#even read a statement correctly

[milkweedman]

I am sorry you've been harrassed by terfs, but the way you are currently trying to weed them out seems a bit misguided. As in, the vast majority of terfs are in fact ok with big hairy CIS men. The so-called men they are actively hating are trans women/transfem people. So by acting like you proclaiming your love to big hairy dudes is the best terf-repellant you seem to be missing the point at best.

i'd love to actually respond to your concerns or whatever the hell it was that you were trying to convey with this ask, but it has almost no basis in reality so i literally cant.

thats the one statement on how effective i think the banners are that has left my queue so far. which is: i hope it works but also have literally 2 other backup plans already in case it does not. i dont know why youre calling that "acting like [me] proclaiming [my] love to big hairy dudes is the best terf-repellant", because thats wildly off target from what i have actually said at any point. everything else youve said is also pretty much either dead wrong or ignorant, so im getting the feeling that you not reading has been a problem for a while.

(ive also not mentioned terfs this entire time--ive been talking about radfems and using the word radfems. they're not the same thing although there's large overlap. so like. thats strike two for zero reading comprehension, buddy. cause you are literally not talking about the group im talking about and youre also inventing whole new sentences that i didnt say.)

[andhumanslovedstories]

Heard a poetry reading once with some beautiful second person POV poems, and I spoke to the poet afterwards. She said that all the poems were really about herself, but it felt far far too revealing to use the first person pronoun for such personal matters. This is a fun interpretation to apply to all universal sounding things. In general, if when you encounter any statement written in the second person that's making a confident proclamation about how the world is and how people work (ex. "You've gotta appreciate the little things", "You shouldn't take things at face value", "We've all got a cousin who had a mental breakdown in a Target in West Virginia because the wedding planner called at the wrong time"), you'll often read the post more correctly if you assume that when the author says "you" they are talking exclusively to themselves and you happen to be allowed to listen in, and maybe what they're saying applies to you and maybe it doesn't at all, and maybe it's not even a little true to anyone except the speaker, but it was still an interesting perspective to consider. Anyway of course all this also applies to this post. Everything anyone ever writes is really just a reminder to themselves, which is also just another universal sounding statement that might not actually be true but is fun to think about.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

[gglitch1dd]

How would paralysed!izuku and reader yk do the deed….bc I need the Deets🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

... you're disgusting... I love you. Funny enough when I first was writing the ending, I did a lot of research on what happened to people who become paralysed particularly men and damn is it rough out there. Luckily our Izu doing stem treatment so it would probably be easier on him.

Paralysed Dilf Izuku x Reader

Note: this happens a year after the surgery. Contains cunnilingus and mentions of ED.

You sat in bed, reading your book as you sat beside Izuku. It was late already but Izuku said he was having trouble sleeping so you decided that you would stay up with him in the mean time until he got tired enough to sleep. You knew some days were rougher than others, so you stood beside him regardless.

With all the kids in bed and Toshinori gone off to UA, it was nice to have a quiet moment like this.

"Y/N..."

"Hm?" You let out softly as you turned the page of what you were reading.

Izuku hesitated as he sat next to you. He was trying to word this correctly but he wasn't sure if there was a correct way to do this. You waited until he was ready to speak, not pressurizing him as you sat at your place beside him.

"Could we have sex?"

You paused, your body not moving for a second before you turned to look at him. You closed your book, heat moving up your neck and to your face at the question. "Are... are you in the mood for it?" You asked.

He moved a hand to the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. "Not exactly." He told you honestly.

You weren't surprised to be honest. One of the unfortunately aspects of spinal injuries for men is the fact that it often came along side erectile dysfunction. Now you never thought that could happen to your husband at any time in your marriage, considering how insatiable he was. However, after the incident the both of you really didn't even try to explore sex until around two months ago.

With the stem cell therapy and physiotherapy, Izuku was making great stride. However it also caused some random boners that took you by surprise and also your husband.

"But I want to make you feel good." At that statement, your face dropped in surprise but you smiled appreciatively. Izuku looked at you with an honest expression and smile. He offered a hand and you took you carefully. "Even if I don't want pleasure, I want to give you pleasure for as long as you want me to."

You eased with a sigh. You put the book you were reading away on your side table. "Alright... you're lucky that the scene I was reading was spicy." Izuku laughed at your reasoning as you sat back down. "Where do you want- IZU!" Suddenly you felt yourself being grabbed and manhandled up away from where you were sitting.

You found yourself sitting on top of your husband on his chest. You looked down to see Izuku's face between your thighs, a grin on his face. You felt like your face was on fire, it had been so long since the both of you had been intimate together so it felt still so odd to you but not unwanted.

"Izuku!" You furrowed your eyebrows down at him. "How on earth..."

"Honey, I might walk slow but it doesn't mean I have to be slow." He stated plainly.

You huffed as you looked down at him. "But I'm- I'm heavy. I don't want to hurt or strain your spine any more."

Izuku gave you a blunt look almost as if not believing you would use that as an excuse. "Honey, I've stopped a semi-truck from falling down a cliff with my bare hands. You really aren't that heavy." He told you bluntly. "Now, will you keep finding excuses or will you let me eat out my wife in peace."

You looked away from him, your face burning at his words. You let out a sigh as you lifted up the large oversized shirt you were wearing. You worse simple cotton briefs but Izuku would be lying if he said he didn't like them on you. He hummed as he moved his thumb to go up and down your slit, brushing against your clit.

You let out a sigh as you found yourself relaxing on top of him. The feeling of friction finally against your sex was heavenly. You let out soft hums, affirming what he was doing. Izuku focused on rubbing circles on your clit the way you liked it. A moan tumbled out of your lips as you flicked your head back.

Izuku moved your panties to the side. His eyebrows twitched raising in surprise at how wet you were already. It had been a while but he was nevertheless glad you still responded so well to his touch. He took a moment to appreciate you, moving his finger down your slit almost like he was trying to memorise your cunt to memory.

You looked down at him with a frown. "What are you staring at?

"You." He answered dead seriously. He looked up at you with an honest expression. "I've missed you." He whispered softly. You weren't sure if he was talking to you or your sex or both.

You dragged a hand through his curly hair making a hum come out of him. You moved your hands up your thighs before moving to spread your lips for him. "Go on then." You nodded to between your legs. "It's waiting for you."

You felt the grip on your thighs tighten. You made the mistake of making eye contact with Izuku. It was the exact reason he lulled you into his grasp. Those eyes. Those eyes that looked into you like you were everything. His hooded eyes were dark with lust and wanting as he dragged his tongue up your slit, flicking at your clit. You gasped, tensing your thighs.

However, you didn't have a lot of time to brace yourself as he buried his face dead first into your sex. You had to hold a squeal as he start to lap at your sex. Izuku's arms were wrapped around your thighs, keeping you seated on his face. You let out a moan as you started to grind your hips down on his mouth.

Izuku lapped at your cunt like a man starved. He licked every drop of essence that left your aching depths like you were water and he was a man stuck in the dessert. He let out a groan, his eyes closing. The feeling of his groan against your clit made you moan.

"Yes..." You whispered. "Yes, just like that Izu." You urged as you thrusted your hips closer to his mouth. You grasped his curls making him groan again. "Fuck~ Like that. Come on." You urged as you started to become desperate.

Suddenly you felt a finger press into you. You flipped your head back as a deep groan left your lips. His fingers always felt better than your own. So much more thicker and so much more filling than yours could ever do to you. You were aching for more of him deep inside you.

You didn't want to be selfish but...

You missed his cock.

You felt another finger press into you making you stretch around his fingers. He curved his fingers, easily finding that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You let out a moan. "Oh fuck! Right there! Right-" The words were taking out of your mouth as you arched your back, your thighs tightening around his head.

He chuckled. Izuku easily moved his fingers, deeply thrusting into your sopping wet hole. He moved his mouth to your clit making you gasp. It was everything all at once. You felt like you were so close. So bloody close. You just needed him to just-

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't bloody stop." You downright ordered of him as your thighs tensed. Suddenly without warning your toes curled as ecstacy washed over your body. Your body shivered in pleasure as you gripped his hair roughly. You were shaking in pleasure as your body felt like it was floating.

With a gasp you leaned back, moving your sex away from his mouth, trying to take control of your thoughts once more. You took in deep breaths as you closed your eyes. That felt good. It felt really good.

"That was great." You said softly.

"Yah?"

You nodded your head. "Yah." You turned to get off of him. The bottom half of his face was covered in slick which he happily licked off his lips. You shook your head with a flush but couldn't help but giggle. "Thank you Izu, I really needed tha-" Suddenly you stopped speaking as you looked down.

Izuku tilted his head before following your eyes down. Izuku's face bloomed red as the both of you looked at each other before the rather big problem at hand.

"A... Are you hard?" You asked.

Izuku hesitated to answer before looking back up at you with a nervous chuckle. "Surprise?"

Moral of the story?... There's a lot of riding and head involved.

-Glitch1d

[rebeccathenaturalist]

An App Does Not a Master Naturalist Make

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/app-not-master-naturalist/ - I had written this as an op-ed and sent it to WaPo, but they had no interest, so you get to read it here instead!

I have mixed feelings about Michael Coren’s April 25 Washington Post article, “These 4 free apps can help you identify every flower, plant and tree around you.” His ebullience at exploring some of the diverse ecological community around him made me grin, because I know exactly what it feels like. There’s nothing like that sense of wonder and belonging when you go outside and are surrounded by neighbors of many species, instead of a monotonous wall of green, and that is a big part of what led me to become a Master Naturalist.

When I moved from the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest in 2006, I felt lost because I didn’t recognize many of the animals or plants in my new home. So I set about systematically learning every species that crossed my path. Later, I began teaching community-level classes on nature identification to help other people learn skills and tools for exploring their local flora, fauna, and fungi.

Threeleaf foamflower (Tiarella trifoliata)

Let me be clear: I love apps. I use Merlin routinely to identify unknown bird songs, and iNaturalist is my absolute favorite ID app, period. But these tools are not 100% flawless.

For one thing, they’re only as good as the data you provide them. iNaturalist’s algorithms, for example, rely on a combination of photos (visual data), date and time (seasonal data), and GPS coordinates (location data) to make initial identification suggestions. These algorithms sift through the 135-million-plus observations uploaded to date, finding observations that have similar visual, seasonal, and location data to yours.

There have been many times over the years where iNaturalist isn’t so sure. Take this photo of a rather nondescript clump of grass. Without seed heads to provide extra clues, the algorithms offer an unrelated assortment of species, with only one grass. I’ve gotten that “We’re not confident enough to make a recommendation” message countless times over my years of using the app, often suggesting species that are clearly not what I’m looking at in real life.

Because iNaturalist usually offers up multiple options, you have to decide which one is the best fit. Sometimes it’s the first species listed, but sometimes it’s not. This becomes trickier if all the species that are suggested look alike. Tree-of-Heaven (Ailanthus altissima), smooth sumac (Rhus glabra) and eastern black walnut (Juglans nigra) all have pinnately compound, lanceolate leaves, and young plants of these three species can appear quite similar. If all you know how to do is point and click your phone’s camera, you aren’t going to be able to confidently choose which of the three plants is the right one.

Coren correctly points out that both iNaturalist and Pl@ntNet do offer more information on suggested species—if people are willing to take the time to look. Too many assume ID apps will give an easy, instant answer. In watching my students use the app in person almost everyone just picks the first species in the list. It’s not until I demonstrate how to access the additional content for each species offered that anyone thinks to question the algorithms’ suggestions.

While iNaturalist is one of the tools I incorporate into my classes, I emphasize that apps in general are not to be used alone, but in conjunction with field guides, websites, and other resources. Nature identification, even on a casual level, requires critical thinking and observation skills if you want to make sure you’re correct. Coren’s assertion that you only need a few apps demonstrates a misunderstanding of a skill that takes time and practice to develop properly—and accurately.

Speaking of oversimplification, apps are not a Master Naturalist in your pocket, and that statement —while meant as a compliment–does a disservice to the thousands of Master Naturalists across the country. While the training curricula vary from state to state, they are generally based in learning how organisms interact within habitats and ecosystems, often drawing on a synthesis of biology, geology, hydrology, climatology, and other natural sciences. A Master Naturalist could tell you not only what species you’re looking at, but how it fits into this ecosystem, how its adaptations are different from a related species in another ecoregion, and so forth.

Map showing Level III and IV ecoregions of Oregon, the basis of my training as an Oregon Master Naturalist.

