#SPECIAL INTEREST MODE ENGAGED

[agave]

new icon end of an era goodbye nut head

[flimsy-roost]

this might be old news but I'm pretty convinced that the only difference between hyperfocus and flow is negative vs positive framing

[mielmoto]

❝ Ooooh, yeah, I can see what you're working with! ❞ Spicy, nutty, and a little bit of sweetness with coffee? Seems like a natural fit, flavor wise, (as far as she's concerned)—but the well-versed culinarian can also spot the potential stumbling blocks just as well. Honey hums, thoughtfully, as they walk; internal cogs turning a little faster.

❝ Are you tryin' to serve it up, like, hot or cold? And what's been giving you trouble, so far—is it the oils and fat separating to the top? Or the whole thing just not geling together the way you want? ❞

One might say that this energy is infectious, but when Malkuth was spending time with Honey, it was more like two logs rolling down the same river. Or something.

"Chili oil, peanut butter... and coffee. I think I'm getting closer to making it work!"

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

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Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I haven’t seen the 2020 series but my absolute favorite show is ACGAS 1978! Siegfried is so iconic haha. Do you have any thoughts on Siegfried in the 2020 series vs the 1978 one? Actors, portrayal, opinions, etc.

(Totally free to ignore if you don’t feel like talking about it of course, my feelings won’t be hurt)

Siegfried Farnon, I love all his incarnations. As a kid, I saw a lot of my faults in him (and still do), but also a lot of what I aspire to be - clever, charming, and generous. All 3 of the Skeldale vets shaped how I internalize my masculinity. (James' work ethic & determination, Tristan's ability to go with the flow and roll with punches.) I binged both shows (not quite all of 1978, tho) within 8 months, having avoided them until last year. The books are very special to me and I was afraid to engage with either show for fear they wouldn't Get Siegfried. I was very, very wrong.

Robert Hardy had some very cool interests- him being a longbow expert is absolutely fascinating and I keep meaning to watch the documentary he was involved in. Wild he was a consultant regarding the longbows of the Mary Rose. Absolutely was living the dream.

His Siegfried is such a little shit and I love him -- Hardy really captures the "beautific" mode his book counterpart would shift into when giving his hypocritical lectures. His side hustle schemes are favs of mine, because he doesn't actually want to do the work, just come up with the idea.

1978! Siegfried has a fantastic manic energy he flips on and off like a switch, though seeing book!Siegfried's temper on-screen vs Tristan played for laughs makes me uncomfortable -- that's a change I think the 2020 show tackles better, as it explores why the Farnon brothers are Like That.

Samuel West also is a fascinating human. We're both Gen X kids and I've love to have a board game night or go birding with him. His Siegfried has a melancholy streak that speaks to me (I took book!Siegfried as having some brand of mood cycling) and I really enjoy seeing him soften into a family man as the series progresses.

Not to say West doesn't also inject Siegfried with an enjoyable kinetic energy, it's just a different brand than Hardy's. (I was very skeptical the 2020 series would be any good given how faithful the 1978 show was, but by the time S1E1 Siegfried first pulls that mangled job list out of his pocket, I knew West understood the character, even if other details about the show had been changed.)

I feel like S5 took some steps backwards wrt Siegfried's relationships with Audrey and his brother. I hope S6 finally allows certain seeds to sprout & flourish (a relationship with Audrey, and greater trust in Tristan). That said, I also hope Siegfried doesn't soften too much - he still needs to be boisterous and ridiculous and have a certain kind of anger -- book!Siegfried could be a terror towards those who abused animals, and I'd like to see more of that.

What's interesting is both TV Siegfrieds took on the role in their 50s, when the book character is like... barely 30 in the first volume. West plays Siegfried more as in his 40s (fun for me, because I headcanon him as my age, so, 48 going into S6), but the age difference still shapes how I think of each version of the man.

Siegfried's traits - good and bad - come off different based on what age you perceive him as. I think the 2020 show's decision to have a 19 year age gap between the brothers is a brilliant way to address why Siegfried is so hard on Tristan, being somewhere between brother & surrogate father -- the closer in age the boys are (and they are not all that far apart in the books), the weirder that hostile disappointment wrt his exams and work ethic feels.

For me, 2020 series S1 Siegfried is my favorite. He's a great blend of cocksure, self-doubting, charming, off-putting, self-aware, and absolutely oblivious. His contradictions are one of my favorite things about him. But I don't really like pitting the TV Siegfrieds against each other -- both actors have given the source material the most utmost of love and respect, and it shows in their performances. I own both series on disc.

