#last two images are out of order but that is intentional

[actual-changeling]

-"I walk this earth all by myself", EKKSTACY

[hephaestiions]

For what it’s worth, Draco tries not to be in love with him.

Once the war ends, the world is dim and hazy and wild. For two months, it rains incessantly in Wiltshire. Draco watches his mother’s rose garden flag and flutter, run amok with weeds and ivy from his bedroom window. He spends May and June not doing much of anything but staring— out the window, at his ceiling, at his parents when they try to coax him to dinner. House arrest is not a death sentence, but Draco is empty and vacant and a little dead anyway.

He thinks of Harry sometimes. Harry, limned in fire on a broom, reaching for him, Harry, dead, not dead, clambering to his feet, wand raised, calling the Dark Lord Tom, Harry, who had met his eyes over the Aurors’ shoulders as they handcuffed him to accompany him to the Manor until the Wizengamot had the time to figure out what to do with the Malfoys. Harry, and the world winces into sharper focus, bleak and dull and unbearable. Draco tries, for all he’s worth, not that it’s much, to stop thinking of Harry when that happens.

There’s the trial. Harry Potter is in a suit, his hair damp and brushed and unfamiliar. He speaks for Draco and his mother. Draco recognises the image of Narcissa emerging in Harry’s testimony— haughty and determined and fearful and loving, a mass of contradictions worthy of exoneration after the payment of some hefty fines. His own image he recognises in snapshots and flashes— scared, yes, Merlin, yes, indoctrinated from a young age, that too, in the grip of something bigger than himself, yes, he’s never felt so small. There are other things Harry says, new, like an ill-fitted outfit hanging off him— brave when it mattered, really? and never killed anyone, technically true but the intent was there all through sixth year, doesn’t he deserve to be punished for that? and helped in bringing down the fall of Tom Riddle at great personal risk, a tall order at best, an embellished lie at worst.

Harry believes in a man Draco isn’t sure he ever was. The Wizengamot seems to believe him, and he’s exonerated too, with a magic-monitoring charm on his wand for eighteen months.

No one testifies for Lucius. He goes to Azkaban. Draco watches, dispassionate, as the Aurors handcuff his father again. Lucius watches him back, equally dispassionate. “Take care of your mother,” he says before he’s pulled away, and Draco manages a short, tight nod. That’s that.

Love, or the situation about Harry Potter as Draco takes to calling it, begins two more months after the trials.

“Malfoy,” says Harry, the picture of wide-eyed surprise. They’re in a bar on Knockturn. Pansy, Blaise and Theo finally dragged him here, Draco you need to leave that stuffy old Manor for your own good.

“Harry Potter,” Draco says, because he can’t bring himself to call him Potter anymore, and Harry sounds awkward outside his head.

“It’s good to see you,” says Harry, a sudden grin stretching across his face. Draco has to blink the light of it out of his eyes. “You’re looking better.”

It starts then, in the bar. The stirrings of life in a dead man. It’s annoying and brutal and the kind of thing that keeps Draco waking up and getting himself out of bed every morning and the nightmares occasionally at bay.

They run into each other at the bar, over and over, and each time, Harry begins conversation. Each time, it lasts a few minutes longer, until they’re spending half an hour or more chatting over drinks at the counter. Or, rather— Harry chats, Draco listens and tries not to let his heart spring out of his chest. Each time, Pansy looks considering, Blaise rolls his eyes and Theo peers studiously into his drink when he comes back. Draco wonders if Harry’s friends have their own set of patented reactions and if they’re half as lenient as his friends’.

Draco starts sleeping with Theo about it, eventually. Which is to say Draco starts sleeping with Theo hoping the sex will take his mind off dark hair and green eyes and that rapid, quicksilver smile. It doesn’t help that Theo has dark hair and blue eyes, and smiles at Draco like the sun. It makes him ache with want and loss, and the sex is great, but Draco has to end it within a few weeks.

“It’s Potter, isn’t it,” Theo says when Draco tells him.

There’s no point denying it, so Draco doesn’t. “It’s not you,” he says, and Theo’s lightly amused baleful glare is enough for their friendship to remain stable, if a little stilted.

Blaise takes him shopping and Pansy brings him alcohol and when Greg starts stepping out of his house again, he tells Draco awkwardly, “Well, Potter’s missing out, isn’t he?” Millicent, who starts coming to pub nights gives Draco a once-over and tells him he needs to get a job. Daphne tries to set him up with her sister, and takes it astonishingly terribly when Draco tells her he’s sure Astoria’s lovely, but has an entirely wrong set of bits.