In spite of my criticisms, I do think that Coren was absolutely onto something when he described the effects of using the apps. Seeing the landscape around you turn from a green background to a vibrant community of living beings makes going outside a more exciting, personal experience. I and my fellow nature nerds share an intense curiosity about the world around us. And that passion, more than any app or other tool, is fundamental to becoming a citizen naturalist, Master or otherwise.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[updownlately]

in your embrace (this crowded room doesn’t matter)

| leah williamson x reader

~~~

“You tired yet?” The soft murmur of words against your ear had you relaxing, the familiar voice automatically putting you at ease. 

Closing your eyes at the feel of her breath on your ear, you hummed in thought, processing the question as music filtered in from the speakers near you. 

Continuing to sway gently in the dim light, you tightened your grasp around Leah’s neck and pulled back ever so slightly, your eyes meeting blue ones.

“Not quite yet. Are you?” 

“I don’t think I can ever be tired while being in your arms…” 

Smiling shyly, you shook your head. “Half past midnight and your flirting just doesn’t stop huh?”, you questioned. 

The cheeky shrug and teasing smile you received in response had you quietly laughing, you tucking yourself back into the crook of the blonde’s neck, letting her guide you as the song changed. 

You both had spent the day celebrating love, having been invited to an old teammate’s wedding.

Partying hard through the better part of the evening and night, on the dance floor with friends and teammates, Leah had whisked you away a short while ago, just as the slow songs had once again come on, more than glad to finally get some time alone with you after the hectic day. 

The pair of you had ended up tucked near the back, lost in your own world as song after song had played, tons of other couples rotating on and off the dance floor as you two stuck around.

“I can’t believe we managed to make it on time…”

The quiet statement had Leah groaning in playful annoyance, her grip on your waist tightening.

“Not my fault you’re a distraction!”

“Me? I was ready on time…hair and makeup both done long before Uber had arrived. And if I recall correctly, it wasn’t me putting on lipstick and blush in the car, love.” 

Your hushed jest had the blonde hanging her head back, your pace slowing as she chuckled quietly at the memory. 

“At least the music was decent this time.”

Biting back a smile, you followed Leah’s movement without thinking, mind occupied recalling the morning before the wedding ceremony. 

Though the pair of you had woken up on time- a miracle if you were asked, considering it was a Saturday off- you had somehow managed to spend a tad bit (read: over an hour) too long in bed, more content with lazily cuddling as the time ticked by, you both blissfully unaware until your warning alarm had rung.

It had been a scramble to get ready in time for the wedding, the both of you running around the apartment grabbing all that you needed, you claiming the main ensuite and ushering Leah and her suit to the guest one so that you could both be ready to go.

Even with your strategic separation, the blonde had ended up over in your shared bedroom, eventually roped into zipping you up and helping you with your jewelry. 

Somehow, helping you out had turned into a small make out session, and well, if Leah had to fight the bumps on the road as she sang along to the radio whilst sorting out the final touches on her make up as the result of the time lost, you definitely weren’t the one complaining, more than content with your finished look and the presence of the blonde beside you. 

Snapping out of your thoughts as you heard the familiar strumming of your favourite James Arthur song play, you pulled back to smile at Leah, the blonde returning the sentiment as she tugged you ever so closer, your faces mere inches apart.

Matching grins on your faces, you matched your steps with Leah, softly waltzing under the dimmer lights in the back, satisfied with the knowledge that you would likely not be bothered, more than happy to be consumed in your own world, in your love. 

“…I’m so in love with you…and I hope you know…,” Leah sang lowly, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Finishing her line, you smile grew as you continued the song. “…darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold…” 

“…we've come so far, my dear…look how we've grown…and I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old…just say you won't let go…”

Voice dropping as you let the midfielder finish the stanza, you shook your head in amazement, blush coating your cheeks as your thought of how lucky you were. 

Head tilting as the soft hue reflected perfectly off of Leah’s eyes, you took a second to admire the darker colour that they appeared to be, as well as the rest of your girlfriend.

“You look absolutely incredible in this dim light- the way it’s perfectly highlighting your jawline and cheekbones, you’re gorgeous. And it’s somehow making your eyes nearly look this ethereal navy colour. Never thought they could get prettier but here we are…” You let your voice trail off, the quiet murmur over the music disappearing as you traced over the facial features of the one you loved, noting the rosy hue that covered her cheeks at your compliment. 

Rubbing your thumb comfortingly on the nape of Leah’s neck, you watched her wordlessly accept your compliment, her eyes not meeting your gaze telling you that Leah appreciated your comment. Picking up your pace once again and tightening your hold around her shoulders, you brought yourselves closer, picking up the pace to match the new song that played, an Ed Sheeran one this time. 

Taking a second to break out of your bubble as the song faded out, you took a look around the hall, realizing you were the only couple left on the dance floor, even the straggling drunk folks having sat down or headed out. 

Glancing up at your watch, eyes widening as you saw the time had nearly hit half past one, you slowed down your pace, looking around once more only to notice even the DJ wasn’t at their station, likely a playlist the source of the music playing. 

Bringing Leah’s attention to the station as you stopped dancing, you cast the blonde a look of disbelief before bursting out into laughter. 

“Leah, I can’t believe we’ve stayed out here that long…everyone else’s nearly gone!”

And as Leah’s head swivelled around in search for your friends, well aware that the newly-wed couple had headed out a little while ago, you held back your laughter, amazed at how the time flew by as you both had spent the nearly two hours dancing together, lost in each other’s embrace, completely blind to everyone else’s presence (or lack thereof) in the room. 

Turning back to you with a shocked look on her face, the blonde just barely managed to sputter out her next words. “We surely couldn’t have been dancing for that long, right?”

“Leah, I really think we ‘J-Lo’d’ this and very much have ‘danced the night away’,” you responded, giggling at your horrible joke. 

Shaking her head amusedly at the lame line, the blonde grabbed your hand, leading you towards your table. 

“I wish we could’ve danced a bit longer…forever even…” 

Wrapping your arm around Leah’s waist, you brought your joined hands up to your lips, placing a kiss on the back of her hand before stopping her in her tracks and nudging her to look at you, your voice just loud enough for you two to hear.

“How about this...at our wedding, you and I’ll make sure to dance until both our feet ache, okay?” 

Looking up into eyes shining with unspoken love, you let yourself be pulled into Leah’s embrace, sinking happily into the emotion-filled kiss being placed on your lips- the unsaid agreement clear.

Basking in the pure adoration, you held on tightly to Leah, grip only loosening as Leah pulled back, her wiping the slightly smudged lipstick gently off your face. Blonde head nodding vigorously, her response was enthusiastic. 

“I think I’d love that.”

Balancing on your tiptoes, you placed a final chaste kiss on the blonde’s lips as if to agree to the final decision before grabbing her hand and continuing your trek to your table.

Looking back as you walked ahead, you shot the blonde a wink and a sly smile, quickly grabbing Leah’s coat before speaking.

“Great! Then all that’s left is for you to propose!”

And as you left a wonderfully perplexed Leah at the table, you slowly began walking backwards to the parked car, a proud smile on your face as you faced the Englishwoman, a lovesick grin of disbelief shining from her.

You absolutely couldn’t wait to marry her. 

[strwberri-milk]

Oh how about a reader and Ayato like each other but reader hesitates to openly reciprocate any feelings because she’s just a normal person not from inazuma? Like in her eyes Ayato is a princes and she isn’t a princess and therefore she doesn’t deserve him or should be with him? I guess slight angst with fluff ending?

I Hope you have a lovely lovely day 💕

Ayato thought that being honest and upfront with you would be the best thing to do. He isn't one who beats around the bush, deciding that a direct approach is the best approach. When he told you how he feels he tells you you don't have to reciprocate his feelings but is still a little surprised when you tell him you don't.

He has a good read on people so he really thought that he read your signals correctly and that you liked him as well, but when you tell him that you don't he decides to take you at face value. He ignores the cues that you give that directly contradict your statement, wanting to just believe you for now and avoid confronting you.

It doesn't take him long to figure out that whatever it is you said to him is a lie. You still crave his presence, spending time with him whenever the two of you are free and being almost overly cautious with the way you interact with him. He knows that it's because you don't want to overstep some imaginary boundary you've drawn up, not knowing what to say just yet.

He chooses to simply observe the way you act around him, trying to see if you were just concealing your feelings for him. After he feels he's gathered enough evidence to sufficiently make his judgement, he asks you if you've actually been secretly harbouring feelings for him.

Patiently, he waits as you slowly tell him that yes, you do like him but you can't. He listens as you tell him that he's too good for you and that he shouldn't even be entertaining you like this but you just can't help but indulge because he is. It takes him even longer to convince you that he doesn't feel that way and that he does like you and it doesn't matter how society might perceive it. He insists on courting you like a true gentleman, a request you decide to take a chance on and agree to. You're glad for it for the smile he gives you is unlike any other.

[jeff-from-marketing]

Hey it's been a hot minute, I'm gonna go off about Helldivers 2 for a bit, because the whole thing fascinates me.

Funnily enough it's not even the actual game itself that truly fascinates me, as great as it is. I do genuinely think that, while not perfect, it's a very solid game that knows what kind of experience it wants to deliver, and does a fantastic job delivering on it. The Starship Troopers-esque satire is hilarious, and I love how much the gameplay reinforces that satire through things like reinforcements canonically being a whole new Helldiver sent into the meat grinder, and that the mission still counts as a celebrated victory even if you never make it back alive. I could even talk about how the objectively clunky system for calling in orbital support is actually a positive for the game, but only this game and the type of experience it's selling.

But none of that is what fascinates me about this game so much. Because y'see, I played the first Helldivers game, and it was also a great bit of fun! It's actually why I was interested in the second one to begin with. But I also know that the first Helldivers was not a very wide reaching game, none of Arrowhead's games have been. They've not done poorly by any means, they're still in business and have been for over a decade now. But they've always been fairly niche affairs. Until now. To really sell the picture, I wanna rattle off player counts for their previous games:

Magicka in 2011, Arrowhead's first big game and published by Paradox, had an all-time max player count of 11,727 players according to SteamDB. I don't believe it was on any other storefronts, but I could be mistaken. A quick wikipedia visit tells me that the game sold roughly a million units over a year which, again, not bad! Especially for a game that is admittedly fairly unusual, but is a lot of fun!

The Showdown Effect in 2013, which I only just found out about right now after double checking my numbers, had a all time high of just 3,284 according to SteamDB, and is now delisted from Steam. Though apparently there's a remake from another company happening? There's a lot less info on this one in general.

Gauntlet in 2014, this one I do know a bit more about since I also played this one. A remake of the original 1985 game, and was a good bit of fun as well! This one is trickier to get an accurate player count reading, because it did have a PS4 release and those are harder to find numbers for. Regardless, it was also on Steam, so therefore I can use those numbers at least, which gives me a max consecutive player count of 12,730. I don't know how much PS4 factored into this.

And now we get to the real interesting one: Helldivers 1. Again, this is tricky because not only was it on console, but it was actually on console before it was ever on PC, which heavily skews numbers. SteamDB has the peak at just 6,744, but this doesn't sit right with me. I've seen estimates of 50k people around the place, some say 35k, but never a solid source. It's also very difficult to search atm because of how much Helldivers 2 is blowing up. Speaking of...

So Helldivers 1 is their most popular game, and I'll be generous and say that the 50k count is the accurate one. So surely Helldivers 2 can't be that much more- oh I'm not even going to pretend, you already know what's going on here. The game has reached ~450k concurrent players just on Steam alone! And the game also exists on PS5, and if I recall correctly: there's official statements saying that the player counts are roughly equal with each other. That means a peak of ~900,000 individual players. To illustrate how bonkers batshit insane that is, motherfucking Fortnite has a current consecutive player count of roughly one million.

Let me reiterate: a game that came out of basically nowhere with little marketing, from a small studio with only about 100 employees, is rivaling the juggernaut that is fucking Fortnite. That is insane.

As someone who has played all of Arrowhead's previous games besides The Showdown Effect, this is bonkers. There's a reason the sentiment was "there's no way to have predicted this" when the servers were at their worst, because look at the previous data! How is anyone supposed to predict a sequel to a niche game (from a company very few people have heard about) to get a ~1800% increase in max player count? Their initial server capacity was 250k, which would've been very optimistic if you were just going by Helldivers 1 numbers. But then that wasn't enough. And then 360k wasn't enough. And then 450k wasn't enough. We're now at 700k server capacity and just finally getting things under control. This game just exploded in a way no one could have reasonably predicted. And I have no idea why this is the case either.

I'm not saying it's not deserved; it absolutely is! Like I said, game is great, and there's not even any shitty business practices I can bitch at this time! It's just so sudden and out of nowhere that it baffles me. Such a small percentage of these players would've even heard of the first game, let alone played it. It didn't have a massive marketing campaign, this is pretty much all spread through word of mouth, which is insane in its own right. It's not even like the game is entering an untapped market, it shares its existence with games like Deep Rock Galactic, Vermintide, Darktide, the actual Starship Troopers game, probably some others I'm forgetting. And yet, despite all of this, it breached containment something fierce. I don't have a big conclusion to make from all this, I'd love to be able to say "oh people are just getting tired of Triple A- oh I'm sorry, Quadruple A gaming and this is a breath of fresh air" and it is that, as was Baldur's Gate 3, but I'm not naive enough to think that's the main reason. Not when so many other great games continue to go undiscovered, and so many people still end up buying whatever the next big Triple A thing is. It's a great game to play with friends, and there's a lot going for it and a lot of charm, but such is also the case for the other games I already listed in this paragraph and they don't see the same popularity.

Whether it's just dumb fucking luck, or a really oddly specific set of circumstances at play that I can't see, I'm just dumbfounded and flabbergasted. But I'm not exactly gonna complain. It's fun getting sent into the meat grinder to spread Managed Democracy, and I'm glad the game is doing as well as it is, though I do hope that the devs get to have a bit of rest once the dust finally settles a little bit.

[txttletale]

Overly long disclaimer incoming: This is not anon hate. This is not an argument. This is not accusation. This is not agreement with anyone directly involved. Any feelings of hostility that may be gleaned from this ask are most likely because I struggle with maintaining a professional tone. Because this is not intended to be read as hostile.