I think a lot of one's preference boils down to which Siegfried you meet at what point in your own life; after imprinting on book!Siegfried as a 10-year-old, the fact I'm knee-deep in writing trans!Siegfried fics for the 2020 series at age 48 probably says a lot about which one I feel the most like. XD

Honestly, my ideal version of the man is an amalgam of all 3 of his incarnations: He'd be mid-40s when we first meet him, and we'd see more of the mood range -- from Hardy's manic energy to West's more soulful touch and what they both brought in-between.

[librarycards]

I like your point about something being "pretentious," because I also think the term is used only to silence people who are bringing around important ideas.

I've seen you defend the complexity of academic writing in disability studies, which I also love and advocate for. I'm curious, however, about how you make space for people with intellectual disabilities, reading disorders, and other disabilities that make it a lot more difficult to parse overly academic writing. I remember this came up for me specifically when I was reading Jaspir Puar's "The Right to Maim." It's complex, necessarily so, but I found it deeply inaccessible.

I wonder, can disability studies truly be inclusive if it conforms to norms of academic complexity while sacrificing readability and engagement directed towards individuals with intellectual disabilities? I don't know if there's an answer, and I'd love to hear of any recommended reading you have on making space for people who exist outside of traditional modes of academic knowledge and research in a field as diverse as disability justice and Mad studies.

this is a common question, and i'll try my best to do it justice here -

first and foremost, it's important to remember that disability studies is not an activist project, nor is it one primarily concerned with providing social/academic support to individual disabled people per se. it's an academic discipline with roots in critical theory, queer theory, and literary/cultural studies, with its own intellectual genealogy, roster of normative terms, and citational background. when people -- puar, for instance -- write books like 'right to maim,' they're not writing for a general audience, disabled or non-. they're writing for colleagues and students interested in a particular set of arguments, drawing on a particular set of sources, and operating under the assumption that one has already done the (disability studies, ethnic studies, (post)colonial studies) readings - and, if you haven't, that you'll avail yourself of the lit review portion before engaging deeply with the book.

in short, part of the issue many people have when it comes to disability studies and their frustrations with it is that they do not take it seriously as an academic discipline among other academic disciplines. being disabled doesn't make me a disability studies expert any more than being a human makes me an anthropologist. the inaccessibility, as it were, of disability studies is a result of its specialization. this specialization isn't a bad thing - it's what happens when a field has been built over generations, on the shoulders of earlier fields, and requires extensive background knowledge to engage with. there's really no way around that when it comes to niche scholarly disciplines about things deliberately obfuscated in "normal life." this doesn't mean that nothing can be done to support wider uptake of CDS ideas among activists beyond the academy, but it does mean that our collective liberation as disabled people cannot and should not rest on universal understanding of or agreement x y or z element of a specific scholarly text.

that brings me to the next question, which is mostly about bringing disability studies scholarship to disabled people outside the academy, especially those whose disabilities make it difficult to access higher education. i don't think there's a way around reading the difficult texts if you want to be well-read and familiar with disability studies - or any other field - simply because people don't use complex language and syntax for no reason. we need to make up words for things that never had words before. fortunately, however, there are ways to introduce difficult concepts stepwise and in community, namely, through coursework - because as much as these texts weren't meant to be read by non-experts, they were also not meant to be read alone.

in my own experience teaching disability studies to classes wherein many, if not most students, are disabled, the best way of introducing these concepts is with regular old pedagogical tools like scaffolding, introducing background reading, approaching topics socratically, and encouraging group discussion informed by outside reading and personal experience. it is often helpful to go sentence-by-sentence and break down a particularly salient paragraph, or return to a particular citation to understand where one author's points link up with another's. one might go from puar back to saïd, for example, and also forward/sideways to mel chen or nirmala erevelles. put simply, i think reading these works together - in classrooms, in groups, in pairs, or even alongside others who have analyzed them before you (there are tons of analytical essays about most of these books on academia.edu/google scholar for example!) is one of the most reliable ways to improve your comprehension, and is certainly the method i use to help students better understand what they're working with.

