#interact-at-own-risk

[burning-academia-if]

HEY important, but there's a site called Citron Games which have been taking games off itch.io and uploading it to their site and claiming they're the publisher/copyright holder of them!

I've seen a lot of vns on there from devs I know/follow, but I've also seen some IFs on there as well.

I'd recommend checking the site to make sure your game isn't on there and if it is, issuing a DMCA takedown!

EDIT: Here's the instructions to issue the takedown

[steppenwolfslair]

Im gonna need everyone to hear me on this because some people are being annoying af with some Hansry shit

You can hc hansry running away, you can hc the wedding getting cancelled or whatever. It isn’t that serious. (Yes there is a specific post I’m referencing i will not name anyone i don’t want hate on them because i generally like a lot of their posts but this one and the one they reblogged were just typical fandom policing that annoys the shit out of me i blocked them immediately )

more below

People out here acting like people who do this suddenly can’t differentiate historical fact and fan fiction/head canons. Yes i know historically they couldn’t be together, stop acting like people who do this are somehow erasing or aren’t aware of well known historical fact. These are HEAD CANONS for the love of god.

Another thing to add; the “tragedy” of their relationship is the least interesting thing about them to me, i love the devotion of it, the strong platonic and romantic bond that transcends something being capable of putting into words (Hans himself said it best with the story of Lancelot and Galehaut). So no their relationship isn’t diminished because in an au they ran away together. Maybe to you it is but guess what that has nothing to do with me.

Also people not giving a shit about Jitka doesn’t make them automatically misogynistic. Jitka is a character named maybe twice and is literally just a plot device to be used to represent the marriage and responsibility Hans doesn’t want (that yes is also historically accurate). No it doesn’t mean people are undermining the actual side of the woman in that particular situation that happened in real life. Jitka literally doesn’t exist in the game other than as a concept, of course people won’t care all that much about her. Another example of weird moral grandstanding and arm chair psychology that social media loves so much. It’s an incredibly chronically online take imo.

I could also make “intellectual” sophist arguments how people love to fetishize and insist on gay relationships always ending tragically (no matter the time period ) but that would be wrong and incredibly self important of me because that’s also bull shit armchair psychology and moral grandstanding. People enjoy things the way they want to, you have to just deal with it.

Some of you like sucking the fun out of everything when people aren’t having “your version of fun” so you have to moralize or intellectualize the reason as to why “your version is the correct one”.

And that last statement goes for most fandoms. Some of you need to learn to just scroll away and block people because no not everyone who liked things differently for different reasons is dumber and wrong.

[orions-aether]

nothing will haunt me like evan kelmp getting his arm exploded to death. nothing will haunt me like "there is a very real part of him that struggles under the effort of staying." nothing will haunt me like "if it depends on what was important to him, then obviously it is his friends" and "all of these things are easy for him to haunt" and "there is something in whatever drifting space he is now that wonders what he mattered to, and if it needs to be even".

nothing will haunt me like "it's easy to drift and to move away, but it's hard to close your eyes when it's so bright around" and "the shadow reaches out, and starts to slowly put objects back in the backpack" and "the main thing I'm going to do is take the shoes off my dead body and put them on."

[dark-skin-fem]

I don't quite get the delineation between a body performing labour and labour performed by a body, especially with regards to non-penatrative sex work. How is paying someone for a hand job different to paying them to perform stunt work? To me the latter seems way more dangerous and bodily harmful, but still morally acceptable.

Hi thanks for the ask! This is going to be longggggg, so sorry in advance. TL;DR under the cut at the bottom

I actually love that you asked this because that's something I've never thought about before, regarding stunt work. The argument I usually hear is that it's no different from regular service jobs or sports.

You make a good point in that stunt work can be dangerous. And upon further thought there's more things, like boxing, that people get paid to do with their bodies that is dangerous. And stuff like modelling, which one might compare to selling erotic pictures.

But if you think about it just a little bit further, you'll realise that we are coming from 2 different perspectives.

