#desire paths in program use

[halflingcaravan]

One thing I hope Serif/Affinity folks are doing is using some of the usage metrics they are likely gathering to do “Desire Paths” on their UX/UI. Especially since they have lots of custom hot keys as a design element.

[drdemonprince]

I grew up with abstinence-only sex education, and it did a real number on me. But I’ve shaken off enough of my old cultural programming to realize that the transmission of bacteria and viruses is a thing that sometimes just happens when animals come together, no matter how stringently we might try to prevent it.

I have gotten urinary tract infections when a stray microbe found its way into my urethra after sex. Lube and bodily fluids have disturbed my vagina’s pH and caused a yeast infection many times. So has wearing a bathing suit for too long without drying it, yet another “risk” worth the pleasures of swimming along the sea wall.

Once or twice I’ve had an outbreak of cold sores, just like 80% of humans. If I’m like most people, I probably caught oral herpes when I was very young, sharing a sippy cup or rolling around at a sleepover.

None of this makes me disgusting, irresponsible, evil, or dangerous to others. It just makes me a living creature that exists in close contact with other creatures. I believe I have a responsibility to get tested regularly, to alert people who have been close to me when I get sick, and to use preventative measures like condoms, PreP, vaccines, toys, and masks to prevent the spread of infections as best I can. But I never imagine I can lead a life without risk — or that such a life would even be desirable.

There is no such thing as completely “safe” sex. A friend of mine can’t use condoms because they give her bacterial vaginosis. She chooses instead to fuck raw and take PreP and get anything else she catches treated. A guy I know who masks and tests religiously caught COVID while fisting someone (with a gloved hand!) at an air-filtered party. HPV is so prevalent that most sexual wellness clinics don’t bother testing for it, and can’t do much for a patient if they do have it. Our bodies are teeming at all times with various endemic viruses and microbes that we will never have the power to purge.

Then there are the possible costs of not having sex — vaginal atrophy, pelvic floor weakening, reduced access to endorphins, loneliness, touch starvation, the despair of harboring dreams that one never dares try. I can’t decide for anyone else which dangers loom the largest, but for me a gonorrhea shot is a fair trade for the hours of leg-cramping, bed-staining, hypno-kinky sex that led to it. There’s no guarantee that the next time I have sex it will be anywhere near as much fun, but the potential keeps me throwing the dice.

I hear quite frequently from sexually inexperienced Autistic people who crave an intimate connection, but desperately wish to remain responsible and “safe.” They want there to be a set of iron-tight rules they can follow that will guarantee they remain a virtuous person who never hurts anyone’s feelings, and never catches any sexually transmitted infection.

I understand why they want someone to impose order onto an unpredictable, terrifying world. But I can’t give that certainty to them, nor can anyone. All I can suggest is that they be honest with themselves about what they want, inform themselves of the costs and benefits to pursuing their desires, and then venture forward — proudly welcoming the correct risks into their life, rather than trying to avoid any risks at all.

Life is nothing but a negotiation of risk. If a person has gender dysphoria and they want to combat it, they must risk a transition they could one day regret. If an abolitionist wants to take a stand against the police state, they must plan for the possibility of arrest or political repression. When we open our hearts to love, we expose ourselves to grief — our partners will keep changing and growing, sometimes away from us. Each step that we take forward in life closes off potential paths. There is no avoiding this.

Instead of chasing after the false promise of “safety,” trying to remain completely insulated from harm and challenge forever, we must get better at admitting risk into our lives.

I wrote about all about the messy business of risk mitigation, and how the pursuit of perfect safety is used to justify isolation, theft of bodily autonomy, and political repression. It's free to read (or have narrated to you by the app!) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[soulsnatcha3000]

Devour You

Summary: Evelyn Rose Harris and Sammie ‘Preacher Boy’ Moore have been inseparable since childhood—laughing, fighting, and always knowing each other better than anyone else. For her, Sammie Moore has always been the one. She’s tried to bury her feelings for years, but now, the space between them feels different. A look. A touch. A tension that’s been brewing for far too long. Sammie’s no longer oblivious, and neither is she.

In the heat of their unspoken desire, everything is about to change.

Warnings: is there really any? We know how freaky he is. okay sorry seriously though.

Oral Sex(fem receiving), Praise, Unprotected Sex

a/n: I had to write one myself guys. Hope yall enjoy reading this! Let me know what yall think🫶🏾

Clarksdale, Mississippi, 1932: Church

It was a hot, sunny day in Mississippi, the kind where the air sticks to your skin like molasses. My dress clung to me from the heat, and the warm air inside the church didn’t help either. I must’ve been spacing out because before I knew it, my little sister was tugging on my hand.

“Evie, we gots to go. Momma said you gotta help with dinner,” Janie Mae said, her soft voice snapping me out of my haze.

My sweet little Janie Mae—best little sister a girl could ask for, even though she knows just how to get on my last nerve. I smiled down at her and let her lead me out. Folks were already heading toward the exit, saying their goodbyes to the preacher. Some were still caught in conversation, fanning themselves with paper programs.

I waved goodbye to the preacher, who smiled and waved right back. But my eyes were scanning the crowd. Now where is that hard-headed best friend of mine?

We stepped out into the sunlight, and just as I blinked against the glare, I felt hands on my shoulders.

“Boo!”

I jumped and spun around, ready to swat somebody. But then I saw that familiar grin. My body instantly relaxed.

“That ain’t funny, preacher boy!” I smacked his shoulder while he laughed, full and loud, his grin stretching wide across his face.

“Oh come on now, it was a lil’ bit funny. Wasn’t it, Janie Mae?” he said, leaning down and holding out his hand.

Janie Mae giggled and gave him a high five.

My jaw dropped. “Janie! You were in on that?”

“I’m sorry, sissy,” she said dramatically. “But preacher boy said he’d sing for me again! And I haven’t heard him sing in sooooo long!”

“Wow, Janie. Him over me? It’s like that?”

Before she could respond, we heard our momma and daddy calling us from across the churchyard.

“Mrs. Harris invited my dad and me over for dinner,” preacher boy said, a little softer now. “I’ll talk to you then.”

And just like that, he leaned in and kissed my forehead before turning back toward the church, heading inside with his hands in his pockets.

I think I melted. No—I know I did. I am now a puddle on this dusty path.

Janie Mae looked up at me with that smug little smile, eyebrows raised like she knew something. I grinned and gently pushed her face away.

“Go on now,” I laughed, breaking into a run toward our parents.

“Momma! Evie pushed my face!” Janie Mae tattled, dramatic as ever.

“Oh, here you go,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Momma, it was harmless—we were just playin’.”

Momma gave us that look—half stern, half amused—and shook her head. “Get in the car so we can head on home.”

“Last one to the car washes the dishes!” Janie hollered before tearing off across the grass.

I bolted after her, dust kicking up behind my shoes.

⸻

Harris Household || 6:00

By the time we got home and washed up, the sticky heat was replaced with the cool relief of soap and clean clothes. I tied my hair up and joined Momma in the kitchen to help with dinner.

As I stirred the greens, she looked over at me with that sly smile.

“So…what’s happening between you and preacher boy?”

I ducked my head, trying not to grin. “Nothing, Momma. We’re just friends.”

She smacked her teeth. “Mmhmm. I said the same thing about your daddy when we was y’all’s age.”

I looked up at her, laughing softly. My daddy was the son of a preacher, too. And wouldn’t you know it, his best friend back then? My momma.

“I see the way you look at him,” she said, passing me the cornbread batter.

“It’s adorable.”

I shook my head, cheeks warm, and slid the cornbread into the oven. Then I started setting the table, trying to shake the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Just as I placed the last fork down, there was a knock at the front door.

I froze.

⸻

There was a knock at the door—just one, firm and polite. Not rushed or nervous. I knew exactly who it was.

Momma gave me a look, one eyebrow raised. “Well? You just gon’ stand there or open the door?”

I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried to the front, heart tapping fast against my ribs. When I opened the door, there he stood—preacher boy, looking a little too clean in his Sunday shirt, his hands tucked behind his back like he had something to hide.

His daddy was behind him, talking to mine already on the porch, their voices low and friendly.

“Evenin’, Miss Evie,” he said, grinning brightly.

“Evenin’,” I said back, matching his smile without even meaning to. “You clean up nice.”

He chuckled, rocking back on his heels. “You say that like I don’t always.”

“You don’t,” I said, arms crossed. “Sometimes you show up lookin’ like you wrestled a hay bale.”

“And won,” he added, bold as ever.

I rolled my eyes and stepped aside to let him in. The house was filled with that good home-cooked smell—greens simmering, cornbread baking, fried chicken fresh out the skillet. He gave a polite nod to Momma, who gave him a playful side-eye like she knew what was going on even before I did.

Dinner passed with the usual chatter and laughter. Janie Mae insisted on sitting right next to him, even fed him a bite of her sweet potatoes like she was showing him off. Daddy and Reverend Greene talked long, and Momma kept sending me looks across the table every time preacher boy said something sweet or looked my way too long.

After the dishes were cleared and Janie Mae was begging for seconds on peach cobbler, Daddy told me to “go sit out a while and let your food settle.”

So we stepped out on the porch with two bowls of cobbler and a sky full of stars above us. The air had cooled just enough to feel like a real summer night.

He sat beside me on the swing, spoon digging into his bowl.

“So,” he said between bites, “you hear about what Smoke and Stack got goin’ on?”

I raised an eyebrow. “If this is about that juke joint, I ain’t going.”

He looked mildly offended. “What? Cmon Evie you gotta go! You know I ain’t gone go without you.”

“Mmmhm. I bet.”

He shook his head, laughing. “I’m serious!” he said, glancing over at me, “what fun is goin’ without you?”

I looked at him sideways, hiding a smile. “You tryin’ to ask me to sneak out?”

He shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not sayin’ we gotta sneak. Just sayin’… music, dancing, a bit of drinking… sounds better with you there.”

I scoffed lightly, but my heart was doing flips. “Boy, you really think you slick, don’t you?”

He leaned in just a little, voice low and playful. “Only with you.”

We sat in a warm, quiet kind of silence after that, spoons scraping softly against bowls. The swing creaked under us, and somewhere down the road a dog barked once, then quieted.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally, licking the last of the cobbler from my spoon. And I could’ve sworn from the corner of my eye, he watched as I did.

He didn’t say nothin’ at first—just smiled, like he already knew I would.

I sighed giving in. “Alright.” I smiled side eyeing him.

He nudged me smiling. “I’d knew you say yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Give me some time to get ready, and once everyone is in bed I’ll sneak out.”

He kissed my cheek and my face heated up. My lord, can he stop with the kisses!

“Lemme take your bowl for you.” I handed him my bowl and he got up going inside, and I watched as he did. And you know what I saw? My daddy looking at me his eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on his face.

Mr. Moore and my dad hugged bye and told preacher boy to head on out so they can go home, he came out the house and walked down the porch steps glancing my way once more.

I think it was his way of saying. “Don’t forget, and be discreet!”

I shook my head smiling to myself and he smiled once more before turning walking with his dad.

⸻

Later that night, the house was quiet. Daddy had fallen asleep in his chair, the soft rumble of his snores drifting down the hallway. Janie Mae was tucked up in bed, one arm thrown over her stuffed rabbit. And Momma? She was humming low, folding laundry in the back room with the door mostly closed.

I stared at my bedroom ceiling for what felt like hours, heart pounding louder than it had on the porch swing.

Was I really about to do this?

I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, easing the window open slow as molasses. The breeze felt cooler now, brushing against my face like a secret. I’d already changed into a simple cotton dress—not too fancy, but not plain either—and tied my hair back with a little red ribbon.

“Lord, forgive me,” I whispered, one leg out the window. “This boy gon’ be the death of me.”

I dropped down lightly and crept across the yard, heels in my hand until I made it to the edge of the trees where he said he’d wait.

And there he was—leaning against a tree like he’d been born to look reckless and fine at the same time. He looked up the second he heard me.

Hands in his pockets, looking up at the stars like he wasn’t nervous at all. When he heard my footsteps, he turned around—and the way his face lit up, Lord, you would’ve thought he was lookin’ at the Fourth of July sky itself.

“I didn’t think you’d really come,” he said, voice soft and a little amazed.

I huffed, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t get used to it.”

But before I could say anything else, he smiled wide and said, “You look like a whole dream, Evie.”

I tried to look unimpressed. Failed miserably.