“You should be more open minded,” she tells him, sniffing. “Astoria‘s open minded!”

Draco can only think to blink at her.

Harry’s in the papers almost every day. Sometimes because he gives speeches, but mostly because The Prophet’s society section can’t think to write anything better than “Harry Potter spotted in Diagon’s Sunday Market, with turnips! Turn to page 6 for seven delicious recipes that make fresh and inventive use of the Chosen One’s Chosen Veg!”

It’s all well and good except for the part where the accompanying photos of Harry, scowling or blank or frustrated or very occasionally, smiling at children, sends Draco’s body into overdrive. He finds himself tracing the line of Harry’s mouth, the tops of his cheekbones, his hairline. He thinks his mother notices, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?” Harry asks.

They’re not at the bar. They’re in a cafe and Draco is reading a horrible romance novel at the window.

“We get drinks all the time,” Draco says. He wants to step on his own toes.

“Yeah,” Harry says, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, course, just— I was wondering if you maybe wanted to. You know. Just us.”

“Just us?”

“Forget it,” Harry says, and sighs. He turns away and turns back. “It was good seeing you, Malfoy.” He turns away again.

“Harry,” Draco says. The look on Harry’s face when he turns back again is wide-eyed surprise again, like that first time in the bar. “I— a drink sounds lovely.”

Harry looks uncertainly pleased.

“Just not on Knockturn,” Draco says.

“We could go to Hogsmeade,” Harry says. He’s— the ridiculous man— bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgety and buoyant and beautiful. “Or London. The Muggle bit. Or Diagon, really, but the reporters—” He grimaces.

I’ll go anywhere with you, Draco wants to say. “Anywhere,” he says instead, hacked short and inadequate.

But Harry smiles at him like he’s the sun. The persistent ache throbbing through Draco abates for a moment.

So this is peace, Draco thinks. Meets Harry’s smile with his own, wonders how Harry thinks it looks. There you are.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, “cranes in the sky”. this is a little all over the place and i’m not particularly happy with it, but here’s a decidedly-not-microfic about failing at not being in love with harry james potter. oh draco, you’re exactly like me.

[dindjarindiaries]

Wounds Unseen

summary: You and Hunter help each other through the fallout of Omega’s capture on Pabu.

pairing: sergeant hunter (tbb) x reader

tags: season 3 spoilers, angst, injuries (incl. blood), trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.298k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You bit your cheek to try to keep yourself silent as you limped over and over on your injured leg. The skin hadn’t stopped burning or bleeding since the blaster bolt caught it, but that didn’t stop you from walking on it and ignoring the pain as you tried your best to find Crosshair.

You had seen it all happen. The distraction, the attempted shot, and the long arc the tracker made before it ultimately missed the ship created an image within your mind that was hard to get rid of. The way your heart had fallen into the pits of your stomach was even harder to ignore.

It had broken you, but there was no doubt you weren’t nearly as broken as Crosshair was. That weight was sitting firmly on his shoulders. And Hunter…

He didn’t even know.

Neither did Wrecker, who was still unconscious in Shep’s safe room. You tightened your jaw at the thought of it. He would be devastated, but he would keep himself strong for the sake of Omega and his brothers. He had done it before for you and Hunter. You could only hope that he had taken the time to process it—and that he would do so again.

Chaos was still ensuing all around you, but you were set on your own mission. The pain hiding at the edges of your senses threatened to creep in and drown out everything else. You pushed it back, intent upon focusing on your family instead. You weren’t far from where Crosshair had made the shot.

The closer you got, the more you began to realize you weren’t the first one to find him.

Elevated voices got louder as you picked up your pace as much as you could manage. There was no mistaking the sound of Hunter’s rage, which bit through each word he spoke—or yelled. Crosshair’s responses were full of his own venom, but it was undoubtedly aimed towards himself.

Either way, they were taking their devastation out on each other, and you couldn’t sit by and let it happen, especially not when you thought of how Omega would react to it. You winced as you went even faster, never stopping until Hunter and Crosshair were in full earshot.

“Whose fault is it now?” Hunter snapped at Crosshair as you struggled down a nearby staircase. He gave Crosshair’s armored shoulder a rough shove. “Who’s the one that let her go?”

“Hunter!” You called for him from where you had just stepped off the last stair. You swallowed back a cry of pain and made your way over to them.

“This was your choice, Hunter,” Crosshair snarled in response. “You were the one who left her to me. I did the best with what you gave me!”