You're thinking in a consequentialist way i.e “what’s the harm done?” or “what are the outcomes?” So, if stunt work causes more physical injury than non-penetrative sex work, and we accept the former, why not the latter?

Totally fair line of reasoning. But the argument I’m making is more deontological. That is, it’s not just about harm, but about what kinds of actions are acceptable in principle. Not just “did anyone get hurt,” but “what exactly are we permitting people to buy or sell?”

And from that perspective, the core issue isn't injury or even danger, even though those are key concerns about sex work. it's the nature of the transaction. It’s about what’s being bought. What’s being sold there isn’t the performance of a skill, it’s intimate access to a person’s physical self, usually in a context that would otherwise require consent rooted in mutual desire. That’s where I draw the line: the transaction turns what should be mutual and personal into something contractual and one-sided.

So, this is where the distinction between “labour performed by a body” and “the body performing the labour” really matters imo.

When a stuntperson gets paid, they’re offering a performance. their body is a tool they control to do something. Even in work like boxing, modelling, or nursing, the labour is being performed by the body. The client isn’t buying the body itself, or the right to do something to it. The service depends on the worker’s active skill, decisions, movements, techniques.

Now compare that to a hand job for money. The buyer isn’t paying to watch you flex your hand muscles. They’re not admiring your technique. They’re paying to experience sexual access to your body. And that’s a different kind of transaction.

It’s not that sex is “sacred” or that touch must be romantic. It's that, deontologically, once you allow bodies themselves, especially sexual access to them, to be bought, you've crossed into a kind of commodification that’s fundamentally different from renting labour. Even if no one gets hurt, the worry is: what are we normalising by making that kind of transaction legal and acceptable? What does it say about what a person is allowed to sell? Or more precisely, what someone else is allowed to buy?

There’s a quote attributed to a woman called Françoise Héritier that I like, “Arguing that women have the right to sell their bodies is an attempt to hide the argument that men have the right to buy women”.

People get real uncomfortable whenever that’s brought up. Everyone likes to focus on the right of the woman to do whatever, whether they’re for or against sex work. But few people like to think about what it means in a society that a man can trade money for access to a woman’s body. Because thinking about this shows us what a society that legalizes sex trade teaches men about entitlement, and what they are entitled to when it comes to women.

The convo around sex work legalization often centers on the idea that it’s about giving people the chance to make a living or have more control over their own bodies, it’s easy to forget that the majority of sex workers will not truly benefit from this shift. It’s one thing to think about legalization in terms of making sex work safer or more legitimate, but for many, it will just be another layer of bureaucracy and regulation that doesn’t address the core issues of exploitation, poverty, or violence. Those who are already the most marginalized will still face the same risks and systemic barriers, whether it’s because they can’t access legal protections or because they’re not in a position to benefit from a more “regulated” system.

And I think the modelling comparison is actually useful here. Because modelling is bodily and sometimes sexualised. Models often pose in ways that accentuate physical features, perform desirability, even eroticism. And yes, modelling can absolutely be exploitative—it’s an industry famous for eating up young people, encouraging eating disorders, sexual harassment, the works. But there’s still a core difference in the kind of transaction that’s happening.

In modelling, the product is image. The model is paid to sell a look, a vibe, a brand. They’re performing a lifestyle or aesthetic. “this is what elegance looks like,” or “this is what rebellion looks like in leather boots.” The buyer (usually a brand or photographer) is licensing the image, the curated moment, not the person. And while that doesn’t erase exploitation, the object of exchange is visual and symbolic. it’s performative, not tactile. It’s the difference between saying, “You can look at a version of me I curated,” versus “You can do something to me, and I’ll accept that because you paid.”

With erotic content like nudes or porn, the line gets blurrier, but it is still commodification of a woman’s body, even though it might look like modelling on the surface. The product is still image-based, but now it’s explicitly sexual, and the body isn’t just a way to display a product, it’s the central feature. The seller might retain physical autonomy: they decide what to show, when, to whom. The body stays with them. But think back to what is being bought and sold. Unlike in modelling, where its an aesthetic, the woman who sells nudes sells her body. Digitally, but it’s still selling her body, even though control is not surrendered. (Of course, the boundaries aren’t perfect, there’s a spectrum, but the point is what the client is actually paying for and how that defines the role of the seller’s body in the transaction.)