“Boy, hush,” I mumbled, heat creeping up my neck.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer, that little crooked grin working its usual magic. “You prettier than anything I ever prayed for.”

I looked away quick, pretending to check the road, but my heart was doing somersaults inside my chest.

He offered his hand out, palm up.

“Come on. It ain’t but a little walk down the road. Music’s already playin’, and I ain’t about to miss dancin’ with you.”

I sighed loud, rolling my eyes just for show. “A little walk?” I teased, slipping my hand into his. “In this heat, it’s gon’ feel like a long one.”

He laughed low, squeezing my fingers gentle. “I’ll carry you if you melt.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “You better not drop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I stared at our jointed hands for a second longer than I should’ve. I thought about Momma, about how wrong it was to sneak out like this. Thought about the preacher’s boy and all the ways he was no good for a girl trying to stay outta trouble.

But then I thought about how he looked at me like I hung the stars myself.

I sighed, real dramatic, just to save face. Then I placed my hand in his.

His fingers laced through mine, sure and gentle at the same time. He grinned like Christmas came early.

We walked along the dirt road, the moonlight catching on the dust beneath our feet. Up ahead, we could already hear the hum of music—smooth, low, and alive. Smoke and Stack’s juke joint sat just past the edge of town, glowing warm with yellow light and laughter spilling from the open doors.

Club Juke || 7:00

The place was lit up, l squinted a bit seeing cornbread guarding the door as we walked closer.

Cornbread’s face lit up. “Ain’t no way. Little miss Evie! Can’t believe you done let him drag you here.”

I chuckled. “He ain’t drag me here Cornbread, I came on my own free will.”

Cornbread smiling, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yall come on in.”

The place was vibrant, everyone dancing and drinking. Some people eating and talking each other’s ears off, laughing so loudly it was impossible not to feel caught up in the energy.

“You gone sing tonight?” I turned to him, scanning his features—his jawline, his smile, the way his lips curved when he spoke. No, Evelyn. Control yourself.

And then he looked at me, and there was something in his eyes—something I’d never seen before. It wasn’t just the playful teasing. It was… different. A little deeper. Focus.

“Of course I’m gone sing tonight,” he said, the tone of his voice almost too confident.

God, his lips. No. No, I warned myself. But still, they looked so… plump, and the things he could probably do with those lips…

“Evie!” He called out, his voice cutting through the music.

“Hm? What?” I snapped my gaze away from his lips, suddenly aware of how stupid I must look.

He chuckled, his eyebrows furrowing just enough to show he noticed something was off. “You alright?”

I swallowed nervously, trying to keep my cool. ���Uh, yeah, course’ I’m okay. Why?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cause I asked you twice what you wanted to drink.”

Oh. Right. I blinked, realizing I hadn’t even heard him the first time, too busy distracted by… well, him.

“Uh… um,” I fumbled for the words. “You got whiskey?”

“Whiskey? I thought you were a wine girl.”

I shrugged, trying to act like my sudden increase in heart rate had nothing to do with the proximity between us. “I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”

His grin widened, and I swear he looked at me like he knew exactly what was going on in my head. “I’ll get you something strong, then.”

As he turned to walk toward the bar, I could’ve sworn I saw him give me one last look, one that made my pulse skip a beat. I leaned against the nearest table, mentally cursing myself. Get it together, Evelyn. You can handle this.

But I wasn’t sure anymore. Not with him looking at me like that.

A couple moments later I see Preacher boy talking to someone, she’s beautiful as ever. Her skin glistened and she had the prettiest smile ever. I walked over to them.

“Hi.” I said awkwardly. Preacher boy handed me my drink. “Shoot, I’m sorry Evie, didn’t mean to have you waiting so long.”

“It’s okay, really.” And the woman looked over to me.

“You must be Evie, it’s nice to meet you.” Her voice silky smooth. I nodded. “I am and its nice to meet you…” I cut off.

“Pearline.” The woman said smiling softly. I smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you Pearline, are you gone sing tonight as well?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.’’ And then looked back to Preacher boy, giving him a look and then back at me.

“Do you sing Evie?” She asked politely.

“God no, my singing is terrible, I do write though.” I laughed and so did she.

“Really? Well I’d love to read some of your songs one day.” She smiled and I smiled back.

“Well you two enjoy your night, and again it was nice metting you.” She smiled softly, glancing at preacher boy before walking way.

“Sooo…she seems to like you.” I said to him as he watched her walk away. I scoffed, shaking my head. And then he turned to me.

“What?” He asked and then he realized. “Oh. Cmon now Evie.”

“You obviously seem to like her, I don’t want to interfere with y’all little thing you got goin on.” The jealousy oozing out of my tone.

“She’s married, and why do you care Evie. I-I mean we’re best friends…” He look conflicted. Confused as to what to do or even say.

“And let me guess when she told you she was married your response was…?” I wait for him to finish the sentence and he sighed looking away before looking at me.

“Happily…” He drawled off a bit.

“Happily.” I nodded my head. “Wow, so what you get a little feeling going on in your little.. thing down there and try to get with a married woman?!” I was disgusted.

“She ain’t say she was happily married! And who said anything about “it” being little?!” He tried to defend himself and then realized how absolutely stupid he sounded.

I shook my head, gulping down my whiskey. “Have a fun night with Pearline, who by the way is married!” I began to walk away and he grabbed my wrist.

“Boy if you don’t let go—“ he cut me off.

“You’re gonna what? Really Evie. Just let me—” He responded. Now he’s testing my patience.

“I’ll punch you so fucking hard in your throat that by time you go up and try to sing in front of all these people, you wont even be able to say the damn words coming out your mouth. Now let me go.” I said seriously look him in the eye and he so he did.

And I walked away, I then bumped into someone. Stack. “Woah, my bad you alrigh—“ before he could even finish the sentence he finally realized who I was. “Ain’t no goddamn way, Evie?” He said surprised.

“Hey stack.” I smiled softly and then he hugged me tightly before pulling back. “Whatchu doing here?” He asked.

“I’m here with preacher boy, but he done just pissed me off so I’m avoiding him now.” I looked around a bit before looking back at him.

Stack sighed. ‘’What’d he do?” He asked.

“Tried to get with a married woman.” I stated.

“She happily married?” He asked and my jaw dropped. Now I see where he gets it from.

“And this conversation is now over.” I walked away.

“Wait Evie- damn.” He sighed before walking away as well.

A couple minutes go by, and through the crowd, I catch sight of Preacher Boy, standing there with his guitar, introducing himself. The twins are leaning against two different pillars, just opposite each other, like they were born to be on opposite sides.

Then he starts singing. And God — his voice. It hit me straight in the chest, like it was made to find every piece of me I didn’t even know was there. You could hear it — how much he loved it, how much he needed it.

I remember this one afternoon, helping Momma with the laundry, and looking out to see him on the porch, guitar in his lap, singing soft to my little sister like she was the whole world. That was the day I fell for him. That was the day I knew I didn’t just want him as my best friend — I wanted all of him.

He played like the guitar was stitched into his bones, like the music was the only language he’d ever learned how to speak.

In that moment, it didn’t matter how many summers we’d spent side by side, or how many times I’d laughed at his dumb jokes — it was different now. It was like seeing him for the very first time, and knowing, without a doubt, my heart was already his.

Everyone was dancing — spinning and swaying under the string lights, laughter thick in the air — but I couldn’t move. I was rooted there, holding my breath like if I blinked, he might disappear.

The last note hung in the air for a second, trembling, before it disappeared into the noise of clapping and laughter.

I was still standing there, heart pounding, when he found me.

He pushed through the crowd without thinking, without waiting, like he couldn’t get to me fast enough. And then he was there, grabbing my hand, holding on like he was afraid I’d run.

“Please,” he said, voice low and rough, “please let me explain.”

The music was still ringing in my ears, the lights spinning around us, but none of it mattered. Just him, just that look in his eyes — desperate, scared, like whatever he had to say was the only thing keeping him standing.

He dragged me to a room and closed the door so we can talk.

“Ain’t nothing to talk about.” I said plainly as he closed the door behind him and then turned to me.

“I don’t want Pearline, Evie.” He stated plainly. Holding eye contact with me. His voice heavy, like he wholeheartedly meant that.

But.. I don’t know the way he looked at her even if he was for a slit second.

“I know what you’re thinking okay? The way I looked at her right? You think based off of that I would want her?” I looked down at my feet.

“Cmon Eve, don’t do that talk to me please.” He stepped closer and I looked back up at him.

I might be delusional or crazy, but I know what I saw — the way he looked at her, even if it was just for a second.

He stepped closer, real slow, like he didn’t wanna spook me. Like he was reading my thoughts.

“You ain’t crazy, Evie,” he said, voice low and thick. “But you got it twisted.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hold myself together.

“Twisted how?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

He let out this shaky breath and looked me dead in the eye.

“It’s always been you. I just—” his voice cracked a little, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. “I got scared, Evie. Thought maybe… maybe you didn’t feel the same. Thought if I looked at somebody else, even for a second, it’d hurt less if you didn’t want me back.”

I blinked, heart pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

“That’s real stupid,” I muttered, voice breaking.

He gave this half-broken laugh, stepping even closer, close enough I could feel every shaky breath he took.

“Yeah. It was real stupid,” he said, eyes never leaving mine. “I only want you, Evie. Been wantin’ you. Just too much of a fool to say it right.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Evie,” he said, voice low and rough, “can I—can I just show you how much I want you?”

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t planned. It was messy and real, like he was scared if he didn’t say it now, he’d never get the chance.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I just stared at him, feeling my heart beat so loud it hurt.

“I ain’t tryna mess this up. I just—” he bit down on the words like they hurt coming out, “I need you to know. I need you to feel it. ‘Cause talkin’ ain’t enough no more.”

He was breathing hard now, like it took everything he had to stand there and not just grab me and show me anyway.

“Tell me no if you don’t want this,” he said, voice cracking a little. “But if you do… Evie, just—just let me.”

I nodded, almost mindlessly, cupping his face and kissing him. He didn’t hesitate — his lips against mine were desperate, hungry, and soon his hands found their place on my waist, gently guiding me back until I was up against the table. My breath hitched as his kiss deepened, and just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he pulled away, his forehead resting against mine.

“W-why’d you pull away?” I whispered, breathless, trying to catch my breath as I looked up at him.

He looked into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost overwhelming, and then glanced down at my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“I wanna try something,” he said, his voice thick with need, and I felt a rush of heat spread through me.

Before I could respond, I felt my dress being gently lifted. My hand shot out instinctively, landing on his wrist.

“Wait—”

“We walked all the way here, let me freshen up first—” I started, but he cut me off, pushing me back just a little so I was sitting on the edge of the table.

I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest, trying to steady myself. And then he slowly, almost reverently, dropped to his knees in front of me.

Damn. The sight of him like that — it made my breath catch in my throat.

“You don’t need to…” he started, his eyes were full of something so deep, so raw, and I couldn’t find the strength to finish my sentence.

He lifted my dress higher, his lips trailing up my inner thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through me.

“Preacher boy…” I whispered softly, feeling my chest tighten.

He stopped, looking up at me with a question in his eyes. He wasn’t rushing me, but he was waiting, waiting for me to make the next move.

“Are you sure?” His voice was barely a whisper, but I could hear the uncertainty in it, the care.

I nodded, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice small, but filled with the same intensity.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine like he needed to know for sure. Then, with a slow, deep breath, he spoke again.

“Evelyn, you’re beautiful. I just wanna taste you…”

And that was it. The words unlocked something in me. I wanted this. I needed this.

He gently pulled my bloomers down. I was already swollen and wet; and when he nudged my legs open—he was rewarded by the beautiful sight of my glistening arousal, his touch light but sure, and before i could even think, he didn’t waste a second.

I gasped as I felt his mouth on my clit, sucking softly. I immediately let out a soft moan. And once he heard that, he knew… he was on the right path. He lapped at my vulva with such hunger, such desire.

His hands caress my thighs as he continued, he didn’t stop not once. “O-oh shit.” I moaned my eyebrows furrowed. My breathing a bit heavy—I lifted up my dress so I can watch him and I saw his eyes open as he looked up at me and didn’t look away not once.

“Feels so good, d-don’t stop please.” My toes curled as I threw my head back moaning loudly. I quickly covered my mouth with the hand that was on his head. He took one of his hands off my thigh and brought it up to my wrist shaking his head, and he quickly came up to talk.