This is solely intended as a statement of facts regarding who said what, mixed with light speculation on their intent. It is being sent because I feel that misinterpretation has occurred, and I firmly believe that one should always be as informed as possible on situations they are directly involved in. I hope this ask can make a positive difference.

Okay. Disclaimer over. Sorry it was so long.

I do not think roadhogsbigbelly accused you of being a pedophile yourself, and I don’t believe it was because of your stardew valley take.

I have seen several of his posts on this matter, and it seems he doesn’t like stardew valley (found it boring), his beef with your take was frankly minor and inconsequential, and it was intended to be separate from the larger critique he had of you. He made a few posts saying rather explicitly that they were separate issues, and I believe his initial post was a vagueblog that, on accident, conflated the two issues.

As for the main issue: if i recall correctly, you had reblogged a kink-positive post that turned out to have been made by an open zoophile (and also pedophile?). The zoophile in question is a clear danger to others, as they have a community of pedophiles and zoophiles that welcomes so-called “pro-contact” people.

This was where his accusations originated from, and this was what he focused on. He is concerned about how dangerous people like that are able to infiltrate into kink-positive spaces (is “infiltrate” the right word? I don’t know). His harshest critique of you seems to have been that you did not interrogate the intent of the person when you reblogged, and even that seems to have been mostly expressed in order to turn this into a learning moment for others. I don’t have precise wording (curse you tumblr mobile, for not letting me factcheck myself), but i believe he shared the sentiment that we all could stand to be a little more discerning?

- and I know he knows you have already responded to that criticism. For those unaware: txtlletale’s response was that she cannot be expected to vet the OP of every post on her dash, and that this criticism is thus unreasonable. His response to that response? … I forget, sorry. But I don’t think what you said was unreasonable. Again, my intent is to clear misunderstandings.

The point here is that, I don’t believe “accidentally reblogged a pedophile” and “is a pedophile” are the same statements, and roadhogsbigbelly had made the former statement. In short… I don’t think he was pedojacketing you. Whether he had unfairly judged you, and done so out of a transmisogynistic bias is, of course, a different question entirely. And if anyone else used his words to directly accuse you of pedophilia? Well, fuck em. Assholes.

I hope this makes sense. This ask is anonymous because I do not wish to become the focus of this issue. I am solely presenting information as I understand it. Feel free to fact check for yourself.

I think your anger is valid. These situations are infuriating, as is the culture of distrust that they bring. People on social media are, in general, far too swift to condemnation. You see it all the time, with pedojacketing, with qanon, with countless petty internet arguments. I try my best to reverse this tendency, at least with my own behavior. I don’t think you are a careless person, nor someone with a pattern of spurious accusations against people. I know you’re an intelligent and discerning blogger, which is why I trust you enough to send this ask. I hope I can have a positive impact.

have a good day, and take care of yourself.

(Considering sending an ask about this to him as well, so if you see a weird anon on his blog talking about misinformation hi its me)

i just don't agree with you--like, i don't say this aggressively either but this is just not an honest description of what he said. he called me, verbatim: "a tumblr user who markets incest and loliporn as an inherent part of queer sexuality". nothing in the screenshot mentioned "loliporn" -- nothing i have ever posted about in my fucking live mentions "loliporn" -- and for that matter, obviously, in none of my posts have i ever said that any kink, 'problematic' or not, is 'an inherent part of queer sexuality', and most fucking evilly of all, i don't 'market' these kinks.

like, think for two seconds about the implication of saying i, a trans woman, am "marketing loliporn". i think that goes beyond criticizing that i didn't vet my reblogs (which would obviously be insane in and of itself but i agree would not be pedojacketing). it's literal grooming/social contagion rhetoric. and again i can't emphasize enough he "just assumed" that "loliporn" was involved, despite it having no connection to anything i have ever posted! that + in his absolutely laughable double-down he says "99% of the people who make these sorts of posts are actual fucking pedophiles" as well as "pedophiles are agreeing with you! that’s not great!" which.

like wow that's crazy hey if 99% of people who make "those posts" (about "not being mean to sex freaks", or as i would phrase it, "criticizing the double standard leveraged to initiate mass sexual harassment campaigns against queer people but especially trans people for what they do privately and consensually with other adults" are "actual fucking pedophiles", what is that implying about me? can sherlock holmes get on this case with me?

idk i don't appreciate being told that "he never said 4" when he sure as hell was repeating "2+2" over and over again. & if his critique was 'intended to be separate' then why would he bring it up at all in his original post, multiple times, to clearly imply he doesn't think i should have 'takes' or 'opinions' on anything? regardless of what he did and didn't say about me i think it is pretty fucking clear that this:

is not 'seperate or unrelated'. i think it is really really difficult and requires totally unearned levels of good faith to read this as anything other than explicitly confirming that the point of this post is to use transmisogynistic rhetoric as a cudgel to shut up me up.

you can believe what you like but i know what i read and what was said about me and i will not be lied to.

[slotmachines-fearofgod]

As per the poll results...

Alpha-17 hated taking care of the cadets. 

They were loud, unruly, undisciplined, and cocky little sons of bitches. The Kaminiise that interrupted his and Fordo’s training session had said something about the CC batches needing mentors now that Fett was determined to get back to bounty hunting. Every Alpha ARC was to take on a batch as a trial run, regardless of the fact that Fett was never much of a mentor to them. 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that his batch was a fucking mess. Maze had even patted him sympathetically on the back when they were given their official assignments. In their first week, two of them, apparently the twins of the batch, had already managed to get themselves into three offices they weren’t supposed to be in, and snuck out of the barracks almost every night. 

Alpha made them run suicides for hours for it. 

He didn’t care for his batch the way some of his brothers did, with soft gestures and words like “ad’ika” or “vod’ika.” They were clones, and they wouldn’t find any sort of soft spot in the middle of a battlefield. He’d raise them the way he was raised, with sharp tongues and extra training, and they’d come out the other side better for it. 

That doesn’t mean he didn’t care at all. 

CC-2224 was standing guard outside their barracks, which was a bad sign, especially considering he’d been the first to learn that if they got in trouble, they got in trouble as a group. He was usually the most effective at dissuading the rest. 

Not tonight.

“Cadet,” Seventeen greeted sharply, “sitrep.”

CC-2224 didn’t look him in the eyes, another bad sign. It had been one fucking month, and he was already having to put up with shit like this. 

“B - CC-5052 is experiencing residual discomfort from the training exercise today, sir. My batchmates are helping him with recovery.” Only three years old, six standard, and CC-2224 was already the best soldier out of all of them. But he was shit at covering for the rest. 

“Why are you guarding the door?” Seventeen crossed his arms over his chest, looming over the kid. If it was really what he said, he’d been in there helping with whatever cramp 5052 was feeling. 

The day’s training hadn’t even really been that difficult from a physical standpoint. It was Seventeen’s least favorite type of resistance training: the mental kind. The Kaminiise had them start it early so their minds automatically built up resistances to-

Oh. 

“CC-3636 asked that I remain outside so as not to crowd CC-5052 and explain to any who may be monitoring the barracks what is going on.” Seventeen knew enough to read between the lines of that statement. He was there to discourage any particularly nosy Kaminiise from looking too closely for flaws. They would be monitored closely for the next few days for any defects, a fact that had been made clear to them before the exercises had taken place. 

CC-2224 still wasn’t meeting his eyes. He looked exhausted now that Seventeen was actually looking for it. He had a certain deadness to his face that Seventeen had seen many times both in the mirror and on others. If he remembered correctly, today had been the first day this specific crew had to undergo this type of training. CC-2224 was probably the best off if he was well enough to stand guard. 

Seventeen breathed out slowly, for the first time unsure what to do with the cadets. Usually their problems were solved with laps in the rain around the compound, or latrine cleaning duty. Emotional issues were more Fordo’s thing. But Fordo had his own batch to tend to. 

“Step out of the way cadet,” Seventeen ended up saying, trying not to make it too gruff. The quick, quiet knock against the door signaled that he didn’t quite manage that. Nonetheless, CC-2224 let him pass, albeit a bit slowly. Probably trying to buy his batchmates time. 

It was apparently enough. 

5052, 3636, 1010, and 411 were all in their bunks, with 1010 just barely managing to reach his as Seventeen opened the door. 5052 was turned away from him, taking the furthest bunk in the corner, while 411 and 3636 took the closest. 1010 and an empty bunk stood in the middle, with 5052’s pressed up against the wall. He assumed one of the two empty bunks, above 5052 or below 1010, was for 2224.

“5052,” his voice rang out across the eerily silent room. It felt heavy in their room tonight, not light or even charged with an air of mischief like he was accustomed to it being. 5052 raised his head blearily, and Seventeen ignored the fierce ache in his chest at the sight of his red, puffy eyes. “With me,” he ordered, ignoring the subtle sharp looks 1010 and 3636 were exchanging. 

5052’s eyes watered briefly, before his face smoothed out. He was already learning the importance of a blank face, which was good. He shouldn’t be using it with Seventeen, though. 

5052 climbed out of his bed, his posture rigid in a way Seventeen had never seen before. Were it not for the situation, he would’ve applauded this cadet for his professionalism, something they’d all been lacking ever since he met them. 

“Sir,” 411 called, and Seventeen spared him a brief glance, “I was wondering if-”

“Later, 411,” Seventeen said sharply, training his gaze on the kid who was approaching him like he was a death sentence. “5052 and I need to take care of something.”

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what effect his words were having on the cadets, especially 2224 who stood guiltily in the doorway. It was fine. Maybe they’d finally understand he was in charge, or learn they weren’t as invincible as they believed themselves to be. 

As 5052 reached him, Seventeen held out a hand. The cadet looked up at him, then back at his hand, almost confused. Seventeen sighed, grabbing 5052’s hand with his, practically dwarfing the kid. He tried to keep his posture open and non-threatening, but he got the feeling the look 5052 cast at his brothers was him saying goodbye. As he tugged the cadet out the door, he noticed 2224 make a move to grab his brother, before 5052 shook his head. 

2224 watched them go with tears in his eyes. 

Fucking aiwha-bait Kaminiise demogolka. 

He could hear the soft crying before 5052 and he had turned the corner down the hall. To his credit, the cadet didn’t shed a tear. He may have cried it all out earlier, but one look at the kid proved otherwise. He put on a brave face, but it was just a face. Any clone trooper would be able to see right through it. 

He pulled 5052 along in silence until they reached his office. Seventeen punched in his keycode with his free hand, keeping a tight grip on the kid so he didn’t try to bolt. It was only once they were inside that Seventeen dropped the hand and sat in his chair. 5052 stood at attention directly in front of him, just how they were taught. 

“What happened?” It was less of a request, and more of a demand. 

5052’s voice barely shook as he spoke, “I suffered the after effects of today’s training, sir.”

Seventeen leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his desk, “Symptoms.”

5052 pressed his lips together, tears shining in his eyes once again, before answering, “I-I felt a shortness of breath, tightness in my chest, numbness of limbs, hand tremors, and tunnel vision.”

“You had a panic attack,” Seventeen summarized for him, nodding along with the conclusion. 5052 gave one sharp nod, like it took all his courage just to admit it. Hell, it probably did. If any of the longnecks found out, he’d be decommissioned. Just like with the Alphas, they wanted this first batch of CCs to be perfect. 

“Yessir,” he whispered, his lower lip wobbling slightly. 

Seventeen sighed, “At ease, 5052. C’mere.”

5052 fell back into parade rest, but didn’t move, eyes darting between the wall and Seventeen’s face. Seventeen raised his eyebrow, and sat back in his chair. He could play the waiting game. 

Eventually, the cadet caved and rounded the desk before he stood at Seventeen’s side, still looking past him instead of at him. 

“I know 2224’s been going around giving out names, so what’s yours?” Seventeen asked gently. 2224 was practically asking for a decom with that little scheme, but he couldn’t help but admire the sheer bravery, or maybe stupidity, the cadet showed.

5052 shook his head just slightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Drop the sir, it’s just Seventeen for right now.” It would be easier if he put them on even footing. 

That got 5052 to look at him. 

There was a long pause where his mind was putting the pieces together, the fact that Seventeen took him to his office and not a long-neck, the gentle tone, the hand holding, the dropping of rank all beginning to click in his head. 

“I’m not - am I in trouble?”

Seventeen shook his head and 5052 sagged in relief almost immediately. This time, the tears did start, wracking his little body as his head dropped to his chest. Seventeen did the only thing he could and yanked the kid into his chest, calmly running a hand through his short curls and breathing in and out, getting him to match the pattern. 

It took a while, but 5052 began to calm down. 

“It’s alright, kid,” Seventeen said lowly, “You’re not the first vod to lose it after one of those training sessions and you won’t be the last.”

“Vod?”

“It means brother,” Seventeen said. He’d forgotten that less exposure to Fett meant the new generations wouldn’t likely have the chance to learn Mando’a. He’d have to talk to the other Alphas about fixing that. 

5052 nodded, before taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Seventeen allowed him that, just offering physical comfort like his batch was probably doing before he intruded. As much as they got on his nerves, they needed to know they were his vode, and he wouldn’t turn them in for something so little as a panic attack. He didn’t have to like them to treat them with some base decency. 

“My name is Bly,” he answered eventually, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Seventeen chuckled, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He gently disentangled them, before bringing him into a keldabe. “Do you know what this is?” 

He shook his head no. 

“This is a keldabe. In a fight, a keldabe can be a useful tool in getting your opponents disoriented and putting some distance between you and them. It’d be a bit rougher than this, and probably leave you with a bruise if I really put some effort into it.” He held eye contact with 5052, even as the slightly caged look came back into the cadet’s eyes, “But between family, friends, or partners, it’s a sign of affection. A sign that we’re here for each other, through all this blood and fear. Something so brutal, so painful, turned soft and loving in the presence of those you trust.”

“Oh,” the kid breathed out, and Seventeen could tell the exact moment that he understood what he was telling him. 

“I’m not letting those demogolka get their hands on you, even if your brothers are assholes,” the small laugh was almost happy, “I can’t go easy on you, vod. If I do, we’ll both be slated for decomm. Do you understand?”

The kid - Bly nodded, a very small smile beginning to form, “Thanks, Seventeen.”

Seventeen pulled back and nodded, hiding his laugh at Bly’s sudden yawn. It was getting late, and these kids hadn’t gone through sleep deprivation training yet. It would be best to let them rest while they could. 

—