And while I am against it, because the basis of my argument is about principle, I can recognize it is inherently less harmful for the seller than a hand job. But ultimately, principles do have consequences. The kinds of ideals we build our society on will bear fruit, and even from a consequentialist stand point, the fruit of legalisation can be very harmful for society at large.

In my country there’s a saying that goes along the lines of “an egg that has been broken can’t be scooped back up”. I’m sure you’ve heard something that expresses the same sentiments, but that sums up the bigger and more important concern about sex work - legalisation might offer short-term comfort to a fraction of sex workers, but at the cost of long-term harm to all women. Because once you make this kind of bodily access formally acceptable, not just tolerated, but legally regulated and socially endorsed, you’ve handed patriarchy a permanent contract. You’re saying, “Yes, women’s bodies can be sold, and here’s how to do it ethically.”

When we start seeing sex work as a legitimate job, like any other form of labor, it normalizes the idea that women’s bodies can be a commodity, something to be bought, sold, and consumed. think about young girls growing up in a world where sexual access is increasingly viewed as a tradeable asset. Think of how young girls will view their own bodies and their worth.

What does it say to them when we, as a society, start to treat sex as just another job? Is it just another gig? Do we start valuing sexual access like any other service on the market, complete with stock market valuation and a price tag on someone's desirability? Is a woman worth X more for being blonde, and Y less for a facial scar?

Are we telling them that their worth can be measured by their sexual appeal, that their bodies are commodities to be bought and sold? This kind of messaging creates a dangerous precedent where women’s bodies are seen as a resource to be exploited in whatever way is deemed profitable or desirable.

I’m not saying sex work can’t be empowering for some people, but we have to be careful with how we frame it. Legalizing sex work doesn’t just solve the immediate issues for workers; it also opens up a much larger conversation about consent, autonomy, and the fundamental values of society. It's not just about the individual workers involved.

Also does this advance feminism? Does it really move the needle forward in terms of women’s liberation, or does it simply create a new framework for patriarchy to operate within? Idk how something can advance feminist ideals when it ends up contributing to a system that ultimately reinforces objectification and commodification, where women’s bodies are valued based on their sexual appeal or willingness to provide services. It’s one thing to say we’re working toward equality, but it’s another to legitimize a system that allows the same exploitation of women to continue, just within a more “acceptable” legal structure.

And again, this isn’t about purity or shame. The whole point is that there’s a meaningful difference between using your body to perform labour (modelling, boxing, massage, etc.) and selling access to your body as the service itself. The former is expression through the body; the latter is transaction of the body. And when the transaction involves deliberately removing the boundary of bodily intimacy, it raises a different kind of ethical concern.

And that’s a deal you can’t easily walk back. Legalisation might win a little ease now, but you make it almost impossible to build a future where women’s bodily autonomy isn’t for sale. It’s a trap disguised as progress. It’s hustling backwards.

And the buyers—the people who benefit most from legal access to women’s bodies—will always frame it as a win for freedom. But whose freedom? And at what cost?

Because if your feminism doesn’t include a vision of a world after commodification, if it doesn’t aim to dismantle the structures that make selling your body feel like the most viable option, then it’s just neoliberalism with glitter on it.

Even if there’s no coercion, no violence, and no visible harm, legalising or commodifying that transaction invites society to treat access to bodies the same way we treat access to, say, a haircut or a yoga class. should we want to live in a world where we view bodily intimacy that way?

Think about how we treat organ sales. It’s not just that selling a kidney could hurt you—lots of people survive it. The deeper issue is whether turning organs into products to be bought and sold undermines something about the dignity of persons. Society generally recoils at the idea of organs becoming commodities. Why? Because some parts of our body, and some forms of access, are seen as too personal to be sold. The same argument is being made about sexual access. And I am trying to carve out that line very carefully: not saying sex is sacred, not shaming sex workers, but questioning whether this specific kind of bodily access is compatible with a society that respects people as ends in themselves.