“Don’t do that, I wanna hear you.” His breathing heavy.

“What if someone hears?” I asked worriedly. He shook his head again.

“Don’t even worry about that.” He went back to devouring me, as if it were a meal I moaned loudly.

“P-preacher boy.. S-Sammie.” I gasped softly shutting my eyes as I moaned in immense pleasure.

Before I closed them I could’ve sworn his eyes lit up at me using his actual name. I opened them again to see his still looking up at me. My goodness, I never knew my best friend was like this.

“I-I don’t want anyone to hear!” I whimpered. As my hand stayed on his head. He lifted his head up again.

“Evie, all you need you worry about is how good my mouth feels. Alright? Don’t think about nothing else. Just focus on this baby.” I melted. I always imagined how baby would sound coming out his mouth, and my imagination certainly lived up to it.

He went right back to what he was doing, and I could feel everything he was doing. The kissing, the moans and groans against me, the sucking.

Why is he so damn good at this?

He put my legs around his shoulders and gently pulled me to the edge of the table, the angle of which he’s tasting me at now a greater feeling.

My moans progressed louder and louder. “Fuck, preacher boy!” I whined. “O-oh my God.” I cried out.

I feel my stomach tighten. “O-oh baby—.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head. “I-I’m gonna—.” Before I could even finish my sentence my body shuddered.

My eyes closing tightly as I did so, I laid back��� letting the after shock take place.

I leaned up a bit, seeing preacher boy kiss my thighs gently. “You okay?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

I nodded, my mind a bit hazy. I took a couple seconds to gather myself before speaking and sat up.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” I asked and he chuckled.

“Just now.” He stated.

Funny. Really funny. It actually made me laugh, I saw him chuckle a bit but then realized he was serious.

“Oh you’re serious? Forreal?” I asked in a shocked tone.

“Yeah, forreal.” He licked his lips and laughed. “You think I just go around and… do this to other woman?”

“I mean—.” He cut me off.

“Evie!” He called out in disbelief, chuckling a bit.

“Okay okay no, i just—you’d think with.. how well you did that just now you’d have actual experience..” I shrugged and then suddenly an idea popped up in my head.

“I wanna try something now too.” I said in a sultry tone.

And then he bit his lip gently, looking down at my lips quickly then at my eyes. “Yeah? Whatchu wanna try?”

Boy, do I love his voice.

I pulled him forward by his belt buckle. Slowly unbuckling it. He looked down at what I was doing then back up at me.

“You sure?” He asked watching my expression.

“You just ate my pussy out… and you gone ask me if I’m sure?” I said in a questioning tone.

I can’t believe I just said that but the look on his face made it worth saying.

I unbuckled his belt, and then unbuttoned his pants. They immediately dropped down to the floor.

He immediately pulled down his boxer shorts and his pants pooling at his ankles.

My eyes widened slightly at the size of his cock and I looked back up at him to see him smiling a bit before laughing a little.

“If you don’t think you can handle it let me know now.” He joked, still smiling.

“Ha ha…let me ask you something.” I stared him dead in his eyes.

“I’m listening.” He responded as he waited for my question.

“How long you been wanting to fuck me Sammie?” I said. It was as if it wasn’t even me talking, like I had some sort of alter ego.

“Damn evie why you gotta talk like that?” He moaned gently as my hand reached over to stroke his cock. My fingers brushed against the sensitive underside of his flushed head.

“A couple weeks, months, a year or two?” I continued to stroke his cock and he moaned desperately, his eyes shut tight and he leaned his head forward on my shoulder.

“Want me to keep touching you Iike this or are you gone fuck me?” I whispered in his ear then kissed it gently.

He moaned again before he kissed my neck and I moved his cock closer to my folds. Slowly slipping his cock inside me, I gasped loudly as I put my hand on his stomach. He looked at me a bit worried.

“You good?” He asked, his hand gently cupping my cheek, his eyes searching mine like he was making sure I was all there.

I nodded, my voice soft but clear. “Yeah, I’m good… just, start slow, alright?” He gave me a reassuring smile, nodding before he leaned down, pressing a slow, languid kiss to my lips.

His kiss was soft, tender, and I melted into him, feeling the heat of his body pressing against mine. The way he kissed me, like he was taking his time, made my heart race, my body burning for more, but I wasn’t rushing. Not yet.

“Anything you need, baby,” he murmured against my lips, his hand sliding down to my waist, pulling me closer.

I could feel the tension building between us, but I didn’t want him to rush. Not now. “Just be with me,” I whispered, my hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. “Don’t hold back, but don’t rush it either.”

He nodded again, the intensity in his gaze not wavering as he slowly deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that had me shivering. The heat of his body, the slow slide of his hands, everything about him felt right — it was like he knew exactly what I needed, exactly how to touch me, how to make me feel alive in his arms.

He pulled back just enough to look at me again, his hand resting on my hip. “You tell me if you need me to stop,” he said, his voice low, like he was trying to keep it steady even though I could see the hunger in his eyes. “And I will okay?.”

I nodded, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten as I pressed closer to him, my hands running up his neck, pulling him back into another kiss.

He then broke the kiss, sinking inside me. He let out a moan and I let out a gasp. He began thrusting slowly, letting me get the feel of him and then he stopped. “I’m okay..you can move.” And so he did.

His forehead pressed against mine, our breaths tangled in the space between us as he moved inside me — slow, deep thrusts that made my whole body ache for him. Every roll of his hips dragged a soft whimper from my throat, and he swallowed the sound with a kiss, slow and messy and desperate.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he muttered against my mouth, his voice cracked open, raw. His hands roamed everywhere — down my sides, gripping my hips, smoothing up my thighs — like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch me most.

I shifted towards the edge of the table to him, tilting my hips to take him deeper, and the way he groaned low in his chest made my toes curl.

I moaned low, tilting my hips up to meet his rhythm, and that groan he let out? Almost made me forget how to breathe. “You ain’t stoppin’, right?” I whispered, my nails dragging down his back, feeling the muscle shift under my touch.

He looked down at me, eyes dark and heavy. “You wanna feel all of me, don’t you?” he rasped, his pace slow but deep, hitting places inside me that made everything inside me tighten. “Tell me you can take it.”

“Yeah,” I breathed, barely able to hold on, my body wanting more, needing more. “I can take all of you.”

He kissed me harder, his rhythm stuttering for a second before he found it again, a slow, grinding pace that made heat coil tight and heavy between my legs. His thumb brushed up my ribs, just under my breast, and he buried his face in my neck like he needed to catch his breath.

“Fuck evie,” he breathed against my skin, each word hot and broken. “ Shit baby.” He moaned lowly in my ear.

I arched against him, clutching him closer, every nerve in my body tuned to the way he moved, the way he filled me up and dragged me closer to the edge with every deep, aching stroke.

And when I looked up at him — at the way his eyes burned into mine, at the way his mouth fell open on a low, desperate moan — I knew he was right there with me, every second, every heartbeat, lost in it too.

His thrusts grew faster, more desperate, and I could barely keep up with the way my body was reacting. The pressure inside me was building, every nerve singing with the need for release.

“Still think it’s little?” he teased again, his voice rough with desire, but I couldn’t form a response.

I was lost in the feeling of him, in the way he moved inside me, in the way his hands gripped my body, pulling me closer to him with each deep stroke.

And all I could do was moan — the sound slipping out of me uncontrollably, my head spinning with the overwhelming sensation. The world outside of us didn’t exist anymore. There was only him, only this, and the way he was driving me insane with every move.

He groaned, his pace relentless, and I could feel the way his body tensed, like he was holding on to the last thread of control. I couldn’t keep up — I was too far gone, too lost in the sensation, my whole body shuddering as my moans became louder, more desperate.

The sound of our skin slapping together echoed in the room, each deep thrust of his driving me closer to the edge. His rhythm was relentless, his pace picking up as he grew desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of me — like he needed me this way.

Every movement was met with the wet, desperate noises of our bodies colliding, the slickness of it making everything feel even more intense, more real. The air around us was thick with the sounds of it — the rhythm of his thrusts, the slick, audible slide of skin against skin, the way my breath came out in short, desperate gasps.

His grip tightened on my hips, pulling me closer, forcing me to take him deeper with each thrust. The pressure inside me built higher and higher, my body trembling with every stroke. I couldn’t hold back the moans, the sounds spilling out of me as I was consumed by the feeling of him — his hands on me, the hard, fast rhythm, the way he made every inch of me burn.

I could feel it — every wet, slippery drag of him inside me, every heated breath against my neck, the way his cock filled me completely. And all I could do was moan, the sound spilling from my lips uncontrollably, my body shaking with the overwhelming pleasure.

he stuffs me full of his cock; pushing himself so deeply that he feels the stretch of me gaping around him.

The noise of it, the sound of our bodies meeting, grew louder, the wet sounds almost deafening now. It was like the world had faded away, and all that was left was this — him, me, the rhythm of our bodies, the desperation, the need, the way our movements were becoming erratic, broken.

My moans turned high and broken, my body clenching around him so tight I felt him stutter inside me.

“Shiiit… you feel that?” he grunted against my ear, voice ragged. “Grip me like that again.”

I couldn’t even think — my nails dragging down his back, my thighs shaking around his hips. Every time he slammed into me, I felt myself getting closer, that tight, burning coil about to snap.

“Fuck, you bouta come?” he muttered, his hand sliding between us, finding my clit, rubbing messy, fast circles that made me cry out. “Go ‘head then. Let me feel all that.”

His words tipped me right over the edge — my whole body locking up around him, pleasure crashing through me so hard I almost sobbed. I clutched at him, trembling, gasping his name as my orgasm hit.

His strokes got rougher, more ragged, until he pulled out at the last second, thick, hot drops spilling across my stomach with a broken groan against my neck.

Both of us were left panting, skin slick with sweat, the whole room smelling like sex.

He stayed over me for a second, forehead pressed to mine, still catching his breath. His hands never stopped touching — smoothing over my sides, tracing lazy lines down my thighs like he didn’t wanna let go yet.

“You okay…it wasn’t too much?” he murmured against my skin, voice softer now, almost tender.

I shook my head. “It was amazing.” I smiled softly, and so did he. He kissed my neck softly and then my shoulder still catching his breath. “Hold up, baby,” he mumbled against my skin.

eyes scanning the room — and that’s when he spotted it. A crate of clean white rags shoved in the corner, like somebody had just left ‘em there.

he crossed the room, grabbed one, and came right back to me. Kneeling in front of me again. His hands were gentle as he cleaned me up, gliding over my skin, making sure I felt cared for, even after everything. His touch stayed careful, almost tender, wiping me up slow, making sure he wasn’t hurting me even though I was still twitchy and sensitive.

“I got you,” he muttered under his breath, working real gentle between my thighs, like he was tryna soothe me at the same time.

I whimpered again, body jerking a little, and he paused, dragging the back of his knuckles down my thigh, soft.

He finished cleaning me up, his movements gentle and deliberate. His hand lingered on my skin for a moment longer than necessary, like he was still trying to take everything in. When he was done, he looked up at me, his gaze soft but filled with that quiet intensity.

“Think you can walk?” he asked, his voice low but caring, as if checking in with me. “Or you need a minute?”

I took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I’m good,” I whispered, still feeling the warmth spread through my body. But I was steadying myself, ready to stand again. “Just… give me a second.”

He didn’t push me, his hands steady as he helped me adjust. He reached for my bloomers, carefully pulling them up over my legs before fixing my dress, smoothing it down with practiced hands. I couldn’t help but notice how gentle he was, even in the aftermath, as if he wasn’t in any hurry to move on from this moment yet.

Once my dress was in place, he pulled his boxer shorts up, then his pants, taking his time to adjust himself, his movements more relaxed now.

He glanced at me once he was done, checking in again, his eyes soft. “You okay?”

I nodded, straightening up, feeling more in control. “Yeah,” I said quietly, still processing the intensity of it all. “I’m good.”

He gave me a small nod, the air between us settling into something unspoken but understood. He opened the door for me, the light from the hallway spilling into the room. As I stepped past him, I felt his presence close behind me, like he was there, holding onto the moment we’d just shared.

The sound of voices from outside the room reminded us that the world was still out there, waiting.

He gave a brief glance toward the hallway, then back to me. “Ready?” His voice was steady, but there was a quiet warmth there — like he was asking if I was truly ready for whatever came next.

I met his gaze, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go. Before they come looking for you.”

