help them directly. Please help with protests if your country is supplying Israel with weapons like the US.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

When I think reflectively about it, I realize that pretty much nothing has damaged my outlook on the world and hope for the future more than the recognition over the past few years that the seeming majority opinion is that automation is bad and meaningfully transforming our economy is a lost cause, to the extent that the working class will actively and aggressively lobby against technological improvements (even beyond the example of AI/ML...)

I don't agree with this assessment and have argued against it lots, but it's clear that I'm in a small minority among my political allies (i.e., leftists, who recognize that there is a problem with our current lives in the first place). Just a few years ago I was naive enough to assume that "automation leads to less work allows us to collectively downsize the workforce and socialize human needs while increasing abundance" was an obvious and noncontroversial progression.

Now even I'm doubting if we'll ever get there, and that's despite trying my damnedest to argue from a position of optimism. Because the fact is that if nobody believes we can make change then change won't happen, and the recognition that that's a plausible future has made me noticeably more cynical and misanthropic. I don't think that society is a lost cause, but the way that leftist orthodoxy is becoming capitalist realism and scapegoating of the technology sector is driving me there fast.

I can't stop thinking that the potential for a better future I see out there is beautiful, but I can sure as hell get more angry and callous as people refuse to reach out for what's there to be taken. Honestly if we do fail to make the leap then maybe that is proof positive of a fatal flaw in humanity.

I recognize that the issue most people are struggling with is the short term labour market disruption from things like automation, but honestly I don't believe that "dismantling capitalism first" is really a feasible option, society only responds to extant pressure and sometimes I am just like, "the best and maybe only way to make change is to create the conditions where it is intolerable not to follow the path of least resistance, by making the impact of not doing that tangible". Maybe an interim period where a bunch of people lose jobs is worth that, revolution has never exactly been easy. Or maybe I'm just being callous, but my point is that it's harder not to be these days. I thought this would all be so much easier before it came to the point of it.

I hope I don't become doompilled past the point of no return. I need to believe there's a better way for the world to be. I need to believe that we can improve people's lives more than we might damage them in the attempt.

I need to believe we can not re-elect the fucking Tories this year for once.

[magical-girl-coral]

Karlach Arc act 3 rewrite idea

Upon meeting a Steel Watcher on Wyrm's crossing, he'll tell Karlach her engine is out of date and she needs to report the Steel Watch Foundry. This will give the location of the foundry (I still don't understand why the fuck wasn't this given in the game).

When confronting Gortash in the throne room after his coronation about her engine heart being called old fashioned, he'll tell Karlach he does feel bad about what he "had" to do and promises to fix up her heart. Karlach then has a conversation sign above her head and says "I've been betrayed by this rat once already. I want to know what he is really after". You'll get a mission in her quest to find Gortash's secret plans as a result.

When asking Karlach where she thinks he would hide his blueprints, she mentions a house he was weirdly obsessed with during her bodyguard days. She could have sworn he said once "no one can ruin them lives but him". You find out it's where his parents are, how they've abused him and why sold him to the hells for gold. If you confess the mother you're here to kill Gortash, she tells you about the key in her pocket for his room.

In his childhood bedroom, you get to find several journals, some half made gadgets and a child's painting of what is now a Steel Watcher, labeled "my protector." There are two interactive blueprints on his table: one of a steel heart labeled "failure" and a massive Steel Watcher on fire. The journal spoke of his frustration of not being able to on up the hells by fixing Karlach's heart and his plan became darker as his obsession of getting back at devils grew. Instead wanted to kidnap Karlach and "save" her by turning her into the ultimate Steel Watcher.'

Karlach, understandably, loses her temper and if you fail a persuasion check or don't stop her at all, burns the house down to the ground from pure rage, killing the Flymms in the process. You should pick the blueprints of Gortash's failed heart replacement before burning down the house.

After stealing the blueprints and killing Gortash, you have two choices: either find Dammon and ask him to fix Karlach's heart with the blueprints, or the Gondians (but they only agree if you save their families. This option is locked if you let them die in the iron throne.) The heart Gortash labeled as a failure wasn't a failure after all, just imperfect. Karlach was so burned up from the hells that every metal inside of her melts after a period of time. Gortash was too obsessed with perfection to see this as a good result and ditched the idea.

The replacement heart has it's ups and downs. The ups is that if you collect infernal metal from the fallen Steel Watchers, the chosen blacksmith can give Karlach a new and more organic engine to help her continue living. But there are some downsides; she can't go anywhere too hot or too cold without possibly damaging the metal. She can't strand away from main cities with better medical equipment if she needs an emergency replacement so her outlander traveling is restricted. She will also need to replace the heart every few years once the infernal metal starts to decay.

Kalrach's arc essentially becomes a choice of what a lot of people with medical problems have to do, whether it's having to live by taking pills every day, wearing prosthetics or just dealing with a disability that limits your possible futures. She either dies from a blazing glory or lives longer with a prosthetic heart that limits her traveling plans. Like Lae'zel and Shadowheart, if you don't converse with her enough throughout her journey, she will choose her bad ending.

Notes:

Gortash's journal entry date shows he become obsessed with fixing Karlach after he caught Raphael talking with the party around act one. The fact that it was specifically Raphael was what send him over the edge.

Gortash wouldn't care less if Karlach dies after he fixes her heart in a world where he could. He didn't care if she makes it or not as long as he can stick to hell one last time.

I have a rough draft where when the party descends onto hell, a devil that words under Zariel shows up (either Flo or Mizora) to give Karlach a new "perfect" heart that could withstand her heat. The catch is that the heart was made purely from the core of hell and it would corrupt her the second it gets in. She becomes a lot more reckless and apathetic, like when she was given her soul coins in act two. If she isn't talked with enough or proven better options, she accepts the deal as a desperate attempted to escape death. (I can't for the life of me figure out where to put this in the game. Maybe during the house of hope?)

If Karlach accepts the prosthetic heart option by talking to either blacksmith, she refuses to become a Mindflayer.

During the epilogue party, Karlach says she's been wandering all over the sword coast to make up for lost time as a mercenary for hire. If Wyll returns to being the Blade of Frontiers, she mentions she started her journey with Wyll, but they went separate ways once she needed more cities to see. She also visited Gale in Waterdeep and helped Lae'zel in the outer planes with a rough battle.

If the MC romances Karlach, they get multiple dialogues options to where the traveled after the Elder brained was finished. There isn't a inch of Faerun Karlach doesn't want to meet.

[cosmicjoke]

Hello. I read your article about Levi not fighting for the ideal world, but rather for his comrades and their dreams, and I would like to ask a question that stuck in my mind and confused me a bit. You said that for Levi the concept of "greater good" is not more valuable than a single life. Didn't Levi sometimes allow his comrades to be sacrificed, to be used as bait for the greater good, for the future of humanity? And didn't he say that "some lives are more valuable than others"?

Hi there, and thanks for the ask.

It's a really good question, and I think a bit difficult to answer, so I'll try my best. Because on its face, the two things seem contradictory. After all, how can Levi not value a cause over a single life if he allowed certain soldiers to die for the achievement of that cause and if he indeed said some lives are more valuable than others?

The thing to remember about Levi, I think, and this goes back to what I was saying about how Levi chooses to fight for others dreams while perhaps not believing in the dream himself, or even caring about the dream himself, is that his main motivation is helping people in any way he can, in using his position and strength to help people in any way he can.

As a soldier in the Survey Corps, the expectation placed on him by his comrades is to fight for the cause of a world without titans, to fight for humanity's freedom from that threat. That's the position Levi finds himself in to help others. That's his medium, or the means by which he can help the most people. That's what Erwin himself convinced Levi of at the end of "No Regrets". That his strength could best be utilized to help others if he joined the SC and channeled it into helping achieve their goal of freeing humanity from the threat of the titans.

Remember, Levi came to the surface looking for a way to use his strength to help people, and he found that through military service. When he lived in the Underground, there were very few options available to him by which he could channel his strength into doing any, real good. He could help people on an individual basis, but without any economic or political power of any kind, again, his options were limited. He was poor and struggling just to keep himself, Furlan and Isabel alive.

Erwin convinced Levi that the best way for him to help the most people was to fight for their collective dream of a world without titans, both civilian and comrade alike. If he could support them in that dream, it would be the best use his strength toward that end. He could help the most people, in the most effective manner, and he could also ensure and prove, through helping to realize their dreams, that even if he was unable to save their individual lives, that their lives still had purpose and worth.

Remember also that every member of the Survey Corps volunteered. It was what they chose to do with their lives. To use those lives and to sacrifice those lives toward this goal of a better world. Levi's entire motivation is to help others, through whichever means he's able. Supporting others in their hopes and dreams and choices, whatever those may be, is one such way of helping them, beyond just the idea of protecting them and keeping them alive. This could be seen as the reason Levi gave in to Furlan's dream of living on the surface too. He was already helping Furlan and Isabel by keeping them alive and protecting them Underground, but both of them longed for more, both of them had dreams of a better life, and Levi tried to help them by supporting those dreams, by agreeing to Furlan's plans, despite the danger it presented for all of them.

Most members of the SC signed up with the genuine belief in and desire for an ideal world. It's something they genuinely longed and hoped for. And Levi understood that in order to support that dream and to support his comrades in the realization of that dream, he was also going to have to accept their choice to sacrifice themselves for it. That meant sometimes prioritizing the realization of their dream over their individual lives. Again, this is what every soldier who signed up to join the SC voluntarily agreed to. By voluntarily agreeing to it, they've declared that the dream of an ideal world is more important to them than their own lives.

And so, it's also important to remember, if Levi were to actively impede the realization of that dream by interfering, by stopping soldiers from dying who's deaths were necessary for coming closer to that dreams realization, that would be the same as Levi actively interfering in those soldier's agency, actively interfering in their choice of what to do with their lives, which would be the opposite of helping them.

So when Levi prioritizes certain lives over others in service to the SC's goal, like Eren's over Erwin's, or Erwin's over his own and the members of Hange's squad, it isn't because Levi actually values their lives more than anyone else', or because he values the goal more than their lives, it's because he knows their continued survival is necessary toward achieving that goal, and the achievement of that goal is what all those soldiers have decided to dedicate their lives to. It's the best way Levi can help them then, in a scenario in which saving every life is an impossibility, by fighting his hardest to make sure they at least don't die in vain. That they didn't give their lives for nothing.

Like I tried to explain in my post "For People, not for Dreams", what matters to Levi is the people he's fighting for, not the dream itself. And if those people have decided that it's their dream they value more than their own lives, Levi is going to support that dream in their name, as best he can and in any way he can, as a tribute to them and the worth of the lives they gave. Like he promises the dying soldier at the beginning, he'll eradicate every titan. He makes that promise for the soldier. It's not because Levi himself wants to see a world without titans. It's not an ideal world he cares about. What he cares about is that soldier, and making sure the value of that soldiers life is acknowledged and realized, and if that's through the achievement of that soldiers dream, then that's what Levi's going to do. He's going to do all he can and fight as hard as he can to make sure that happens, for the soldiers sake, not the dreams.

Anyway, I hope you understand what I'm trying to say. It's a difficult thing to explain, but I did my best, haha. Thanks again for the ask!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Normal Person Would." The Game Master X Player! Reader.

Okay here it is! My first contribution to bloodfest! My week one fic is coming in under the wire, but I hope that is okay! So I watched The Odds (2018) a bit ago and decided that yeah I fucking love The Game Master (yeah we don’t learn his real name, how hot is that?) and when I saw the prompts for the first week of bloodfest I just had to! I hope you all enjoy! 

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5K. The Game Master x AFAB! Player! Reader. Warnings: Torture. Gore. Fucked Up Emotional Intimacy. Almost Drowning. Drilling. Cutting Off Fingers. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Orgasm Denial. DUB CON! Vaginal Fingering. Gun Play. Just A Lot. Praise. Mild Degradation. Movie Canon Violence. 

—

You needed the money, like you really, really fucking needed the money. Normally you wouldn’t ever even dream of doing something like this but screw it, you were desperate, this money, if you did this right? It would fix all of your problems. To be fair, most normal people wouldn’t ever consider participating in a tiered torture competition without some serious motivation, and fuck if you weren’t motivated. You were in such a tight spot and when you’d heard this suggested, you thought it was a joke, you simply laughed and said, “God, if it was true I’d do it in a heartbeat.” 