lastly, and i think most importantly, i want to stress that the way many undergrads are taught to engage with any theoretical discourse is really, really damaging. it's damaging to expect an eighteen-year-old to consume and instantly "get" ideas that take multiple lifetimes' of debate to get worked out, if ever. being confused, not-knowing, asking questions, getting frustrated, taking a break and coming back -- these are approaches which many disabled students in particular have been pathologized for, but are actually the best (and certainly most predictable) responses one can have to a challenging text. i did not understand a lot of puar the first time i read her. i have read right to maim several times now, and am still puzzling over new things. a great deal could be done to support inclusion in all of our fields if abled/sane/NT people would stop bluffing and admit that they get confused, too; what an opportunity for scholarly interdependence that would be.

anyways....that's a long answer about something i'm very passionate about, so thanks for reading if you did! my main advice is to keep chipping away at challenging texts, because the process of reading and comprehending, especially done in community, is worth it, and helps lay the groundwork / build the muscle for engaging more difficult texts in the future.

as far as more disabled/Mad scholars thinking about academic literacies/classroom accessibility, there's Mel Chen, whose recent monograph, Intoxicated, deals with research, brain fog, and cognitive disability; Margaret Price, OG Mad Studies powerhouse, has also written at length about both pedagogical and personal approaches to mental disability in the classroom, and recently published a book called "Crip Spacetime" that is functionally an exposé on academic inaccessibility of all sorts.

I would also like to strongly recommend my beloved friend and colleague Helen Rottier, who does disability studies scholarship and works at a university disability cultural center, typically with IDD students. We co-authored a paper on Mad pedagogy that should be coming out...someday? Publishing is slow. But definitely check her work and I'm sure she'd welcome questions from you if you wanted to reach out!

[yokumirumerafan]

HELLO I JUST DISCOVERED YOUR PROFILE AND I LOVE IT!

What would the Hashiras think of a reader reading their tarot cards? Would they think it was nonsense? Would they be curious? Would they ask for a reading? Tarot reader readings are always accurate and very good!

EEEE HI BBG 💛💛💛 THANK YOUUUU FOR THE LOVE AND FOR BEING HERE YOU’RE AMAZING MWAH 🫶🫶🫶 Okay okay LET'S DO THIS — ✨Tarot Reader S/O with the Hashira✨

🪷 Giyuu Tomioka

He's skeptical at first. Like “cards… tell the future?” 👁👄👁

Sits there silently while you shuffle, lowkey nervous

When your reading is scary accurate, he just nods like: “Hmph. I never said I didn’t believe you.”

Starts coming to you secretly for guidance and never tells the others

🐍 Obanai Iguro

Pretends he doesn’t believe in it… but watches very closely

Kaburamaru slithers near the deck like 👀

Gets flustered if you pull a card about romance, immediately accuses you of cheating the deck lol

Actually very curious but will only admit it in private

🐗 Sanemi Shinazugawa

“THESE FLIMSY PIECES OF PAPER AIN’T TELLING ME NOTHING.”

Immediately offended when you pull “The Tower” for him 💀

You read his energy like a book and he gets all mad like “TCH I’M NOT SENSITIVE.”

But still comes back later like “…so what did the cards say again?”

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

VERY INTO IT. “AH! HOW INTERESTING! YOUR SPIRITUAL TALENTS ARE EXCELLENT!!”

Treats it like a ceremony, sits respectfully and asks thoughtful questions

Takes your readings seriously, especially anything about danger or fate

Will absolutely ask you to do a reading for his whole squad

💎 Gyomei Himejima

Instantly respectful. He believes in unseen forces and fate

Meditates while you shuffle, treats your work with utmost reverence

Gets super reflective after each reading, may weep in gratitude 🥹

Will bless your deck and make you a wooden tarot box to protect it

🦋 Shinobu Kocho

Skeptical scientist mode engaged.

Tries to explain probability and logic at first… until you read her emotions perfectly

Starts asking casually like “You wouldn’t happen to have time to pull a card or two, would you?”

Secretly finds your tarot readings calming

🌸 Mitsuri Kanroji

OH SHE’S OBSESSED. She thinks it’s SO romantic and fun!!!

Gasps dramatically at every card and gets so excited

“Omg the Lovers card!! Does that mean we’re soulmates???” 💞💞💞

Will ask you to read her cards every week and then hugs you after every reading

☁️ Muichiro Tokito

Huh? Tarot? Oh, cool.

Doesn’t really “get it” but doesn’t mind either. Mostly just stares at the cards and thinks they’re pretty

Somehow your readings always unlock a weird memory or feeling in him and he goes blank mid-session

Says “thank you” in the softest voice ever and wanders off deep in thought

🎋 Tengen Uzui

Flashy as hell about it.

“A fortune told by my beloved?? Now THAT’S flamboyant!”