We stepped into the hallway, the moment between us still lingering in the air, both of us aware that the night was far from over. The quiet connection between us, the weight of everything that had happened, was still heavy, but neither of us said anything more. We didn’t need to.

The night was only just beginning.

[chuwenjie]

i really enjoyed you sharing your intern story, but i was also keenly aware while reading that it seems like that trajectory is only possible if you have enough money to jump at the opportunity. things like buying a plane ticket, potentially break and lease, and sign a new one with just a few weeks' notice, and then work minimum wage only a couple of days a week while there? do you have any advice for how you were able to make that financially feasible, or in your opinion is breaking into the industry only possible by having a ton of cash to burn on last minute and under-compensated internships? this is asked without judgement; i do really appreciate your insights, and am asking out of desire to carve this path for myself with limited resources. thank you!

(Note: this reply is regarding this post)

You're 100% right - the way that studios structure internship positions highly favor students that have the financial means to drop everything and move to California for a few months, for little to no compensation. The fact that they don't offer any form of housing assistance or travel stipend makes it incredibly difficult to take on an internship without already having savings ready to go.

I was very thankful and lucky that my parents had saved funds for my higher education, which is how I had money to do the internship, but I totally recognize how much of a privilege that is. I think the fault is on the studios for making these programs inaccessible, especially when it could be an experience with the potential to shape the course of an artist's career.

There are a couple things that could possibly help - the first is that internships already require you to be a student enrolled in college, and it's possible you could try asking your school for financial assistance for the internship. Some schools have special funds set aside for things like this and it's always worth to see if your school does.

The second would be that the pandemic vastly changed the way studios operate, with many of them now allowing full-time or hybrid remote employees. During the beginning of COVID, internships were done virtually, and perhaps it's still possible to ask if the studio is willing to accommodate a remote internship.

My last advice though, would be that being unable to participate in an internship is NOT the end of the world. Getting an internship in the animation industry is WAY harder than getting a job - the vast majority of artists I've worked with never had internships, and many of them transferred into animation from other disciplines like engineering or computer science. The way I got my first job also was not directly through my internship, it was actually through a Dreamworks showrunner discovering my artwork on Twitter and reaching out to me about a job. These days, social media has so much power to connect us to opportunities that would have been extremely hard to get in the past and I would definitely keep that in mind as you continue your journey! Wishing you all the best of luck.

[sheeezu]

The person, the mind, the consciousness

Did you know, all of us humans resemble a tree? What a weird analogy, you'd say. Here's how I put it together, the roots at the base is your consciousness, the tree's trunk is your mind, the branches is your vessel (body) the leaves are your experiences, thoughts, memories, and the collective reflections, foundations of any reality you choose to pursue.

Aren't you a unit, now? When there's only one source providing you the nutrition to live. Let's assess how these three reacted when you "came across" shifting.

-Your consciousness knew. Your consciousness was been and always has been ready to shift realities. Its omnipotence, anyways.

-your mind tried to configure it logically. It tried to make sense of it, and installed doubts to protect you.

-your vessel felt it with emotions; it yearned for your loved ones at home, it craved and deeply desired being in your dr.

All this to say, for the reason you understand that every aspect of you deserves respect, consideration and a chance to be listened to. No one is your enemy. No one is the mastermind villain aiming to make you astray from your path leading to your dr.

But also that, there is no "buts" or "ifs" when it comes to your consciousness. You experience deeply and feel solemnly over your every "failure" because that's your vessel's programming. You doubt because that's your mind's programming. And you shift effortlessly because its your consciousness' programming.

Similarly, your dr works in the same way, so it's not different from any other reality to exist. Connect to your dr self's mind, then vessel. Change is common, change is sudden. Change is instant.

Shifting dump, part 2.

[teh-tj]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[bathroomcryptid]

Emotional Support

A/N: Hiii everyone, this is my first kinda work for Warhammer and I’m very excited. This is just a funny intro I came up with in my head with more to come about each legion. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none

Are you, citizen of our great Imperium, craving a change in career? Or are you otherwise unemployed and seeking stable employment? Well, we here at Imperium of Man Inc. have just the career for you!

After years and years of research, it’s come to the attention of everyone involved that we humans are communal by nature and crave intimate relationships with other humans and have a great need for those deep fulfilling bonds (platonic, romantic, or otherwise). This also rings true for your local Space Marine Chapter. Therefore, we here at Imperium of Man inc. have a bunch of emotionally stunted Space Marines desiring people with whom they can essentially imprint on and we need the serfs to be able to do their jobs…Either way, this gap in the market has prompted us here to roll out the first of many programs designed to keep the Empire’s finest in tip top shape. We’d like to introduce to you, Imperial citizen, our newest career path - Emotional Support Human!

That’s right! Today, you could be one of a select few chosen after a series of tests to be placed with your local space marine chapter to be their Emotional Support Human and help support the Emperor’s Angels in a variety of ways.

Qualifications:

-Passing all Imperial Temperament Tests

-Excellent communication skills (verbal, written, etc)

-Happy, Courteous, Enthusiastic, Attentive and Empathetic

-Meets mobility requirements

-Proficient in the Imperial and High Gothic (High Gothic lessons available after employment)

-Ability to multitask

-Work under pressure and at a fast pace

-Willing to learn and understand complex military terminology and strategies

-Able to cope with sudden changes in elevation and being carried around

-Able to perform deep pressure therapy

-Able to cope with hearing complex trauma and lend support as needed

-Able to wield a basic knife and fire a weapon with decent accuracy (training provided if skills not already acquired)

-The mental fortitude to see eldritch horrors beyond comprehension and not go insane

-Comply with imperial policy

-First aid may be required based on legion policy

Benefits:

-competitive salary

-A clean room to sleep in (may share with other emotional support humans based on legion policy)

-At least three meals a day

-free visits to the legion Apothecary

Being an Emotional Support Human HCs:

- You were basically snatched off the street by Imperial employees with little grace. Let’s be honest here, it’s the Imperium.

- The whole time you’re convinced that they’re about to turn you into a servitor. You’re not stupid, you’ve heard the stories of people being yanked of the streets and going missing all to end up as servitors

- You just hope they lobotomize you quickly.

- To say you’re confused when they just stick you in a random room and congratulate you on being selected as a potential candidate for their newest program is an understatement and you’re even more confused when they tell you that they are about to administer their new test for you.

- Do you have to take a test to become a servitor now? You thought the only requirement was a mostly functioning brain?

- You comply (not that you have much choice with the two armed guards staring you down) and take the test, a little unnerved the whole time as the proctor administers the test, but oh well.

- Next thing you know, you’ve passed and they congratulate you on your new job - a Space Marine Emotional Support Human (SMESH/ESH but smesh is just funnier-)

- Anyway, you have no idea wtf that is, but you’re apparently not becoming a servitor and that’s about enough to get you to do anything.

- Plus, a free room and three meals a day were apart of the benefits package and they had you at that.

- You’re moved into another room with about 20 other people, all of you looking equally as confused.

- An Imperial employee gets up in front of you and congratulates you on being the first batch and trial run of the Imperium’s newest hare brained scheme (your words not theirs) - the Space Marine Emotional Support Human program.

- Your new job? Becoming your local space marine legion’s new in-house therapist/stress toy/state sponsored best friend

- Out of everyone that was tested, 21 people passed, and the lot of you were the 20 selected to be in the program (one person per legion). You think 21 people passing the stupid test is ridiculously low but whatever. (Turns out, being able to tolerate your now line of work takes a pretty optimistic and mentally sturdy person that’s not all that common)

- You’re given your new uniform and basically shunted off to your new forever home and to the people the Imperium would love for you to bond with…what could go wrong?

[stillness-in-green]

The thing that doesn't make sense to me if Izuku resolved to kill is how it doesn't let them prove AFO wrong? AFO did his big reveal which only makes it clearer how deep the grooming went and it should've been time for Izuku to understand Tenko and Tenko to understand the abuse then reject the mindset forced onto him. But Izuku killing Tenko doesn't do that. Tenko just dies. It feels very wrong.

I guess Izuku just wasn't very interested in proving AFO wrong! Honestly, the only thing I immediately remember Izuku disputing the guy on was the same thing he disputed Shigaraki on: that he was anything more than a human being. AFO isn't a Demon King, but just a lonely man. Shigaraki hasn't transcended humanity; there's still a human somewhere deep inside of him. Izuku won't correct his allies' use of dehumanizing language for Villains, of course, but he's quick to push back when the Villains themselves self-aggrandize.

Sorry, I really only have withering disdain for Deku at this point. And I guess I don't really see any evidence that Deku was ever particularly driven by "proving AFO wrong." He wants to stop AFO, certainly, but that's because AFO is a monster who takes advantage of vulnerable people to maneuver them into doing Bad Things that advance AFO's Bad Plans and sets them onto Bad Paths that are difficult to walk back, not because he expressly opposes AFO on this or that ideological point about the nature of humanity and society.

(Hit the jump for the rest of a somewhat rambly reply.)

If anything, current evidence is that neither Deku nor the manga itself really do disagree with AFO about the frailty of humans, as expressed by Tsukauchi answering Deku's question about how to prevent future tragedies by shrugging and saying, "You don't, because life fucking sucks sometimes and that's just how it is. Our hands are completely tied on improving the system as we have it, so all we can do is punch out the Villains that appear in front of us to stop them from causing more harm."

That's also me being a bit harsh, of course. The fact that Deku is even still asking that question in the epilogue suggests that the manga hasn't reached its final answer yet, and maybe it will yet come up with something better! It doesn't have much time left, but it's still possible!

All the same, Deku is still having to ask that question in the epilogue because he never truly faced it over the course of the story. Never thinking about what Shigaraki as a person said in favor of fetishizing the Crying Child, never coming up with any kind of non-violent plan of attack or conversational approach, I have to ask what exactly about Shigaraki did Deku ever disagree with AFO on?

AFO, in the end, characterized Shigaraki as a puppet he molded exactly as he desired, a doll who he sculpted and programmed to act as he wished, a feeble child who has never made a single decision that AFO didn't cultivate him to make. So far as I can tell, Deku never really contested that framing. He didn't know the extent of it until the full reveal, of course, but Deku, like AFO, insisted on approaching Shigaraki solely through that "Crying Child" lens. He seemed to believe that nothing Shigaraki said or did on the surface really mattered (save as a reason that Shigaraki had to be stopped and potentially killed), that the "truth" of Shigaraki was that feeble little weeping boy who never grew up.

How could Deku possibly "prove AFO wrong" in that context? He doesn't even disagree with him! I mean, he's got some nice talk about how people deserve a second chance, sure; he says that people doing wrong doesn't make them Villains for the rest of their lives. What does do that, however - insofar as I can tell from how opaque the series keeps Deku throughout the final war - is refusing the hand out of the darkness. You stop being a victim and become a Villain for the rest of your life by choosing to remain a Villain even when offered an alternative (no matter how patently awful that alternative is).

Shigaraki chooses to remain a Villain and Deku doesn't have a counter for that because Deku never really got past the false binary represented by Villains and Victims to begin with. And I think the same goes for people who expected Shigaraki to just fold when he realized the extent of the grooming he'd undergone. Disallowing Shigaraki any agency in who he is and what he's done is defining him the same way AFO and Deku both did; when Shigaraki refuses to accept that framing, refuses to be a passive victim, the only thing left for him to be is a Villain. And when a Villain refuses to stop...

Well, Hawks already told us what the Heroes' answer to that is. "Someone has to die." As no one ever stepped up to prove him wrong, as far as the story is concerned, he isn't.

AFO always knew that victims can be turned into Villains with the right nudges; that's the whole reason for him cultivating "warped seeds" whenever and wherever he found them. Hero Society is - and always has been - much too rigid in its enforcement of the Hero/Villain/Victim narrative to effectively combat him. Crucially, Deku - the boy who wants to bring everything back just the way it was - doesn't disagree with him. He thinks AFO is an asshole for setting people up to fail, but he doesn't disagree about what failure means. So if AFO, Deku, and the story itself are all in agreement, what's even there for Deku to disprove?

Now, there is something that would prove AFO wrong, but it isn't something you can do while insisting on drawing lines to separate sad manipulated woobie victims who just need to be saved from awful unrepentant villains who just need to rot. It isn't something you can do while infantilizing Shigaraki Tomura.