Because we don’t live in a vacuum. We live in a society that already commodifies women’s bodies. We already objectify, reduce, brand, and sell femininity back to itself. So, when we argue for legalising the full purchase of sexual access in that same context, on a feminist platform, we’re not just offering women short-term protections, we’re offering the whole system a shiny moral cover.

That’s what radfems against sex work are guarding against. Not just harm, but normalisation. Not just danger, but definition. it’s about deciding what kind of future is even imaginable for women. (I don’t use the term swerfs, that’s a nonsense term that frames sex workers one and the same as the sex industry, as the enemy instead of victims of a predatory system. Sex work is a symptom of patriarchy, and we are all living under it, including sex workers, and any liberation radfems seek include them too)

So yeah, boxing is dangerous. Modelling can be exploitative. Sex work might not always involve more danger or even more vulnerability than other professions. But what’s at stake in the transaction is different. It’s not about the harm to the body, it’s about the idea that there should be some parts of our embodiment, our literal physical self, that are off-limits to market logic.

And once that’s normalised, the road back to true bodily freedom gets harder to walk.

TL;DR:

It's not just about danger, it’s about what we’re willing to turn into a transaction. There’s a real difference between using your body to do work and selling access to your body itself. Legalizing sex work might seem like progress, it's just patriarchal access to women repackaged. It quietly shifts what we teach girls about their worth, what we allow power and money to buy, and how we value bodily dignity. The question isn’t just “is it safe?” but “what kind of future are we building if this becomes normal?”

[spotaus]

That Modern(ish) Tauverse AU where we have Nightmare and his four adoptive sons now has this lil collection of Bad Reference Doodles lol!

[basically-a-god]

Open RP Starter

TW- panic attack

*You walked into the Hermes cabin, looking around and seeing it was empty. You could hear some weird sounds from the bathroom though, so you decided to go and see what it was since the door was cracked open. The first thing you saw was Robin hunched over the sink, hiding her head in her hands. Her breathing sounded more like gasps, and her eyes were squeezed shut.*

[thetomorrowshow]

The love crystal.

It wasn’t meant to make Ren fall in love with him. It was only ever meant to be a—a promise, sure, a commitment, so that Ren would know that he could trust him over anyone else. So that he would know that Martyn—

He doesn’t end up giving it to him.

Martyn dies thinking of Ren (he died with Ren’s name on his lips, once, long ago—) as the End crystal lights up pink in his eyes.

~

my piece for @treebarkzine! go check it out and support all the wonderful artists and writers that I had the privilege to work with :) the full fic is under the cut!

~

Scar turns Red not long after Martyn places his order, so he assumes it’s all gone to naught and he won’t be getting what he wants out of this.

But Scar holds true to his word, and it’s delivered to him later that week.

The love crystal.

He’d ordered it on a whim—not that he wanted to make someone fall in love with him, not really. It was just—well, if it happened to come up, then he could—and if that person happened to be Ren, then—

It wasn’t meant to make Ren fall in love with him. It was only ever meant to be a—a promise, sure, a commitment, so that Ren would know that he could trust him over anyone else. So that he would know that Martyn—

He doesn’t end up giving it to him. He really does want to, but every time he finds himself alone with Ren his palms get all sweaty and his heart starts hammering a little too quickly and he decides that he’ll wait until the moment is right.

But it comes down to the final four of them, and the moment isn’t right.

Martyn dies thinking of Ren (he died with Ren’s name on his lips, once, long ago—) as the End crystal lights up pink in his eyes.

—

“What’s that?”

Martyn looks up, his skin buzzing uncomfortably at the presence of his soulmate. Cleo stands there, tapping their foot.

She looks . . . good, he supposes. Healthy. She and Scott have taken up residence on one side of the ravine, and the other side had already been claimed by Timmy and Tango, so Martyn had built his bleeding heart midair, as close to Cleo as he dared.