Demands you give him a ✨Tengen-special✨ reading with glitter and incense

Brings his wives too for a group session and they all take it super seriously (especially Suma who cries when you say she’s gonna have good luck 😭)

[transmutationisms]

hi! may i ask you something? are there authors or techniques you find helpful in times of existencial despair, dissociation and/or trauma? specially through anticapitalist lenses. i know it is a central point in psychoanalyses and i was curious if you have any recommendations. i'm going through a deep crisis right now and was diagnosed with bpd (many women are! haha) and i would like to explore authors with a more critical vision of the dsm/hegemonic psychiatry/"pop psychology" and standart treatments such as cbt, etc + ways to feel better, honestly. hence my interest in analyses.

i have a reading list on psych that might have something you're looking for, but i don't really think that any of my personal techniques of, like, distress management are anti-capitalist inasmuch as they're really individual health behaviours or whatever... like if im frank mostly the way i deal with trauma or whatever is things that the average psych discourse currently puts under the heading of 'maladaptive coping mechanism' (though i think this framing is incorrect too lol)

i'd be cautious about the ascription of revolutionary potential or whatever to psychoanalysis... there are numerous camps of thought on this and i do think analysis in its broadest sense has a capacity to describe & engage with psychological aspects, like ambivalence and internal conflict, that biopsychiatry laughably fails at. this is kind of what like byung-chul han et al mean by talking about psychoanalysis as dialectical & inherently composed of negations, as opposed to the facile 'positivity' (double sense) of the other psy-sciences.

but 'psychoanalysis' in practice historically and presently often means quite different things, such as a pre-fab set of triangular mommy-daddy-me discourses just as reductive and inappropriately universal as those of cbt and pop psych, and with the added bonus that often the psychoanalytic mode is conceived as a way to avoid giving patients access to care configured as an 'easy way out' (psychoactive substances, hrt, etc). this is kind of why for example deleuze was so critical of lacan and such, while still building elements of his critique off people like wilhelm reich who have actually tried to develop psychoanalysis in an explicitly revolutionary marxist direction. i have a lot of sympathy for such projects & certainly much more than for biopsychiatry or 'biopsychosocial' mental disease models, etc. but it's demonstrably simply not the case that psychoanalysis is always better than, or even opposed to or separate to, other modes of psychiatric practice.

[jawusa]

Ever wanted to play that Sims Pet Stories hood named Mesa Flats in TS2? But wanted play the hood with its original lore from the Sims Stories right after the story ended?

Well, now you can! Just like the updated Four Corners, Bitville and Garden Heights, Mesa Flats has finally also got an update! This also concludes our little series of the alternative versions of the recreated Stories neighborhoods, where you can play with the sims just like in a freshly “unlocked” free-play neighborhood as if you played through the story mode of the Sims Pet Stories in TS2.

Additionally, right before the end of the Midnight Masquerade story, the main character Stephen gets to choose one of his romantic interests; Rachel or Erin as his date for the midnight masquerade. Depending on whom the player chooses, the outcome of the story will be different:

Stephen chooses Rachel - Rachel moves in with Stephen, Erin is heartbroken, thinking that she and Stephen had something special, but eventually leaves the lot after crying. In the end, Rachel gives Stephen a hot tub as a present.

Stephen chooses Erin - Stephen and Erin get engaged, Rachel is upset and throws a tantrum, but then she also leaves the lot. In the end, Stephen and Erin go on honeymoon to the Simaican Isles.

I recreated both scenarios, so you can download either neighborhood, based on your preferred ending. Oh, and at the very end of the story, Celeste, Stephen's cousin, is mentioned to have gone on a cruise with her husband. But in Sims Pet Stories she and her husband go mysteriously missing and actually never return home even after the story's completed.

I thought, this might be a reference to the Queen Solomon cruise ship of the Shipwrecked and Single story from The Sims Castaway Stories, which crashes and eventually sinks. Alas, Celeste and Damien may have drowned, since they don't appear in the game's story as survivors, which would also explain why they never return to Mesa Flats. Well... I implemented this! So, the neighborhood starts just as Stephen got home from the midnight masquerade and heard about the sad news about his cousin. (Well, in TS2, you could technically still resurrect Celeste and Damien and pretend it never happened… so that's up to you, lol!)

Click here to download the updated version! Hope you like it! ^^

[httpvomitello]

mmmm can I request a rise tmnt with an S/o that is the same as Toga himiko?