“Again,” Seventeen called, grinning smugly as Fox snarled at him. A year into their training with him and this batch had quickly shot to the top, with the exception of the clone in front of him. Fox’s scores had been dropping lately, though the little dickhead refused to tell him what had been going on, so they were doing this. 

Sparring until Fox either dropped or spilled. 

It was looking more and more like Fox preferred the first option. 

Usually, when one of them was being difficult, he had them train until their legs gave out on them and they could do nothing but talk. Sometimes it took a little more or less work, especially when it came to Fox. Bly was happy to talk to him since that first night he’d shown he was safe, though he’d caught comments from Wolffe or Fox about the baby of the batch getting special treatment. Kote and Ponds generally folded as soon as they were physically exhausted, and Wolffe just had to get angry enough to spit it all out in quick succession. 

Fox was different. He was smarter. 

He didn’t take training laying down, and was clever enough to keep his cool even when Seventeen could tell he wanted to do nothing more than scream. He’d never dream of talking about his issues to anyone outside his batch, and even then Seventeen was pretty sure he’d only talk to Ponds or Wolffe. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Seventeen his name until Wolffe nagged him enough to make him stand, red-faced, in front of the older clone and spit it out. Seventeen pulled him into a quick keldabe, before repeating the name and telling him it suited him. 

Right now wouldn’t be solved with nagging or a keldabe. At least, not the gentle kind. Fox needed blood, he needed to gnash his teeth and give and receive a little pain. Seventeen understood that just fine. 

“Fuck you,” Fox spat, before lunging again. He was getting sloppier, more tired, and Seventeen was able to pin him in under a minute. He held the struggling kid there for a few seconds until Fox realized he wasn’t escaping and went limp, tapping out once again. 

“Again,” Seventeen repeated once Fox had caught his breath. This time, it was less than thirty seconds before Fox quit fighting, just lying quietly on the mat. 

“You know,” Seventeen huffed after a few moments of stillness, “You’re supposed to tap out.”

Fox tapped lightly, and Seventeen let him up. He grabbed his shoulder before Fox could get too far back into position to go again. 

“Your flight time went up again.”

“I know.”

“You gonna do anything about it?”

Fox’s glare was enough to make almost anyone else back down. But not him. 

“The fuck do you care?”

Seventeen stepped back, getting into a fighting position, “Again.”

Fox didn’t have buttons to push like Wolffe, nor did he give up when he should like Ponds or Kote. He needed a little of both, a little more push than most would have advocated for a kid, to get him to crack how he needed to. 

They danced the familiar dance a few more times before, maybe the fourth or fifth time Seventeen pinned him, Fox let out a frustrated yell. That was close to what he was looking for.

“Kote took top spot for blaster modules this week.”

“I fucking know, okay?” 

That was what he was looking for. 

“I know Kote took top spot and I know Wolffe beat my fly time and I know Gree and his batch are taking over strategy mods! I fucking get it, so fuck off with whatever the hell this is!” Fox wriggled out from under him, and Seventeen let him go without a fight. He stayed facing away from Seventeen, but that was okay for now.

“I just…I hate this stuff! I hate being trapped in those rooms with those demogolka and fucking Fett watching over our shoulders like he ever did anything except leave and you acting like you give a shit when we both know you’re only here because we’re another assignment for you. I hate you pretending like we’re brothers or everything’s gonna be fine and we aren’t all gonna die soon or-or like any of us matter in the long run,” his rant was beginning to slow, and Seventeen approached slowly. The small break in his voice told him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t get the point when it doesn’t fucking matter if I die here or on a battlefield because death is death, and either way no one’s gonna care,” if he had to guess, the tears started about thirty seconds ago. 

The worst part is that Seventeen gets it. He’d lost one of his batch to the same thoughts. In the end, it hadn’t been the long-necks or a fight that did him in. Just a missing blaster and too much time alone outside. They all understood why, even if they never forgave him for it. 

It was because he understood that he placed one hand on Fox’s shoulder, forcing his vod to face him. 

“You’re right,” Seventeen rumbled, not leaning over and making himself small like he would for the others. Fox had always appreciated the truth above all else. 

“What?” He was right, tear tracks were carved down his vod’s face, and the small breathy disbelief looked like it might break the younger clone. 

“Fett’s a fucking asshole, don’t know why Kote likes him so much. The Kaminiise are indescribable in their cruelty, and I’m a dick. Doesn’t mean nothing you do matters, though.”

Fox scoffed and pulled away, trying to twist his face into that familiar hard sneer, “And what would you know about that?”

Seventeen shrugged, “Not sure. You don’t want me to know you. But I see the way Kote and Bly light up when their ori’vod is around. And I know Wolffe would never survive without you, and that Ponds would kill himself if you did what you’re talking about doing.” He looked this kid - his kid in the eyes. He needed him to know he understood. “You’re trying to get the Kaminiise to do it for you, so you don’t have to take the coward’s way out. I get it, vod’ika. But you know every single one of those little assholes in your barracks would hurtle themselves off the edge just the same if you died, by your own hand or not.”

“Wha-”

“Don’t do it for me,” Seventeen added, gentling his tone a bit as fresh tears sprang to his vod’ika’s eyes, “Don’t do it for Fett, and don’t you fucking dare do it for the long-necks. Do it for the brothers waiting for you back in the bunks. The brothers that would beat themselves up if they knew that you were even thinking about this. The brothers that are going to force you to cuddle with them even if they have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

Yeah, okay, maybe Seventeen liked to linger outside their door when he was done with his duties that didn’t involve five nightmares running around and making his life hell. Maybe he wanted to soak in his brothers’ laughter once in a while. So what. 

Fox looked at the floor, desperately trying to hold back tears. 

Seventeen sighed and knelt in front of him, opening his arms up and waiting. 

It took Fox less than thirty seconds to decide that yes, he did want the offered hug. Seventeen kept his laugh to a low rumble, a little closer to soothing than teasing. Fox squeezed him like he’d never been hugged before, even though Seventeen knew damn well that was a lie. It didn’t matter. 

“We don’t do it for ourselves,” Seventeen said lowly, “We’d never make it if we did. We do it for each other, or we don’t do it at all.”

Fox sniffed, and Seventeen didn’t even care that he was probably getting snot and tears all over his blacks. His little brother was going to be okay, and that’s what mattered. 

—

It took the Kaminiise two years to figure out who had started naming clones. Who started giving them just a little agency and independence. And when they found out, they made sure to make an example out of him. 

They came during the sleep cycles, when Seventeen wouldn’t be around to stop them, and took Kote from his bunk without a word. 

Two years in, one year after Seventeen had begun to call the littles his vod’ike, he found himself kneeling at the feet of the man he hated most in this place, begging for mercy for his charge. Fett was cold, he knew, but not so cold that his second favorite cadet would be left to rot. 

Kote had been in isolation for almost a week, and nearly every night Seventeen had a visitor from the batch crawl into his bunk with shaky hands and red eyes. A decomm would’ve been easier on them, but knowing their second-youngest was alive and alone, trapped and left at the hands of the Kaminiise, was breaking them.

Ponds and Kote had always been the anchors of the group. Ponds was the oldest, and the automatic go-to for most things. But Kote named them all, and every single one of them adored him for it. 

Fett was unyielding when Seventeen entered with accusations on the tip of his tongue. He was prepared to yell, to scream at the man who started this, who refused to leave them alone even after everything he’d already done to hurt them. But one look at the man had him falling to his knees, a single tear escaping his eyes as he pleaded with his head bowed. 

Fett said nothing, and Seventeen left feeling humiliated and angry.

Which was why, when Seventeen heard Kote had been let out and was currently in the care of Fett, he’d sprinted across the compound to collect his vod. 

He got there just in time to see Kote leave, tears dripping down his little face, crumpling against the wall outside of the dar’manda’s room. 

Seventeen said nothing, but knelt in front of his vod’ika and scooped him up, carrying him away from that place. 

As they walked, Kote’s hands fisted in Seventeen’s blacks as he tried to muffle his sobs into the older man’s chest. He clung to Seventeen like they were the last people alive on this planet, and Seventeen made sure to hold him just as tight. They made it to the Alpha barracks, which were thankfully empty, and laid down together on Seventeen’s bunk. 

Kote wailed for hours once he realized they were somewhere safe, away from long-necks and cold-hearted bounty hunters. Seventeen just held on, running a hand up and down his vod’ika’s back to comfort him, and whispered apologies into Kote’s hair. 

“Why didn’t they just decommission me?” Kote kept asking through tears, sometimes screaming and sometimes whimpering.

“Why did Prime have to name me?”

“Why didn’t I listen to him?”

“Why didn’t he find me sooner?”

So many questions that Seventeen had no answer to.

When the tears finally slowed, Seventeen spoke. 

“He tricked you, vod’ika. He’s a cruel and callous man and he tricked you.” 

Seventeen had always hated how Fett dug his claws into this kid. He didn’t care how it would hurt Kote, he didn’t care what would have happened to him. Seventeen was a violent man but even he didn’t understand why Fett would do this. 

“They couldn’t even say my name right,” Kote whimpered, “They kept saying ‘Cody’ and when I tried to correct them they - they just -” he broke off, burying his head into Seventeen’s chest and letting out another sob. 

“They will always hate you for the freedom you’ve given your brothers,” Seventeen rumbled, “And I will make sure they cannot deny your strength.” 

A plan was already forming in his head. He’d put Kote through extra training, make him into the best of the best. He’d make him good enough to rival an ARC. The Kaminiise couldn’t throw him out if he was useful enough, sharp enough, strong enough. 

“He named me Glory, Seventeen,” Kote cried, “Why? I don’t understand!”

Seventeen didn’t have an answer for that question either. 

“You have to stay away from him, Kote,” Seventeen said. He said it firmly, like it was an order, and not a plea, though they both knew better. Fett could easily take Kote away from Seventeen, away from his batch, and none of them except the kid crying into him could make it stop. 

“He - he loves me,” Kote wailed, “I’m his ad, he loves me! I can’t just-”

Seventeen cut him off harshly, “Kot’ika, if he loved you, I wouldn’t have had to beg him to interfere.” It was harsh, but his vod’ika needed to know. “He didn’t come looking for you. We did.”

Kote cried for a long time after that. He kept trying to make excuses, telling Seventeen about all the times Fett had supposedly cared. 

It just made Seventeen angrier. Fett had manipulated his kid into thinking he was more than a paycheck, more than food for a war that hadn’t even begun yet. Seventeen briefly entertained the possibility of killing him for it. 

Out of all the tools they’d been given, hope was never one of them. The kid screaming into the pillow was proof as to why. 

Kote eventually tired himself out enough to pass out on the bunk, and Seventeen sighed in relief as his breathing finally evened out. 

Both Maze and Fordo poked their heads in, for once not laughing at the sight of Seventeen curled around one of the kids he’d once told them he’d never call his own. They told him Kote’s batch had been alerted to his release, and they’d immediately demanded answers from the older ARCs, meaning Seventeen would probably need to make an appearance soon to ease their fears.

Seventeen just nodded along to the debrief, a wave of exhaustion hitting him as well. He eventually gathered himself enough to sit up, taking Kote with him. The kid just shifted sleepily, his face scrunching up in dismay even though he didn’t wake.

“They’re going to be looking for an excuse,” Fordo said quietly after a moment, “He needs to keep his head down.”

“I know,” Seventeen murmured. 

“Seventeen,” Maze said, “He’s terrified. Whatever you’re planning, leave him out of it.”

Seventeen just sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. 

“I’m serious. He needs to stop making ripples, good or bad. He’s already too individualistic for their tastes.”

Maze was right. Kote had always been headstrong and stubborn, just like the rest of his batch. They all relied on each other too much and not only had it taken Kote down, but the rest of them either refused to or simply couldn’t pull themselves together in his absence.

“You boys remember our training on Rishi?” Seventeen asked after a moment. 

It was a stupid question, of course they did. They’d been dropped off on that moon, all in separate locations, with no comms or supplies to help them except what was expected in emergencies. They had to survive like that for a month before they were picked up again. It was the worst experience of any of their lives. 

“We need a program like that for them,” he said after a moment, ignoring the twin glares sent his way. Every single Alpha had become incredibly protective over their batchers in the two years the program had been going on. 

“Not exactly like that,” Seventeen assured them, “But their training is a lot more strategy and team focused. They need something closer to the way the ARCs were trained.”

Fordo snorted, “ARC training is a hell of a lot more brutal than what they’ve had to do so far. And it started a lot earlier.”

“It would make them indispensable,” Seventeen said after a moment, and he knew the silence following that statement meant he’d won. 

Still, he sighed and stood, clutching Kote against his chest, “I’m gonna get him back to his batch. I have a feeling they’re about to come looking.”

—

Wolffe was smiling, which immediately put Seventeen on edge. Wolffe had a few kinds of ‘smile’. There was the genuine one, which was rare but always rewarding, the smirk, which was the most common and meant he’d just kicked someone’s ass in hand to hand training and was about to get far too cocky about it, and then his grin, which meant he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Like now. 

Seventeen folded his arms across his chest, giving his best glare at the cadet. They were six months into ARC training, a year out from the event that kick started the idea, and all it had done was make his batch harder to handle. 

Not only were they trouble-makers, they were now troublemakers with all the strategy and training of their older counterparts. 

“It wasn’t me this time,” they’d finally hit that funny age where their voices no longer matched their faces, and all of them grew at different rates. It was maybe the one time in their lives they would look genuinely different from each other. 

Seventeen added an eyebrow raise to his glare. 

“Kote found him first.”

Him?

“It was his idea,” Wolffe was beginning to shrink back just a little under the glare, “But he’s not making any trouble.”

Seventeen snorted, “The day you di’kuts don’t make trouble for me is the day you’re all dead and buried.”

Wolffe flipped him off. 

“That’s ten extra suicides, cadet.” Seventeen smiled as Wolffe’s face immediately dropped and he started whining. 

“It was just a joke, you’re mean to us all the time,” Wolffe argued, not helping his case in the slightest. 

“I’m keeping you assholes alive,” Seventeen shot back, “Now what did you do?”

Wolffe scowled, replying, “Come on, old man,” before turning and marching down the hall.

“And that’s twenty,” Seventeen called after him.

Wolffe kept complaining the whole way there, even when Seventeen cuffed him on the back of the head for it. He led them to the CT barracks, which was new. To his knowledge, his batch never really came down here. There was no need to.

The experimental ARC babysitting program had gone well enough that when the CT clones were produced and of age, several Alphas had been relegated to managing these cadets, whom he’d been assured were either much less or much more rowdy than the CCs, depending on the batch. 

Alpha had just been assigned his first case, though it was a curious one. Two of the batch had been decommed almost as soon as they came out of their tubes, and the other three didn’t get along the way most batches tended to. They were first generation CTs, so some defects were expected, but the vitriol with which they treated each other certainly was not. 

It had been a jarring change from the crew he’d been taking care of for almost four years now.