The way to prove AFO wrong is to make room in society to help all Villains. Even if they aren't asking for it, even if they never ask for it, and even if they're jolly bastards who don't really deserve it! As long as there's a point at which it becomes okay to give up on trying to save Villains, Shigaraki will remain unsavable. He will insist on being unsavable. He could no more let that go than All Might could step aside and let AFO's attack kill an innocent at Kamino.

That's what it means to be a Hero for Villains.

Ultimately, what makes AFO right is that he knows that Hero Society makes it difficult if not impossible to uncross the victim-to-Villain bridge, and so anyone who does cross that bridge (with or without his influence) is that much more susceptible to him. Deku, in turn, thinks the only Villains he can save are those who drop everything and come sprinting as fast as they can back to the Hero side, so anyone who won't do that is someone he can't help.

Shigaraki refused to stop trying to create a better world for Villains. Toga refused to live in a world that would imprison her. Twice refused to give up on the friends no Hero would help. It's the same with every other Villain who refused to quietly endure their status quo: in a society that refuses to change how it treats Villains, anyone who won't submit to suffering in silence cannot be saved.

That's the paradigm AFO exploits, and Deku will never prove him wrong without resolving to change the paradigm first. We'll see if the last two chapters get him there.

[transtheology]

According to Matson, 39, his “disclosing,” as he describes it, is a moment years in the making. He offered his story as indicative of the often difficult path for trans Catholics, including those seeking life as a religious — a category that includes brothers and nuns.

“I am currently based in the Appalachian mountains of eastern Kentucky,” he wrote in an email to friends and supporters on Sunday. “I live in a hermitage at the top of a wooded hill, which I share with my German Shepherd rescue, Odie, and with the Blessed Sacrament, which was installed in my oratory shortly before Christmas.”

[...] Matson approached a canon lawyer to discuss his options and was told that only two aspects of Catholic life were categorically off the table: marriage and the priesthood. According to Matson, the canon lawyer recommended being upfront about his status as a transgender man in any vocational conversations with church leaders and mentioned the role of a diocesan hermit, which could prove less challenging than enlisting with an existing religious order.

[...] What followed was roughly a decade of searching and no small amount of rejection. Living in the United Kingdom while pursuing a master’s degree, and later a Ph.D. in theology, Matson entered a vocational discernment program and approached the Jesuit order to ask if he could join.

“They said, ‘No, we just don’t see how this would work for us,’ which was crushing, because that’s where I felt called,” Matson said.

[...] “I thought, well, if I can’t find a religious community to sponsor me, maybe what I need is a bishop,” Matson said.

A priest friend recommended different bishops to contact, beginning with Stowe, who was emerging as a leading voice among Catholics calling for a more tolerant approach to LGBTQ+ people. In 2020, Matson sent Stowe a letter, conveying his status as a transgender man, his vision for an artists’ community and his pull to religious life.

Stowe wrote back immediately, expressing his openness.

“It was an enormous relief,” Matson said. “I was in tears. I felt my hope revive.”

[...] Matson vented his frustrations to Stowe and his spiritual director, saying he wanted to speak out. But he said he was advised to first “build a foundation” in religious life for several years.

During that time, Matson had an experience that shook him. Attending a friend’s play in his religious habit, he was approached by a student who identified as trans and nonbinary. After asking if Matson was a monk, the student said they were raised Catholic, but that their parents had rejected their identity, and the student felt like they “don’t have a place in the church anymore.”

Matson responded by saying there were people in the church who would support the student, and Matson prayed with them, asking God to show the student how they are “wonderful the way you’ve made them.” The student, Matson said, grew emotional, thanking the hermit profusely and saying, “No one from the church has ever affirmed me for who I am.”

[...] As for ever leaving Catholicism itself, Matson bristled at the idea, calling the church “my family.” “I’m Catholic,” he said. “I became Catholic after I transitioned because of the Catholic understanding — the sacramental understanding — of the body, of creation, of the desirability of the visible unity of the church and primarily because of the Eucharist.”

At the very least, Matson said, he hopes going public will spark dialogue about his fellow transgender Catholics, a discussion he believes can enhance unity among the body of believers.

“You’ve got to deal with us, because God has called us into this church,” he said. “It’s not your church to kick us out of — this is God’s church, and God has called us and engrafted us into it.”

[pochiperpe90]

[ENG] Marinelli: “Playing Mussolini? It was painful”

The actor, on stage without pauses in the eight episodes, talks about his experience in the role of the dictator: "I didn't know how things went, I hope that M can be useful to the public".

Luca Marinelli didn't just give Benito Mussolini his face, he gave him his entire soul. Present in practically every scene of the eight episodes of the series "M - The son of the century", coming soon to Sky and streaming on NOW, he climbed through dialogues without time limits and monologues that he gave shape to by looking straight into the camera, an unbelievable work and not just of interpretation: The feeling I had reading Antonio Scurati's book was of having been confronted with my gigantic ignorance. It’s healthy to confront this, never take it for granted that you always have all the answers and simplify life, because this attitude is called populism, and it was invented by Mussolini himself. It’s healthy to know the limits of our knowledge, I honestly didn’t think that things had gone this way and I hope that they push the audience towards the desire to be present to themselves, to make their own interpretations, knowing that they are not alone. “During the shooting he confesses - I would have liked to be launched on some other planet. We talked about our history, which is perhaps the most painful thing and I am very happy with what we did. It happened that in some scenes I got excited with the Duce, which generated a deep sadness in me, but I had to crush something in myself to continue to pump this dark side of evil, a process that for me was very painful. Some scenes struck me particularly, like the ones we shot in Parliament, even there Mussolini did not hide any of his aims, we filmed the speeches he made and for me repeating those words was something really scary”.

To prepare for this difficult job, the actor watched many films from the Istituto Luce “and even in their triumphant aspects I perceived the great violence of fascism, it’s wrong to treat dictators like devils or madmen, because they are people like us and we need to know them”. But it’s precisely the knowledge that is lacking in our country, starting with the education of our school system, about which Marinelli has several doubts. “I’m curious - he says - to see what the public's reaction will be to the arrival of the series. I believe it’s important to start counting on an education ‘alive’ again, but in Italy unfortunately we don’t invest in the school system and we see obvious results. I have not been a great student in my path, but honestly I don’t remember having addressed these issues, perhaps we didn’t even get there with the program and I think it’s dangerous”. After so many months spent wearing the uncomfortable shoes of Mussolini, it was not easy for the actor to get out of a role that was totally immersive. “This series - concludes - left me with the fact of wanting to be present in my present and my past. Only like this can we understand what we are experiencing today as well as going in the direction that is most useful to everyone”.

Cr: CIAK

[lura-valentine]

Blueprints of Fire

Pro Hero Touya x Rain AU

Hi ho 👋😊

After my last AU presentation, I've kind of gotten a taste for it – so I'd like to share another idea with you that's been floating around in my head for ages.

The story centers on Enji Todoroki, who, just like in the canon, is obsessed with creating the perfect hero. To achieve this goal, he wants to marry his eldest son, Touya, to an "ideal" partner: Rain.

But the whole thing isn't without resistance: Touya rebels against his father in his own quiet way, and Ryen, Rain's older brother, sets clear boundaries to ensure Rain isn't reduced to a pawn. Should the connection with Touya fail, she still has a way out.

Like my fanfiction "Son of Fire," this story will be a multi-chapter series. It will be a story about rebellion, duty, forced life paths, and decisions that demand more than one is willing to give.

I hope you like the concept 🖤🔥💙

Everything related to this AU will be listed under #BlueprintsOfFire_ProHeroTouya_AU for convenience.

The World

Set in the world of My Hero Academia, in the present day – a modern society with widespread quirks.

The hero structure remains the same, with this strange popularity scale where no one is 100% sure what is being measured - popularity, strength, both... or something else entirely... who knows.😅

The league doesn't exist. It will exist, but not in the form everyone knows and expects.

Touya Todoroki

Hero name: Blue Blaze

Age: 20 - 22

Improved heat tolerance than in canon - can actively use his Quirk for longer without immediately getting injured.

No external scars, no staples – wears tailored, temperature-regulating hero clothing with high insulation to prevent overheating.

Appearance: Snow-white hair, upright, controlled gait, cool gaze, master of serious facial expressions.

Fighting style: precise, calculated, aggressive – prefers short fights.

Known for high efficiency and success rate, adheres to regulations, but often with minimal emotional involvement.

Public image: aloof, serious, respected – he's considered an up-and-coming top hero with a bright future. He's barely present in the media and avoids interviews whenever possible.

Family background is deliberately hardly mentioned by the agency – Enji is more of a mentor than his father in interviews.

His desire to please his father and not be in Shoto's shadow remains unchanged. However, he struggles internally for independence and his father's approval. This leads him to be rebellious toward Enji, but still obey him to the letter.

Rain Black

Codename: Firewing

Age: 16 - 18

Quirk: Dark Phoenix – Controls dark red to black flames channeled through feather projection. Each feather contains a heat-based core that dissolves into ash after use and is regenerable.

➥ Special Attributes: High firepower, complete resistance to fire and heat.

Appearance: Long black hair, medium-sized with striking black wings whose feathers shimmer blood-red in the light. Deep red eyes with a calm, slightly suspicious gaze.

Character: Calm, attentive, and controlled in her body language – she moves with the efficiency and precision of a military-trained fighter, yet her charisma is permeated with natural warmth. She speaks openly and directly and displays a strong protective instinct in the presence of the helpless.

Training focus (previously): Training facility of the Black Wings, an independent, internationally operating mercenary group specializing in infiltration, combat tactics, and contract operations.

➥ Within the organization, she is considered tactically reliable, adaptable, and loyal – especially to her brother, in whom she has absolute trust.

Retraining Path: At Enji's politically motivated request, Rain stays in Japan at her brother's behest.

➥ Official reason: Cultural exchange and participation in a strategic training program to expand their skills.

➥ Unofficial reason: Preparation for a possible political alliance with the Todoroki family.

New career: Acceptance into a recognized training program to become a professional hero with a significantly reduced training period. She must adapt to legally regulated hero structures, public relations protocols, and civilian rescue missions. Except for the missions, everything is new territory for her.

Dealing with the situation in Japan: feels like a pawn, but tolerates her brother's decision out of a sense of duty - sees the two years as a mission with an open outcome.

Enji und Touya

Enji continues to consistently pursue the goal of creating the “perfect hero” – and sees his children primarily as a means to achieve his goals rather than as autonomous individuals.

Has put Touya under massive pressure to perform since his childhood. Physical and mental training always at the breaking point, with little regard for his emotional well-being.

Family ties are severely strained – communication is mostly functional and authoritarian, characterized by goals, instructions and admonitions – positive, fatherly attention is largely lacking.

Despite heat tolerance and physical performance, Enji feels Touya is inadequate compared to Shoto – considers him a transitional stage and not a final product. (It was so hard to write this😢)

Touya struggles with an inner conflict.

➥ He longs for his father's recognition and respect. He interprets the fulfillment of his duty as an opportunity to finally be recognized as worthy.

➥ He increasingly rejects Enji's claim to control, begins to question his decisions, and occasionally deliberately challenges his authority.

The relationship is characterized by an underlying tension – open confrontations are rare, instead the conflict manifests itself through passive rebellion, subtle backtalk, and deliberately distant behavior.

Despite his inner isolation, Touya is receptive to Enji's recognition – even the smallest positive remarks or signs of satisfaction have a disproportionate effect on his motivation and self-image.

Enji, on the other hand, takes Touya's obedience for granted and his backtalk as a weakness - he either doesn't notice emotional subtleties or deliberately ignores them.

Enji and Rain

Enji doesn't view Rain as an individual personality, but rather as a functional component of his long-term plan – a suitable genetic foundation to create the next stage of his perfect hero through a deliberate bond with Touya. (Uff😰)

Her abilities –Quirk and physical resistance–were carefully chosen by Enji. Their origin from an elite military unit increases their value in his eyes. Nevertheless, he sees her as a malleable resource, not an equal partner for Touya.

The arranged connection serves strategic goals:

➥ political influence for the Black Wings.

➥ control over a potential bloodline with high combat power and power expansion over Japan's network of heroes.

For Rain, Enji's decision represents a profound turning point – her previously self-chosen path in life is being restructured by external influences.

Her acceptance of the agreement is not an expression of obedience to Enji, but rather the result of a sense of duty and loyalty to her brother Ryen, who had persuaded her to accept the terms. The reason: to expand the Black Wings' influence in Japan.