Hello! Sooo ~ I've never watched My Hero Academia, So I had to do a little research on who this Toga is. If the personality isn't so similar, I apologize! But I hope you like it ♡♡♡♡

Leo loves a good challenge, and you definitely keep him on his toes

Your unpredictable nature fascinates him, but it’s the way you’re so intensely into him that he finds both flattering and a little nerve-wracking

When he catches you watching him with that intense, almost starry-eyed look, he can’t help but blush, stammering and glancing away

But secretly, he loves the attention

Even if you sometimes make it a bit too obvious

But, let’s be real, he secretly enjoys it when you surprise him, especially with your creative approaches to “pranks.”

Anytime you ask for a little drop of his blood to “keep with you,” he tries to act cool, telling you it’s a “ninja bonding ritual” just to play along

(Even if he’s sweating bullets inside)

Leo definitely has a protective side and tries to keep you out of trouble

Whenever you go off on one of your mischief-filled escapades, he’s not far behind, making sure you’re safe

While also admiring how fierce and unapologetically yourself you are.

Raph is caught off guard by your intensity and the way you look at him, like he’s some prize you’re obsessed with

At first, he doesn’t know what to make of it, but eventually, he finds himself kind of… into it?

Your chaotic energy speaks to the wilder side of him, and he can’t help but get pulled into your whirlwind

You make him feel like he’s the most fascinating person turtle in the world, which is something he never realized he wanted

Raph can’t quite understand your fixation with his scars and the way you sometimes ask about them, but he’ll let you run your fingers over them as long as you don’t push it too far

Though, he secretly finds your admiration of them flattering, as they’re a part of who he is

He’d be protective over you, always making sure you don’t get yourself into too much trouble

You two would make an unexpectedly powerful pair, with you being clever and cunning, and him having the strength to back you up

The first time you try to “mark” Raph in some way, whether it’s a scratch or a playful bite, he gives you a confused look but ultimately goes along with it, finding it strangely endearing

Though he’ll never admit it.

Donnie’s a mix of intrigued and cautious around you

He finds your obsessive interest in him flattering yet a little concerning, but he can’t help but enjoy the attention, especially when he’s often overlooked

You’re fascinated by his intellect, and you genuinely want to understand his work, even if you tend to be… a bit much with your eagerness

He loves talking tech with you, even though he gets sidetracked when he catches you staring at him like he’s the most interesting experiment in the world

When you occasionally bring up things about blood or “keeping a piece of him with you,” he’s completely floored

You find yourself having to reassure him that it’s just a “cute thing” you do because you really like him, even if he still looks at you with raised eyebrows

Donnie’s careful around you, making sure not to give you any reason to go full crazy mode, but he secretly likes that you’re so different from everyone else

You bring a fresh (and slightly terrifying) dynamic into his life that he didn’t know he needed

He’d create little gadgets for you to play with, hoping it distracts you from any “unconventional” ideas you might get

If you seem fascinated by his lab equipment, he’ll even show you how to use it (safely, of course), hoping it’ll keep you happy and engaged.

Mikey is initially a bit taken aback by your intensity, but he finds it exhilarating

You’re like a whirlwind of energy and excitement, and he’s all about that

He adores your attention, and your fascination with him makes him feel super special

You two are like partners in crime, with him being the sunshine to your darker, slightly obsessive tendencies

When you start talking about blood or hinting at your more intense interests, Mikey’s open-mindedness comes in handy

He doesn’t judge you; in fact, he thinks it’s kind of cute, though he might give you a little side-eye if you take it too far

You two have a chaotic kind of harmony

If you get a little intense, he just smiles and diffuses the situation with his playful energy, guiding you to the lighter side of things without you even noticing

Mikey would be the type to make light of your more “interesting” quirks, playfully indulging you in small, harmless ways while keeping things fun and safe

He’d also draw doodles of you two as chaotic superheroes (or villains) because he finds your relationship exciting and loves that you bring such a unique energy into his life.

[buckevantommy]

tommy being attentive af when buck gets in factoid mode is soooo special to me. adhd boy is excited to learn! but also to share what he's learned - and with the people he cares about or is getting to know, it's a way of letting himself be known and to (hopefully) connect with them in a fun way; it's like a test, seeing who not only acknowledges buck's fun facts but responds to them and moreover engages in conversation about them. buck deserves a partner who's interested in what he has to say (even if they're not as enthralled by the fun facts themselves they're still actively listening to buck ramble bc they want to know him and spend time with him but they also find it endearing af). tommy pays attention, he engages, he's interested, he's so fond of the way buck's mind works and smitten with the way he lights up when he's sharing and responding to being heard. with tommy, buck feels seen and he feels like he can just be his earnest self - fun facts included - and his company will be enough.