Wolffe led him to a supply closet off to the side in the barracks, chattering all the way about how this was Kote’s fault. Seventeen ignored him in favor of looking around at the empty bunks, internally sighing about whatever scheme his vode had cooked up this time. 

When Wolffe opened the door, however, the cadet inside of the closet threw Seventeen for a loop.

“7567?” He asked, surprised. He was one of the batchers Seventeen had been assigned to take care of, the one that got picked on the most, actually. What really surprised him, however, was the state he was in. 

His usual obvious blonde head of hair had been shaved carelessly almost completely off. He could see a few cuts dotted across the kid’s head, and the kid himself looked like he’d lost a pound or two since the last time Seventeen had seen him nearly a week ago. 

He’d thought the kid was avoiding him, but there was obviously something more going on. 

“You know him?” Wolffe asked, sounding surprised and completely ignoring the sharp glare being thrown his way from the kid hiding in the closet. 

“He’s one of mine,” Seventeen responded, still searching for any more visible wounds or changes to his newest charge, “Haven’t been able to find him for a week.”

“Oh, uh, that may have been our fault,” Wolffe said, looking back at 7567, “What? Why are you glaring at me?”

“I told you not to tell anyone,” 7567 bit out, the harsh tone being somewhat off put by the higher pitch of his voice. He was just a bit younger than the CCs, and wouldn’t hit the growth spurt that truly mattered for another year or two. 

“Yeah, well, suck it up. Kote’s been going crazy trying to hide you from your batch and the Alphas,” came the nonchalant reply, and Seventeen furrowed his brow. Why would Kote be trying to hide 7567 from his own brothers?

“I figured he could help,” Wolffe continued, and Seventeen ignored the brief flash of warmth at the statement of trust. 

Now it was his turn to be glared at, and Seventeen took a second to admire the size of 7567’s balls before matching it with his own sneer. 

“You’ve been skipping training, cadet.”

“I didn’t want to,” he replied sulkily, “Kote said it wasn’t safe.”

Seventeen hummed, “And why would he say that?”

7567 hesitated for a moment, before quietly admitting, “He caught them doing…this,” he gestured to his head, and a sick moment of realization came over Seventeen, “He scared them off, but he didn’t want me to go back with them.”

Batchmates teasing each other was one thing, but hurting one another?

That would have to be dealt with. 

Seventeen sighed as he moved in front of Wolffe and crouched in the doorway of the closet, “So Kote, being the di’kut he is, hid you in here.”

7567 shrugged, “‘S not terrible.”

“You eaten recently?”

The cadet shook his head no after a moment, and Seventeen turned back to look at Wolffe, “Why exactly did you boys think this was a good idea?”

Wolffe crossed his arms, “I didn’t know until yesterday, ask Kote.”

“Not helpful,” Seventeen grunted, before turning back to 7567, “Since you and Kote are so tight, I assume you’ve got a name.”

7567’s eyes widened comically at him, giving him away in an instant. Of course Kote did, he’d always had a soft spot for the littles. 7567 still looked at Wolffe first, who must have given an affirmative.

“Rex,” he said quietly.

Seventeen nodded, “Alright Rex, with me. Wolffe, you too.”

Rex looked at him with slight suspicion in his eyes, and Wolffe let out a small noise of complaint. 

“Come on boys,” he tried again, adding a little bark to his voice that had them both scrambling to follow him out the door, “Medics first, then food.”

Once they reached a medical droid, Seventeen sent Rex off behind a curtain with it, and sat down next to Wolffe, giving him the ‘you’d better start talking’ look. 

Wolffe grumbled for a bit before admitting, “His batch are assholes. Too aggressive with him. He learned how to bite back, but Kote said it was pretty bad when he found them. Kid was bleeding like crazy and scared the shit out of Kote, who tried to take him here. He didn’t let him, on the grounds of his mutation, and wouldn’t budge.” Wolffe ran a hand through his hair, a tick they’d all begun to pick up from Seventeen, “He’s with us until further notice.”

Seventeen sat back in his chair, absorbing the information for a moment.

“Good,” he said simply, ignoring the look of confusion and surprise Wolffe sent his way. 

“Sir?” Wolffe asked, and Seventeen shifted in his chair, keeping an ear out for Rex. 

“He needs a batch,” Seventeen responded, “He’s too skinny and too short, probably from lack of nutrition, and his hair is going to make him stand out. He keeps going the way he’s going, his batch will kill him before the Kaminiise get the chance.”

“Oh,” Wolffe said, a little quieter this time. 

“You boys got lucky,” Seventeen continued, still keeping an eye on the curtain, “You got each other. He doesn’t have that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Wolffe said after a moment, “He’s apparently been fighting Kote every step of the way. Doesn’t want anyone to think they have to take care of him.”

That was good. That showed spirit. If Rex had allowed himself to be cowed, to back away without a fight and shrink into the shadows, Seventeen would have had a lot more work to do. As it was…

“He won’t be around his batch if I recommend him for ARC training,” Seventeen suggested quietly, “Of course, he’d need some older vode helping him out, the way I did with you.”

Wolffe snorted, “Not sure you helped us out so much as put the fear of the Manda into us.”

Seventeen grinned down at him, “Got you moving, didn’t it?”

Wolffe rolled his eyes and settled back into his chair, now eyeing the curtain in an equally curious and concerned way, “Think he’ll make it? He’s a CT.”

Seventeen shrugged, “Don’t know. Didn’t know if you boys were going to make it either.”

Wolffe eyed him critically, “What do you mean you didn’t know?”

Seventeen chuckled, “You’re smart and strong, but it takes more than that to complete what you’re being put through. It’s only been six months, and you’ve yet to hit the worst of it.”

Wolffe groaned, “Why are you so cryptic?”

Seventeen looked back at him, a gleam in his eye, “Because it pisses you off.”

Wolffe opened his mouth to say something that probably would’ve earned him another hour in the gym, when the curtain swung back, revealing Rex looking even grumpier than earlier. His head had a few small bacta patches on it, and he promptly ignored the droid in favor of marching over to where Seventeen and Wolffe were sitting.

The droid ignored Rex’s obvious unhappiness and followed him over, this time addressing Seventeen.

“A-17,” it began, “I believe this CT-7567 has a serious defect that must be looked at. Chromosome number-”

“I’m aware,” Seventeen growled at the droid, “We’re all aware. Now fuck off.”

The droid paused for a moment, unsure what to do with itself. 

“I must report this to Nala Se,” it finally concluded, and Seventeen just huffed in response. 

After a beat of silence in which the droid scurried away, a small voice behind Seventeen spoke, “Is she going to decommission me?”

Seventeen almost laughed. Almost. 

Instead he said, “Kid, she knew about your hair the second you left your tube. If you aren’t slated for it yet, you won’t be any time soon.” He turned to face his cadets, hiding his smile at the way Wolffe acted like he wasn’t just wrapping Rex up in a hug. 

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go get you boys some food.”

—

Today was the day.

His batch was going to take and pass the final test, and become honorary ARC troopers. Two years after they started on the shortened ARC modules, and they’d all become so much more than the Kaminiise ever believed they could be. He’d stood in front of all of them before they marched off for their tests and told them he was proud of every single one, no matter the outcome. 

Rex sat with him, both quietly pretending they weren’t shitting their brains out with anxiety, and they waited. 

Fox and Wolffe came out together, wearing twin grins, and Seventeen knew without asking. He wrapped them up, squeezing the life out of them and ignoring the groans of embarrassment. Kote came out thirty minutes later, having completed and passed his own exams and combat trials, followed by Bly soon after. 

They all sat and waited for Ponds. 

There was an air of anxiety coming from his cadets, and he knew why. 

They were supposed to graduate together, to be the first full batch to make it across the finish line. They’d worked hard for this, studied and trained together for years. They knew the manuals inside and out and had personally tested themselves against every single ARC and trainer they could coax onto the sparring mats. 

Ponds’ absence sent a shockwave through that steady confidence. 

An hour later and they were still sat there, all uneasy, all rhythmically bouncing their knees in near unison. 

An hour and a half later, the doors opened, and they all tensed, prepared for bad news.

What they were unprepared for, however, was a bloody, limping Ponds to walk through with the biggest grin any of them had seen on his face. 

“What the fuck,” Wolffe was, of course, the first to speak. “What the fuck!” He repeated, louder and more worried. 

This sent all of them into a frenzy, rushing toward their injured vod and checking him over, all shouting over one another and demanding to know what happened. Ponds just laughed at their concern, though Seventeen caught the slight wince at the movement.

After a few moments, he convinced them to quiet, and breathed deep, still grinning like a maniac.

“We passed,” he said after a slight pause, and the whole bunch erupted in cheers. They pulled themselves into a circle, Rex and Seventeen watching fondly from the outside, and congratulated each other, giving out hugs and keldabes left and right. Seventeen was fairly sure Wolffe and Fox hit each other a little too hard, and he smiled at the resulting stumble from the boys.

They were nearly seventeen standard years, which meant as soon as the war they were being bred for started, they’d all be shipped out without a moment’s hesitation. It was that thought that made Seventeen allow them to celebrate loudly, noisily, and unashamedly despite the attention it might have drawn. 

Eventually, they calmed down, and Seventeen muscled his way to the center, planting himself in front of Ponds. They were too tall now for him to need to kneel and get on their level, but still short enough that he could loom adequately. 

“Vod’ika,” he began lightly, settling a comforting hand on Ponds’ shoulder, “What happened?”

Ponds’ grin shrank slightly, but his answer was steady, “What do you mean? I passed!”

Seventeen allowed himself to smile at the no-longer-cadet’s enthusiasm, “I know, and I’m proud, but why are you hurt?”

“It was part of the test,” Ponds furrowed his brow in confusion, looking around at the others, “Didn’t all of you…” he trailed off, for the first time taking in the lack of injuries around him. Seventeen could see the moment realization dawned on his face, as well as feel the rising fury coming from the brothers behind him. 

“No,” Seventeen said gently, shaking his head, “That wasn’t part of the test.”

“Oh.”

“Ori’vod-” 

Seventeen cut whoever it was off with a short look behind him. They all looked equally scolded. 

He hated this was happening during their moment of triumph, but he knew if he didn’t address it, no one would. 

“Pond’ika,” Seventeen tried again, “What happened?”

Ponds stilled, his face becoming blank as he processed what was going on. Seventeen squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, becoming a grounding point until his vod’ika was ready. 

“I was going into my counter-insurgency exam and Ward was in the ring. He said he and I would spar and that I had to be prepared for anything,” his voice and expression remained steady, even as Seventeen’s grew concerned, “He flipped out a knife at one point and…” Ponds looked down and gestured to his leg and torso. 

“Why weren’t you wearing armor?” Kote asked from behind Seventeen. 

“He told me to take it off,” Ponds replied simply. 

Seventeen sucked in a breath. Ward was a grade A asshole, every ARC knew this. His ‘counter-insurgency’ fighting was just an excuse to fight dirty, to scar up troopers and taunt them for their lack of skill. 

Skirata should have been in charge of this exam, not Ward. Skirata had always been the kindest of the Cuy’val Dar, and by the looks on the rest of the batcher’s faces, they were thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” Seventeen said simply, “Take off the armor and let’s take a look.”

Ponds shook his head, “Can we do this in the barracks?”

Seventeen nodded, and immediately Wolffe and Fox were at Ponds’ side, helping him take the weight off his injured leg. Rex gave a quieter congratulations to Kote, his obvious favoritism not quite overshadowing his worry as he constantly looked back to check up on Ponds. Bly fell into lockstep with Seventeen, and their little crew easily made their way to the barracks. 

As soon as they got inside, Kote grabbed the medical kit and presented it to Seventeen, who began to set things out on the floor. He knelt in front of where Wolffe and Fox had sat Ponds on Wolffe’s bunk, but gave them enough space to help Ponds remove his armor. 

Bly settled in next to Ponds when Fox vacated the spot to go lock the door, and sucked in a breath as Ponds unbuckled his thigh gauntlet. Blood rushed from the wound, which had previously been pressured by Ponds tightening the straps to keep the wound secure, but it wasn’t deep enough to hit bone, for which Seventeen was glad. 

His torso was a little more complicated, the unnatural shift of skin telling Seventeen that one of his ribs was likely broken. If it had punctured a lung, they would’ve known by now, and he breathed a little easier with the knowledge. 

“Kote,” he called quietly but firmly, “Comm Aven, tell him we’re gonna need some help.”

Ponds opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when he received several glares from around the room. 

“Can’t believe you passed with this,” Seventeen mumbled, “You should’ve tapped out when he flipped out the knife.”

“We were all supposed to pass,” came the answer Seventeen had already guessed. 

“I know,” he sighed, “And this just proves how much you deserve it, but next time, you tap out, got it?”

There was no nod or sign that he agreed, which Seventeen had also expected. Ponds was just as stubborn as the rest of them, no matter how much he hated to admit it. 

He heard Kote talking quietly in the background and got to work, Rex occasionally pushing certain supplies his way and Wolffe and Bly talking calmly to Ponds as Seventeen went about patching him up. 

They didn’t want full batches to graduate ARC training, because then they could prove it was a waste of time and money. He’d known that the second he and a few others proposed the idea to Fett, the Kaminiise, and the Cuy’val Dar and nearly every single one of them had soured. 

Well they could take their elitist dar’manda bullshit and shove it up their asses. His batch had passed, regardless of Ward’s best efforts, and shoved it in every single one of their ugly faces. 

Ponds’ injuries had luckily not impacted the general mood after the initial shock, and soon they were all sharing details and comparing experiences in their different tests. They all laughed at Bly for forgetting to fill out the last digit of his number during one of the written tests, and Fox followed it up with how Wolffe was so nervous he forgot to load his blaster during the firing range exams. That was followed by a smack, which was followed with an insult, which was followed with Seventeen having to reach out and grab Wolffe before he made a move to tackle his brother. 

Nearly nine years old and they still acted four. 

Aven came in a few moments later, taking over the medical side of things for Seventeen, who took the opportunity to give the eldest a keldabe. Ponds smiled into the hold and relaxed a little further. 

They were no longer cadets, not as of that afternoon, and Seventeen knew he would have to let them go soon. 

Still, he sighed as Rex ganged up with Wolffe against Fox in their bickering, and turned around to scold his vod’ika.

—

In the years the war dragged on, Seventeen saw very little of his batchers. Rex and Kote, who was going by Cody in front of the natborns, visited when the war came to Kamino, and introduced him to vod’ika of their own. Wolffe called after what happened with Ventress, showing off his own scar from his encounter with the Sith acolyte. Bly commed often, asking mostly about business, but he’d once let slip something about him and his general. And Fox…Fox he never really saw. 

But they’d all gathered, either on a call or in person, to say goodbye to Ponds. 

Rex had sent him a message saying the batch had already had their night of grief, wallowing in each other’s arms. He was glad they’d taken the time for themselves, but even happier they still trusted him with this. 

They’d all formed little batches within their battalions, as they should, but he’d never really been able to take care of another batch like he did with them. There were too many cadets on Kamino now to focus on them one group at a time. 

So even if it was over a call, he was relieved to see their faces, and ached when they all looked to where Ponds usually stood during these video conferences.

It was quiet at first, and Seventeen took the opportunity to drink each of them in. They were all so much older, so much more exhausted, then he remembered them being. Fox and Wolffe in particular looked like hell, and though he knew it was a combination of grief and whatever osik they’d been handling recently, it didn’t look right on them. 