“My choice?” Hunter scoffed and tightened his fists at his sides. “My choice, my order, was for you to stay with her and Wrecker! It was one simple order, Crosshair!” Hunter pushed off Crosshair’s chestplate that time. “And you couldn’t even follow it!”

“Hunter!” The adrenaline thankfully helped in hiding your pain as you stood close to the two of them. Crosshair had kept his helmet on, but Hunter’s was off, and his gaze was sending his brother threatening daggers. Both their armored shoulders heaved with visible anger. You set a hand on Hunter’s and held it tight. “Stop.”

“We’ve never been keen on following orders.” Crosshair’s tone was almost smug, but you read it well. He was masking his own pain. “What else did you expect? Stormtroopers would have found us there eventually. Omega decided to focus on the bigger mission.”

Your lips tightened at the slight waver in his voice. When you looked at Hunter, he lacked any of that same sympathy towards his brother.

“Not only did you let her do that, but you also didn’t hold up your end of the plan.” Hunter stepped closer to Crosshair and jabbed a gloved finger into the center of his chestplate. “You are the reason she’s there, now, and I won’t ever let you forget that.”

“And how did getting that shuttle go?” You tensed as Crosshair began to deflect his unbearable pain. “I wasn’t the only one who failed. We all did.” Crosshair pointed his finger towards Hunter’s head. “That’s what you should remember.”

Hunter’s anger boiled over. He reached an arm back and you leapt forward without thinking. “Don’t—!”

At the same time you leaned onto your injured leg, Hunter stepped forward with his, causing his leg to hit yours just inches from your wound. You cut yourself off with your own cry of agony as your leg gave out underneath you, and you fell to the stone at Hunter’s boots.

He immediately knelt down at your side, his hands holding your shoulders before one of them cupped the side of your face. “Hey, are you okay?” He was breathless in his worry, all the anger having fled from his gaze as concern poured over in the warm depths of his eyes. Hunter gave you a worried once-over, his hand moving from your shoulder to your leg. “I’m so sorry.”

There was a hand placed on your shoulder from behind, and you looked briefly to see Crosshair knelt behind you with his helmet tilted in his own concern. Despite the pained furrow in your brow, you nodded at him and turned back to Hunter. “It wasn’t you.”

You exhaled and shifted, biting back a growl as you showed Hunter your wound. His eyes widened to double their usual size before they snapped back to your own gaze. “You got shot?”

“Barely.” You gritted your teeth as you sat up more. Hunter’s gaze fell back to your injured leg as his thumb brushed mindlessly over your cheek. “It looks worse than it feels.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re lying.” He sighed, a worried crease still knit in his brow as he put his helmet back on and began to help you up. “We need to get that patched up while it’s still fresh.”

Crosshair stood with the two of you, but he refused to look at Hunter as he spoke solely to you. “How can I help?”

You offered him a small smile. “Can you stay with Wrecker? I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes.” You deflated and let your gaze fall away from Crosshair’s visor. “Especially with…”

You trailed off, and silence sat between the three of you for a long moment. Crosshair eventually nodded and shuffled away, heading back the way you first came. You closed your eyes and leaned more into Hunter, who took the extra weight with ease. His helmet looked over at you. “Are you sure you can walk?”

You nodded, offering him the same smile you had just given Crosshair as he started to crutch you to a safe place. The most reasonable place for you two to go would have been where Wrecker still was, but Hunter clearly had no desire to be anywhere near Crosshair—and you wanted the privacy to get through to Hunter, anyway.

Hunter’s hand tightened on your side when you winced while going around a corner. “How did it happen?”

You tightened your jaw and considered your words, but the truth was what he deserved. “I was laying down cover for Crosshair.” Hunter physically bristled at your words. “I was too focused on looking between him and the ship. I missed the trooper who was hiding in my peripheral.”

Hunter sighed and gave your leg another glance. “Looks like they got you good.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “They still partially missed.”

Hunter huffed in amusement at that. “True.” He brought himself closer to your side. “Let’s just be glad it wasn’t the Imperial shadow going after you.”

Silence fell over the two of you for the rest of your journey. The chaos returned the closer you got to the homes of the Pabu islanders, causing your stomach to turn in guilt. You couldn’t imagine how it must have made Omega feel. It was no wonder that someone like her would turn herself in to make it stop.

You and Hunter eventually arrived at one of the unoccupied homes that Shep had made available to you. When you stepped inside, your chest lit aflame with anger at the sight of everything being turned over. There was no doubt the Empire had searched this place, just as they had with everyone’s homes.