[fsfghgee]

Sektor and Sub-Zero's relationship in MK1 Part 3. What Can We Conclude So Far?

Someone asked me what I thought of the Sektor trailer the day it came out, and since the Sektor trailer revealed a little more than we already knew about her affection for Bi-Han, I decided to do a third breakdown on it.

To begin with, I don't believe that Sektor is being manipulated, is obeying out of duty, has been brainwashed by Bi-Han, sees Bi-Han as a father and so on.

I don't believe in these theories.

Sektor is doing everything because she wants to, because it suits her purposes. And most likely, she is the real mastermind behind the entire Lin Kuei evolution process. And no, I don't think she's manipulating Bi-Han. She is simply guiding him to achieve the dreams he shared with her (as stated in her own bio). Like, they are partners.

According to her bio — which basically serves to help you understand the character's motivations and what led them to engage in mortal kombat — Sektor is Bi-Han's kindred spirit.

As I've stated in other posts, a kindred spirit means this:

"Kindred spirits are like-minded and like-souled people with whom an instant connection of love and understanding is mutually experienced," clinical psychologist Carla Marie Manly, Ph.D., tells mbg. "The connection is inimitable and often defies verbal description."

People who share common interests, values, or worldviews might be described as kindred spirits. "In more spiritual words, we could say that they resonate at the same frequency, and there is matching energy between them," Katherine Bihlmeier, a relationship coach specializing in energy work, tells mbg.

And this is the AI's answer:

"Sense a kindred spirit" means to recognize someone as having similar interests, opinions, or feelings to you. For example, you might say "He sensed a kindred spirit and reached out to her".

Some other signs that you've found a kindred spirit include:

Common interests: You may share the same hobbies, opinions, or values.

Immediate connection: You tend to recognize each other quickly and form an immediate connection.

Strong bond: Kindred spirits tend to form strong bonds with each other that often transcend time and distance.

The earliest known use of the noun "kindred spirit" is in the early 1700s, in the writing of Isaac Watts, an Independent minister and writer.

The meaning is broad and can be applied to any type of intimate relationship where those involved have a strong (and unbreakable) bond and share common interests (without judgment, both understand and respect each other). We already know that Sektor is not related to Bi-Han (Sektor's mother is Madam Bo, a former Lin Kuei warrior leader, and her father is a respected retired Lin Kuei master armorer. While Bi-Han's mother was an excellent fighter who died a long time ago, and Bi-Han's father is the deceased Grandmaster), which leaves it to an intimate connection that arose based on a friendship (remembering that kindred spirit also implies that it was an instant connection, so it's unlikely that they have been friends since childhood) or a romantic relationship.

Before Sektor's bio was revealed, I was inclined to believe it was just a friendship based on common interests, but since nrs usually uses "kindred spirit" as a kind of love term…

And Bi-Han as a pround (no one bests a Lin Kuei ~Subzero mk1) and lonely leader of an ancient warrior clan (a real clan, a group of close-knit and interrelated families. They grow the clan by having children among themselves, not by kidnapping children from the streets as in previous timelines) who made Sektor (previously just a master armorer and a skilled warrior) his second in command (even before his brother Kuai Liang and his adopted brother Tomas abandoned him, as Kuai Liang himself subtly says in the story mode…

Like, why would the daughter of a master armorer and her apprentice be a major impediment to the second and third in line of succession? We already know why. Because Bi-Han made Sektor his lieutenant as soon as he took over as Grandmaster and Cyrax for being associated with both (Bi-Han, the grandmaster who believed in her and she trusted him, and Sektor her commander and ruthless instructor) ended up becoming a sort of third in command of the Lin Kuei.

), I'm inclined to believe in the second hypothesis.

She sounds really close to him…

She doesn't even call him Grandmaster…

Even though she respects him as Grandmaster.

She'll rescue him and humiliate herself so that Liu Kang can restore him (she may not get on her knees, but just the fact that she asks Liu Kang to restore him, knowing that she shares Bi-Han's contempt for Liu Kang, I'm sure that resorting to Liu Kang was humiliating for her)

Since the Sub-Zero ending, we already know that Bi-Han admires her a lot and shares everything with her…

She's more than the second in command of the Lin Kuei. Much more…

What are the real chances of there being nothing more than friendship? I mean…

I wish I had a friend like that!