Ryen's condition: Rain must stay in Japan for two years and at the end, regardless of Enji's wishes, she can decide for herself whether to enter into a relationship with Touya.

Rain treats Enji with polite reserve and maintains military respect, but refuses to open up to him emotionally – she sees him as a manipulative strategist to whom she neither trusts nor feels obligated.

Enji interprets her willingness to adapt as a weakness, not a strategy – and underestimates her inner resilience and emotional independence.

A cool, practical relationship exists between the two – respectful in tone, but lacking trust or appreciation. Rain tolerates his authority but doesn't recognize it.

Touya and Rain

The initial encounter is characterized by distance and mutual neutrality – no open hostility, but a noticeable emotional barrier.

Touya approaches Rain with reserve, which, however, does not stem from disinterest, but from inner resistance to the situation imposed by Enji.

➥ For Touya, Rain is initially a symbol of his father's claim to control. Another decision made over his head.

➥ The emotional defense is directed less against Rain as a person, but rather against the role into which both have been forced.

Rain, on the other hand, faces the situation with inner discipline and outward composure; she is polite but vigilant – initially sees Touya as a temporary deployment partner, not as a possible life partner.

Both unconsciously share the feeling of being tools in a larger plan – this common starting point creates a silent connection, even before mutual trust develops

In everyday life their walls crumble:

➥ Touya observes Rain closely and recognizes her sensitive, warm nature behind the disciplined surface

➥ Under Touya's controlled posture, Rain senses a deep-seated vulnerability and a constant urge to assert herself – which touches her emotionally.

The situation remains tense for a long time, but not hostile – a kind of quiet coexistence develops in which the two get along without getting too close..

Subtle impulses from outside act as a catalyst for rapprochement:

➥ Fuyumi, who positively encourages Touya.

➥ Keigo, who secretly organizes dates.

➥ Tomura, who gives fine food for thought with his sarcasm – and etc.

Over a period of weeks, cautious acceptance creates a first bridge – conversations become more personal, closeness is not created by physical touch, but by looks, shared thoughts and quiet moments.

My moral supporters

@tiny-roki-todoroki | @alexandhisstuff | @doumadono | @unhinged-bratty-boy | @within-eyesight | @kittenl4

I mention accounts that my works ❤️ and 🔄. If anyone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please let me know.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Mezlan

CR 14

Neutral Medium Ooze

Bestiary 6, pg. 186-187

This one has been a long time coming. The Mezlan are one of my favorite monsters across all Bestiaries, past and future, for more than a few reasons; namely body goals, but we'll get to that. However, the Mezlan are the proud owners of one of the most obnoxious images to peel out of the PDFs in both of their appearances (Bestiary 6 and Adventure Path: Shattered Star: The Dead Heart of Xin), coming with so much artifacting that I was instantly put off by the effort needed to get them into a clean state. I COULD use their art from Second Edition, but I like this version more; it's got more elegance.

But anyway, enough about my difficulties, and onto the difficulties the party will be facing if they encounter a Mezlan! The Mezlan as a whole were created in ancient Azlant by powerful mages to serve as spies, assassins, saboteurs, or retrievers, and if you want to know what it looks like when a Mezlan is on a mission, I heavily suggest watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Far from some mindless Constructs or Ooze monsters guided by programming, Mezlan possess the sharpened minds and powerful souls of ancient Azlanti soldiers, spies, or mages (sometimes to the point of having class levels from their old bodies) and bodies which require no food, water, or sleep. Thankfully, just a few hundred of them still exist, and for each one that sells its skills as a mercenary or an assassin or maintains memory its pre-Earthfall orders and purpose, there are Mezlan content to live out mundane lives, serving no master but themselves.

This post is not about the latter. Prepare yourselves, this one's a little longer than average.

For those on the Mezlan's hit list, it is exactly as terrifyingly inevitable as the T-1000, the creature able to bypass any barrier in its way so long as there's space for even a single finger to slip through, its entire body liquefying to slip through or past any impediment. They are faster than you'd ever think they could be, moving at 40ft a round and having the capacity to generate additional specialized limbs to climb or swim at 20ft/round, giving them incredible all-terrain capabilities. They also have the power to freely shape their Morphic Body into ANY Medium or Small creature in the game with little restriction, including into specific individuals if they so desire. No matter what form they're in, they maintain enough superhuman strength (30) to throw entire grown human beings around with a single hand... but they have the intelligence and wisdom to know when subtlety will get them what they want.

Having thousands of lifetime's worth of patience and experience, Mezlan are almost never going to make a bold move when a careful one will suffice. They're more likely to bide their time, waiting somewhere nearby and listening to local conversation, building their plan slowly. Their Versatile Speech allows them to understand and speak any language they hear being spoken for at least 2 minutes (1 minute to understand, 1 to speak) without needing to be part of the conversation, letting them easily fit into any city in any country either as a tourist or a local. When solving problems without (and sometimes with) violence, their Skill Pool also lets them make any skill check untrained without suffering a penalty for it, and upwards to 5/day they can add a +4 to any skill check, giving them a reasonable chance at succeeding most rolls they make, especially if they've already got sizable ranks; a basic Mezlan has Escape Artist +9, Linguistics +11, Perception +20, Sense Motive +20 on the "defense," and Bluff +14, Disguise +25, Stealth +25 on the "offense" side of their skills, for reference, though many have additional class levels to augment specific skills further.

But let's say that their skills finally get them to their target! Their victim likely won't know what hit them, as Mezlan all come equipped with +3d6 Sneak Attack to augment whatever weapon they wield, more than likely dispatching most low-level creatures they may want out of the way... especially if they're attacking with their high-damage Morphic Weapons, capable of shifting their limbs into any number of implements of death which all deal 2d8+10 damage. They're not helpless from a range, either, and can shape their limbs into ranged weapons when needed, firing projectiles made of their own matter for 2d8+10 damage with range increments of 60ft, though their Point-Blank Shot and Sneak Attack incentivizes them to be much closer.

Even without switching to ranged attacks, Mezlan can still startle people who think they're safe from its Sneak Attack. Once per round without restriction of whose turn it is, the Mezlan can stretch its limbs out and make a Morphic Weapon attack on any target within 15ft. Anyone unaware of their extended reach will learn of it quickly when performing any AoO-drawing action, which can be devastating for any close-range caster who just lost their best spell... not that it had a high chance of working, given that Mezlan have 25 Spell Resistance. And speaking of spells, a Mezlan that secures a spellcasting ally can use Spell Storing to keep upwards to 10 levels-worth of spells inside itself as long as it needs, ready to spring out whenever needed. There is a little bit of ambiguity on whether or not the ooze can absorb hostile spells, seeing as how it has an entire sentence devoted to how it can lower its SR and ready an action to absorb an incoming spell, so I choose to believe it CAN overtake and absorb hostile effects IF it wastes its entire action to do so, but a less lenient DM can simply decide that Mezlan can only absorb spells from allied casters.

The sample Mezlan has Chain Lightning, Dispel Magic, and Mage Armor prepared, the last of which is almost overkill since Mezlan start with 30 AC, but more AC for hours a day is hard to say no to. If they have a caster ally, or are a caster themselves, Mezlan could have more or less anything tucked away for later use, as their Spell Storing allows them to absorb spells from ANY class or casting method, be it arcane, divine, or psychic, and they can also absorb spells from scrolls they may find. Given their ability to disguise themselves, a Mezlan could easily feign injury and absorb incoming healing magic provided by soft-hearted apothecaries and priests, storing it for any true injuries they suffer later! The ball is truly in the DMs court, and Mezlan can store spells for years if they must, pulling them out only in the most dire of circumstances.

And we haven't even touched on what's important: Resilience. Like the T-1000, a Mezlan can pull itself together from basically any level of damage, shrugging off wounds that would kill a lesser creature in just a few rounds as holes close, wounds knit, and limbs reattach or regrow entirely so long as its Regeneration 5 keeps ticking. A Mezlan also benefits from its Ooze traits, making it impervious to poison, sleep effects, paralysis, polymorph, stunning, and all forms of precision damage and critical hits. It can't even be flanked! But besides these written defenses, one of their most potent defenses is actually entirely un-written, as it relies on their appearance: In their true form, Mezlan appear to be glowing blobs of magma with visible heat trails rising from their body, and this is extremely valuable for them and should be emphasized by the DM, because an uninformed party would think that Cold damage would be their key to stopping the creature permanently, like cooling lava! Unfortunately, Mezlan cannot be killed by anything but Acid damage, a weakness they try and carefully hide (or protect themselves from via Spell Storage) lest the humble Acid Splash be used against their helpless remains.

But even this isn't the end. Unlike the T-1000, no method to permanently kill a Mezlan yet exists, with only plot contrivance and DM permission allowing one to be put down forever. Slaying one merely renders it dormant, its remains seeping swiftly into the environment, where it regenerates over the course of ten years. Thankfully, this imperfect replication has a very high chance of wiping out the Mezlan's memories, including its orders, and may simply see the creature laying low for several years to recuperate. In either case, though, players can rest easy knowing that a splash of acid will both thwart its plans AND keep it out of their hair for a long, long time.

Just pray the DM doesn't do a sequel campaign.

You can read more about them here.

[steviesmarigold]

M's Week on AO3

4/27/25

First Reads

you hit me like fire (shot me like a bullet): 5.3k words

“Bucky,” Ingeras says, even though the boy in front of him never asked for his name, “my name’s Bucky.”

little hope (sing a song of fire): 10k words

Bucky Barnes is a poet, patriot, and veteran wandering in search of the source of the visions that have plagued him since before the war. Bucky’s dreams are consumed with visitations by a Great Dragon, haloed in sun and cloaked in stars. When he wakes he can only describe what he sees and feels in snippets of desperate poetry. As he journeys closer and closer to the Great Dragon, his fear of the Old God gives way to something else entirely.

the cottage by the sea: 14k words

Later, he could not say why he did what he does. His mind is one confused, high-pitched blur, incoherent and blank, but perhaps that is a good thing, because if he’d been thinking he likely would have remained where he was, paralysed by indecision, until his handlers arrived and took him in. As it is – the Asset stands and leaves. And, eventually, the result is this: a flash in the water and a wet, gleaming head that emerges from the sea, so smoothly that even the water doesn’t seem to realise he’s there until it does, and little waves start flocking around him.

To each new star: 13k words

Earth is the last stop on Bucky's universe-wide quest to find the best coffee in the cosmos.

After thirteen months of jumping through portals, cheating time and skipping through dimensions, Bucky's ready to go home.

But then he walks into Steve's shop, gets hooked on his coffee and his steady heart, and discovers that he's not quite as ready as he thought he was. He's not ready at all.

The Grace of the Fire and the Flames: 31k words

Since the day Prince Steven drew his first healthy breath, he's been focused on only one thing: destroying the many-headed Hydra that's been haunting their lands for decades. So when he returns from yet another fruitless hunt, the last thing he wants is to discover a new addition to his Royal Harem. But the new man is intriguing, and his scent is achingly familiar. Against his better judgement, Prince Steven wants more.

Winter arrives in Breukelen with no memory of his past, how he lost his arm, or who he really is. When the Wizard Pierce gives him a mission to get the Prince under control, Winter doesn't think twice. He wasn't expecting Prince Steven to be a good man, and Winter has to try to discover whether he should trust the prince - or his programming.

When their worlds start to fall apart around them, will they learn to trust each other and the love they've begun to form? Or will it all crumble to ash?

Must Be Kismet, So Kiss Me: 26k words

“It’s clearly something,” Natasha says, because she's always been able to read Steve far too well. “If you’re making that face over a simple text.”

(or: Steve is just looking for a way to get a box of things back to its rightful owner when he sends the email. He's not expecting to get anything beyond a forwarding address in return. He's definitely not expecting to fall for the man who responds. An AU featuring Steve, Bucky, one terrible ex-boyfriend, so many text messages, a shameless amount of flirting, a little bit of sexting, some slightly concerned friends, plenty of kisses, and a lot of feelings.)

The Heart of a Dying Star: 38k words

As ancient legends have it, mighty magical weapons can be forged in the heart of a dying star.

Wanda, driven by her desire to avenge her brother’s death and backed by Hydra and their secret plans, uses ancient magic to knock a star down from the sky.

Halfway across the land, Steve, the Captain of the Avengers Guard, finds a fallen star named Bucky.