And as it turns out, it isn’t a joke at all. You could actually do this. 

It took longer than a heartbeat for you to make the jump. But not that much longer. 

You looked into it, did the needed research and after some brief thought, fuck it, you agreed.

The idea is you will be brought to the location with a bag over your head, will be brought to a room, be one on one for as long as it takes with one other individual who will be your overseer for the competition, The Game Master. He is able to communicate with the other people who work for, whatever the fuck this company or organization, collective is. He will let you know when the appropriate people have dropped out of each round, once enough have abandoned the task, unable to take it, you are safe and advance to the next round. Fair enough for you. 

You show up to the place day of, the material obscuring your view is over your head, and before you know it after some travel, the bag is ripped off. You are seated in a chair, in a dull mostly concrete room, seated on a chair at a wooden table and across from him. 

He stands at six foot and two inches, very light blue dress shirt, slacks and a belt, a nice tie, dark hair that is well-kept, slight stubble on his face and brown eyes and tells you he needs to set up. You watch as he does, two cameras, an earpiece. He talks, there are nineteen other people all over the world playing, in other secretive locations, he goes into some of the finer details, but it doesn’t matter much, you are just more concerned with making it through, with winning. The most important detail is that if you leave before the end then you get zero from this, zilch, a massive fucking goose egg and that just will not do. 

You don’t know his name, you try to ask, and he tells you simply with a glance, his eyes firm, his tone leaving no room for argument, “No names.” He allegedly finds it better if you keep things less personal. Alright. 

Curiosity in this situation is natural, who the hell is this man, how did he get mixed up in this, how much is he getting paid to make you suffer for other's entertainment? How does one get the title of paid to professionally torture, anyway? What did it say about him? But to be fair, what did it say about you for accepting this in the first place?

If you make it to the final round, you aren’t allowed to leave, it’s either do or die, win or cease to be, and you were committed, sure you were going to win this. You had to be, had to convince yourself because if you didn’t, well…It’s not worth thinking about, there is no other option. 

You tried asking a few other probing questions, but he wasn’t giving up much. You still tried it, as if getting to know him better would make this easier, but he is kinda a cagey guy, an odd mix between professional and casual. You wonder if that is intentional to throw you off. 

All too soon, the first torture implement was brought out. 

A tall red wax candle is placed on the table in the space between you. 

It’s time to start soon, there is casual conversation to fill the space between you both, whoever is watching cannot hear you, he encourages you to tell him your secrets if you want, you aren’t running at the chance, however. 

His hand goes up to the earpiece, holds, he listens, and then a silver zippo lighter is brought out from his pocket with his opposite hand. He flicks it open, he lights it up, and the candle is burning in short order. 

The first round is simple. Hold your hand to the candle for as long as you can and try to outlast the other players, you just have to outlast three players, you do that, you make it to round two. 

He asks about your motivation, why you are here, it isn’t important, you just need the money, you saying that leads to him telling you, “I don’t think I could ever risk my life for a big pile of money.”

You suppose that difference in character is why you are on your side of the table, and he is on his. He might not risk his own life for money, but he seems very at ease and comfortable risking yours. 

He speaks, “Hey, listen. Look at me.” You do, and he speaks further, “I’m rooting for you. We’re in this together, you and me. You understand?” 

He tells you to relax, your eyes squint as he expounds that mental fortitude is important, that if you want to have any hope of winning you should keep that in mind. Some strange and small part of you wants to believe him, the doubt curling in your stomach tells you that you shouldn’t, for now, you listen to it. 

The first round begins. 

You’d done this before as a teen for kicks, who hasn’t? Taking a friend's lighter and seeing how long you can hold your hand to it before pulling away, that shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? 

You were stupid. Very stupid. Thirty seconds in, you realized that you were stupid as fuck. It hurts, it burns, obviously, the pain is steady and worsening every agonizing second, the palm of your hand is blistering. Your breathing is the first thing to change, to become more laboured, short gasping pants as you try to endure the hurt that was crawling up your arm. The sweat on your skin feels slick and oppressive, it’s running down your temple, you are biting your cheek, eyes squeezed shut as you try to hold in your pained sounds. C’mon focus, you can do this, you can fucking do this-

You don’t think you can, it’s awful, the smell is starting to hit you, terrible, acrid, burning flesh is not a pleasant oral factory experience, who would have thought? Mind awash with the dreadful physical terribleness that was overtaking every single part of you, one thing cuts through, his voice, “Let it out.” 

Eyes open with a gasp, sharp and short, he says, “It’s easier if you don’t hold it in”

Mouth opens and you do so, groans of pain accompany your fucked up breathing, your other hand is gripping the table's edge, nails bite into wood, and you say in a hoarse voice, “Fuck-fucking hurts-”

He cracks a small smile, stifles a laugh and says, “Yeah it’s supposed to, that’s the point-”

You let out a louder groan, a roll of your eyes as you say, “Not the time for jokes here!” 

“It’s not a good distraction?” He inquires, and you shake your head, your hand lets go of the edge of the table, it comes up and grips your wrist, fighting to keep your hand above the flame. Eyes are locked on that point, fixed on where bright white, yellow, orange bleeds and flickers, singeing your skin, and you swear that looking at it makes it worse, the pain more acute. You really don’t think you can keep going, and his voice is there again, “You can do this.” 

That tears your attention away and back to him, “One person is already out, you have this-”

“I can’t, I rea-lly don’t think-” He interrupts his hand on the table, near the base of the candle, ready to take it away, “Another dropped out, one more, come on-”

You can’t help it, you whimper and your eyes water, another minute, just try to last one more minute, and you focus on him, the words that are pouring out of his mouth, praise and encouragement, “You are doing so good, nearly there.”

At just the right time, finally, he says, “And the last one dropped out.” 

You both move at once, you snatch your hand away, and he tugs the candle back, and you laugh in relief. You hold your injured hand to your chest, a shaky exhalation your eyes slip close, holding your wrist still, trying to keep yourself steady, but it proves impossible. 

A few deep breaths, it still hurts but not as badly, your eyes open again, and you look down at your wound, you grimace, it looks really rough, looks about as bad as it hurts. 

You hear him moving, your eyes flick over, and you see him with a small case in his hands, he comes forward, one hand out, “May I?”

Eyes narrow, and you realize it’s a first aid kit, you concede, you nod and gets down on his knees next to you. He is adjusting his tie and your eyes are fixed on him as you are turning in your chair to face him better, you hold your hand out and let him take it. You watch as he works, cleaning you up, burn ointment and as he is carefully wrapping up the wound he says, “I told you that you could do it.” 

You suppose he did. He finishes up with the first aid, and you let yourself smile as you look at what a good job he did. Strange that he is well versed in both sides of this, you suppose it is in the interest of longevity, minor first aid between rounds to encourage the game to go on as long as possible. How many times has he done this? Is the other thought that permeates your mind due to the skill he displayed here. 

The question travels from your brain to your mouth and spills forth without thought, “How many times have you done this?”

He is packaging back up the first aid kit, a casual glance your way, his look is considering, and he finally says, “Fifteen times.” 

You want to ask how many have won, but you feel like he wouldn’t dignify that with a response. He blows out the candle, it’s taken away, and you ask, “So do you like this?”

The next look he gives is one of offence, not taking kindly to the idea that you think he likes watching people hurt themselves, “Really? You think I get off to this?” 

“Get off to, get off on, I’m not here to pass judgment.” You joke and you are met with silence. You pivot, “Why else would you do this?” 

“You’ve never done something you know wasn’t good for you?” The fact he asked this question in this current venue and situation is not lost upon you, as you sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair, in the stark, barren, concrete room alone with your tormentor you think that no, ultimately, this isn’t good for you.

The next round isn’t much better. Your shoes and socks are removed, he has a wooden box, a small space you have to twist to get your left foot into it, you ask what is the deal and there is an animal in there. You ask what animal, and he tells you it’s different every time, he legitimately doesn’t know. 

You hate this. You have to do it, though, you aren’t going to bitch out the second round in. Foot in the box, the divider is lifted and whatever it is before you know it is crawling all over you, this might be worse than the candle, if for nothing else than the not knowing what the hell was in there. It gets worse, whatever it is, starts biting, you gasp, hand grips the table's edge, and he helps, he takes your hand and you let him. 

He is right there, on his knee again, he’s looking in your eyes, comforting you, as you whine and babble through the pain and unconformability he finds the words that grounds you, that helps. 

“Do it for me.” 

You ask shakily, “Do-do it for you?” He nods, “Do it for me.” 

Nervously, the words are repeated, “Do it for you.” 

He encouraged and emboldens you, fingers laces, and he says, “Say it again.” 

“Do it for you.” It becomes a mantra, you let it fill your brain, you lose yourself in his eyes as you say over and over, “Do it for you. I’m doing it for you. Do it for you.” 

You don’t think about what is happening, you just think about how the words roll off your tongue, how his hand feels in yours and how shockingly this is endearing you to him. You are starting to feel more than just pain. You outlast the others, you make it through the round, the tears are a shock, you cry and on instinct you reach out, and he holds you, he lets you sob.

Eventually you stop. He dresses your wound again in the quiet. 

After that he offers you water, you take it gratefully, and you drink as you find yourselves locked in another conversation. Back in the chairs, he is sitting backwards on it, arms crossed, leaning on it like one of those “cool” teachers in an after school special. 

“You were clinging onto me pretty hard there.” He teases, and you pull the water bottle away, the back of your non-bandaged hand wipes over your mouth, and you say, “It was an intense experience.” 

“That orrrr has it been a while for you?” 

You laugh, nearly snort, “Yeah, I was just so desperate to be held, that’s it.” He hums, “Well, everyone needs some contact from time to time. Humans are social creatures.” 

“Who says I need that particular brand of socialization?” You bite out, and he says, “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t believe in love.”

You purse your lips, a casual shrug as you look away, and he says, “You don’t do you! A damn shame, you know, I could change that.” 

“What, are you asking me out?” You laugh, and he says, “More than that, why not just go all in? Indulge in the fantasy with me, let’s plan our life.” 

You have nothing else to do, this is oddly fun, it’s kinda strange but not unwelcome flirting with him, it's helping keep your mind off this fucked up situation, so you do as he asks, you indulge. “Sure okay, you tell me, what you think our life would be like.” 

“We could get married-” You cut in already, leaning in closer, “Married? First thing?”

Brows pinch together, eyes a little harder, but he is still smiling as he tells you, “I don’t do that cohabitation shit, you commit, you have to be all in.” 

A nod as you say, still grinning, “Okay, okay, all in, we get married.” 

“And we could do the whole family thing, have a house out in the suburbs, away from all this with your big pile of prize money, because you are going to win-” 

You listen as he talks more in depth, one foot comes up onto the chair, you hug your leg, chin resting on your knee as he outlines kids names, potential pets, the pros and cons of paint versus wallpaper. He knows what he wants. He’s really thought about this. It’s weird, but he is so enthusiastic, so unexpectedly charming that you play along, this is a good distraction if nothing else. 

“What do you say?” He asks, and you say, “Well if we are doing this shouldn’t you do this right?” 

“Right?” He asks, brows raised, and you say, “Actually ask me, you haven’t even asked yet.” 

A hand comes up, smacking himself in the forehead with a roll of his eyes, unmistakably playful, and you laugh again, “I am such a fucking idiot.” 

He gets up, he walks over to his bag, the first aid kit is gotten again, you wonder what the fuck he is doing, but you get your response soon. He is back over to you, on one knee again he asks, “Will you marry me?”

What a wild day this has turned out to be. You don’t know his name, and you don’t know his, in between fucked up rounds of torture, but you join in, you play it up, right hand up to your mouth as you commit to the bit, “Yes, oh my God, yes.” 

You both break down and laugh over how ridiculous this is. Your left hand is taken in his, and you see what he did, he got a small piece of gauze from the first aid kit, it’s tied around your left ring finger. You bring your hand up after he is done, admiring the small bow, he speaks, you look over at him, still on his knees, and he says, “A placeholder.”

“You’ll get me the real thing once we are outta here?”

“So long as you can wear it, of course.”