“Nothing much,” Martyn says, returning to his delicate work. Cleo huffs, plops down next to him.

He’s out on the trail that leads to Impulse and Bdubs, but he’d stopped about midway down, wanting to take care of this before night fell. 

“How’d you get a pink crystal? Scar selling them again?”

That’s what’s between his fingers, after all.

It wasn’t supposed to come with him. The things that come with you between worlds are always integral to who you are—Grian’s sweater, Bdubs’s clock, Ren’s sunglasses. Nothing should have come with him that doesn’t usually, and Martyn’s well accustomed to his normal spawn.

The first time he’d stuck his hands in his pockets since being here, his fingers had brushed against something smooth.

Great. Somehow, the love crystal came with him. At first, it had filled him with breathtaking hope—because maybe, if it came with him, maybe he and Ren—

But—

Ren and BigB.

Martyn and. . . .

“Nah. It came with me,” he admits, and Cleo makes a surprised noise.

“Came with you? One of Scar’s pieces of glass? What is it?”

Martyn doesn’t answer at first. Both because it’s totally embarrassing to admit that it’s a love crystal that had never worked out, and because he’s just about carved the tiny hole through it that makes this such a careful operation and he needs to focus so that he doesn’t accidentally shatter the stupid thing.

“Er, loyalty crystal,” he eventually says, tongue between his teeth. The needle held between sweaty fingers breaks through to the other side of the crystal, and he lets out a breath that’s been building up in his chest.

Cleo actually throws her head back and laughs. “Loyalty crystal?” they disparage. “No way.”

The lie had slipped out almost without him noticing it, so he shrugs. Better than the truth. “I’m loyal!” he protests.

“Yeah. Right.”

He points the needle at her accusingly. “You’re the one who chose Scott while I was out trying to find my soulmate. I tried to make amends—it’s not my fault that we’re both terrible people.”

Cleo doesn’t argue with that, doesn’t bring up everything that was his fault.

He isn’t loyal, not at all, but they accept his word at face value and drop the subject.

When he attacks Scott, right at the end, she doesn’t look at him. She looks at the crystal strung round his neck, and her face twists in anger.

—

“Loyalty crystal,” Martyn says casually, when Scott frowns at it in confusion.

He usually keeps the thing under his shirt, ashamed that it’s somehow still coming with him, but he’d been knocked into the water by a pufferfish on his way over the bridge to talk to Scott and he hadn’t fancied standing here dripping all over the place, so he’d stripped off his shirt to wring it out.

He’s here to beg his way into an alliance with Scott, and he isn’t opposed to doing everything he can to show how valuable of a partner he’d be. C’mon, who wouldn’t want to team up with the guy so loyal that he has a permanent part of his identity proclaiming it?

Scott raises an eyebrow. “Really? But you and Cleo—”

“Hey, I was always loyal to them,” Martyn says, holding up his hands. “They weren’t always loyal to me. Besides, I’ve been carrying this old thing around since Last Life, so it’s got to mean something.”

He’d spawned with it again, hanging on a piece of fishing wire around his neck, its light weight immediately noticeable. He’d frantically tucked it under his shirt, then glanced around the circle to make sure Ren hadn’t seen it.

But Ren . . . wasn’t there.

That had stopped his heart from beating, had made the crystal’s weight on his chest just that much heavier.

Ren?

If Ren wasn’t even here, then—

Why was the crystal here?

Martyn had assumed that it stuck around because he hadn’t given it to Ren. But then Ren had seemed so happy with BigB—and even once Martyn knew it wasn’t true, Ren said a ton of stuff about needing some time to be lonely and a loser so he’d kind of taken that as a rejection before he’d even tried and he hadn’t offered him the crystal.

But it stayed, even though Ren isn’t here, and now Martyn just has to live with a glaring reminder of his cowardice (and a too-sharp reminder of Ren, Ren who’s missing and so very missed) all game.

“I guess,” Scott says, and Martyn doesn’t quite believe he’s getting away with it until Scott starts talking about possible team names.

That’s his reputation, he supposes. Loyal.