Born of Necessity: 54k words

In the time before the ocean's rise, before men left their hiding places and stretched out across the earth, taming rivers and forests and all in their path, there lived a half-orc boy named Steve. All his childhood, Steve was told by the people of his town that he was born of a forced union between his orc father and his human mother. But Steve knew the truth. He remembered late night visits and secret weekends away together, where his father would play pat-pat with him and dance with his mother in front of the fire. Steve knew the truth: he had been born of love.

Cast out of his human village, Steve will seek out his father only to find that love can be true but tainted as a mysterious warrior named Bucky exposes the terrible secret of the orcling army. This is the story of how Steve found his way in the world and discovered the cost of love and the loneliness of sacrifice.

Rushing Waters: 57k words

Steve’s only known his life as a blacksmith apprentice in his small riverside town. But some people still speak stories of the times when fairies and elves lived among his people and the river ran wide through the middle of the forest, so far across you couldn’t see the other side. Now the river is a little trickle of a thing that barely accommodates small trade ships.

As one of the remaining high elves, Bucky's spent a lot of time studying history. It’s not like the old days, when their numbers spread out through the forest and down to the islands of the south, and they had a Kingdom to run. These days, the elders just sit around and quarrel about the best way to avoid humans and, given his luck, Bucky’ll be in one of those seats in a scant hundred years or so.

When a devastating natural disaster threatens everything they both know, Steve quickly learns that the old stories might be more important than he could ever imagine, and Bucky learns that the humans might not be the enemies he thought they were. In fact, they might realize that together, they’re capable of more than anyone could have dreamed of.

Under One Small Star: 50k words

A long time ago, in the kingdom of Leoman, two boys named Steve and Bucky lived under the watchful eye of Steve's mother, Sarah. Raised to be fair and kind, brave and true, the two were family in all but blood. Yet their idyllic existence was to be short-lived, and when tragedy struck, the boys were torn apart. One was taken into the home of a strange man with stranger children, while the other was forced to bear the weight of a crown he did not ask for.

As the years went on, Steve Rogers forgot the boy he'd known so well. He grew into a fine young man; fair and kind, brave and true. So, when he met a stranger in the woods - someone who needed his help - what other choice did he have?

Winter's Herald: 112k words

Steve, if there's a time when you don't have to worry about anything, it's now. I’m a Herald-Trainee, Winter's a Companion. You're exhausted. Just…trust us. We'll get you home safely."  

For a long moment, a moment in which Bucky felt gifted with sudden insight into who Steve was, he thought it could go either way. Then Steve smiled, this one warm and bright and just for Bucky, and it raced through him, lodging inside him like a miniature sun. "Guess I'd be a bit ungrateful to say no." 

Some Heralds change the world. Some Heralds save it. Some Herald's names are woven through the very fabric of Valdemar. But most don't, and most aren't. Most Heralds simply do their duty, their Companions by their sides, their stories recorded in dusty Crown records not Bardic ballads.

Steve and Bucky figured they were most Heralds—no ballads required, thanks—and they were mostly right. What they didn't account for was that no Herald was ordinary—and with the two of them bound so tightly together, extraordinary was sure to follow.

In the Shadow of Armistice: 63k words

Sedryn Amathion is a young Ñoldor elf born of lower Himring near the end of the harrowed Second Age. Vice-Captain of the Forlindon Shieldmasters, herald of the High King Gil-Galad, and devotee of Eärendil, the Star of High Hope.

Or, as the ragtag Dúnedain troupe known as the Howling Commandos calls him, Steve.

The Commandos are to sabotage an orc signal tower deep within the Ephel Dúath mountains, clearing the way for the armies of the Last Alliance to march on Barad-dûr and rescue all of Middle-earth from the clutches of this new and terrible Dark Lord.

“Steve” has no way of knowing that love formed deep behind enemy lines would settle so completely inside his immortal heart, defying time, distance, and ultimately death itself.

this city with the safety of a never-ending blessing: 11k words

"Surprise," Bucky said. "I picked up a glass ball from some lady when I was eight and now it's hatched into..." He closed his eyes like it physically pained him to say it. "A dragon."

"So dragons are real now?" Steve asked weakly.

ReReads

A Sky Full of Stars: 15k words

The dappled sunlight played over Buck’s face, making him look like a magical creation, some kind of illusion. Steven reached out a hand to touch, to make certain he was real.

Buck started and pulled away when Steven’s fingers made contact.

“Sorry!” Steven snatched back his hand. “I didn’t--”

“No, don’t. It’s only that I have never touched a human before.” Buck captured Steven’s hand in his and guided it back to rest against his cheek. “Go ahead.”

Left of Centaur: 8.1k words

The sound of hoofbeats pulled Steve's head around and he froze.

A chestnut centaur, tail so long it would have brushed the ground if it wasn't flagged in challenge, was galloping through the fighting. He was carrying a human and a dryad on his back, cradling a tiny sprite in one arm, and holding a wicked looking metal spike in his other hand. A chimera lunged for him, and he reared, showing no hesitation as he smashed it with one front hoof, then stabbed down with the spike, sending it skittering back.

Steve broke out of his trance and flung the shield. It smashed into the chimera, flattening it, and the centaur bolted for the safety of the barricades, his passengers clinging tightly.

Another centaur. There was another centaur in New York. He'd thought he was the only one.

At Face Value: 64k words

Steve Rogers is leading what he thinks is a pretty normal life in Sanctuary, a bustling city with a large population. And a big wall around it. He has a good job and good friends. Totally and completely normal--except for the face he sees in his dreams. Every night. The face of a stranger. One he's hopelessly attracted to. When that stranger unexpectedly drops into his life in the form of Bucky Barnes, Steve's got to figure out what it all means, and how to handle it when his totally normal life suddenly is anything but that.

So far I've come (to get to you): 36k words

There aren’t many things Steve won’t do to save his mother when her cancer turns terminal. Tracking down an ex-Hydra battle mage in the Dead Zone to offer his life as sacrifice for a cure is just one example. Turns out the mage has a conscience. He agrees to help, but he refuses to take Steve’s life. Instead, Steve must give up something else—something precious, something so dear to him it can fuel the magic to cure Sarah.

Now, all they need to do is figure out what that something is...

------

When Steve wakes up, just for a moment, he’s sure he’s in the wrong place. He stares up at the dent in the ceiling, the one he’d made when he got a little too enthusiastic about popping the champagne after graduating college. Next to it is the green arrow Sam stuck there so Steve would never forget that night. It’s the same ceiling he’s woken up to for the last six months. But for some reason, his mind insists it’s the wrong one.

He blinks and the moment passes. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be—in his room. Where else would he be?

Lessons in Normality: 38k words

Things Steve knows about his boyfriend Bucky: How he looks with his face relaxed in sleep. That he can perfectly flip pancakes. The way he’s open about things Steve is still adapting to, like therapy and depression and sex toys and being a millennial. The way he laughs with his mouth wide open and his eyes squinted, and the cheerful way he cheats at cards and loses at laser tag.

The way he seduces Steve with a knowing glint in his eye. The way Steve responds to it, stronger each time, taken by his beauty and competence and snark and compassion (or the compassionate way he boots Steve in the ass when he needs a push).

Things Steve doesn’t know about his boyfriend Bucky: That he’s an undercover operative gathering intel on Hydra, SHIELD, and which Steve is affiliated with.

The Idiot's Guide of How NOT to be a Necromancer: 13k words

It was supposed to be simple. Get rid of the hydra and stay the hell away from the necromancer’s mansion.

But as life goes, things never go according to plan, and Bucky ends up coming face to face with one of the most dangerous and feared beings in the world - a powerful necromancer who is nothing he had ever expected. Ever.

take a sip of my magic potion (i'll make you fall in love): 16k words

Working as a barista at Little Spider's wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, but the pay was good for a college student and Bucky's boss was decent enough. It also didn't hurt that Hot Blonde Guy walked into the coffeehouse every Tuesday, and if Bucky put in a little extra something in his cup — a little magical extra something — well, that was just between him and his familiar. It was all going great until Bucky mixed vodka and his grimoire and accidentally baked a love potion into a cupcake and fed it to Hot Blonde Guy.

And if that wasn't bad enough, a blast from the past in the form of his ex-boyfriend/witch hunter is hunting him.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Hot Blonde Guy turned out to be Captain Fucking America.

Two Souls, Too Far: 12k words

Everyone has a soulmate. They come in forms we just don't expect. And we learn to expect that with each life. Bucky's comes in the form of a mysterious and rude man in the woods. Steve's comes in the form of some hoity-toity noble who as much of a sense of direction as a pinecone.

Part of a series of stories following two souls through dimensions and time. Each story in this series can be read as stand-alone, in any order. This is the first.

starry-eyed: 11k words

“Steve,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “This is going to sound weird. Do you know what a star is?”

Steve furrowed his brows, slowly shaking his head. “No. I’ve never… I don’t think I’ve heard that word before.”

“I think…” Bucky trailed off, lifting the sleeve of his hoodie on Steve’s arm, running his index finger through the glittery substance on his skin. “I think you are one.”

or, steve is a fallen star, and bucky is the lucky guy whose pond steve landed in.

Hic sunt dracones: 5.7k words

There are stories:

Stories of knights and the dragons they slayed. Stories of princes who conquered the great fire-breathing beasts terrorizing their kingdoms. Stories of how they saved their lands and won the hand of fair princesses in battle.

This is not one of those stories.

At least not in the strictest sense.

The Winter Stallion: 35k words

Prince Steven Rogers and Knight James “Bucky” Barnes of Mar-vell have been inseparable all their lives. But when a mission against the warring kingdom of Hydra goes wrong, Bucky is thought dead, leaving Steve to his grief. Two years later, Steve has almost succeeded in ridding the land of Hydra, and in the final battle finds himself coming face to face with their infamous warhorse - known only as the Winter Stallion. There is something familiar in his eyes, something that begs for help, and after freeing him from Hydra he decides to save him, beginning the long journey of winning his trust. The Winter Stallion is wild and fearful from abuse and more intelligent than any horse he’s ever met, but as their relationship flourishes Steve is unaware of the dark secret that lays beneath – a curse that turned man into beast. For the Winter Stallion, who remembers nothing of his past, it will take the kindness of humans to mend his heart, but much more to unearth his true identity. For maybe, just maybe, Steve isn’t such a stranger after all.

Plunge: 32k words

Steve squawked as a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist. He braked, wings banking so hard he almost somersaulted over himself, and surged up and away from the ocean, spinning to find himself staring at—

A triton was laughing up at him, sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Steve had seen tritons before. He knew what lurked under the water. The power and violence wrapped in muscle and skin.

The triton's grin turned knowing, like he could see what Steve was thinking. "Hey there, Feathers. You want to go for a swim?"

Bucky Barnes' Guide to Show-Don't-Tell: 12k words

Bucky should be happy. His secret is, apparently, safe. Apparently no one noticed. Apparently no one saw. And yet. “I practically fondled you in front of everyone and no one bats an eyelash. What’s up with that?”

I.e.: Steve and Bucky now live together in the Avengers Tower. They have decided to keep their relationship a secret from their fellow Avengers- that is, until Bucky slips up and the Avengers act oblivious about it. Bucky recruits Steve in a game of ‘show, don’t tell” until the Avengers acknowledge what’s what.

[waivyjellyfish]

Es

Warden test subject of the Milgram Prison.

Follows the "Erudition" Path

Element type: Imaginary

--

Es as the test subject:

Almost emotionless. Looks constantly tired and thin. Examinations, tests, experiments, reservoir. And so on, until they was put to watch Milgram.

They was bald for a long time, because that way doctors don’t have to watch their hair. Their hair began to grow while Es was in the reservoir and nothing was required of their body but existence.

Es As AI:

The whole ship is their body, even if they can’t go outside and their little numbered copies do that. But, because they're directly connected to the internet, their character and humor leave much to be desired better.

As a captain of the ship:

Became softer. Shows increased tactliness to the prisoners, but does not like to receive in reverse (years of experiments affect). Had to learn how to function as a human again.

The Internet has had a huge impact on them, since they was a ship, and even though it seems like a nice kid, they can wery professionally sink someone's self-esteem.

Jackalope:

Another AI program that used one of the researchers who was following Es.

After Es’ rescue from the reservoir, he lost contact with the main post of Milgram and was taken over by Es.