Let's be real, Sektor is his ride-or-die girl.

[artbyblastweave]

As a game mechanic, Karma was disadvantageous because it injected obtrusive level of awareness of authorial intent into every situation that raised or lowered your Karma (and in doing so frequently demonstrated deranged moral reasoning in how the points are allocated.) In New Vegas specifically, though, I found Karma advantageous in conjunction with the reputation system, because it tracks your character’s long-term behavior on an axis that the reputation system isn’t measuring. “Principled Person Despised by Authority” and “Omnimalevolent Weasel with A Great Eye For PR” are both well-worn archetypes that a dual Karma/Reputation system is able to model to some extent. It also provides another fun axis on which to engage with your companions- Boone leaves you if you piss off the NCR, Veronica leaves if you piss off the Brotherhood, but Cass leaves if you're just generally, generically a shithead- which is an incomplete venn diagram with those other two, and the contrast can serve as an interesting characterization vehicle IMO.

There are ways in which the affinity system in Fallout 4 was a step forward, primarily in how it lanced the obtrusive authorial judgements and more-or-less coherently tied it into the values of whichever companion you're currently travelling with. It also smoothly got around one failure mode of New Vegas- the incredibly specific, poorly telegraphed and thus frequently inorganic sequence in which you had to bring followers to places in order to trigger their affinity points. However, I've always had the vibe that the intended dynamic for Fallout 4 was that you'd pick and stick with a companion that would mesh with your intended playstyle- but I get the impression that what happens in practice is that players instead alter their playstyle for as long as it takes to juice up each companion's affinity meter, which can result in some pretty wild behavioral swings that you have to put some legwork into justifying from a roleplay perspective. And this compounds with the fact that the game isn't really tracking much else about who you are as a person. Your special stats are way less rigid. Nuanced faction reputation is out the window because factions themselves are sort of sidelined as a relevant mechanic outside the big four, and with the big four it's kinda all-or-nothing as to whether you're in their good books. Side quests tend to be fairly siloed in their impact, and Karma's gone. My decision to open fire on a population center, or lack thereof, feels more acknowledged in New Vegas than in 4. I guess If I were made Fallout Czar I'd probably do a tripartite system- Companion Affinity AND the New Vegas 4x4 faction reputation system AND some re-implementation of Karma, or some analogous system of tracking in which direction you break when asked to make a decision. Deontological vs. Utilitarian. Authoritarian vs Libertarian. Practical vs. Sadistic. Track everything. Break out the quadrants. Make the engine weep blood

[villainsposting]

On Tarn and His Mask

I think it's interesting that Tarn, despite being the leader of the DJD, sticks out in how comparatively ordinary he is in appearance. All the other members have in-built physical quirks that set them apart from your usual Cybertronian, be it a massive blender in their midsection, empty eye sockets, a detachable face or a smelting pot alt-mode. Tarn opted out of any such features even though he was fully re-engineered from his post-Empurata frame at some point. All Tarn really has going for him is the (cool) mask, but beneath that, he is just your regular Cybertronian.

Furthermore, Tarn holds much more fervor for the Decepticon cause than his team members, and he even claims to not enjoy the torture they enact as much as the others do, choosing to look away from it at opportune moments. He even claims that hiding his closed eyes whenever he chooses to turn away from the torture is the purpose of the mask, of which I am doubtful, but it's certainly a fascinating visual for a character's distaste towards their own actions to be hidden behind a cover shaped like their faction's insignia. Either way, in his eyes, he is doing something necessary for the Decepticon cause, not just engaging in gratuitous violence.

To me, his appearance and the way it differs from his team has a strong relation to his backstory. Although Tarn is an outlier and a powerful figure in the Decepticon faction, he was still once a regular mech, a greatly underprivileged mech, even. His turn towards the Decepticon cause is framed as something drastic, something that was exceptionally unlikely for a mech like him, yet under Megatron's guidance, he became the worst of the faction.

In this way, his design, specifically his mask being his most distinguishing characteristic, is emblematic of the corrupting force of Megatron and the Decepticon cause. Outwardly, not much about him suggests his penchant for violence extreme even by Decepticon standards (let's ignore the menacing black-purple color scheme he ain't special in that). Even the special power he uses to kill was once used to save. It's the Decepticon cause and Megatron, symbolized by the mask he wears, that made him the cruel sadist that he is.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

hi! hope you're doing okay—I've got a holocaust-history-in-media question for you. I was talking to my brother the other day, and he mentioned how his 10-year-old son tried out "Anne Frank mode" on the meta VR headset. I was kind of horrified, because that sounds deeply exploitative and disrespectful—but he went on to say it's just a VR version of the Anne Frank house, and that it let my nephew explore history in a new way. He was able to touch things and move them around in a way he wouldn't be able to IRL, not to mention the accessibility of not having to travel.