—

“I actually have this pretty thing,” Martyn says, dangling the love crystal between his fingers. “Loyalty crystal. It’s stuck with me since Last Life, you know. Regular old proof that I’m the best person to team with.”

If anyone’s going to see through the lie, it’ll be Timmy.

Timmy, who was there in the Property Police when Martyn tried to abandon him time and time again for something new; Timmy, whom he declared war against and gloated over being dead; Timmy, who he lied to and manipulated to get his life back; Timmy, who he’s turned on again and again and who has watched him betray everyone around him.

Maybe he wants Timmy to argue. Maybe he wants him to realize just how wrong that statement is, force him to give up the truth. It’s become such a weight on him, so long of everyone actually believing his worst lie yet.

But he doesn’t call Martyn out.

Timmy just smiles. “Oh, yeah! Because you’re super loyal. That’s sick, dude.”

Martyn’s brain feels like it short-circuits.

“Just like a dog! This is perfect!” That doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make sense, not when Mumbo eyes him distrustfully, when Cleo growls at him at every turn, when Scott won’t even look at him.

“Right,” mumbles Martyn, and he and Timmy get to work on their base.

It’s been like that. It’s been like that this whole time—by now, everyone has seen the crystal, has asked about it, and Martyn’s fed them the same lie and they’ve all believed it.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this. His very chest aches, the crystal seeming so much heavier than it could possibly be.

He isn’t loyal.

Why do they keep believing him?

—

The lake where the Heart Foundation has set up is the coolest place on the server, in terms of temperature. Martyn visits the stony beach with less and less frequency as the days pass, but the first night of the sixth week finds him there, idly tossing stones into the water.

It also finds Tango there, coming up behind him, the beach clacking noisily under his feet.

“How’s the loyalty crystal?” Tango asks, almost knowingly, and Martyn’s knuckles whiten around the stone clutched in his fist.

“Fine,” he says shortly.

“Mhm. You still have it, after last time?”

Martyn doesn’t bother to respond. Tango knows he has it—it’s visibly hanging over his undershirt, his green t-shirt stripped off and left on the grass with his backpack.

“Impulse told me you just murdered Scott, even though you’d been together all game. And Cleo, before that? And come on, dude. I heard all about the Southlands.”

Martyn chucks the stone, harder than intended. It splashes into the water with a loud smacking sound, creating almost a small fountain.

“I’m trying to say—”

“Well, you should stop trying to say it.”

They’re all learning, one by one, how disloyal Martyn is, made worse by how thoroughly they all believed his loyalty schtick.

It isn’t—it isn’t that he wants to betray them, not necessarily. He cares about all of them, but . . . not enough. It’s never enough to keep him, to pin him down, and Jimmy doesn’t deserve how angry he is at himself over this which is why he came down to the lake tonight, determined to not take it out on him, and there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else to interrupt his self-hatred.

“Just . . . just go away.” Martyn bites the inside of his cheek to keep any hint of a yell out of his tone, willing himself to be at least somewhat civil with Tango.

It isn’t Tango’s fault that the next words send him tipping over the edge.

It’s just Tango’s bad luck that he accidentally presses all the wrong buttons in the right order.

Tango huffs out a laugh. “Pushing me away, huh? Just like—”

He probably isn’t going to say Ren’s name, but it’s what Martyn hears, every other name stacked precariously atop it. “I get it, yeah?” Martyn cuts him off, picking up another stone and hurling it, not caring to watch where it lands. “I’m not loyal, I’ve never been loyal—can you believe that so many people have bought that? But this stupid crystal won’t leave—”

“Whoa, man—”

He tears the crystal off his throat, winds back to throw it—

A hand grabs his wrist, holding his arm in place. Martyn strains against Tango for a moment, before letting his arm go limp, the sudden energy draining from his system. It flees faster than he could imagine, leaving him exhausted and feeling oddly like he’s about to cry.

It’s stupid. He’s a grown man.

The crystal clenched in the palm of his hand is cool, smooth, fragile. He could crush it like that, just tighten his grip a little bit and watch it crack, let the pieces dig into his skin.