Kote spoke first, telling Seventeen what happened and declaring Boba dar’manda with vitriol hidden behind his teeth. He and Rex were in person together, as were Bly and Wolffe, and Seventeen appreciated Rex putting a hand on his shoulder to ground his ori’vod. Bly went next, starting to tell a story about Ponds during a fairly recent fight that brought small grins to his brothers’ faces. Wolffe joined in, as did Rex, and soon they were all at least smiling. 

The one vod that never spoke was Fox. 

It puzzled Seventeen how quiet he was. Fox had always been the first to speak up, the first to step in, the first to very loudly give his opinion. But now he was silent. He looked almost like he was disassociating. 

“Fox’ika?” Seventeen called, “You alright?”

Fox looked up once he noticed all the attention was on him and nodded quickly, “‘Course,” he assured them, his tone still sounding off, “Just…reminiscing I guess.”

There were a few murmured agreements from around the table, before the conversation turned back to Ponds. Seventeen caught Wolffe looking over worriedly a few times. He idly wondered how many of them made the effort to keep up with each other. He hoped all of them, but knew better than to assure himself of it. 

The call went on for a long time, most everyone having a good cry at some point. Seventeen was the only one that left with dry eyes when it was said and done. 

He sighed as their blue forms flickered out of existence, and looked across his desk. It was scattered with paperwork, test results, security reports, all the paperwork he’d been relegated to once his leg made it so he could never fight again. 

He unlocked the lowest drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of moonshine Spur had snuck to him once Ponds’ death had been officially reported back to Kamino. He poured himself a drink and sat back in his chair, scrolling through old comms. There weren’t many with Ponds, just little questions his vod’ika had here and there, and a few scattered conversations about life in the thick of things. 

They were clone troopers, which meant they didn’t get holos or recordings of kids running around just being kids. They didn’t get keepsakes or days that could be spent talking and catching up. He’d known he would have to let them go eventually, and that when he did, there would be nothing to tether them to him.

It still hurt. 

Three glasses in, he picked up his comm again, and pulled up his conversations with Fox. 

It had been nearly six months since they last talked. 

A-17: I’m being sent to Coruscant soon for an escort

A-17: We should catch up

He waited a few minutes, then put his comm down. Fox was a Marshal Commander now, he’d respond when he could. 

Until then, Seventeen was content to drink to the memory of both Ponds, and the boys his batchers used to be.

[pupcuck]

tw - sa mention, noncon mention, dark content discussed briefly but not explicitly

hi okay sorry for the unfathomable amount of bullshit clogging the tags the past few days. i keep seeing it labelled as gilfhub drama which is pissing me off as i haven’t said anything at all, i’ve stayed quiet throughout unless you follow me and read my posts. while i haven’t outwardly inserted myself into the situation im the one being witch hunted ig, i’m making one last statement which sounds way too serious for this corny and unserious situation.

anyway, i'm mostly making this for my own benefit, because i would feel more at peace after posting this lmfao. first of all, I’m being called a pedophile which is a fucking insanely serious claim to make with no concrete evidence! i’ve never written underage characters. if you’ve mistaken my ddlg content as pedophillia i beg you to get your brain checked! your skull must be so thick it couldn’t be caved in with a baseball bat. other than that i mainly write about LEGAL age gaps bc I am 19 and leon is fucking 47 as of now he is the creep actually.

i’m being called a rapist and a paedophile and all sorts of shit. im a victim of sa, it’s happened both at the hands of someone i trusted and at the hands of those i didn’t know well. some of my writing is to cope with this, none of my fics have ever romanticised rape and made it seem like something flowery and cute and fun? i don’t know who pulled that out of their ass but my fics that involve this sort of content are usually about toxic codependent relationships, it’s quite literally about trauma bonding.

this moves me onto my next point - people say this content belongs on ao3 and ao3 only. i don’t know if you’re 11 and new to the internet, to re fandom in fact, as dead dove has been a consistent theme within re fics since forever. since i was a kid i saw fics like that and even as a fucking 10 year old i managed to scroll and mind my business. tumblr has always had dead dove, when it rebranded and the guidelines changed they messed up their tagging system. this means that even if you tag tw incest it’ll remove your fic from the TAGS not from tumblr itself but from the tags as a whole. however, if you tag tw noncon your fic will stay up, it’s glitchy and dumb and shouldn’t be seen as a reliable source on why dead dove isn’t allowed on tumblr. that’s never been the case ever.

people who write dead dove don’t have to be victims and they don’t have to be mentally ill, they are also normal people with jobs who pay taxes and have normal fucking lives. because it’s simply fiction. people who read/watch american psycho are not murderers or rapists. people who watch any form slasher horror are not murderers. people who enjoy resident fucking evil and like wesker don’t fucking believe in eugenics. i could go on and on and on and on about so many different examples in extremely popular franchises.

as aforementioned, tumblr’s tagging system fucking sucks, so to combat this i give a warning even AFTER i explicitly tag my fics correctly that says ‘tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.’ for some reason I didn’t specify remove from the TAGS not from TUMBLR because tumblr doesn’t care 😭 that was totally my mistake for not checking if that disclaimer made sense but i guess i hoped the following sentence (‘as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags’) made it clear that i was simply speaking about tags. not tumblr removing my content.

if you are genuinely adults on this app, you should know that on the internet sometimes you will see things you don’t like! because it’s the internet and everyone is on here with their own opinions and their own tastes. it is YOUR responsibility to cater to your own needs by blocking content you don’t enjoy. so what another dark content blog pops up? as soon as you see a content warning you don’t like, BLOCK THE AUTHOR? or ignore it! scrolling is very simple. it’s insanely easy to mind your fucking business.

i'm kind of tired of the endless harassment both in the tags and in my inbox! if you are genuinely doing this in the name of victims and in their best interest just know you’re harming other victims in the process 😭 i am not easily triggered but the shit in my inbox is really gross and i got called a racial slur like… is fictional content that’s easy to block so deep to the point where you have to stoop that low? everyone copes how they cope, it’s not wrong and it never will be, psychologists recommend dark content as an outlet, you can literally google this. therapy is not a fix, it can’t fix mental illness. sometimes it doesn’t help. in my case counselling made everything worse. the ‘get help, get therapy’ comment comes from a place of privilege, not all of us have the money, the support system it takes to get therapy. some of us have had experiences where therapists discriminate against us. in my case that has happened, im a woc in britain they don’t care about us not about our psychical or mental health LMFAO.

im sure im missing a lot of what i originally wanted to say here, but overall i honestly wanted to clear my name of the pedo allegations lmfao because i’ve never written anything like that about underage characters or readers. anyway if any of you have a brain you can block dark content creators in a few easy steps! sorry again for yapping in such a formless, inarticulate way but i'm kind of exhausted by all the stupidity 😭

overall, dark content creators shouldn’t be allocated a little hovel in the corner of the internet in which they should privately discuss matters. we’re allowed to post it freely because CONTENT WARNINGS EXIST. dead dove will always be a thing and always has been. just because i post my content doesn’t mean it’s open for harassment and death threats and rape threats or anything? you can be an adult and get on with your day! and if you really need an outlet go talk to friends with the same opinions as you! i see ooc leon fluff all the time everyday and i don’t give a shit, i move on because leon isn’t real.

i pride myself on characterisation and if you have so obsessively read my fics to point out and circle random words in red that don’t correlate like we’re in a fucking crime show, then you would know that half the time i actually flesh out his character, i hate posting smut alone. i simply like exploring topics that are dark both to cope with my own problems and because i think they’re interesting to write about. however, as soon as something is mildly dark and sexual you guys cry mischaracterisation. leon also isn’t lighting candles and throwing rose petals but I don’t fucking judge what people write because if I don’t like I don’t read!

i promise, posting screenshots of my fics untagged with no warning is more harmful as you’re showing it to people who didn’t ask to fucking see it. i promise that harassing me will do nothing for you, you’re literally just sending vile shit to a real person who has struggled with the things she writes about LMFAO sorry again for yapping. i genuinely want to move on and post my regular shit but this has consumed the entire leon tag and i feel like im partly responsible. if you did get through this thank you! it’s mainly just ramblings and not read over so excuse me once again

[sanjisblackasswife]

The aphrodisiac fic for sanji was so good 💖💖💖 could I possibly request (if you're down for it) like the aftermath of it where the reader is exhausted and like very dazed and he does the aftercare, I feel like he'd feel lowkey guilty for being so rough and forceful he would be so sweet right after when things calm down 😭

A/N: OH MY GOSH I WAS JUST SAYING I WAS PROBABLY GANNA DO THIS FROM A LAST ANON COMMENT LOLOL ok here I gotchu.

Aftercare with Sanji (Post Aphrodisiac Sex)(FLUFFY AF)

This is a continuation of THIS fic of the aphrodisiac fiasco so if you would like to get up to speed feel free to read that first! I will be Doing Luffy and Zoro later!

CW: A whole LOTTA fluff, post sex regret, a bit of crying, Sanji being a sorrow’ed mess, amazing aftercare, lots of love, kisses

-

It was 1:30am, and it’s been about almost an hour since Sanji’s drug wore off and you both finally passed out from what you believed as probably the best sex you ever had.

LIKE EVER.

However your body felt otherwise, you were laying on your back, eyes parted slightly, to look up at the blurred ceiling and the moonlight shinning through your window, hearing the water of the sea crash against the Sunny, you didn’t even have to move to feel the sting in your neck and the soreness on your limbs. Your lips were a bit swollen, your breast were sensitive, and you felt incredibly sticky and wet under and between your thighs.

You decided to worry about cleaning yourself up in the morning, but both of your sides felt cold since you were laying in the middle of the bed. Usually you smelled Sanji’s natural scent beside you, holding you close making sure you don’t completely fall asleep before you take your routine bath. You winced a little to turn your head and he wasn’t there, but you heard subtle footsteps hit his door and in came Sanji. With nothing, but some pj pants on carrying snacks, drinks, warm towels and an ice pack.

“Sanji…” You choked speaking out not realizing your voice was nearly gone, it was raspy and a bit itchy. Sanji nearly dropped the cigarette in his mouth seeing you holding yourself with your elbows giving him a weak smile. He threw a clean bed sheet over your body to cover yourself just in case someone busted in while you were knocked out.

“A-angel…” He urgently placed the tray down and rushed over to you helping you sit up. “I got you.”

His voice was so soft, and his touch to your body was so delicate your barely felt him move you compared to a few hours ago. You let the sheet drop off of your torso to see the damage on your body—-

It scared you both honestly.

You had many bruises on your neck from when he choked you, your breast, arms, thighs, ass and tummy for when he was giving you hickies,and a few bite marks on your shoulder. You’ve actually gotten into fights with people that left you with less marks.

You admired your body for a moment and grinned; somehow you really liked how he marked you up.

Sanji however couldn’t be more disgusted with himself.

He always viewed your body as a temple. He wasn’t the most religious man, but he did agree with the statement of what God said: “To treat your body as a temple.” Even though he smokes like a train.

And that’s what he wanted to do with you. He wanted to take care of your body, love it, and more importantly have you trust him with it.

—

He woke up 30 minutes before you, feeling a tad sore himself, “Y—oh shit—Y/N?!”

You were face down beside him and your breathing was pretty shallow. He turned you over too quickly and you shrieked in your sleep making Sanji flinch.

“I’m so sorry, Angel!…let me…let me move you a little closer okay?”

“‘M tired, Sanji….”

Guilt couldn’t even describe how he felt, you looked lifeless in his eyes. Your body was so beautiful, but the bruises ruined it and it was all caused by him.

He couldn’t believe the lack of self control he had with you, drugged or not he should have been able to managed himself correctly.

He carefully pulled you over to the middle of the bed seeing as you were leaning off the edge, after that he got up to put on his underwear and went into the drawer he had of fresh bed sheets and flew one on top of your body.

“I’m …so sorry.” He caressed your head, it was almost as if he betrayed you somehow by being so rough with you—his memory was even blurred a bit on how he started to have sex with you; but he got a few flashbacks of you screaming his name, tears coming through your eyes.

It wasnt long until he seen a tear drop fall onto your flustered cheek. He quickly wiped it away before grabbing your hand to kiss it.

“I’m such a piece of shit for this, I’m so sorry.”

—

“Feel better?” You coo’ed at him breaking out of his thoughts he looked back up at your tired face, your hair was disheveled, your eyes were drowsy but you smiled at him again waiting for him to respond, but his lips began to quiver. “Sanji..?”

“I’m so sorry!” He bursted into tears leaning over his knees , covering his face. “Im so sorry!”

Sanji was broken, his chest was heavy, you haven’t seen him cry like this ever. It wasn’t tears of him usually being his dramatic self it was real tears of pain and regret. You felt your heart sink seeing him look so distraught at you. It was as if he broke his own morals that Zeff taught him and he knew he couldn’t forgive himself if he ever did.

“Sanji…” Holding your breath slightly to not whine in pain to further his guilt, you used all the strength you had to grab him close to you, but he wouldn’t budge. “Sanji please look at me… you don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t deserve you! I hurt you! Look at your bruises!? I caused this! I heard your cries and ignored them, i can’t believe I—I did this to you! I—I—“

His cries were paused when you wrapped your arms around his neck tightly to then rub his cheek. He has tears falling and his eyes were so pink and puffy. This was a serious issue for him, he really believed he hurt you in a bad way.

“Sanji…you didn’t betray me. You didn’t hurt me…—“

“But I did! look at you—- I put my hands around your neck, what if I would have really— I—“ His voice kept cracking trying to fight back anymore tears but he failed and broke down again, and it stung you in the heart. You didn’t want to cry in front of him seeing as you may begin to have him start feeling more guilt so you brought him back into your embrace, he couldn’t even hug you back feeling like he wasn’t worthy of touching you again.

“Please don’t apologize Sanji… everything you did under my consent and was amazing I wouldn’t have had it any other way..you didn’t hurt me. I really did love it. I should have threw out those stupid cigarettes anyways….” You rubbed the back of his head pushing it down gently so he can rest it on your shoulders, “I’m not mad at you either…there is no reason why you shouldn’t feel like you could have been anything less than respectful towards my body, baby…” As you were kneeled beside him on the edge of the bed you held up his wet face, “Remember before we started? You gave me a safe word? If I thought you went to far I would have used it. And I didn’t. You were perfect Sanji…in every way….”

He looked up into your eyes, he actually had no recollection of telling you about a safe word so he didn’t believe you for a moment, but the memory began to flash back. “Safe word?”