It no longer felt like the secret safe haven you and Hunter got to sneak away to. Just like the Marauder, a loss you weren’t close to processing yet, this had also been taken from you. And Omega…

That was a void you refused to acknowledge just yet.

Hunter moved away from your side to lift a chair up from where it had been knocked onto the floor. He then held you by the shoulders and eased you down onto it, urging you to keep your injured leg straight before he knelt down in front of it. Hunter was swift in removing his helmet and his pack. He sifted through its contents and pulled out the medpac.

As Hunter began to work, he tightened his jaw and spoke in a low voice. “I should’ve been there.”

You shook your head at him. “You were doing your part.” When Hunter didn’t respond, you set your hand over his, which had been offering him stability. “Crosshair didn’t mean what he said.”

Hunter gave you a quick warning glance, but it wasn’t threatening. The devastation in his gaze spoke for him.

“And I hope you didn’t mean what you said to Crosshair.”

Hunter continued his work on your wound even as he distanced himself from you. His hand slid out from under yours. “So, you’re taking his side?”

You sighed heavily. “There’s no side to take, Hunter.”

Hunter gave you an incredulous look. “He let her—.”

“He didn’t let her do anything.” You circled your jaw at him, conveying your severity. “Omega was going to turn herself in no matter what Crosshair said. She was set on it.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like you were there.”

“I was.”

Hunter froze where he was, and a flash of betrayal lit up his brown gaze for a moment. It struck your heart, but you didn’t let that show. It was only after a long, tense pause that Hunter spoke in a chilling voice. “Then you let her do it, too?”

“I was with Wrecker, and they were also there. Like I said before, Omega was going to do it no matter what.” You glanced down at your lap, remembering that last embrace you had given her. “She wanted to get the coordinates to Tantiss. Not for herself, but for all the clones who are trapped there.” You scoffed and picked at the material of your pants. “She’s braver than any of us.”

When you gained the faith to look at Hunter again, you were devastated to see him kneeling there with his head hung low. His eyes were closed as if he was in pain. “There wasn’t anything we could have done?” His voice was hushed.

You lifted a hand to the side of Hunter’s face, urging him to look at you again as you caressed his flushed skin. “No, there wasn’t.” Hunter leaned into your touch and closed his eyes again. “Crosshair tried to talk her out of it. He was just as reluctant as any of us would have been.” Hunter reopened his eyes at that, and you ran your thumb over his cheek to soothe him. “And then he alone had to be responsible for the last part of the plan.”

Hunter’s gaze began to dart around the room as he cursed under his breath. He was gentle in holding your wrist to drop your hand from his face. “He’s already been worried enough about his shot with his hand.”

You nodded, grimacing with him as he processed everything. Hunter brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, his armored shoulders rising and falling in a deep, heavy breath. He then shook his head.

“I messed up.” Hunter scoffed at himself. “Again.” You pulled the corners of your mouth tight in sympathy for him as he went on. “He’s already blaming himself, and I made it worse.”

You brushed some of the tufts of hair away from Hunter’s face, making him glance up at you again. You offered him an encouraging smile. “It’s not too late to make it right.”

Hunter returned your smile, but only for a moment. “Right. But first,” he turned his attention back to the medpac, “I have to make this right.”

You chuckled at that, just to wince when Hunter began to clean the wound. He let you hold his wrist while he worked, and you squeezed it any time the pain was too much. He would pause and give you time before trying again.

It reminded you of the times you would patch him up on the Marauder, both during the war and after. The thought of the ship made your heart sink yet again. It wasn’t just a ship to  all of you, or even just a temporary home.

It was one of the last pieces you had of Tech.

“I can’t believe the Marauder’s gone.” Your voice was a haunted whisper as you spoke.

The genuine sadness in your tone earned Hunter’s gaze. “I know.” He set a comforting hand on your non-injured leg. “It’s gonna be an adjustment.”

Sudden emotion began to well up in you. “I just… it always made me think of…”

Hunter’s eyes glazed over in understanding as he rose to his feet. “I know.” He repeated the words in a softer tone than before. Hunter held you against him for a long moment, your cheek pressed against his armor as he set a gentle kiss on your head. “At least Omega kept his goggles safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and willed the tear that hung on your lashes not to fall. Your voice was a broken whisper as you went on. “I miss him so much, Hunt.”

Hunter held you closer. “I do, too.” His own voice wavered, a rare occurrence for the one who always made himself so strong for the sake of his squad. “Things would be very different if he was… still around.”