He doesn’t do it. He just holds it, carefully, like he knows if he drops it that his heart will shatter with it.

“Dude, I was just teasing,” Tango says, loosening his hold. “If it’s carried with you, it means something, right?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t,” Martyn says, slumping down to sit on the shore, rocks digging into his backside. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not anymore. It’s—it isn’t a loyalty crystal.”

Tango doesn’t ask what it is, even though Martyn’s left him open for it. He doesn’t ask.

He’s been hiding it for so long, he almost wants someone to ask. He wants to share this heart-wrenching secret that he’s carried with him for so many games.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

“It’s not a loyalty crystal,” Martyn says again.

“How do you know?”

Martyn snorts. “Come on, you said it yourself. I haven’t got a shred of loyalty, not for anyone.”

Tango hums. “I think you do.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m sure everyone’s figured that out—the Southlanders, Cleo, Scott—”

“What about Ren?”

Martyn chokes on whatever it was he was about to say. “I—what?”

Tango sits down beside him, shifting on the stones. “The first time, it was Ren through-and-through, right? And didn’t you give him a life in the one after that? And then you and him were always hanging out, even though you weren’t soulmates. Like, you’re totally loyal, dude! But only to one guy.”

Which is—

Which is hitting way too close to the mark for Martyn to be comfortable.

Because it isn’t a loyalty crystal, is it? It isn’t a loyalty crystal.

It’s a love crystal. It’s a love crystal that he bought with the intent to give it to Ren, and apparently his stupid love for the man is just so damn essential to who he is that it stayed with him.

There were so many nights, back in the early days of Renchanting, when Martyn would take off without a word about where he was going, packing up everything he owned in case he didn’t come back.

He always did, even if an entire day passed, even if someone offered him a bed, even if he was getting along with whoever he encountered. He always returned to Ren—and there was something about seeing the man’s eyes light up, pale and blue like the winter sky, just at seeing him.

His heart had come to skip a beat at Ren’s call, and before he knew it, he couldn’t leave his side. He never spoke a word of it to Ren—he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable—but he never left him. Even when they died, they were side-by-side.

Then, after that, when Ren held him and sobbed into his shirt after Martyn rescued him from the fire in his tower. Martyn’s skin had burned at the contact, and he’d trailed his fingers through Ren’s tangled hair and promised not to leave him.

And after that, when he and Ren encountered each other in the forest again and again, Ren’s gaze so bright and hopeful that they might be allies again that Martyn had gone along willingly, his entire soul aching at how close they were without anything tying them together but the pink crystal on the fishing wire under his shirt.

He—

He loves him. He loves Ren, and he has for forever, now.

One might argue that love is something like loyalty, or that loyalty is something like love. Whatever it is, it’s true. At the core of Martyn’s love is loyalty, at the core of his loyalty is love. Burning, aching, love.

He’s never been a loyal person. Not to anyone, ever.

Ren is different.

Martyn looks up after a moment to find Tango looking at him, a bit of a grin playing on his lips. There’s something up with his eyes—they look almost blue in the darkness, in what must be a reflection of the water’s surface or the grey beach or—or something.

“Okay,” Martyn huffs. “I get it. I’m loyal to . . . to Ren.”

“Very loyal, if you’re carrying around that crystal, still.”

“Shut up.”

“You could even say . . . in lo—”

“Shut up.” Martyn buries his head in his hands, runs his fingers through his hair. He hates this. So what, he likes—he’s . . . in love with Ren. So what? “It’s not like I can do anything about it. I never even told him.”

“Oh, he knows,” Tango says cryptically. “I’m sure he knows.”

“Sure.”

Tango doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Martyn, still trying to process the enormous weight on his chest that has suddenly slipped away, leaving him without anything to tether him down. It’s a terrifying feeling, losing the secret that he’s carried for so long.

Terrifying, but . . . not quite so lonely, somehow.

He can’t make himself live with that weight. Not anymore.