“Mmhm! It was blue. And I didn’t use it because I didn’t need to…i really enjoyed myself Sanji. I’m a big girl I can handle a bit of roughness from my Prince.” You let out an airy giggle, but Sanji was still looking into your eyes trying find any tinge of lies in your words, but just like any other thing you tell him; it was the truth. Sanji looked down with your hands still cupping him so you made him look back up, “Do you trust me?”

“…I do.” He whispered. “I just…I wasnt myself….and I’m sorry.”

“I know you weren’t, but I still trusted you and that’s why I allowed you to use me….so no harm no foul.” You wiped the rest of his tears as he sniffed and cleared his throat. He probably would have felt so self conscious crying in front of you like a baby, but he was comfortable, he felt judged free, and that was because he was around you. “I love you, Sanji.”

“…Please…” he grabbed your hand, “Please can I take care of you tonight…?”

You knew you couldn’t protest, catering to you was what he loved as much as cooking so you nodded. Sanji knew it was going to take sometime for him to let go of the resentment he had for what he did, but he believed you would be with him every step of the way for it.

“Common…” He pulled off the remainder sheets from your body to then wrap around you. “Let me draw you a bath.”

You hummed feeling him carefully hold you up bridal style and headed to the bathroom.

He sat you on the clean counter to turn on the water and adjust it to your liking. He placed some fancy soap on the side he got and even pulled some of the fresh lavender in the corner of the bathroom and placed it inside.

“Lavender?” You questioned looking at him from afar.

“It’s good for sore muscles.”

He walked over to your happy smile and curled his lip. You seemed to be still so happy and full of energy so he managed to feel himself breath a little bit more easily. “You okay?”

“Mmhm!” You hummed, He unwrapped the sheet from your body and gave a shaky exhale at the bruises once again, you noticed this and touched his bare chest, “Sanji ….can you give me a kiss please?…I missed them.”

This was the first time he hesitated on physical contact with you. What if he kisses too hard? What if you don’t like it?

“No.” You say as if you were reading his mind, “I want a kiss.”

Sanji leaned in and pecked your lips, they were so soft and plump so he went in for a another, but then pull back. You mentally sighed wanting a little more but you did not mind having to go slow with him.

“Common..” He carried you to the bath and you realized this was the first time he held you as you were naked and didn’t even make eye contact with your body, let alone drool over it. It kind of shocked you.

You let out a loud sigh feeling the hot water touch your cold aching skin. The smell of lavender put your lingering headache at ease and you smiled brightly at your Prince as if you were thanking him through your eyes.

It was a comfortable silence as Sanji sat over the tub to massage and scrub your body. He quickly looked on the counter and found your bonnet. He ended up putting your wild hair in two braids and putting the bonnet on you, kissing your temple in the process.

“Thank you, Sanji…I love you.”

“I love you too, so much.” He exhaled rubbing your shoulders. He gave your left shoulder a small kiss before rubbing it over with some soap on the wash cloth.

“Sanji…can you come in here with me? Please?” You almost didn’t ask, you wasn’t sure if Sanji wanted to but you had no sexual intention behind it. You just wanted to hold him. “We can just talk like we usually do. I know you feel kinda sore too.”

“Y-yes.” He stuttered, You kept your back turned, hearing his bottoms hit the floor to eventually hear his body drop in the water beside you. “Better?”

“No.” You moved yourself over between his legs to lower your back onto his damp chiseled chest. “Now it’s better.”

Sanji hummed in content and finished washing you, some of your bruises and bite marks began to fade a bit giving him some relief. It was nothing but the echoes of the water being moved around for a moment until you looked down to see his hand awkwardly on his own thigh, so you grabbed it to intertwine your fingers with his.

“You’re so special, Sanji…” You played with his fingers. You don’t why why you always do it, but it gave you a form of comfort when you were close to him. “Your are my special babyboy. My Prince….my…future husband.”

You felt him pause his circular motions he was rubbing on your tummy, marriage has always been a big topic between you both. He always ask you to marry him and you always playfully agreed to make him happy but deep down you could see it.

You can see being his wife, carrying his children.

You can see yourself being Y/N Vinsmoke, and even if he doesn’t want you with that terrible name he can have yours.

You continued since Sanji now had your full attention, “I don’t want you…to ever think that I couldn’t love you any less. No matter what you do. You’re stuck with me.” You giggled, “And I want to be stuck with you…You’ve been my first everything…and I want you to be my last and only everything….and…”

You don’t know why, but you started to get emotional yourself. Was the guilt you subtly felt? Was it your telling Sanji the truth? Was it the atmosphere? You didn’t know but you just swallowed hard and sniffed, “and I do love you, Sanji…I’m in love with you…all of you. Your flaws, your strengths your weaknesses…I love it all so don’t ever think I feel the opposite….don’t ever change Sanji..”

You turned to him in one fell motion to kiss him, this was probably the most realest kiss you’ve ever given this man, it was needy and hungrily, but passionate. Eventually both of you had small tears fall down pulling back, but you didn’t care. You brushed back his bangs revealing both of his pretty eyes and kissed his eyebrows. It was an insecurity he had but you didn’t care they were beautiful to you.

Sanji didn’t have much to say. He felt so overwhelmed with feelings. You sighed happily feeling his arms curl into your waist. In head was in your neck as you felt his tears drop onto your collarbone. In this very moment It was Just you and him. In this moment Sanji felt loved, he felt comfortable, he felt safe, and he felt forgiven for his actions.

“I don’t know what id do without you…” His voice Just above a whisper, rubbing circles on your back. You stayed like that for a while lightly rocking back at fourth. the water began to still and get cold so you both decided to clean up a bit more and go back to the bedroom and sleep for the last bit of hours you had left before everybody woke up again.

Sanji cleaned the sheets and carried you back on the bed which you felt much less sore but he still insisted you don’t walk for the rest of the night.

He brought over the snacks and drinks for you. You both were refreshed and happier so it was nothing but mindless chatter for a little bit as you ate.

“Shit..” Sanji huffed seeing the subtle light of the sun crack through the window above you both noticing y’all have talked almost all night. “I have to head to the kitchen in like an hour.”

“That’s okay.” You giggled laying flat on your back on the bed reaching your arms out, “Let me hold you for a second.”

His cheeks were a bit pink as your suggestion. Especially since you were wearing his button down shirt and your breast spilled through it showing your unerect nipples. You laughed at his reaction and just grabbed him to lay atop of your chest.

“S-so soft!” Sanji sung a little with excitement rubbing his head on you, you could feel the subtle heart eyes he had and you smiled warmly knowing your Sanji was better.

“I love you, my Prince.” You hummed kissing his head. He squeezed you a little,

“I love you, too, my love.”

[shybiii]

Interesting that in TMAGP there's such a marked difference in the consumption of information. A main conceit of TMA was that learning about the Fears was a powerful tool, and obstruction of information was what ultimately doomed the protagonists in the first place. The OIAR's main protocol (haha) is censure and control of knowledge. The employees simply scan the case files for the basic information required to categorize a "statement," and then move on and not think much of it beyond that.

Compare this to even season one of TMA. While Jon was willfully turning a blind eye to everything going on, he was still thinking about them, making follow-up statements, remembering important names, etc. In short, he was to some degree using critical thought and analysis at nearly every point. He was also, notably, forced to engage with the True statements because he had to read them out loud.

The OIAR, on the other hand, being a division of bureaucratic government (former military, I believe?), actively discourages critical thought and engagement with the statements. They do not read the case file, a computer reads it for them in a random order drip feed. Their job is not to understand, but just to file it correctly and move on. Alice even encourages Sam to leave the room and do something else while the statement is being given, and then later "warns" him not to look too deep or think about it at all. The idea of it being a "boring no-thoughts government job" is repeated over and over and over. Turn your brain off, don't engage, be a drone. Sam has been hindered at nearly every turn trying to do the basic background research that Jon would have been able to do post-statement.

Knowledge is power in any Magnus Archives universe. The Institute made it difficult to acquire. The OIAR is actively hostile to it. Whether it's "for the greater good" or not, it is absolutely going to get these people killed.

[casual-socks]

HI IVE BEEN MASSIVELY HYPERFIXATED ON TMA FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND IVE SEEN MAYBE ONE (1) SINGULAR PERSON TALK ABOUT THIS and i am not even kidding when i say its been a passionate topic of conversation for that entire year. people know me for this. it comes up and my entire friend group SIGHS AUDIBLY because they know the 20 minute tangent i Will be taking

WHATTTTT IS GOING ON WITH GERARD KEAYS NAME. what. what???? okay i

youre telling me jonathan sims went to oxford college (relatively prestigious if my memory serves me correctly) for RESEARCH. for, to put it simply, READING. and he looks at the name gerard and goes Yeah looks like jared to me lets go with that!!! HELLO?? NO?? not even mentioning the fact that he is being what could easily be called possesed when reading these statements which leaves us with two options

1. the ENTIRETY OF ENGLAND CANNOT PRONOUNCE THE NAME GERARD.

2. jonathan sims is so monumentally stupid that he is somehow breaking this possesion for the 2 seconds it takes to say the name gerard (i love him i swear i will sound so so hateful for this entire post but its out of love)

and like??? its not even that EVERYONE is calling him jared? elias and gertrude have both called him gerard and thats just off the top of my head. i also think jon said it correctly ONEEEE SINGULAR TIME. Just the once.

now i feel it necessary to mention jared hopworth here as well. because why, why on gods green earth, would you name a character gerard. pronounce it jared. TURN AROUND AND GO. lets make another jared but this ones made out of meat and is sort of implied to not be too fond of gay people. Yeah he steals peoples bones. Yeah.

SO LIKE GERARD KEAY IS THE OBJECTIVELY SUPERIOR JARED EXCEPT HES NOT JARED HIS NAME IS LITERALLY GERARD?? FUCK YOU SO MUCH

so okay. sure whatever this podcast is sooo british that a bunch of people are just completely failing to pronounce gerard. sure. whatever you say.

GERRY?????? HIS FUCKING NICKNAME IS GERRY???????????? NO!!!!

NO. no. LOOK ME IN MY EYES. LOOK AT THE NAME GERARD. GER-ARD. AND YOURE TELLING ME YOURE GONNA CALL HIM JARED. SND THEN YOURE GONNA CALL HIM GERRY WITH A G???? gerry with a g. that is utterly ridiculous i cannot even believe this that is monumentally frustrating i cannot even begin to describe to you all the anger i have experienced over this particular bit because why on earth would you take that particular extra step??? gerard -> gerry. sure. thin ice, but sure. jared -> jerry. sure! yeah! makes sense! GERARD -> JARED -> GERRY? you must be playing some sick joke jonny sims. seriously. you are a cruel and usual man

now this is when i start to wind down, but far from where i finish. lets take a moment to really pause and soak in his actual name here.

gerard.

that is so unfortunate already i mean really, gerard is such a…. a name…. i mean his mom skins people and puts them in books and the cruelest thing i think she ever couldve done is honest to god name her son gerard.

keay.

now dont get me wrong. theres nothing seriously wrong with spelling it keay on principle. but god, really? youre gonna shove all this gerard gerry jared business in front of me and tell me his last name is just key but gone the extra mile. really feels like the cherry on top of a shit cake.

now if you consider gerards character i truly feel as though thats the deepest disservice here. gerard keay is an incredible character whos short appearance is so memorable and charming, and despite his VERY little screen time he still has an intriguing and well fleshed out character. really, gerard keay is so excellent character wise. But, every time i think about him for any more than 5 minutes, almost this exact rant is being told to whoever is unfortunate enough to be near me at the time.

another thing i think also really adds to this is just the nature of gerard keay. everything you can say about that guy could be ended with “and everone calls him jared for some reason”. hes emo and everyone calls him jared for some reason. his hair dye job is so miserable that EVERYONE mentions it and everyone calls him jared for some reason. he has mommy issues and everyone calls him jared for some reason.

okay i need to wrap this up before i start just repeating WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY for thousands of words but heres a graph i made for my friends in october 2022 when i was going on about this in the middle of my spanish class 👍👍

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part X

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 /

Part XI >>

Elain had not slept well. 

Once again she had taken to sleeping curled up on the armchair by the fireplace in the suite she shared with Lucien. Elain could still feel the ghost of his defeat as she practically forced him to take the bed for the second night in a row, this time for entirely different reasons. 

When they had returned from the library, without Cora to break their awkward silence, Lucien had quietly asked Elain whether she wanted to sleep more comfortably. He correctly guessed that she had had a restless night, considering the events of the last couple of days. 

Elain found Lucien’s genuine concern charming. Had she not felt his muted emotions so strongly, she would have accused him of feigning such kindness. 

Elain was not shy when it came to politely slighting men she did not care for, a skill she had learned in the ballrooms of her childhood and had carefully honed as an adult. When it came to Lucien, Elain could admit that he had suffered her forced indifference for years without so much as the slightest bend on her part. 

Elain’s mind had been entirely made up with regards to the man the fates had seen fit to curse her with. She did not want a mate, and so she would go about her life as if Lucien Vanserra did not exist. 

Elain’s decision was always infinitely more difficult when Lucien was near, his scent lingered in the air of every room he stepped into, sweet apples and summer mornings. Elain would have taken the bed had she not been gripped with horror at the awful realisation that the sheets, the pillows, would smell as he did. 

Elain knew it would have driven her mad, and so she lifted her chin and set her jaw before she practically ordered that Lucien take the bed. Much to Elain’s surprise, he did not argue, but she could feel a steady sadness leaking down their shared bond. 

Elain had slept fitfully, but at least no dreams had plagued her, and for that she was thankful. 

As Elain beheld her reflection in the towering mirror, she was also thankful that despite her restless night, she looked as lovely and refreshed as ever. 

Elain still tended to avoid mirrors. The faerie she now saw resembled the woman she had been before, disconcerting in their similarities and yet unsettling in their differences. Elain would not have recognized herself in passing. She saw the way her lips tugged down at the corners, misery marred her expression, beautiful despite it.

“Autumn’s colours suit you, Elain Archeron of Night.” If Eris saw the tightness around her mouth, he did not mention it. Elain watched the way his amber eyes flashed in amusement through the mirror’s reflection. 

Even Elain could admit that Eris was right, the deep emerald colour of her gown matched well with her dark eyes. The golden details along the sleeves shone as bright as some of the sun bleached curls Cora had so carefully pinned back for her, the column of her neck exposed. The corset Cora had laced for Elain was comfortable, her breaths easy, heavy skirts fell to the floor, hiding slippers made from the same fabric. 

“You could be a queen,” Cora said sincerely, nodding in agreement with Eris’s statement. “All you’re missing is a crown.” 

Elain hoped that the High Lord of Autumn would think the same. She was nervous, her own anxiety mixing with Lucien’s as the time passed slowly and they both began to get ready separately for the welcome Beron had planned for the son he had exiled. 

Elain prayed that attending balls in the Hewn City had prepared her for the long evening ahead, and hoped that she could muster Feyre’s confidence and the smallest bit of Nesta’s poise. She found herself missing her sisters desperately. She missed Cassian, Rhysand, Azriel and his quiet but friendly presence. She missed Nyx most of all, discouraged without her family’s steady and constant support and love. 