What the fuck does he mean by that?

The next round is the worst so far, your other foot is put into another box, there are screws, he has a power drill and fuck this is going to suck.

How many times is he going to get on his knees for you today, Goddammit?

Your heart is racing, you are clenching your firsts so hard that the makeshift ring on your finger hurts. He pulls you out of your thoughts once again, “I’m sorry.”

He apologized to you before hurting you, what a gentleman, you muse before the first screw is driven in. It’s a lot to handle. You are delicious, woozy, the round is a blur, it goes by too fast and too slow all at once, and the removing of the screws was much worse than them being put in. You made it through. 

After more first aid he slips you some pain medication, he isn’t supposed to, but you take it subtly, a quiet and sincere thank you is given. 

You and he sit down on the ground, you talk, you lie together as if in the grass and cloud watching. You tell him you don't know if the suburbs are for you, maybe you’d like to go live in the country and shockingly, he bends. “You give up your white picket fence dream just like that?” 

You ask with a snap of your fingers, and he looks from your face back up to the ceiling, he shrugs and sighs out, “What can I say? I’m a fool in love. I just want to make you happy.�� 

What a hopeless romantic. You hold his hand in your uninjured one and enjoy the compatible and comfortable silence. 

Before the fourth round, he makes you tell him you love him. He sees how nervous you are, and he insists, “If you say it, you’ll feel better, you’ll trust me more. If we love each other, you know for a fact you’ll make it through, that I won’t hurt you.”

“You have already hurt me.” You say, and he scoffs, “Because I have to. Again, I don’t want to do this.”

Sure. 

The words tumble out because what else are you meant to do? “I love you.” 

“There you go.” He plays with your hair and pointedly doesn’t say it back, a finger curling a lock around the digit before he pulls away, and the round has to start. You could laugh.

You almost drown. There is a fish tank, and he holds your head down into it, a hand on the back of your neck, the other arm wraps around your waist, he holds you and your life in his hands. You are completely out of it, you can’t hear anything, and you almost black out, because of this you can’t feel the kiss he presses to the back of your bare shoulder, nor hear the sweet nothing's he whispers to you. 

He gives you a towel to dry your hair after, your shirt is soaked and clingy, and you think that is how the conversation turns to sex. The question is abrupt, “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” 

He is so close again, he always wants to be close to you, encroach on your personal space, and you aren’t exactly shying away from him. “Why do you want to know that, exactly?”

“Just doing what we have been all afternoon, making conversation, filling the space between screams.” He says with a grin that is a little too easy and comfortable. He reaches out, a hand meets the soft skin of your shoulder, thumb rubs over, and it doesn’t linger on such an innocent spot for long, the backs of his knuckles brush down lower and traces over the curve of your breast. Eyes go wide and his gets bolder, he grips, cups you, and you gasp, body jerking back.

“Woah! What are you doing?” 

He laughs, “Oh come on, you want this, you’ve been flirting and staring all day-” He isn’t wrong, but you were doing it for a distraction, to fill the space, smooth things out and hopefully make him go easier on you perhaps he is right, maybe there is more to this, maybe you actually do want this. He isn’t done talking, “You can leave at anytime, you know that, but we also both know that you won’t go.”

“I won't?” You ask quietly, and he leans in closer, his hand meets your cheek, he tilts your head just so, “Because you know you belong here, you deserve this.” 

Do you? He isn’t done, he’s closer still, and he says, “Your whole life has been one long lonely path that has led you to me.” He leans in, and he kisses you and fuck it, you return it. 

You figure, why not? Why can’t this happen? You are stressed as all hell and in a decent amount of pain from the injuries you sustained, maybe this could give you an edge, the pain meds he slipped you helped, but does anything relive pain quite like a good orgasm? 

Breaking apart and in between heated presses of your lips together, he tells you, “I fucking knew it, I knew this wasn’t bullshit, knew you were actually into me.” 

Guy is just a tad cocky, but you aren’t exactly pushing him away, you lean closer, kiss deeper and upon the next parting of your mouths he says, “You wanna go further?”

“How much further?” You inquire and he says, “Depends. Do you want to make love one last time as a whole person?”

It doesn’t take a genius to put together what he means, the next round is going to involve you removing some part of yourself, that is terrifying. You want to lose yourself in him, you agree, a weak moan into his mouth, “Yes please-”

That is how you find yourself now. Your tank top pulled up, bra pulled down, jeans crumpled on the ground and your panties hanging off one ankle, he’s removed his tie, and he is tying it around your wrists. “Any particular reason for this?”

“Just to make sure you don’t try anything funny.” He hums, a finger slides under the substitute for restraints, and he tugs, you nod to confirm that it is not too tight. Soon his own pants are down, shirt is unbuttoned and when he slides home, hands on your thighs you groan, eyes rolling back. You wish you knew his name, so you had something to moan that was more intelligible. 

The lack of foreplay was no issue, you were embarrassingly wet from all the build up and closeness this afternoon, something he called you on, and you couldn’t even defend, instead laughing with a far too fond, “Shut up.” 

“No.” 

It was too intimate, he barely knew you, proposal and torture or not, he is touching you, feeling you, holding himself to you, hands on your hips, his chest to yours, close and familiar, as if he knew you, like really knew you for years worth of time. He acted in this way as if he could name your first crush when you were a kid and as if he knew your opinions on what was better, cake or pie and as if he knew your deepest intimate thoughts and feelings on what was the best musical that got robbed at the fucking Tony’s.

It isn’t all sweetness, all brushes of his hands over your curves or purposeful rolls of your hips where his pelvis grinds into you just so, it’s rough too. Moments where fingers hook in woven silk that used to be secured around his neck with a double Windsor knot and using that point of contact to pull you closer, fuck you deeper. Soft cupping of tender flesh turns into pinches, sharp slaps as your moans bleed to a sound that is more pained, to gasps and calls for a hint of mercy he refuses to provide. 

He speaks, buried deep inside and with his lips caressing yours he tells you all manner of delight and filth, from things along the lines of, “I want to keep you-” to “Your cunt is fucking strangling me-”

It makes your head spin. You are completely taken in by the moment and in being so caught up, moving with him, returning the sentiments, you find your voice, and you beg, “Keep me, let me be yours, don’t let us end tonight-”

That does something to him, pace picks up, nails bite into your hips, you arch and rock forward, meet him in the middle, and you watch it happen, head tipping back, a thick swallow, a flex of his cock inside your swollen walls and a bob of his Adams apple and his rhythm stutters. He holds deep, and he cums inside without asking, you moan as he does, in pleasure and in loss, he came before you could, eyes slipping closed as you resign yourself to your current fate, whatever it may be with him.

It’s silent, save for you both catching your breath. He tells you on an exhalation, “I will make it up to you.”

He pulls out, cum spills from your well fucked hole, and you are left heaving on the table as he pulls away, he is straightening up his clothing and the attendant comes in, bringing in the items for the next round. Said attendant doesn’t even look at you, as if this is normal. 

He tells you he will make it up to you. While you are heaving on the table, leaking cum, he is straightening out his clothing, the items for the next round are brought in. The guy who brings them in doesn’t look at you, as if this is regular. The attendant leaves. 

You get up on shaky legs, you start redressing slowly now that he has taken his tie back, he pulls out the items from a bag, and he explains what is expected.

“You are meant to cut off notches of your fingers on your left hand, once knuckles worth on each pass.” You nod, listening as your jeans are buttoned up, the leftovers of his cum are messing up your panties. You pull your tank top back down as you plop into the chair, you’d still been listening to him all the while, and he leans in, a hand on your arm, he kisses your sweaty hairline and asks, “You understand sweetheart?”

You nod along, and he leans down, he whispers that he fully intends to finish the job if you win the game. 

You figure it’s extra incentive if nothing else. 

Your left hand will never be the same, you lose two whole fingers. He asks to keep your pinkie and ring finger, mutilated beyond belief in the glass jaw you deposited the pieces in, and you laugh with a disgusted shake of your head. You affectionately call him a freak, and he preens under the name as if you called him handsome. 

Eyes are locked on the jar, the small makeshift ring is in there, the gauze looks bloody and almost unrecognizable amongst your ruined flesh and bone. 

The game goes on.

By the time it is done, the gun is on the table, you are alive, you did it, you won. Your feet are fucked, you nearly drowned, both hands bandaged, one from the burns and the other from cutting off several bits of your own fingers, but you don’t care, he’s making it better. 

His hands are very much intact, he has two fingers buried inside of you and his mouth on your neck, he’s saying the sweetest things, he’s praising you, telling you how wonderful you are, how well you did, he is building you up and finally with an arch and a cry? At long fucking last, through the haze of pain you cum, practically sobbing. 

You entered the arena alone, but you aren’t leaving it that way, he is inside you, buried in you like a tumour, terminal, malignant, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You won, you totally fucking won. 

[taeminsung]

ghost of you..

pairing: changbin x reader

summary: it was the way that changbin never imagined what the world would be like without you by his side. 

a/n: i’ve had this idea in my head for a bit, i apologize in advance for being in my feels. please join me there and enjoy ♡

Silence filled the too small room as Changbin stared unseeing at the wall behind his computer. It had been a stupid idea to come to the studio, but he needed a new outlet besides the gym or watching endless dramas. At this point he didn’t know what day of the week it was or what was on their schedule, and he was solely relying on Chan to tell him where he was supposed to be and what type of mood he was to be in. Maybe it was for the better to not have to think, to not have to put in effort to do anything but just exist, or maybe he was avoiding thinking because he knew that no matter what he thought, you were wrapped into everything he did.

The pounding at the gates started as soon as he entered the studio. It had been a week, or maybe more, since he had even ventured into the space, instead claiming a permanent spot in Chan’s room. However, due to his weekly schedule, Chan gave him the option to join his live stream or get out. Home wasn’t an option since most nights he found sleeping at the other dorm on the couch. No matter how many times he ran his sheets through the washer, there was still the lingering scent of your perfume. Every place he wanted to be, there were traces of you left behind.

All the memories he was collecting found themselves haunted and shoved into the closet.

Grounding himself back to reality, he forced himself to focus on the little task he assigned himself when he came into the room. Work on music. Create something. Create anything, even if it’s only five seconds. Maybe he would get used to this feeling, a hazy numbness doing activities that he used to do with you. A feeling that he wanted to drown out making music, throwing his everything into something that he knew he was good at. Fingers slowly opened the laptop, while a breath caught in his throat at the background. The photo captured you on his back while he was running down the beach, aiming to toss the both of you into the ocean as the sun shined down on the perfect day. It was the few days he got off and all the members agreed to take a weekend off and enjoy the beach, he immediately invited you to join and have some much-needed time together.

Cursing under his breath, he quickly adverted his eyes to anything else in his sight, catching on a mug that was half tucked behind a few other items on this desk. Slowly, he reached across everything, tugging gently on the handle wondering which member had left it there. Turning it in his hands, he noted the lipstick stain that was gradually fading as time went on. It was a shade he knew all too well, as it usually covered the lips that he used to call home. Memory after memory filled his head as he remembered all the late nights the two of you would be curled up in this room, giggling at the makeshift guide he had you do because he was too tired to do it himself. The nights when you’d sit with your legs tucked under you sipping tea or coffee as he wrote lyric after lyric about you and all the ways that he loved you.

Not once did he imagine that loving you would be the happiest he’d ever been.

The weight of the world came crashing into his chest, removing the remaining air from his lungs as the tears finally welled in his eyes, threatening to open the gates that he had spent time continuously reinforcing. If the gate he crafted broke open, he honestly didn’t think that he would be able to survive everything that would come rushing out. Shaky hands reached for him phone, knowing that he would need not only his hyungs but the rest of his members as well.

Countless thoughts continued to come and go as his mind shuffled tirelessly through the memories and moments of you. Stirring up events he hadn’t thought about in a year, because he didn’t think they would be anything more than a passing memory. What if he had taken a different road? Would things have ended the same? Would his heart still feel like it no amount of time would heal it? Never once did a life without you cross his mind when he held you in his arms falling asleep on the couch of the dorm after watching your favorite movie for some unknown time. No, instead he laid there thinking about how the two of you could grow old together, still as in love as he had been in that instant. His love for you had consumed him, his work, his heart because you were his everything.