He and Tango stay there for another hour, silent in each other’s company, and Martyn holds the crystal and promises himself that if he ever sees Ren again, he’ll tell him.

He’ll tell him everything.

—

Martyn comes to in the next game, still bitter over his loss—he was invisible, Grian shouldn’t have even noticed him—and he sits up slowly, groaning as his joints pop. It’s first instinct to check for the familiar weight around his neck, and he finds it near-instantly, rolls the crystal between his fingers.

Then he looks up.

Across the circle, sitting up and scratching his beard and blinking open his pale, blue eyes—

Martyn’s breath catches in his throat.

His heart skips.

The crystal burns under his touch.

If they live through a thousand more games, there is only one man that Martyn will ever be loyal to, and that man is right there.

Right there.

Their eyes meet.

Ren.

[somegrumpynerd]

"Trying to keep these oversized hamsters alive"

Fuvk. Now i yearn to See them drawn as hamsters for real! 💘🥺🥺🥺 pls bless us with Bad sans hamsters, i beg u pleeeaseee. 😭😭💕

- 🍓

Weeeeell alright, but only because you asked so nicely and also I really really love hamsters lol

(I've only ever had history with dwarf hamsters so that's what they all are to me, sanses are short anyway so it kinda fits.)

I made Killer and Dust roborovskis because they were the first hamsters I had and I have favourites. Also they are fast as hell so good luck catching these guys if they get out. I made Horror and Cross russians because they get a lil bit bigger than robos and I wanted a black and white one for Cross.

Also I dunno if you've ever seen those videos of 2 hamsters trying to run on the same wheel and one getting spun around or thrown off, but that's 100% Killer and Cross.

[fauxettes]

made by beck

*      ᛪ      ⋆    THE    FAUXETTES :       ▒

──────•─ BECK ⇢ CHRONO ²⁰ ⋆ IT/SHE+

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ RADQ ⨾ PARA ⨾ SYSTEM BLOG

transharmful ₊ trisabled ₊ NO DNI / INT. @ OWN RISK

interests ⦂ twin peaks ₊ creep (movies) ₊ donnie darko ₊ numetal ₊ riot grrl ₊ local bands ₊ taxidermy ₊ latex & leather ₊ kink culture ₊ punk diy ₊ more

note : a pro-para (anon contact) , radq system . we post nsft occasionally so , be aware. low empathy + fatigue so we will be online whenver we can . be patient thanks.

⋆ sincerely ⨾ beck

transid hoard tagging system paras

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||၊၊||၊|။||||၊၊•

[defiledtomb]

Just saw the new Leith snippets, I am soooo unwell about them 😭 Baby I don't care how unsettling you are post time skip, you are still the loml <33333333

your pathfinder (and me) when Leith turns up looking horrific, monstrous, aggressive, damaged beyond repair:

Here. Have another peek from ouro.

[maxedes]

sky germany so unserious today. they interviewed lando norris & in the end peter (the one sky guy) went „one last question, we want to talk to you about papaya rules… just kidding!“

[flaming-toads]

Welp, my time has come y'all

[r4mpaige]

• • • managed by 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍  ( ⸺ SHE/HER,   +21,   GMT -4 sideblog to nikki bella.

[racc00ning]

everytime I have to use pluralpedia, an angel looses its wings

[thclastlight]

LOCATION: summer solstice, part 2 FOR: @helltownhqstarters (open)

"No, no, no," the word spilled from her lips like a mantra, twenty times, thirty, on repeat. Scarlett could practically hear the voice from her dreams, see Her face coiling in disgust. Trembling fingers wound tightly in her hair, pulling hard enough that pale blonde strays came out by the roots. "This is not what She wants, this is not how it was meant to be!" Her eyes wide and wild as she dropped her hands, watching those around her scatter, throw themselves into the fire, she turned to the person closest to her, gripping their sleeve. "Do you hear me? Listen to me! This is not the plan! She does not want this. She does not want this."

[ace-up-your-sleeve]

t4t dick necklace based on this flag!!!

the 4 is an A bead that i removed the ink from, and painted a 4 in the grooves ^v^