My nephew's kind of an unusual kid, and he chose this "game" while at a friend's house. All the other kids got bored and left pretty much immediately, but he stayed to learn, and my brother says that at the end his takeaway was, "It's so sad. It's so sad and awful what human beings do to each other."

Part of me is just like "No, absolutely not, that is not for VR companies to profit off of in any way, this feels inherently exploitative." But idk. If it increases accessibility and education in a meaningful way, then perhaps that disquiet is simply reactionary.

Then I remembered I have access to an actual Holocaust historian, someone who even specializes in women's narratives and the media portrayals of same.

So, no worries if you're busy/don't have time to respond to this, but I thought it might be an interesting question for you. Do you think the VR Anne Frank house is a good thing?

Ooooooh this is an interesting one. It's also a question that I think I would have answered differently a few years ago. I mean, I've posted here about my issues with central role Anne Frank has been accorded within Holocaust memory, I've posted about the politics of people playing Pokemon Go at sites of atrocities and disasters...

But. Technology changes SO quickly. I read this fantastic article probably 10+ years ago now about how the millennial generation began to express collective nostalgia SO quickly and so young, because technology and the norms it introduces change so quickly. I'm 34 and while that's hardly ancient, the technological world inhabited by children and adolescents is effectively alien to me because of this massive, rapid, ongoing change.

Moreover, I think the pandemic gave us all an...unwanted but helpful bootcamp in what works wrt education over the phone/computer, and what doesn't. In my personal and professional life, I've met and spoken with STEM companies/individuals who specialize in working with museums, historical societies, etc. And they're not just in it to make a buck--they're there to work with museums etc in increasing access and keeping up with educational trends because they know it's important and smart people value STEAM education.

So, despite my acknowledged concerns issued in the first paragraph, and the kneejerk negative reaction I think you and I share, I think my conclusion is that this is a good thing. Like, as a Holocaust historian, pubic historian, educator, and now a Hebrew School teacher of 7-11 year olds, I think whatever gets kids interested and engaged is Good; whatever draws them and gets them thinking about it is Good; even if the tech and infrastructure involved is something that I previously took (philosophical) issue with.

This doesn't mean I don't still have concerns about the centrality of Anne Frank, but let's be real: I lost that battle a long time ago. I've said my piece, and if Anne Frank is going to be kids' gateway into learning about the Holocaust, I'm glad to see that it's being done responsibly, well, and in keeping with how kids engage with education and tech in 2024.

There are, obviously, many theoretical conversations to be had about the implications of this kind of thing, and I hope a grad student applies like, Walter Benjamin to it for a first year paper, but this is my answer purely in terms of access and education.

[euringerhusband]

Long awaited intro post . Who cried?

Uuuuuuh my name is sawyer which is what moat people call me but ive been callled squid on occasions by mutuals … ive also just usually called euringerhusband which is fine by me

Im a little 16 year old unemployed femboy boy and i use the boy pronouns . Dont mind thay i look like a girl im just an emo i swear on my life.

Decent sized list of bands/artists fw:

Msi(mainly jimmy), kmfdm, acumen nation, miss contruction, gwar, nin, depeche mode, duran duran, 7a7p, asking alexandria, ismfof, planes mistaken for stars, swpb, secrets kept in suicide, oh sweet ransom, not for now, marilyn manson, death in december, bauhaus, siouxsie and the banshees, vampires everywhere!, dance gavin dance, falling in reverse, toxic lipstick, ashbury heights, picture me broken, memphis may fire, the prodigy, powerman5000, type o neg, ministry, my life with the thrill kill kult, chemlab, genitorturers, modest mouse, AND DEFINITELY MORE. ASK. I WILL TALK FOR AGES.

Heres a little bit of face action so you can see my majestic face card (its my credibility)(my boyfriend loves my emo face card)

I write fanfic (usually about stimmy) and i draw art and i engage in jimmy urine activities (have been specially interested in james euringer for about 5 or 6 years! Side spin is garfield for about 7 years!)

Anywho im just fooling around on here loll most of my other socials are also under this username! Which makes it awkward because my dms are half people talking about stimmy and half talking about the next state testing day

Hagd or wtv