[deadpresidents]

"Lastly, I would like us all to consider some important tasks for the present historical moment, since we desire a positive change for the benefit of all our brothers and sisters. We know this. We desire change enriched by the collaboration of governments, popular movements, and other social forces. This too we know. But it is not so easy to define the content of change -- in other words, a social program which can embody this project of fraternity and justice which we are seeking. So don't expect a recipe from this Pope. Neither the Pope nor the Church have a monopoly on the interpretation of social reality or the proposal of solutions to contemporary issues. I dare say that no recipe exists. History is made by each generation as it follows in the footsteps of those preceding it, as it seeks its own path and respects the values which God has placed in the human heart.

I would like, all the same, to propose three great tasks which demand a decisive and shared contribution from popular movements:

The first task is to put the economy at the service of peoples. Human beings and nature must not be at the service of money. Let us say NO to an economy of exclusion and inequality, where money rules, rather than service. That economy kills. That economy excludes. That economy destroys Mother Earth.

The economy should not be a mechanism for accumulating goods, but rather the proper administration of our common home. This entails a commitment to care for that home and to the fitting distribution of goods among all. It is not only about ensuring a supply of food or "decent sustenance". Nor, although this is already a great step forward, is it to guarantee the three "L's" of Land, Lodging, and Labor for which you are working. A truly communitarian economy, one might say an economy of Christian inspiration, must ensure people's dignity and their "general, temporal welfare and prosperity." This includes the three "L's", but also access to education, health care, new technologies, artistic and cultural manifestations, communications, sports and recreation. A just economy must create the conditions for everyone to be able to enjoy a childhood without want, to develop their talents when young, to work with full rights during their active years and to enjoy a dignified retirement as they grow older. It is an economy where human beings, in harmony with nature, structure the entire system of production and distribution in such a way that the abilities and needs of each individual find suitable expression in social life. You, and other peoples as well, sum up this desire in a simple and beautiful expression: 'to live well'.

Such an economy is not only desirable and necessary, but also possible. It is no utopia or chimera. It is an extremely realistic prospect. We can achieve it. The available resources in our world, the fruit of the intergenerational labors of peoples, and the gifts of creation, more than suffice for the integral development of "each man and the whole man". The problem is of another kind. There exists a system with different aims. A system which, while irresponsibly accelerating the pace of production, while using industrial and agricultural methods which damage Mother Earth in the name of "productivity", continues to deny many millions of our brothers and sisters their most elementary economic, social, and cultural rights. This system runs counter to the plan of Jesus…

Along this path, popular movements play an essential role, not only by making demands and lodging protests, but even more basically by being creative. You are social poets: creators of work, builders of housing, producers of good, above all for people left behind by the world market….

Governments which make it their responsibility to put the economy at the service of peoples must promote the strengthening, improvement, coordination, and expansion of these forms of popular economy and communitarian production. This entails bettering the processes of work, providing adequate infrastructures, and guaranteeing workers their full rights in this alternative sector. When the state and social organizations join in working for the three "L's", the principles of solidarity and subsidiarity come into play; and these allow the common good to be achieved in a full and participatory democracy.

The second task is to unite our peoples on the path of peace and justice.

The world's peoples want to be artisans of their own destiny. They want to advance peacefully towards justice. They do not want forms of tutelage or interference by which those with greater power subordinate those with less. They want their culture, their language, their social processes, and their religious traditions to be respected. No actual or established power has the right to deprive peoples of the full exercise of their sovereignty. Whenever they do so, we see the rise of new forms of colonialism which seriously prejudice the possibility of peace and justice. For "peace is founded not only on respect for human rights but also on respect for the rights of peoples, in particular the right to independence.”…

Similarly, the monopolizing of the communications media, which would impose alienating examples of consumerism and a certain cultural uniformity, is another one of the forms taken by the new colonialism. It is ideological colonialism. As the African bishops have observed, poor countries are often treated like "parts of a machine, cogs on a gigantic wheel."

It must be acknowledged that none of the grave problems of humanity can be resolved without interaction between states and peoples at the international level. Every significant action carried out in one part of the planet has universal, ecological, social, and cultural repercussions. Even crime and violence have become globalized. Consequently, no government can act independently of a common responsibility. If we truly desire positive change, we have to humbly accept our interdependence. Interaction, however, is not the same as imposition; it is not the subordination of some to serve the interests of others. Colonialism, both old and new, which reduces poor countries to mere providers of raw material and cheap labor, engenders violence, poverty, forced migrations, and all the evils that go hand-in-hand with these, precisely because, by placing the periphery at the service of the center, it denies those countries the right to an integral development. That is inequality, and inequality generates a violence which no police, military, or intelligence resources can control.

Let us say NO to forms of colonialism, old and new. Let us say YES to the encounter between peoples and cultures. Blessed are the peacemakers.

Here I wish to bring up an important issue. Some may rightly say, "When the Pope speaks of colonialism, he overlooks certain actions of the Church." I say to you this: many grave sins were committed against the native peoples of America in the name of God. My predecessors acknowledged this, CELAM has said it, and I too wish to say it. Like Saint John Paul II, I ask that the Church "kneel before God and implore forgiveness for the past and present sins of her sons and daughters." I would also say, and here I wish to be quite clear, as was Saint John Paul II: I humble ask forgiveness, not only for the offenses of the Church herself, but also for crimes committed against the native peoples during the so-called conquest of America.

I also ask everyone, believers and non-believers alike, to think of those many bishops, priests, and laity who preached and continue to preach the Good News of Jesus with courage and meekness, respectfully and pacifically; who left behind them impressive works of human promotion and love, often standing alongside the native peoples or accompanying their popular movements even to the point of martyrdom. The Church, her sons and daughters, are part of the identity of the peoples of Latin America. An identity which here, as in other countries, some powers are committed to erasing, at times because our faith is revolutionary, because our faith challenges the tyranny of mammon. Today we are dismayed to see how in the Middle East and elsewhere in the world many of our brothers and sisters are persecuted, tortured, and killed for their faith in Jesus. This too needs to be denounced: in this third world war, waged piecemeal, which we are now experiencing, a form of genocide is taking place, and it must end.

To our brothers and sisters in the Latin American indigenous movement, allow me to express my deep affection and appreciation of their efforts to bring peoples and cultures together in a form of coexistence which I would call polyhedric, where each group preserves its own identity by building together a plurality which does not threaten but rather reinforces unity. Your quest for an interculturalism, which combines the defense of the rights of the native peoples with respect for the territorial integrity of states, is for all of us a source of enrichment and encouragement.

The third task, perhaps the most important facing us today, is to defend Mother Earth.

Our common home is being pillaged, laid waste, and harmed with impunity. Cowardice in defending it is a grave sin. We see with growing disappointment how one international summit after another takes place without any significant result. There exists a clear, definite, and pressing ethical imperative to implement what has not yet been done. We cannot allow certain interests -- interests which are global, but not universal -- to take over, to dominate states and international organizations, and to continue destroying creation. People and their movements are called to cry out, to mobilize, and to demand -- peacefully, but firmly -- that appropriate and urgently-needed measures be taken. I ask you, in the name of God, to defend Mother Earth. I have duly addressed this in my Encyclical Letter, Laudato Si'.

In conclusion, I would like to repeat: the future of humanity does not lie solely in the hands of great leaders, the great powers, and the elites. It is fundamentally in the hands of peoples and in their ability to organize. It is in their hands, which can guide with humility and conviction this process of change. I am with you. Let us together say from the heart: no family without lodging, no individual without dignity, no child without childhood, no young person without a future, no elderly person without a venerable old age. Keep up your struggle and, please, take great care of Mother Earth. I pray for you and with you, and I ask God our Father to accompany you and to bless you, to fill you with his love and defend you on your way by granting you in abundance that strength which keeps us on our feet: that strength is hope, the hope which does not disappoint. Thank you and I ask you, please, to pray for me."

-- Pope Francis, address to the World Meeting of Popular Movements, Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, July 9, 2015.

[thehighpriestexx420]

Their True Self's Feelings VS. Their Ego's Feelings About You

General Collective Pick-A-Gif Tarot Reading

Our True Self is the version of us WITHOUT the programming society has instilled in us and/or the programming our physical body came with. It's your soul, your spirit, your higher self. My experience with my true self can only be described as what feels right.

The Ego can be used as a tool for your true self to use or you can fall under the automatic habits it provides. It's our mind. The brain filter that allows us to perceive reality - more commonly the reality that's physical.

My intention was to pull cards into 2 columns. One to represent their true feelings and the other to represent their ego's. I've found that the message worked when I looked at all of the cards together. If you can discern the cards can be read the way I intended with your specific situation, feel free to let me know!

Take a moment to yourself. Step back from any distractions on the outside & within your mind. Take a clearing breath. Focus your attention within yourself & what you sense. Which gif calls out to you? If it's more than one, than there are multiple messages for you.

Take what resonates and leave the rest. Be aware that the future is malleable - you can choose to follow your true self or any toxic programming you've picked up. The results will follow.

💖 New followers & those who reblog the linked post below 👇 get a FREE one question tarot reading & reiki healing session. Paid services are same hour, first come first serve, & guaranteed between 8 am - 9pm 💖

✌️ Tips are also always appreciated! Help me continue helping you by providing me with funds to purchase new decks & stuff that keeps me alive 😊 Cashapp: $coltonicholas ✌️

Pile One :

Their soul is calling them to approach you & express their romantic interest. However, there's something that happened between you that's caused them to stop & truly think about this decision.

They're trying to discern how they can balance their self-love & their love for others. They don't want to get hurt again but they also don't want to miss out on their desired connection with you.

The Universe is telling them the time to approach you is now & that they're extremely supported in this. In fact, this is a part of both of your life's purpose. It's destiny. Every aspect of existence is weaving the path to make this happen.

But they're currently being held back and stalling due to doubt & the fear of hoping just to be hurt & disappointed again. As in, they feel this desire of theirs is too good to be true. Their non-action is out of fear & self-preservation.

Pile Two :

They're not seeing the results they're looking for in this connection. There's impatience. They're looking for answers outside themself rather than within.

You may be dating & haven't made things official yet. They're questioning if you're as invested in this connection as they are because of this. They could be feeling the strong desire to marry you, and yet, aren't seeing these results.

They may be overly focused on the material/physical & not enough on what their soul is saying. They want a successful home life with you while not feeling at home within themself. They cope with this feeling by indulging in distractions. Propping their ego up, shopping, bragging, etc.

They need to be more calm, nurturing, & patient. They feel the need to rush ahead while not considering others enough.

They're overly concerned with others' opinions. They want to be able to say that you're theirs & not fear people questioning the validity of your connection. It's the vibe where people have been in years long engagements. There's often doubt from others and within the connection. "Are they not sure if they want to get married, is it going to happen, etc."

Pile Three :

They're being held back by confusion, the pressure to conform, & structure. It's like they're lost in a land of illusion. They're unable to move on due to this belief they must uphold these rigid rules.

"If it's not broke, don't fix it" is a saying that comes to mind when describing this person's mindset.

They don't want to adventure outside of these old habitual ways of thinking. The unknown is unstable & unpredictable.

Despite this, their soul is desiring a union with you & they feel it - the urge to reach out. Their ego is blocking them from seeing a way forward with you.

For some of you, they want to propose but something is leading them to believe it's not possible. There's a clashing - 2 opposing forces that "shouldn't" go together. So this can look like having a religion where you're "supposed" to be with a member of the same religion, a family disapproving of same sex marriage, or some other value/belief that doesn't approve of your marriage/union.

They've had unhealthy examples of relationships growing up so this also distorts how relationships are "supposed" to look like to them. There's some kind of codependency between you two. Like you're both chained to these toxic belief systems. Change your mentor/who you look up to & set yourself free.

Pile Four :

There's this idea - this hidden gem in their heart. I'm seeing that they need some time away from the distractions of the world so that they can look inside themselves to see what this bright, burning, blossoming passion really is before they offer it to you.

They're scared of things not working out because they haven't seen any indicators it would. Their heart is closed off & as a consequence it blocks them from receiving what they desire. That includes the positive interactions from you that they're looking for.

But I'm seeing that this beginning between you is bright, beautiful, & promising. You both can try to hide what you're feeling, but it's too powerful to be ignored anyway.

I'm seeing that you both share a heart/the same feelings. This connection is within your core. It's designed to free you, reveal your true self, heal you, & to assist you with growth. For some of you, this is your divine counterpart/twin flame. For others, it's a strong soulmate connection.