Quietly, he pulled up the last session he had worked on with you, allowing it to be the only sound that filled the room. You had brought so much light and joy to his life that listening to this now, truly broke down the last piece of the door he used to box up the heartbreak he didn’t want to accept. A sob overpowered the music as he realized that you lingered in everything he did. Mixed emotions bubbled to the surface as rage quickly took over as he threw that stained mug at the wall before the air that filled his lungs was released as a scream. Maybe the ghost of you would eventually fade with time or maybe he’d always have this piece of you trailing after him, reminding him of what true happiness was.

Silence again filled the room as he paused the track, settling into staring at the new mark on the wall, waiting for his brothers to come and rescue him from the despair he felt himself falling into.

♡ ── thank you for reading! let me know your thoughts & requests are open.    

[imthepunchlord]

I think we can all agree hawkmoth was not meant to be a main long-lasting villain. So what do you think would have been better to have as the main villain? One thing I see a few people do is to go the shonen anime way and have a far-reaching, global criminal organization. Most commonly in fanfiction, it's an evil modern version of the order of guardians, that is out to collect all the miraculous for their evil purpose (which would work since the shown has shown there to be multiple miracle boxes).

Well, Mayura could've worked as the next big bad, as by her intial design and with how Zag built her up, she looked like someone who was going to be calculating and cold. I actually thought her mask was going to be a full facial mask meaning you wouldn't see her lips move when she talks, adding to the unnerving feeling her design could've promoted.

To be different from HM, I like the idea of her possibly being someone who did successfully make a wish, only how she wants to undo it. I'd vote immortality myself; peacocks are symbols of immortality, its a common wish people would make, her longevity sets her up to be VERY experienced, and possible tropes for immortality is a loss of compassion and loss of fear of consequences; she could've easily been someone who has nothing to loose and doesn't fear what her actions will cause. And by design, she is visually set up to be a good counter to Ladybug, so something interesting could've been done there.

There is the thought of doing the Order, but personally I'd do them as an antagonistic force, who's way of doing things clashes with how the heroes do things. Like say, it could be they disagree with Marinette being friendlier to kwamis, and the Guardians can have an understandable stance that kwamis can't be fully trusted as they don't have the same moral views as humans or they make risky choices. Kwamis possibly have a blind faith in humanity or are inclined to always give them a chance when they shouldn't. This could play off that Nooroo came to Gabriel because he picked up on that emotional distress and wanted to help him, now Gabriel is misusing his power. And kwamis don't like Guardians because they restrict their freedom and their choices, and they'll pick humans who aren't a real good fit for their power. I'd say there could be one villainous Guardian, but I'd be more interested in this clash of how miraculous should be handled, kwamis vs Guardians, and the struggle to come to a compromise or reworking an old system.

Another idea is taking statue Mei Shi.

I like the idea of taking this, having it be created by the Guardians as a precaution against kwamis and miraculous. A fail safe. If Guardians ever went against kwamis or a very dangerous misuser, Mei Shi was made to be the perfect counter to all miraculous. So what if this creation decided that miraculous aren't worth it to have in the world anymore? And he's design to perfectly counter every single one of them; that'd be a tough opponent to face and be intriguing to see what they'd do.

And of course, there are non miraculous options. I would expand upon them facing against magic.

How about witches who want the Cat because black cats go with witches and black magic?

How about doing something with the Arthurian legend? Maybe a corrupted Excalibur that D'Argencourt is using and he wants to become mayor and literally take Paris to the dark ages.

Could also do something with the fae, who in mythology aren't so benevolent to humans as the modern view would have you think, maybe of them tricking humans for their own amusement or spite, helping only when it suits them, or spiriting them away because they can. It could also be interesting to have a chance to have kwamis work off another magical race.

Could work off vampires and creating a hive mind.

And working with French mythology, could've done something with the original gargoyle: Gargouille.

They were a dragon that terrorized the countryside of Paris and killed by a Saint and turned into the first gargoyle. What if someone revived them and they're in Paris, commanding an army of gargoyles at night.

And of course, yeah, could do something with a gang and them wanting miraculous, but that just doesn't interest me as much. I'm more interested in seeing magic against magic.

Either way, either miraculous related or not, ML had a lot of options to explore. it's a shame these creators are lazy and uninspired.

[spmcomic]

O’Chunks scooted back from the edge of the rocky awning, watching the huge raindrops slide lazily through the muggy afternoon steam. The inside of the shallow cave was hardly drier, but they couldn’t do much better on this world. He squeezed the thin beginner’s book between his sweaty fingers, trying to hold it in Mimi’s view without subjecting it to the rain.

The mimic in question, meanwhile, jumped between turbid puddles collecting in shallow dishes on the stone’s surface. He took great, slow leaps, trying to disrupt as much water as he could with his pudgy, runny, wide feet. Murky water darkened his overalls all the way up to the chest.

“Mimi,” O’Chunks called, lifting the book gently again. “Come on o’er here, lad.”

Mimi looked over, and O’Chunks saw the lad’s eyes trace the book’s slow arc- such an unnatural fluid motion to the face- before he returned his attention to his puddle-splashing game.

O’Chunks sighed. Nastasia would be irritated about Mimi tracking all that grit to the inside of a tent. But, of course, that would never stop him.

Both of their heads turned up toward a commotion between the enormous raindrops: some kind of bird coalesced from one drop and flitted through the air until it dove into the next drop over. The raindrop bounced through the air, rippling and wobbling, before crashing into another and exploding into a brief shower over Mimi’s head. He squealed with glee, throwing his gooey loose arms out and spinning in the cool relief. His arms stretched and widened to resemble the bird’s wings.

O’Chunks took a deep, slow breath and put the book aside to dig into his pocket. Mimi’s focus immediately snapped to him, and he waddled over as O’Chunks procured a small bag of jerky. O’Chunks handed over a shred of meat, which Mimi crammed into his mouth with all the desperation of a ravenous wolf.

“I never had anything like this, back at the lab,” he gurgled around his chewy treat. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth experimentally.

O’Chunks tugged at his beard, keeping the rest of the bag out of the child’s sight. “Really? ‘S a good way teh preserve yer meat.”

“Preserve?”

“Make it last a long time.” He turned his hand idly. “So yeh don’t always need t’get fresh food whenever yeh wanna eat.”

Mimi shrugged and held out his hand for another piece. “Mergath would just throw a chicken or somethin’ in my cell every now and then.”

O’Chunks’ brows raised, but other than that he took care not to react. Mimi had never shared that much before, and so casually, so he rewarded the boy with two more strips of jerky. Mimi watched him with wide eyes, and when O’Chunks looked back at him, he had grown brows to raise as well. O’Chunks snorted.

As Mimi chewed, he stared at O’Chunks’ hand as it wandered back toward his beard. “How d’ya make this stuff?”

“What, th’jerky?”

“Yeah.”

O’Chunks gently picked up the book between his fingers and waved it. “Yeh learn from a recipe, like in a book.”

Mimi ignored the book. “Oh, boring. I want more now.” He held out his hand once again.

O’Chunks paused to think over his options. The conversation sat at a precarious crossroads, and he had precious few seconds to assert his authority. His eye flicked upward to the giant droplets outside, and he watched the water birds playfully dive between them.

“Well… what about those birds, then?” He nodded his head toward them, and Mimi turned to look.

“They’re fun! What about them?” Mimi chirped a few times, a burbling sound almost similar to the birds’ calls.

O’Chunks rubbed his fingers along his beard. “We’re not here fer long. Yeh only got a few minutes teh learn about them, ‘ey? An’ if yeh want t’blend in, yeh need a lot more’n jus’ a few minutes can give yeh.”

Mimi frowned. “I can copy a lot in a whole few minutes!”

“Aye, yer very good at what yeh do,” O’Chunks agreed, with a dip of his head. “But I noticed yeh don’t much move like one.”

“Huh?” Mimi’s frown deepened. His skin boiled slowly outward. “I can too move like a birdy!”

O’Chunks held up a placating hand, and Mimi stopped boiling. “What if yeh had t’copy one, but yeh weren’t allowed teh see it first?”

The mimic grew pensive at that, putting a drippy hand to his chin. He smacked on his jerky while he mulled O’Chunks’ scenario over.

O’Chunks lifted the book. “Tha’s what the books’re for, laddie. Yeh learn about, eh, inside structure, ‘n behavior, all wit’out ever havin’ teh meet what yer copyin’.”

Mimi grasped at O’Chunks’ pocket, and he rewarded the boy’s interest with another piece of jerky. When he glanced over at the group huddled by the tents, he spotted the Count’s head turned toward Nastasia and Dimentio’s game, but one of his ears twisted outward, in their direction.

After Mimi had crammed the next piece into his mouth as if he’d never had food in his life, O’Chunks continued. “Books can also teach yeh how people act, better’n me or Nassy can.”

Mimi brightened. “You mean I can skip talking to Nassy!?”

“You bet,” O’Chunks forced out with a grin.

The boy sat up straight, resting his wobbly weight on the legs of his overalls.

O’Chunks sighed, and rubbed his head, but he put the book in front of Mimi all the same and opened it to the first page. “Alrigh’. Let’s get started on th’letters, first. We’ll jus’ do a few today…”

“Only a few?” Mimi tilted his head.

“Well, o’course,” O’Chunks replied, feigning confusion. “’M only gonna keep yeh a few minutes.”

“Oh…” Mimi thought that over. Then he stared down at the book. “So… we can do more later. Okay, but you better have a lot of that meat for me!”

-

previous | next

index

start at the beginning

[l-estappen]

Leashes and Lust ❦

The pet store buzzed with the scent of kibble and the cheerful squeaks of chew toys. Max and I agreed that getting everything Leo needed was a top priority. We had already selected Leo's bed, bowls, toys, carrier bag, and a few cozy blankets, but a small dilemma arose as we approached the leash section. 

“What do you think about this leash?” Max asked, holding up a navy blue one. 

I wrinkled my nose. "Red would look so much better on him." 

"Navy blue is classic, sophisticated —” 

"Are you saying red isn't classy?" I interjected, raising an eyebrow. 

"Of course it’s not," Max replied with a grin, "It’s too flashy." 

“Watch it, Verstappen.” I glanced between the red and navy blue leashes, contemplating our options. "You know, we could always get both.” 

"Two leashes? Isn't that a bit excessive?" 

I shot Max a playful smirk. "Says the guy who insisted on buying Leo five different toys just because he needs variety ." 

Max rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Hey, a dog's gotta have options, Charles. You wouldn't want Leo to get bored, would you?" 

"Right, because a dog's happiness depends on the variety of chew toys he has," I teased, nudging him playfully with my elbow as we continued browsing the leash section. 

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "You know you love spoiling him as much as I do." 

"Guilty as charged," I admitted, glancing at Leo nestled in my arms, snoozing away without a care in the world. 

"Alright, let's compromise,” Max suggested, placing both the red and navy blue leashes into our shopping basket. "I suppose that could work.” 

"Exactly," I stated triumphantly, pleased with our resolution. "We should get some stuff for Jimmy and Sassy as well, so they don’t feel left out." 

With Leo resting in the crook of my arm, Max and I made our way to the section dedicated to felines, and a pang of guilt tugged at my heart. I couldn't shake the memory of Sassy's reaction when we first introduced her to Leo. Her suspicion and unease were palpable, her cautious approach to the new addition a stark contrast to Jimmy's immediate curiosity. 

"How about a cat tower with a scratching post?" Max suggested. 

"Good idea," I said, my voice tinged with remorse as I recalled Sassy subdued response to our puppy. 

Max must have noticed the regret lacing my voice because he paused, his gaze softening as he met my eyes. "Don't worry too much about Sassy, Schatje. She just needs some time to adjust."

"I know, it's just... she seemed so unsure... I don't want her to feel neglected or overshadowed." 

Max placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "She won't, trust me. We just need to give her the space and time to get used to Leo being part of our family." 

I couldn't help but smile at his comforting words, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his as a silent thank you. His tongue traced a delicate path along my lips, seeking entry, and I willingly parted them, inviting him in. 

"You're distracting me," I mentioned. 

"Is it working?"  