Elain tore her gaze from the mirror, no longer able to bear the sight. “Thank you for all the help,” she said rather weakly, hoping her smile looked genuine as she faced her lady’s maid. 

Cora would also be joining the celebrations, and Elain was infinitely grateful for the other woman’s willingness to remain by her side. She wondered what Cora had said to Eris to convince him so easily that she should be present, but Elain quickly pushed the thought aside, promising to herself that she would bring it up when they were alone. 

“Do yourself, and those forced to be in your presence, a favour, Elain,” Eris continued, stepping so close she could see every sparkling diamond along the arch of his ear. “Never wear Night Court colours again, they drain you of all life.” 

Elain looked up at Eris briefly, fighting the childlike urge to cross her arms at him. She focused on straightening her skirts, her movements elegant. “I think that’s just your presence,” Elain mumbled, the words low enough she could deny them if they had offended the arrogant prince. 

Cora and Elain shared a surprised glance at the amused breath Eris released, not quite a laugh, but certainly charmed. She could have sworn that one corner of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles, a glimmer of joy in his usually empty eyes. Had Elain blinked, she would have missed it. 

Elain noticed the way Cora’s dark eyes remained on the Autumn heir longer than usual, as her gaze slowly took him in. He was handsome, Elain supposed, in the strange way that the High Fae so often were. 

“No crown for you just yet, Elain,” expression once again serious, Eris lifted his hands just slightly, pale palms up. For an awkward moment, Elain wondered if she was supposed to do the same. Elain jumped, startled, when Eris summoned a small wooden box from thin air into his ready hands.  

The rubies on the ring’s of each of Eris’s fingers flashed in the light of the setting sun as he handed Elain the box carefully. She had not known what to expect, but she could not help the surprised parting of her lips as she opened the lid. 

Elain traced the stunning comb, the gold shining, the metal looked as though it had just been polished. Shaped like the branch of a tree, little pearls were evenly placed between the small leaves. “This is…” Elain truly had no words, the accessory was so lovely, she went to lift the comb from the box, but Eris clicked his tongue in warning. 

“Careful of the teeth, you’ll find they happen to be much sharper than expected.” 

Elain paused, eyes flicking to Eris before she lifted the comb from its case. “A weapon?” she asked, disbelief in her tone. 

Eris shrugged, the wine red fabric of his jacket straining with the motion. “I don’t suppose they taught you how to handle a dagger in the Night Court?” Elain shook her head at him, and he did not seem surprised by her admission. With a wave of his hand, the case disappeared and Elain was left with just the comb in her hand. “Then this is better, should someone bother you, aim for the eyes.” 

Elain’s own eyes widened at the thought. “Do you – I mean, is it likely that I would need this at all?” She was uncomfortable with the suggestion that she might need to fight someone. If Eris had hoped to settle her nerves, he was achieving the opposite.

Eris raised an auburn brow, scowling as he responded. “You’re not in the City of Starlight anymore, Elain. I’ll tell you now and you would do well to remember this piece of advice for the remainder of your stay in Autumn. Be armed always.” 

Elain felt her panic as it choked her. She merely nodded, knowing that if she spoke her voice would have been small with fear. 

“Don’t worry,” Cora interjected, rushing to reassure Elain. “Lucien will be with you at all times, I doubt any harm would come to us with him by our side.” 

“I doubt you, too, would need Lucien’s protection, considering you’ve been armed to the teeth since you stepped foot onto these lands,” Eris clipped. 

Cora cast a withering glare at Eris, tension in her shoulders at his sharp tone. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Elain still held the comb in her hand, her gaze flicking between the two, wondering if Eris would send the other woman home if he was always so annoyed with her presence. 

“I don’t even fault you for it,” Eris offered, his voice quiet and measured, but his eyes assessed Cora’s stance closely. “I just wonder how a lady’s maid from the Hewn City got her lovely hands on blades of Illyrian steel.” 

Elain watched as Cora opened her mouth, ready to respond, but at the quick knock on the door, everyone seemed to pause.

“Elain?” Lucien’s deep voice was muffled by the thick oak separating them. Elain was relieved that her mate had arrived. “Are you ready?” He asked. 

Cora and Eris were still locked in a silent battle, glaring at each other. If Elain had known Eris better, she might have even said that he looked pleased with himself. “Come in,” Elain called.

Again Lucien chose to winnow into the room, his presence overwhelming. When Elain was not near her mate, it was easier to ignore the bond. The only problem, Elain had noticed, was that once they shared the same space, warring feelings crashed over her like a wave. 

You are mine.

The thought was so jarring, and yet Elain could admit that it was not as troubling as it had been at the beginning, during the war with Hybern and the months that followed. Elain was captivated by him, the bond demanding that she pay attention every time he walked into a room despite her best efforts. 

Elain wondered if she would have felt the same without the bond connecting her to Lucien. 

Elain thought her mate was beautiful. His dark red hair fell loosely around his face, golden eye clicking into place as the russet one fell on her. She watched as Lucien took a sharp breath, as he stopped moving entirely. Elain took a step back, knocking into Eris. 

The action was enough for Lucien to shake his head, for her to refocus. Elain took in Lucien’s attire to distract herself. She started with Lucien’s tall riding boots, brown pants hugged his thighs. Elain felt herself blush as she quickly looked at his jacket, an emerald green the same colour as her gown. 

Lucien bent just slightly at the waist in greeting. “You look beautiful.” 

Elain could not look away from him, at the way his lips curled up into a knowing smile. 

You are mine.

Eris cleared his throat and Elain waved her hand awkwardly in Lucien’s general direction. “So do you,” Elain said. As soon as the words left her mouth, Elain found herself wishing she could throw herself into a lake and simply sink to the bottom for all of eternity. 

Elain looked to Cora, mortified, but the other woman flashed Elain an encouraging grin. Elain felt the tips of her pointed ears heat. 

Lucien politely pretended not to notice, stepping further into the room. He might have said something had Eris not. “I should leave,” he announced, his amber gaze going from Lucien to Cora. “You should join me.” The tone of his voice suggested he would not be accepting no for an answer. 

“Is the heir of the Autumn Court going to escort me to the ballroom?” Cora asked innocently. 

Eris shrugged, the gesture lazy, “I usually escort nobles.” He tilted his head in a manner that reminded Elain of a wolf observing prey, offering Cora his arm like any good gentleman ought to do. “Consider yourself lucky that my exceedingly high standards have miraculously lowered for the evening.” 

To Elain’s surprise, Cora took hold of Eris, her eyes never leaving his. “Watch yourself, prince, lest someone think you’re doing me a kindness.” 

Elain looked at them both and she knew Lucien was doing the same. Without warning, Eris winnowed him and Cora from the room, sparks scattering in the empty space where they had been. 

Elain was left alone with Lucien, all thoughts of Eris and Cora pushed from her mind as she took him in once more. He was so unbelievably handsome, Elain felt her heart skip several beats. 

“I guess…” Lucien started, looking at Elain only for a moment before he turned his attention to a point past her head. “I think we should follow them.” 

Elain nodded, taking a few careful steps towards her mate, wondering if Lucien would winnow them as well, or if they would walk the maze-like halls of the Forest House together. She looked up at him, glad that at least she would have him to help her navigate the event. 

Despite it all, Elain trusted Lucien with her life. As she lifted a hand to reach for him, Elain finally remembered the stunning comb, still held tightly between her fingers. 

“Help me with my hair first?” Elain did not know what possessed her to speak, but she regretted the words instantly. 

Elain saw apprehension cloud Lucien’s features, but he hummed in response. “Of course.”

“It’s sharp,” Elain warned as she placed the accessory in Lucien’s open hand. As their fingers brushed, she held her breath. 

Gently, as though she were made of glass, Lucien tilted her head. Careful of the comb’s teeth, Lucien delicately set it near some of the pin’s already holding Elain’s curls in place. 

The whole world seemed to stop, and only that moment seemed to matter. 

“Lovely,” Lucien murmured, his hands dropping to his side. 

A spell broken, Elain felt like she could breathe again. The sound of Lucien’s voice ringing, soft like wind chimes, clashed with the one thought Elain could not shake from her mind. 

You are mine.

[artist-issues]

My curiosity keeps knocking, so I've gotta pull the thread. Why would you erase Joker from existence if you could?

I'll break it down:

1. The Joker has no point.

There is not one consistent message in The Joker. It's not trying to "say" anything at all, because it commits to nothing. Instead, it almost says several things. It almost comments on the haves versus the have-nots. It almost comments on mental illness. It almost comments on society's treatment of those with mental illnesses. It almost comments on the government's spending. It almost comments on violence and comedy. But everything it tries to comment on feels like a sentence that gets cut off at the halfway point; after telling you the bad news and promising good news, it fails to deliver.

I'll tell you how it does this. Arthur Fleck is introduced as mentally ill. (As in, there was a developmental problem with his brain chemistry that causes him to miss social cues and laugh nervously.) This means that when he is mistreated by background characters for "being different," the audience should start to feel sorry for him and consider how a mentally ill person should be treated. But wait. He's not actually mentally ill because of a diagnosable problem with his brain chemistry—he claims he feels clearer and better when he's off his meds. Add that to the revelation that he wasn't born with a brain-chemistry issue. He was abused by his mom's ex. So, maybe he's not actually "crazy." Maybe, he's seeing the world as it really is? After all, it's been dark and terrible for him since he was a child. Or no, because what about that laughing tick, that's not normal, right? And he's hallucinating a life with a girl he's attracted to, and believes it enough to walk into her apartment like that's normal. So is he crazy, or just the only one responding correctly to a world as dark as he is?

The movie won't tell you. It starts a sentence, then cuts off before any thought or truth statement can be completed.

The movie also sets itself up as if those who have should be taking responsibility for society's "have-nots." Or it starts to. Mr. Wayne is introduced as directly responsible for the hardship Mrs. Fleck has fallen into. He is Arthur's father, and should be caring for him. But instead, he beats up and ignores the guy most entitled to, and in need of, his help. Just like the way he ignores the poor people in his city, right? But wait. No. Maybe none of that is true. Maybe Mr. Wayne is entirely innocent of abandoning Arthur and his mother—this was all the delusion of a selfish drug-addicted woman, and the rumors she's spreading ultimately lead to the assassination, not only of Mr. Wayne's good character, but of his actual life. And his wife's. So is the character who has power and influence and badmouths the poor a portrayed in a negative light, or a positive light? Is this character a selfish rich person who cares nothing for those less fortunate than himself, or is he just one more guy who could've been good if others' cruelty (Mrs. Fleck's lies) hadn't pushed him "past the breaking point?" Does that justify his cruelty, if it's true?

Both. Neither. Nothing at all. The movie won't tell you.

So you can pick whatever ending you want. But. No you can't. You can't even do that. Because guess what? It's all in Arthur Fleck, inmate of Arkham Asylum's, crazy head. Maybe none of it was real.

2. The Joker is therefore only successful as a piece of entertainment.

Everyone could've guessed that as soon as they saw it was a movie about the Joker. Nobody needed this movie in any sense. We already know more than one origin story for the Joker, as a character. We've already done-to-death every interpretation of his craziness. Everybody knows who he is and what he's like. So obviously, this was just going to be entertaining.

That's bad enough. Stories are supposed to remind you of goodness, beauty, and truth. Why? I'm not going to dissect it because everyone can read the pinned post on my blog. But because: the world's dark enough already, and it's easy to lose your sense of goodness, beauty, and truth. A story, even if it's a tragedy, even if it has no "happy ending," can still take you out of your present state of mind, sit you down in a fresh state of mind, and remind you of truth. Being "entertaining" is just one of the tools that the story uses to take you there. Or it's supposed to be.

When you take the point, the truth, the message, the "theme," out of a story, then it's just the Romans distracting the populace with coliseum spectacle so they forget that they're losing money and wasting their lives. Woohoo. "Fun. Entertainment."

You can disagree with me about that if you want. You can believe, like many I know, "it's fine to just turn off your brain and be entertained! Not everything has to mean something! I bet you're fun at parties!" Okay, cool, so you like being entertained, and The Joker entertained you.

The problem is, what were you being entertained by?

Because:

3. The Joker increases an appetite for evil in the audience.

I don't care. I said it. It's painfully obvious.

First of all, you came here to what? Watch the bad guy lose and the good guy win? No. This movie's got no Batman. You came to glut yourself on two hours of the bad guy with no pesky good guy to share his spotlight.

Is that too harsh? Maybe you just came in expecting the Joker to be about how a good man goes bad. Okay. Uplifting. But sure, maybe a cautionary tale could be useful.

But that's not what you get with the Joker. We already established: there's no lesson, no point, to this movie besides entertainment.

And I don't just mean "aw booo, there was way too much icky blood and scary suspenseful music. Oh no, a movie about a villain had villainy in it!!"

Nope.

I mean, tell me why Arthur Fleck only has moments of peace and transcendence after he murders someone? Why's the sunlight warming him up, like a benevolent gift from the heavens, in the shot after he smothers his mother with a pillow? Why are those somber strings playing out a ditty he can "be himself" and dance to after he shoots three young men? Why is he only experiencing clarity after he kills?

Why are the most "interesting" parts of Joaquin Phoenix's portrayal the parts where the character is killing, stealing, or thinking about killing?

Why is so much effort put into telling the story as if Arthur Fleck is sympathetic, no matter which way you look at it? He only kills mean people. Except his mother. Oh but she was kind of mean, too. Never mind that whatever caused her to ignore, lie, and abuse her son was also played off, in the movie, like a mental illness. The very thing we're meant to feel sorry for Arthur about.

The movie won't tell you who's right or wrong. But it makes you see everything through Arthur's eyes, with nobody to stop him or correct him or offer a differing point of view—and that alone is dangerous. Your mirror neurons are going to make you sympathize with that main character, regardless of how heinous his actions are, when the storytellers are so careful to offer you all these reasons why his actions were "justified."

The Joker was invented to have a Batman. Introduce a villain—even a sympathetic villain—but you have to also introduce the opposite of that villain. It can be one line of dialogue; it doesn't have to be a hero. But you have to say something about the evil when it is represented. Instead of inviting everyone to feel for the villain...then leaving them feeling vaguely satisfied when he commits atrocities. They can't help it. It's the first time he's looked at peace, or in control of anything. That's how the movie is made.

So you're entertained by looking for a statement that isn't there—or by watching one man brutally slay five people, one of whom is his mother, because you were just so excited to see some blood, to see a man snap. Panem et circuses. At its finest. And you paid for it. Smart. Cultured, of you.

I'd wipe that movie out of existence and force the writers and directors to stare at a wall while sad violin music plays in the background for exactly how many days it took them to make that movie, if I could.