I chuckled softly in response and Max reached for a robust cat tree adorned with various platforms and scratching posts. As we made our way to the checkout counter, Max couldn't resist adding a few more items to our growing collection of pet supplies—a feathered wand toy for Jimmy, a plush mouse with a bell inside for Sassy, and a sturdy rope tug toy for Leo. 

"Looks like someone's really embracing their inner pampered dad," I remarked as we waited in line to pay. 

Max laughed, shaking his head. "A good pet parent makes sure all their babies are happy and well-cared for." 

"Sure, sure," I teased, "Next thing you know, you'll be scheduling spa days for them." 

Max raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. "That's not a bad idea. The cats could use a little paw massage." 

After paying for our pet supplies, we made our way out of the store and towards the Café de Paris where Alexandre already waited for us. 

"Looks like we've got a bit of a crowd today," Max observed, glancing at the sea of eager faces already making their way in our direction. 

Before I could retort, a group of excited fans approached us, their phones at the ready. "Charles! Max! Can we get a picture with you guys?" 

Max flashed his signature grin, "We are in a hurry! Just one quick snap, alright?" 

I smiled in agreement, though I couldn't help but feel a twinge of protectiveness as I pulled Leo closer to my chest, shielding him from the grabbing hands. 

As the phones started to click away around us, Leo stirred in my arms, the sudden sounds waking him from his peaceful slumber. His tiny yawn elicited a chorus of "awws" from the onlookers, who were quick to snap a few more pictures as we continued on our way to the Café. 

Leo, now fully awake, squirmed in my arms, his curiosity piqued by the new sights and sounds surrounding him. His tiny paws pushed against my chest as he craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion around us. 

"Easy there, little guy," I murmured, adjusting my hold on him as we navigated through the growing crowd. Tuned in to my emotions, Max stepped in front of me, effectively blocking the eager fans from getting too close. The hand that was not burdened with shopping bags found its way to my waist, offering a reassuring squeeze as he led the way. 

As we finally reached the entrance of Café de Paris, a wave of relief washed over me. Max held the door open for me, and I stepped inside, grateful for the respite from the bustling crowd. Just before Max followed me in, he turned back to the fans gathered outside, a warm smile on his face. "Thanks, guys. We appreciate your support." 

"That was nice of you," I commented when Max finally stepped inside the café, joining me at the door. 

Max shrugged modestly. "Are you okay? You seemed nervous..." 

“I was nervous because of Leo," I admitted, glancing down at the small bundle of fur. "I don’t want him to get overwhelmed by our legion of fans." 

Max's expression softened as he reached out to stroke my cheek gently. "I understand, Schatje. But it's something that he will need to get used to." 

I leaned into his touch, finding solace in the warmth of his hand against my skin. "I know, Max. It's just... I want everything to go smoothly from now on." 

Max's thumb brushed lightly against my cheekbone, his gaze unwavering. "And it will, Charles. We'll make sure of it. Stop worrying, Sassy will come around." 

I nodded in response to Max's reassurance as we made our way through the café, but inside, doubts still lingered. Despite his comforting words, the worry for Leo's well-being and the adjustment to our newfound family dynamics weighed heavily on my mind. 

Our friend Alexandre was already waiting for us on the terrace, a warm smile lighting up his face as he waved us over to join him. As we settled into our seats, the vibrant atmosphere of the terrace and the familiar sight of our friend provided a welcome distraction from my worries. 

*******************************************************************

As the music's sensual beat shifted, Amazónico morphed from a restaurant into a vibrant bar, the air now filled with sensual Bossa Nova rhythms. Laughter and chatter mingled with the music, creating an atmosphere of celebration befitting Joris's birthday party. Dim lights cast a seductive glow over the space, sparking excitement within me as I watched Charles lean closer.  

"Care to dance?" he asked, his mouth mere inches from my ear.   My heart skipped a beat as I met Charles's playful gaze, a surge of affection warming my chest. Despite the tensions we faced earlier at home with Sassy, seeing him carefree and playful now was a welcomed sight. 

"I'd love to," I replied, feeling a rush of excitement as he took my hand, the pull of his strong grasp urging me onto the dance floor.  

Charles swayed his hips to the beat, and I couldn't help but admire the fluidity of his movements. We navigated through the throng of people, my hand resting on the small of his back as we searched for an open space on the dance floor. When we found it, Charles pressed his back against my chest, his hips undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent shivers down my spine.   

“Do you have no shame?” I questioned into his ear, my hands instinctively finding their place on his hips, pulling him closer.  

"Pas du tout," he admitted.  

As Charles ground back against me to the pulsating rhythm of the song, I instinctively moved in sync with him, and when he pressed his ass against my growing erection, a deep, resonant groan escaped my lips.  

"You're driving me crazy," I confessed, tucking my fingertips up the front of his t-shirt and pressing against his stomach as I nuzzled his neck.  

Charles turned in my arms, his hands hooking around the back of my neck. My gaze flicked down to his mouth for a fleeting moment before meeting his eyes again, our hips bumping and grounding into each other.  

"And you are making me hard," Charles added.  

Unable to resist any longer, I leaned in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Our mouths met with a fierce urgency, every stroke, every nip and tug, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through us. I slid my thigh between Charles’ legs, offering him a firm surface to grind against, and was rewarded with the reverberation of his moan against my lips. His hands roamed over my back, drawing me closer, as he shamelessly ground his hips against my thigh.  

Fuck, this is getting out of hand and I was the one to blame.    

"Charles," I warned between kisses, “We need to slow down.”  

"I don’t want to slow down," he breathed against my skin. "I want you."  

I pulled away slightly to reason with him, but my heart raced with desire as I took him in. Charles's usually emerald-green eyes darkened to a shade of forest green, burning with an intensity that told me that there was no backing up.  

"Don't fight this," he whispered, his voice husky with need, "You want it just as much as I do."  

I swallowed hard, torn between the magnetic pull of his desire and the rational voice in my head urging caution. But when Charles's tongue darted out to moisten his swollen lips, rationality seemed to fade away, drowned out by the primal urge that surged through me. With a knowing smirk, Charles reached for my hand and tugged me off the dance floor. Someone from our group whooped and hollered at us as we passed by, and with that fleeting devil-may-care attitude, which came out to play once in a while, Charles was quick to flip them off.  

My pulse raced with anticipation as he pulled me towards a dimly lit hallway and swung open the first door he found.  

"Here," Charles said, pushing me inside what I assumed to be a stall designated for people with disabilities and closing the door behind us with a resounding thud.  

I edged across the small space, crossing my arms nonchalantly against my chest as my back hit the opposite wall.  

“Quite a show that we put on the dance floor. I'm sure the internet will have a blast,” I remarked.  

Charles shrugged. “Couldn’t care less.”  

As he began to close the distance between us, a commanding tone crept into my voice. "Stop right there."  

"Pourquoi?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of neediness.  

"Because I said so," I stated firmly, my gaze unwavering as I held his.  

A flicker of defiance danced in Charles' eyes, but he thought better of it and took a step back. Pleased with his reaction, I let my gaze roam over him, taking in every detail of his disheveled appearance. His beige Dior t-shirt hugged his chest just right, emphasizing the contours of his muscles, while his dark, loose jeans hung low on his hips, drawing my attention to the slight bulge beneath. My eyes lingered on the subtle outline of his erection, a testament to our dance floor rendezvous. His chestnut hair was tousled, his lips swollen, and his eyes, dark with desire.  

"Enjoying the view?" the tease prompted, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.  

"You bet I am," I replied, my tone low and husky. "Get over here."  

As my order hit Charles's ears, the only defiance glinting in his eyes was, Try and stop me. But tonight, I wasn’t waiting for him to comply. As soon as he was within my reach, I grabbed his hand, pulled him towards me, and spun him around so that he was facing the wall against which I was leaning.  

My body was an immediate presence behind him - one of my hands moved around to the button of his jeans, my mouth came down to his ear, and as my breath brushed against it, a shiver of anticipation raced up his spine.   

“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” I moaned when he ground his ass back against my erection, “And I haven’t even gotten your pants undone yet.”  

Charles blindly reached for the hand I was now using to unzip him, and when he found it, he guided it inside his open pants, behind the material of his trunks, and then he curled his hand over the top of mine where he most wanted it - on his aching dick.  

“Oh que oui.”  

My chuckle was arrogant as hell, and the strong, solid strokes I began had his hips punching forward to fuck my fist.  

“That’s what you want?” I wondered by his ear, and Charles’s hand left his trunks to come out and grab at my thigh for something to hang on to.  

“C'est ça,” he agreed, as I twisted my hand around the tip of his cock and he thrust into the touch. He bit his lip as he continued to rock his hips, my hand providing the perfect amount of friction to torment but not quite get him there.  

“So…what’s next?” I asked. “We can’t just stand here like this all night.” I stopped moving my hand, and Charles clenched his fingers in my thigh.  

“Putain, ne t'arrête pas.”  

“Then answer my question.” My demand had his dick throbbing. “Come on, Schatje.” My teeth nipped at the shell of his ear, and Charles’s jaw bunched. “I’ll do anything. But I wanna hear you ask for it.”  

“Take my goddamn pants off.”  

My fingers were in either side of his jeans, yanking them, and his trunks, over his ass to his thighs. “Hands up. Legs spread. As wide as these jeans of yours will let you get’em.”  

Charles placed his palms against the wall and widened his stance. I then crowded in behind him, and the rough denim grazed Charles’s naked ass as I planted a hand by either side of the ones he had on the wall.  

“Mmm.” I smoothed a palm over the rounded curve of Charles' ass. “It’s gonna be a real tight fit in here tonight.”  

"Sainte merde, Max." Charles swore, bucking back against me, needing some kind of contact.  

“So…what’s next?”  

"Maybe I just want to rub against you," the teasing taunt slipped past Charles's lips before he thought better of it, but being in the mood I was in, I wasn't about to let him get away with it.  

"Like this?" I asked, feeling the anticipation rising as I began to roll my hips, grinding my erection up and down his crack.  

Charles’s desperate plea escaped his lips, "Mon Dieu, Max. Get rid of your fucking clothes."  

The familiar rustling of fabric filled the confined space as I quickly shed my clothes and fished a lube packet from my wallet. It didn’t take but a few seconds, and then I was back, wedging my lubed dick right where Charles wanted it most. The sound that escaped his throat as my cock slid along the slick crevice of his ass was nothing short of desperate. 

“Verdomme, Charles,” I exclaimed as I ran my fingers through the pre-cum I’d left all over his skin, making him shudder. 

“Dedans…” Charles erupted on a rush of air. “Mon Dieu… Put something in me.” 

I slipped my slick fingers down the heated skin of Charles’s narrow cleft, and when the pads of my fingers found his hole and massaged over the top of it, he cursed. I then pushed a finger in nice and deep, the way he loved it, and when his head fell forward and his shoulders bunched, my cock throbbed. 

“Yeah, Charles. Go crazy for me. I wanna watch,” I proclaimed as I withdrew my index finger and then slid it back inside. 

“Max,” Charles roared as I added a second to the mix, rubbing and pushing at the entrance I was stretching. 

“Vraag me erom.” At my words, Charles turned his head, and I saw that his pupils were blown and his teeth clenched. “I want to hear you. Ask me, Charles.” I added slight pressure to his hole, and his breath rushed out. 

“Tu vas payer pour ça.” 

“I’m looking forward to it,” I declared, chuckling at his threat as my fingertips entered him. “Now come on…” I continued, twisting my hand. “Beg me for it.” 

“You goddamn sadist. If you don’t hurry up and fuck me with something, I—” 

That was as far as Charles got because, as far as begging went, that demand was music to my ears, and I was right there thrusting two fingers inside him. Charles arched back, pushing his cock through his fist as the intense pleasure of having my fingers inside him hit. Pulling those fingers free, I added a third, massaging over Charles’s prostate. 

“Putain,” he swore, clenching his tight fist around the base of his cock. 

My mouth found his neck as I dragged my tongue up the line of it, biting down gently. My cock bumped against Charles’s ass cheek as I continued to slowly stretch him, bringing him to the brink time and time again. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” I declared against his cheek, withdrawing my fingers. His hole clenched at the loss, craving exactly that. My hand landed on the back of his neck. 

“You might want to brace yourself,” I suggested, giving him a rough shove forward. His left hand shot up to support himself against the wall. 

“That’s it,” I said as my other fingers dug into his hip. The head of my cock nudged against his entrance. “Now, Charles. Say it.” 

And the words flew from his mouth, unstoppable. “Baise-moi, Max. You—”  

I was balls deep inside him before he finished his demand. His whimper echoed around us, just as I had predicted. 

“Merdeeeee.” 

The hand that I had in the back of Charles neck tightened as I withdrew, then thrust forward, drilling into him. The strength of that thrust had him stumbling slightly, but I pulled him back against me, his spine flush against my chest. 

“Nom de Dieu, that’s…” His voice cracked, leaving him as my arm wound around his waist, taking hold of his cock. 

“Diep. I’m so fucking deep, and your ass is so tight.” I stroked my fist up to the head of his dick, and he groaned at the intense pleasure. 

“Any final requests?” I asked, my voice ragged. 

“Fuck me until I can’t walk.” 

I close my fist around his cock, and I gave it a rough pull as my hips surged forward. Then I plastered him against the wall with his arms drawn up over his head, holding them in place as I drove inside of him. 

There was nothing gentle about what happened next. I grabbed his hip to hold him still as I fucked into him relentlessly. 

“Ah putain…merde,” he exclaimed, his voice failing him. 

“Give me your tongue,” I demanded, and his head turned so my mouth could find his, and then Charles went wild. 

His hands twisted and clawed above him, trying to get leverage, until I pinned them in place. My cock throbbed inside him, and he shut his eyes, surrendering to the greedy, dark side of himself. 

“Déplace-toi,” he uttered between clenched teeth, and when I held his stare, he whipped his head to the other side, sinking his teeth into my bicep. 

“Fuuuck” I cursed loudly. My arm stung where Charles had just bitten me, and as I held onto his hips, I relished the feeling. 

With his hands on the wall and his legs barely parted due to the confines of his jeans, Charles's hot hole was a challenge I was enjoying getting my dick in and out of. I couldn't seem to temper my own fevered response to the way he was reacting to me, and hell if I wanted to. 

"Yes. Mon Dieu. Fucking harder, Max." Charles's words were clipped, his movements now methodical as his hand moved in time with his pistoning hips as he ruthlessly chased after the climax building in him. 

The grunts echoing throughout the floor were accompanied by curses and threats that made my lips curl and my balls tingle. I'd always loved a good argument with Charles, and I enjoyed the fight for dominance between us during sex. And hell if I wasn't about to bask in the satisfaction I was about to take in filling Charles's ass in the most primal way I could. 

With one hand on Charles's hip, I raised my other to grip the back of his neck again, and the second I did, Charles started to beg. Deeper, harder, more, now—Charles wanted anything I was willing to give, and, luckily for him, tonight, that was everything. 

I wasn't sure how long it took the two of us then. Minutes? Seconds? I had no clue. It was as though time stopped as every nerve ending in my body lit on fire. 

A harsh growl left my throat as Charles's entire body arched back into me, his muscles tightening around me as if trying to draw me even deeper inside him. 

"Maaax," he whined, his body trembling against mine, and I could feel the pulsating waves of his release as he came all over the wall. 

Watching him lose himself in the throes of ecstasy only heightened my own arousal, and I continued to move within him, driving deeper and harder until I couldn't hold back any longer. With a primal grunt, I came, emptying myself inside Charles's ass. 

As the waves of ecstasy subsided, Charles and I remained entwined, our bodies still humming with shared pleasure. With breathless moans, we let gravity take hold, and sort of just fell onto the hard floor, holding onto each other tight. 

The sudden change in perspective brought a new intensity to our closeness. I felt every beat of Charles's heart against my own chest, every rise and fall of his breath as he nestled against me. The floor was cold against our skin, but being tangled up together made it feel cozy.  "You okay there, Schatje?" 

Charles let out a contented sigh. "Mmm, more than okay," he replied, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.  

I chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through our entwined bodies. "Glad to hear that," I said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But seriously, I might have gone a bit hard on you there. Are you sure you're not sore?" 

Charles shifted slightly, his eyes meeting mine. "I'm sore in all the right places. I think you might need to carry me out of here." 

"I will give you a piggyback ride," I whispered against his lips, my heart swelling with love. 

[arizonaconservativegal]

You said something about buses being better than trains a while ago because you can change the routes as the needs of the public change.

I agree they are better than trains, but in my city they never close a route. We've got a couple that just run empty around their circuit each day. Basically it looks really bad if a politician lets a bus route close during their term and if that happens they never get reelected.

Also our (Seattle) bus system has the same wonderful collection of needles and unwashed homeless assaulting people and etc...

I'm not trying to say that buses are a perfect solution but they are a much cheaper way to get potentially a much better product. Obviously the added benefits are going to depend a lot on the people running your city's public transit systems. And keeping the buses clean and safe would be kind of critical if you want anyone to actually ride them, so maybe some basic law enforcement would be helpful too? But Seattle doesn't seem keen on that idea lately lol.

Transit policy is a beast and it's not my personal area of expertise, despite having spent an unreasonable amount of time on transit tax issues. But from my time working in the system, I can tell you there are a lot of factors that government takes into consideration before making changes to things like transit routes, and most of it boils down to bureaucracy, not politics - federal grants come with a lot of strings attached and even just mentioning ADA will stop a local government in its tracks nine times out of ten.

I should probably clarify that when I said we could change the routes as needs change, I meant more along the lines of increasing frequency or adding service areas because yeah, government is always reluctant to kill routes. But I also see this as being a bit like the post office servicing rural areas - yes, we could save a lot of money and improve efficiency if we stopped spending so much time delivering mail to one or two people who live out in the middle of nowhere, but that isn't the point of the post office. The point is to make sure that everyone has access to the service. I see more flexibility in buses but that is still factor and one that I think is a valid consideration.

We could potentially solve the low usage service question pretty easily with something like vouchers for on demand rideshare service. Or even just find the two or three people who actually use the route and just ask them what times they actually need the bus and schedule service at just those times. Or swap out for a neighborhood circulator that would get people from the low usage stop to a connection on a more travelled route. The first two would almost certainly be a better product for those riders at a lower cost to the city. The third might be less of a benefit to the original riders if you're not careful but if you do it right, it could be much more helpful for them and might even increase ridership in that neighborhood if you plan it right.

Oh what I would give to live in a world where we could scrap the whole system and start over instead of having to navigate piecemeal fixes to the existing system... Even just not having to rely on federal dollars and accept their strings would give us so many more options.

[fruitjedi]

Unmatched chapter 3

Unmatched Chapter 3! Here's chapter 2! (and that links to chapter one if you haven't read it)

Sophie (3)

Cassius Sencen didn’t approve of Sophie and Keefe and Sophie. Sophie was … not surprised. Cassius Sencen knew about her relationship, he knew about her unmatchable status, he knew she was already a regent and he didn’t care. Sophie wished she could say she was surprised or that this was unexpected but it wasn’t. Keefe had even briefed her beforehand on that they were gonna keep dating even if he didn’t like the idea of them.

Cassius had said that Sophie was good for Keefe, He said she was powerful, and He’d said they were good together. But he’d also said his family had enough drama and he didn’t need a bad match on top of it. 

Sophie was angry, Sophie had expected this but she was angry and scared. Sophie was so scared because Cassius had reacted like that, her own parents would too (which would be insane as any match with her would be a bad match). 

Keefe had followed Sophie on. They had both decided that because his dad had reacted so badly they needed to see if Grady and Edaline would react badly too. Also, Keefe was afraid that Ro was gonna do something crazy to him with bacteria. They had both decided that Havenfield was the better option.

Grady and Edaline had collectively reacted way better than Keefe’s dad. Edaline was so happy for Sophie and even Grady had agreed that Keefe was a good match for her. He did say though that if he hurts her he will have to deal with the wrath of the Gorgon.

After the conversation with her parents Sophie and Keefe (and Sandor and Ro) went up to her room and were about to finish working on homework when Sophie heard a voice in her head.

“Hey, can you talk?” Fitz asked in his crisp voice

Sophie glanced around her room, at the two bodyguards and her boyfriend “Yeah just a second”

Sophie leaned over to Keefe and gave him a quick kiss “I’ma take a walk I’ll be back soon ok ?”

Keefe sat up “I could come with you”

Sophie shook her head sadly and then leaned in close and whispered “Fitz is trying to talk to me about something. If it is what I think it is it’s private, really private. I found out by accident and I’m not sure he’s comfortable with you knowing just yet”

Keefe nodded then kissed her on the forehead “If it’s that private I’m glad Fitz at least has you in his corner”

Sophie beamed her boyfriend was amazing. “Thanks. I’ll tell you more if I can, And I’m glad too. This isn’t really something he’d readily ask for help on”

Sophie grabbed Sandor and went for a walk, Getting a little away from the house first before reaching out to Fitz.

“Fitz, you there?”

Fitz responded after a moment or two “Yeah, I’m here. So basically he asked for my help with an invention and one thing led to another and we called each other cute and then Sophie oh my- We were dancing I was DANCING with Dex”

Sophie thought for a moment. Fitz could barely handle his feelings for Dex and then in the span of a single afternoon, all of this happened. Sophie needed to calm him down. Fitz was obviously overwhelmed.

“Fitz” Sophie transmitted after several moments “Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be ok”

“I know” Fitz took a deep breath “I just- I really like him for some reason and this took a lot out of me. It was so hard to keep it to myself”

Sophie sighed “Why did you have to?”

“Because I’m a Vacker man and Vacker men date women, not other men”

“They don’t have to,” Sophie said gently “You don’t have to Fitz. You should date whoever makes you happy, And if Dex makes you happy you should tell him”

Fitz sighed “I know it’s just… I’m scared Sophie I’m so scared of what society will say”

“I know, I would be too. I can’t say I understand it because I don’t, I didn’t grow up it this world but I support you and I’m here for you” 

“That means a lot Sophie thanks” Fitz transmitted “I’m still scared and I don’t think I’ll act on these feelings just yet but it means everything to know I have someone in my corner”

Sophie transmitted to him her memories of her conversation with Keefe “You have Keefe on your side too. He doesn’t even know what's going on but he supports you”

“That’s. That’s really amazing of him”

Sophie smiled “Yeah it is”

[starlooove]

Saw a vid about supersons and Minecraft and it was so stupid and wrong what in the world makes you think Damian would be killing everything even in peaceful mode like wtf. Anyways here are some TRUE SUPERSONS MINECRAFT FACTS NOT CLICKBAIT 100% REAL (plus Colin bc he’s my son now)

-They argue about what mode they should be in: Damian argued for hard mode bc they’re built like that and jon agreed but he just wanted to fight smh. Colin was the only with common sense bc he knows they’ve never played Minecraft before and starting in hard mode would not only be difficult but boring if they won. They go normal

- Jon is the miner, Colin gathers the food, Damian builds the house

-Damian gets lost because he refuses to pull up coordinates and his memory SHOULD help him but he is so entirely laser focused on collecting materials that by the time he’s done he doesn’t even remember what biome he just came from 💀

- Damian goes above and beyond for the house ok; he will only mine for that, and Jon hates it bc Damian finds veins of like 8 diamonds and will only take enough for his pickaxe and axe. He will NOT share bc he needs a backup

-Jon spends DAYS in cave systems and he’s actually much better at finding mineshafts than anybody should be. He finds dungeons and dies immediately bc he turns the player around to inform Colin and Damian as if they’re all physically there

-Colin thinks it’s fair to keep inventory or go creative to get special loot back, Jon thinks it’s not. Damian didn’t care until he realized turning creative or cheats on means no achievements. The option is never considered again.

-Colin kills the sheep for the beds and a few chickens then immediately begins to set up the most intricate and complicated farm you’ve ever seen. Yes he’s a redstone guy. Understands it deeply in a way Damian and Jon are too scared to ask about. They always mine any redstone they see for him.

-Colin likes Diamond the most, Damian Iron, and Jon Gold (Damian tells him he’s stupid bc it provides 0 protection and Jon is like “but I look so good tho” and Colin calls him tacky

- Love villages and villagers and trading all of them

-Damian tames an iron golem. Nobody knows how and an investigation should be launched bc that’s not a game mechanic but whenever anyone asks Damian shrugs and the other two say “it could sense his gentle nature :3”

-They never actually defeat the Ender Dragon whenever it gets too close to that they find an excuse to create a new world and start all over bc they don’t rlly wanna finish it (they say they’re saving that achievement for a special occasion)

-Jon is Steve, Damian is Alex, Colin has a new skin everyweek.

-They find servers based off of cities and will pretend to be the cities heroes 😭

-Got kicked out of the Gotham server for calling their portrayal of spoiler inaccurate and refusing to change their skins (they were the birds of prey)

-Damián is currently building a whole BludHaven since there wasn’t one available. Hes going to leave it open where Dick can see so he doesn’t have to do something gross and mushy like go up and tell him about it

-Damian’s aim is TRASH in game and he can’t survive a single night. Not bc he can’t figure it out he just wants to have fun man he does not care about these mobs; if the house is already built and he’s just sprucing up the farm he will get killed over and over he doesn’t care

-try to go to bed at night but Jon is in the caves and forgot his bed, Colin died and lost all his shit before setting spawn so he has to find them now, and Damian doesn’t really feel like it bc Patricia (the chicken) is far more Interesting than a bed right now.

-Damian’s favorite mob is the spider and his least favorite is the creeper. Colin’s least favorite is the Zombie and his favorite is the Skeleton. Jon says his favorite is the creeper but it’s actually the Enderman, his least fave is the skeleton bc they ALWAYS kill him since he refuses to make a shield.

-Colin turned too fast and thought Jon outta the corner of his eye was herobrine. They abandoned that server immediately.

-Colin’s inventory is always overflowing bc he always thinks he might need literally anything he’s ever seen. Damian WOULD be the same way but he just has an entire chest room where he hoards everything. Jon does not care he will throw away a diamond pickaxe if the endurance bar is less than half bc it ruins the aesthetic. Never has what he needs when he needs it.

-none of them like going underwater but Damian and the only one who likes the desert is Jon. The only one who will go into the nether first is Colin (as in the other two will only go after Colin has torches, pathways, any signs of life in there. Matter of fact most of the time they refuse to go unless Colin’s found a fortress and made it easily accessible). They line up anything they need to get from these areas so they’re all branched off at the same time.

-Colin has an actual diary in game that he updates as if it’s real. Damian has one in Colins chest just in case someone else enters the server.

-Jon has 50 dogs and calls the cats too difficult and annoying to tame. Damian kills him. Colin has like 20 cats and is always begging Damian to get him more fish. Damian actually only has a few select animals as he prefers to let them roam around the yards he builds (catered to their home environments ofc.) noticeable ones include: Richard the Golem, Duke the bumblebee, Patricia the chicken and her mate Penelope, Joshua the horse, and Cassandra the parrot. (He has so many parrots guys it’s insane)

-none of them have the actual game sounds on they hate the music and it gives them all headaches. (Not projecting at all) They all listen to Lofi while playing or some shit. They have never gone a session without getting killed by a creeper at least twice.

-they tried to play hunger games once and they just got bored. Now bedwars and speedrun? That’s their shit. DO NOT play against them in hide and seek bruh they get together and start revolutions to kill the seekers they’re so annoying 😭 they’ve gotten banned so many times but they ask Barbara, and then Vic when she gets tired of it, to unban them.

That’s kinda it idk

Family bonus:

-They have one server where they don’t do much for friends and family to play. Nobody else is really all that interested in Minecraft but they see the kids playing and wanna fuck with em so 😕

-Jason’s a flower collector, he gets privileges bc he knows exactly which flowers Damian wants in front of the house and acts accordingly. Cass is this way when It comes to woods and Duke when it comes to carpets and paintings.

-Damian wants to let Dick play but he’s wary bc dick has been killed by Duke the bee so many times and his final straw was when Dick hit Richard the golem on accident and killed it instead of letting it kill him. He’s banned. Richard II was then tamed.

-Tim isnt banned but he doesn’t play bc he saw Colins redstone minecart rollercoaster thing when he was first starting and offered suggestions until Colin got fed up and chewed him out so bad he quit.

-Duke adds something new to the mansion (built by Damian and Steph who apparently has an eye for decor) everytime he goes and it always fits in seamlessly. He is the only sibling allowed on one of Damian’s servers that’s not the family one. He cherishes this. Dick could have the privilege but Damian still hasn’t forgiven him for Richard I.

-Cass doesn’t play often but when she does she LOOOOVES enchanting. She will do it for hours and get the best ones for their main armor and weapons and then really specific convoluted shit for fun. Her goal is to have one sword/chestplate/etc. for each enchantment available on item frames in the manor.

-Steph doesn’t fuck with Minecraft but she goes in to dye the sheep and change the names of everything. Damian bans her. She bribed Babs to let her back in. Damian names a cat after Barbara and snitches when Steph changes the name. Steph mentions that the cat wasn’t taken care of and was used for this purpose. They are at a standstill.

-Kon likes to blow everything up and he banned himself after he made Jon cry. He only goes into the server to fight mobs and give loot as a peace offering. Damian has forgiven him, Colin hasn’t.

- Clark and Bruce go in once and speedrun the entire game, defeat the ender dragon get every achievement etc. worst mistake bc the server is now creative friendly. There is nothing friendly about it.

-Every single person will get on Colin’s roller coaster and go “weeee!” The entire way. He’s flattered.

-The death count on that server is astronomical. Almost all of them are accidents.

[tlbodine]

A Lesson in Critical Thinking

It occurs to me that not everybody got particularly robust education (read: any) in how to think critically or apply problem-solving and data collection methods to day-to-day matters they may encounter in their lives. And while I'm no expert in this by any means, I do think I can shed some light on a thing or two.

Let's Say I Have an Observation

It could be anything, from a "fact" someone shared to a pattern I notice in the world -- what matters is it's something I want to verify. For a lighthearted example: I run a discord server, and three members whom I think most of us in the community would consider "cool peeps with their shit together" are polyamorous.

Faced with that observation, one might be tempted to make the claim, "Poly people have their shit together more than the rest of us." And you could even come up with some compelling rationalizations for that, such as, "the poly lifestyle requires so much more communication that people who live it also have better people skills" or hell, even, "living with multiple partners is the ideal state of being, and if we all did that we'd be happier and better-adjusted, too."

And, hey, maybe those things are true! But before we go about spreading that message, maybe we should take a step back and confirm it a bit, hmm?

Checking for Biases

The first thing I'll want to do is think about my claim and validate whether it really feels true and fits within what I generally know about the world:

Are those three people really as "with it" as they seem to be? Am I cherry-picking my evidence to support my conclusion?

Did I see that two people fit the pattern and so lumped in the third polyamorous user with them just to make my argument more compelling?

Might I have a vested interest in wanting this to be true? Does anything about me/my identity hinge on this worldview being correct?

it's important to be honest with yourself at this stage. Confirmation bias is something we can all fall into, and it doesn't make you a bad person -- but it DOES make your data unreliable!

Searching for More Cases

If the claim "polyamorous people are better communicators and more likely to have their shit together" is true, then we should be able to find more examples of it in the wild! Perhaps we should validate our claim by collecting some more data:

Can we survey a population -- say, a polyamory community online -- and capture some raw data? Could we come up with some kind of questionnaire that evaluates the "has-it-together-ness" of a person?

Can we even just informally ask around for other people's experiences? Anecdotes aren't data, but they can help you take a temperature of whether something might be worth investigating further.

Do we have any other experiences we can draw from that might help us validate the claim? Do we have counter-examples in mind who are polyamorous and *don't* have their shit together?

Has anybody ELSE noticed this phenomenon before? Are there studies about it? If so, do they seem well-done? Are the sources credible? (Evaluating a source is a whole other thing and a matter for another guide)

Obviously, a survey is the most scientifically rigorous option -- but you don't have to do a full-on study to validate every single thought and suspicion you have! Sometimes you discover a satisfactory explanation that somebody else has come up with. That's still better than running around espousing a claim you just made up or heard on the street without any further validation!

Eliminating Variables

Okay, so let's say you've acquired some data -- either scientifically collected or informally gathered. And let's say that data does indeed agree with our suspicion! From the results of our hypothetical survey, perhaps we've determined that polyamorous people are indeed more likely to have their shit together (by whatever metric we're judging that against).

Let's see if we can poke some holes in that.

Is there anything else that the people you surveyed have in common that might affect things? For example, if everybody happens to have a stable polycule, could it be that relationship stability is the real factor (as opposed to the number of partners?)

Is where you're finding these people affecting the results? Are people who are in certain types of communities more likely to respond in certain ways? How big was the sample size?

There's a reason why scientific studies eliminate variables, have control groups, and utilize a double-blind method!

The point of all of this is not to make any claims about polyamorous people, and it's not to tell you that you need to complete a scientific study to every thought that pops into your head. The point is to give you a framework for thinking critically about claims and observations. Mentally running through this process ("is my data accurate? am I biased? how could I validate this information? what other explanations might make sense?") might take just a few minutes once you've practiced it, and it can save you from falling for fake news, dangerous pseudoscience, propaganda, and so forth.

Now go out there and think critically!

[daddyblackjack]

Arcane Ink - Chapter 22

Pairing: Weskano (Albert Wesker x Vittorio Toscano)

SFW

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

“Is there anything you could distract yourself with?” His Gattino asked him. Vittorio opened his eyes again to look at his lover and saw the concern on his face. He didn’t want Albert to worry about him. The least he could do was to try and take his mind off of his harrowing, world-view-shattering realization. It seemed they both knew Albert wouldn’t be able to do that for him this time… and frankly, his lover was already doing so much. He couldn’t burden him with this as well. Vittorio thought for a second on what other options he had, before giving an answer. “I haven’t… talked to most of the survivors in quite a while.” He said, sniffling as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt in an attempt to collect himself. He hadn’t realized it, but there were some of his friends truly missed speaking to. Mikaela, for example, as she was a witch herself. Perhaps she even knew some things about the observers – no, he needed to distract himself from the people he had put false hope in. Yet his mind had a way of sending his thoughts back to that staircase. He shook himself, trying to get a grip. “How about this then: You go spend time with your friends while you’re already here, and I’ll have another look in the meantime.” His lover offered with a bitter smile, placing a gentle kiss on Vittorio’s hand. He looked at his lover with wide eyes. How Albert could already consider going back to that horror was beyond him. But he couldn’t deny that his Gattino had made a good point: the sooner they could find out what the observers had been planning, what all those deaths had been for, the better. And maybe, just maybe it was worth finishing what they had started. “Are you sure you want to go back there? Alone?” He asked his partner regardless. “I would never ask you to go back there, my dear. Let me handle it.”

Albert could see the worry in his lover’s eyes. The sorrow, the guilt. If he could somehow find a way to take it from him, he would. The only thing he could think of to put Vittorio’s mind at ease was going back there and conducting the research and presenting him with results. Hopefully they could restore his lover’s faith.   “What, right now?” His treasure asked him as he sat up, his voice tense. If only he could take all that grief from him… “I mean, I can stay another while if you want to cuddle. But wouldn’t it be better for you to go distract yourself right now? I could use that time while we’re apart anyway to go back.” “I suppose…” His partner reluctantly agreed as he got up as well and change his clothes. Vittorio had been drenched in sweat by the time Albert had carried him to his quarters, but he hadn’t taken the time to get him changed. He’d just laid down with him and held him close until his lover’s trembling had stopped. And then he had stayed where he was, unmoving – except for the occasional backrub. Albert had to smile as he saw that his beloved gem decided to wear the black leather pants he had given him after the first time they’d fucked. “You still look fantastic in them, my love.” He cooed softly, getting up to hug Vittorio from behind and giving him a kiss on the cheek. As he had done then, still craving more of this man. He’d never thought it was possible for him to fall this hard for anyone. To feel so devoted to anyone but himself. “You’ll be alright?” Albert asked his partner, letting him go and grabbing his coat to put it on. “I’m more concerned about you going back there already, Al…” He could tell that Vittorio didn’t like the idea of him exploring the place so soon again. Neither did he like the idea of his lover spending time with anyone but him, but he knew it was out of the question to have his dear treasure be exposed to the gut-wrenching sight again. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry about me.”

Vittorio made his way to the common area – the large campfire under the open sky, with several logs and benches surrounding it. The survivors liked to gather here, to exchange stories of their time in the real world, to sing songs together and to share their meals here. Vittorio had often spent his time gazing into the night sky, wondering if the stars he looked at were real, or if they were just an illusion created by the entity. He noticed a few familiar faces, as well as some new ones. “Vittorio! It’s been a while! Where have you been hiding?” Chris called to him, and he walked over to join them. The other survivors that were sitting with the man were Jill and Zarina, as well as two unfamiliar faces. Vittorio knew that Chris and Jill were from the same timeline as his dear Albert. And he was vaguely aware that they shared some history, and that his lover had betrayed them both at some point. There was a reason his Gattino was a killer, after all. He shook his head at the thought. Vittorio had never asked Albert much about his past, and his lover never talked about it either. They were quite similar in that regard, as Vittorio hadn’t told him about his various travels and voyages. In fact, all his lover knew about his past in the real world was the end of his time there, as he was being tortured by Kovacs for refusing to reveal any information he had on the observers and the arcane… Vittorio shook his head, frustrated with himself. He was here to distract himself God dammit. He forced himself to focus on something else, on the people in front of him. Vittorio quite enjoyed Chris’ company. They seemed to be on the same wavelength, as their life’s missions had been to save the world. Though Vittorio had never asked Chris to go into much detail about his work, as from any of the man’s stories it was evident that even someone who was regarded as a hero during his time couldn’t abstain from violence. The lord hadn’t wanted to listen to what Chris had been forced to do, but he still held him in high regard. “I’ve been occupied with research on the Arcane, but I’ve decided to crawl out of my hole for a chat.” He chuckled and sat down next to the man. He hadn’t considered it until Chris had called to him, but since he had moved in with Albert, he’d barely attended any trials - for his lover’s sake, though he’d been grateful about not needing to go. But Vittorio knew that none of the survivors wouldn’t approve if he admitted he was spending all of his time with a killer he had fallen head over heels for. Especially since he was the one advocating against violence.

 “You’ve been gone so long you haven’t even met the new arrivals!” Jill interrupted his train of thought and introduced the ‘newcomers’: “This is Gabriel, and this is Ellen.” Vittorio held his hand out to shake theirs. “Pleasure to meet you.” “Likewise.” “Oh, you’ll love this. They actually lived on different planets than Earth! We were just discussing what life was like where they are from.” Zarina chimed in. This news utterly shook the medieval lord to his core. “Other… planets?” “Indeed, I lived on a planet called Dvarka before our bot went rouge and started killing the crew.” The one who’d been introduced as Gabriel explained. Vittorio just blinked at him in confusion. He felt like he hadn’t understood anything the man had just said, other than that people had died. “I’m… very sorry for your loss.” was all he responded with an apologetic look on his face. He then expectantly looked over at the lady who’d been introduced as ‘Ellen’. “We were hunted by xenomorphs on Acheron, so not much better.” Again, Vittorio felt like these people were too far out of his league. None of the terms she used rang any bells. Though at least, he understood that humans were prey to whatever this ‘xenomorph’ was. Or it was hunting humans for sport. “He has no clue what we’re talking about.” Gabriel said, evidently he’d caught on. “Ah.. forgive me. I was born during a time where a plague we called the ‘Black death’ wiped out most of our people.” He'd just been three years old when the disease spread like wildfire among the towns. He didn’t remember much of it, but the images of the swellings had been ingrained in his mind on the few occasions he had seen the dead bodies. His parents had done everything to lock off their court in this time. Somehow, they had been unaffected. He forced himself to shake the thought, as he was trying to distract himself from the gloomy imagery of the tower, not simply replace it with an equally appalling one of plague ridden bodies. Though he could see Ellen’s eyes widen in surprise. “So you’re from the middle ages?” “If… that’s what you’ve come to call that time, yes.” “He is from the middle ages.” Jill reassured the woman. “So there’s almost a thousand years between us.” Gabriel said, looking at him in awe, though Vittorio’s heart sank at hearing this.

A thousand years? A full Millenium? Had he spent this much time in the realm already? And that would mean… Albert, and Chris, and Jill, and Zarina, and all the other faces he’d come to know that had been taken at the turn of the Millennium, they had all been here for at least 3 centuries as well… If time progressed in a linear fashion inside the fog. He wasn’t entirely sure. It hadn’t felt like another 300 years had passed, but perhaps after the first 600 you didn’t really notice the rest. “You’d be surprised, he’s still more than capable with repairing the generators. He’s quite a technician. Or magician, I’m not really sure.” Chris chimed in to his surprise, even sounding rather impressed with his talents. “Vittorio, you need to show ‘em how you can transfer energy from one generator to another. It looks so cool.” “Well, I’d need a generator to do that…” The lord answered, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He found himself warming up more and more to the conversation. As it turned out, he’d actually missed talking to the other survivors a lot more than he had originally thought. He found himself willing to demonstrate, though he would need to work on… “Well, let’s hop into a trial then!” Shit. His poor lover had just wanted Vittorio to have a distraction, not put himself in danger. But then again, the trial would definitely take his mind off of the tower… and he was a survivor after all. In a way, getting chased by various killers was his job in this God forsaken place. He knew damn well that Albert was working overtime so that Vittorio wouldn’t need to attend the trials anymore. But, for some odd reason, the lord realized he was excited at the premise of joining his friends – and showing off his powers. Vittorio hadn’t had the chance to answer as Chris had already made the decision for him, pulling him to his feet and dragging him into the fog. Ellen and Gabriel joined them, Zarina and Jill merely waved after them as they were swallowed by the thick, black mist.

[fr-economics]

Actual anon from SMR, and I agree with the other anon that your advice isn't what I'm looking for as a casual player, and your advice of "just pay for gems" isn't what I'm looking for either (if this is really the solution, what about those that can not afford to make purchases like that? Me included). It's not a skill issue like you would want to believe, I feel like I am good enough at this game. There is plenty of enjoyable aspects and money comes around of course, the point is it can be grueling on you when it feels like you can only pick up pennies at a time, compared to everyone else. If you don't have access to or just don't want to accept the challenges to all the tips and tricks, and the time benefits that non-casual players have, it just makes the game not fun for a casual play. Not even just for money reasons, but for QOL gameplay. I don't have fun as a casual player just only hitting the dailies, sure I'll make "enough" off that, but that isn't my concern. My idea of balancing QOL for casuals would be like, make the ways to achieve money actually fun and balanced for people going at a pace you're not used to, not cause inflation or anything like that. And the solution also shouldn't be to just upgrade my play into non-casual play either, because that should be my choice to have. I just would like to be able to enjoy this game to some extent without feeling like i need to shell away so much of my time and efforts on something that in the end is not very rewarding for the pace of things. We're looking at things on different scales. Honestly It doesn't surprise me someone who has assumingly never been a casual player for long will not understand what it's like to be a casual player longterm, so your advice just won't stick and your perspective on things is just not accurate to the reality of my experience of the gameplay. I'm not angry in this btw, I can't bother to adjust the tone, I want to speak straightforward.

It sounds like FR is just not a good fit for you and you want something from the game that devs are unwilling/unable to focus on. It's a bummer, but not every game is going to be a good fit for every player. Some casual players are fine with what they're able to do and accomplish, and some aren't.

I personally would like to play a lot of video games I hear about, but because of my ADHD they're not a good fit for me. In a perfect world, there would be versions of games that meet different player needs (and newer games sometimes try to meet these needs by offering easy modes or similar), but that's not really feasible for every situation. There are also games I just don't find fun, but I recognize that's my problem and not the game's fault.

I do think FR would be enriched if there were more varied options for making money, and something like investments might work better for you (eg: put in X amount of money now and collect it in a week or so—maybe a farming type minigame could be implemented).

But I do think expecting there to be a playstyle that perfectly meets your needs, and putting the blame on the devs instead of recognizing that the incompatibility is no one's fault in particular, comes across as a bit entitled. I think this is also displayed in your dismissal of the option of buying gems—artists and creators should be paid for their labor, and you're not entitled to it just because you're broke. (Again, in a perfect world, we wouldn't have this issue, but here we are.)

I don't have an issue with people complaining that a game doesn't fit them—I personally am often disappointed that a lot of video games aren't good fits for me because they look so cool and fun—but I do have an issue when people look for someone to blame instead of recognizing that an incompatibility is not necessarily anyone's fault.

[sepheroth]

💋

(If ok!)

Send  💋  to shut my muse up with a kiss

"I don't think you..." There's a long and drawn out pause between Sephiroth and his own sigh of exasperation and he shakes his head, but all the while he made the time and room for need to half roll his eyes and then continuing nonetheless. By the time he released his pen from within his hold and dropped it flat against the clash of metal at his work station, the silverette felt that perhaps, he had much more and better else to do than rather to fiddle, fritter and frolic about in a pointless conversation with the younger first class. And he wasn't too particularly keen on calling it dare, if that's what it was supposed to be. A soft hmmph could be heard moments in after his head replayed the words that were exchanged unto him just a mere moments before of him kindly, yet sternly attempting to brush away Zack’s offered suggestion. (And so very out of the blue, one might add). 'Bet I could make you smile after just one small, little, teeny tiny little kiss? If I manage, you kiss me back. If I don't, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the evening...Until next time.I’ll coming botherin’ ya, again...' He didn't want to entertain the sheer fact of the matter that he had given it thought and consideration. As much as Zack really tended to infuriate him toward no foreseeable end from time to time, if he could not admit that to Zack, he had to admit that there was a charm to his undying persistence. However he felt it was the safer option for him to carry on in his own charade for the grand sake of pretending and him having the need to exercise keeping his pride. " Tch. An absurd proposition. And to think you were able capable of coming up with better ex--...Mmn...! Comes his muffed sound, his lips were taken by Zack’s own. As soon as the kiss was initiated, Sephiroth’s sense in train of through wavered of to gods knows where. And here’s even to say that he started slowly forgetting what all the fuss was about. Blinking back for as much as the rest of his body’s responses were force to fend and think for itself momentarily, the general being forced to walk backwards until his hands managed to forcefully grip over behind himself against the desk and for whatever reason, gripping around toward the edge wearing gloves made that difficult. Sephiroth managed. The sound of pens and papers, books (or what he could assume since he didn’t have the time to look behind him) collided and fell into the floor collecting whatever else was left to collect into a mess. As he struggled within himself not only emotionally, but mentally against himself and better judgement, a hand gripped onto that sleeveless shirt of Zack and pulled him closer and reciprocated the kiss as he smiled! Zack even managed to send his heart leaping far ahead of his mind. (No one would see he him admitting that part anytime soon).He’d been losing a bet that he’d never even agreed to challenge in the first place! Because it was yet, another safer option for him. Apparently, both of them felt the wordless need to pull onto one another by the suspenders. As thought that could save either of them from either of their emotions. Rather sharp, sweet and even slower exchanged of affection, Sephiroth hated that simple fact that his lungs required air to live and breathe. In fact, he cursed it. Nonetheless, he’d bring himself to that regrettable mental warning sign and heeded it. His mind’s sent into a further and further of a race, his heart still needed to calm down. No amount of thinking would calm. In a different since for lack of better wording he felt a little winded. Somehow, he felt like he was worlds, even miles away from his own body. Spotty for the lasting brief instances it was like his thoughts gave him an unannounced countdown before the silence was not allowed to be awkward. Again, for the lack of better wording he’d seen stars spinning around his head. No else’s been able to do that before. Not the sort where someone was struck hard enough, that they’d see them. The sort where his emotions were the louder, the more victorious voice. Green and eptilian like gaze paused over vibrant, a calmer and even deeper set of intense striking blue, Sephiroth felt now that Zack was more than just a little capable of having him view him through a whole new set of lenses. Clearly, he under estimated him. Lips were inches apart and if anyone were to walk by his door way, a passerby for example, would be able to obviously see that they’d both drowned out the rest of whatever was happening within the world around him. Thankfully, no a single soul more happened to be occupying the building. His chest ached a little from the lack of breathing from the kiss. Something he never expected. At first. Blinking back a few instances long, he was lucky that his head continued to prompt him further to say something. “....You’re infuriating.” Was all that he could manage out while he could be seen trying to calming gather himself.