You heaved a deep breath and stayed close to Hunter until you gained the strength to break away from him. He knelt back down to your level and wiped away the single tear with his thumb. You noticed he wasn’t far from shedding a tear himself. You shifted your focus onto him as you held his face between your hands. “How are you feeling about it?”

Hunter’s brow wrinkled together. “About what?”

You resisted the urge to scoff. “All of it.”

Hunter parted his lips to speak, then stopped. His gaze fell, and he circled his jaw the way he often did when he was struggling to maintain his composure. You ran your thumbs across his cheeks and waited patiently for him. His voice was a shattered remnant of himself when he spoke. “It feels like we just got her back.”

You eased your forehead against his and nodded. “I know,” you repeated Hunter’s own words from before. “But it was only a matter of time until they caught up to us.”

Hunter closed his eyes and held your wrists like he would fall away from the galaxy if he let go. “I can’t believe we have to do this again.” He shook his head, minding yours that still rested against his own. “We have to live this nightmare again.”

You sat in silence for a few moments before you dared to respond. “Omega’s strong, Hunter. She’ll be okay in there.” You took a deep breath. “But we have to make good on the plan. It’s not too late, yet. We can still find Tantiss.”

Hunter opened his eyes and looked at you with defeat. “How?”

You offered the most encouraging smile you could muster. “We’ll find a way. We always do, somehow.”

Hunter’s gaze searched yours as he tried to convince himself of your words. Eventually, he began to break into the smallest of smiles. “This is why you’re Sunny.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb over your lips. “Our bright light in the dark.” He leaned closer at the same time as you, his mouth nearly on yours as he whispered one last thing. “My Sun.”

He closed the gap, letting the two of you indulge in the sweetest possible source of relief, comfort, and love. It was always those moments that allowed the two of you to escape the cruelty of the galaxy for even just a small sliver of time, where all you had to conceive of was one another and the affection you so deeply shared. It had taken a long time to get to that point, but now that you were there, neither one of you would ever take it for granted.

You pulled away with lingering lips, reluctant to let go of the moment as you faced reality once again. “We need to get back to Wrecker and Crosshair.”

Hunter exhaled softly and nodded to agree with you. You brushed a fallen piece of hair out of his face as he went back to finishing the dressing on your wound. He worked quickly with the clarity that your brief display of affection had provided, and soon, he was crutching you back to Shep’s. 

Some of the chaos had died down, with the Imperial forces having abandoned the island—and leaving it to burn. You scoffed to yourself at the mere thought of it. The livelihood of all the islanders was destroyed, and the Empire couldn’t have cared less. Knowing Omega was in their “care” made you sick.

When you got to Shep’s, you were disturbed to see that Wrecker still hadn’t woken. Crosshair rose from his place at Wrecker’s side, his helmet removed and his gaze fixed on anything and anyone except for Hunter. You shared an understanding glance with Hunter as he set you down beside Wrecker. He nodded and gently squeezed your non-injured thigh before turning to his brother.

“Crosshair.” Hunter cleared his throat as Crosshair met his gaze. “Can I speak with you, outside?”

Crosshair gave you a quick look, and you nodded in reassurance. He repeated the gesture to Hunter and let him lead the way outside. Hunter didn’t take them far, and they were only partially out of your view from the doorway. While you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you watched to see how it all would go, your hand resting on Wrecker’s boot for comfort.

Their rapport looked much calmer than before, and your chest began to warm when Hunter set a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. You were shocked when that gesture turned into something more, with Hunter offering his brother a comforting embrace. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as they stayed there for a while.

You all had lost a lot that day, but there was no one person to blame—no one except the Empire. Now that you were united once again, they didn’t stand a single chance, and you were relieved that you helped Hunter to understand that. Hemlock could watch his back, but that wouldn’t be enough. None of you would stop until Omega was free, once and for all.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

[poetrysmackdown]

what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?

Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:

“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”

Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.

That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.

Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,

“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”

In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,

“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”

I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.

I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask

[coochiequeens]

I don't like conservative "news" media like fox and this site but no one else is talking about how surrogacy gives pedos access to kids.

The fertility industry is handing designer babies over to men with zero vetting or scrutiny of their mental fitness or criminal history.

By KATY FAUST

Surrogacy is risky for children. Not just the risk of a primal wound via intentional birth mother separation. Not just the risk of identity struggles if their genetic mother is purchased from a catalog. Not just the risk of mother-hunger if they are raised in a home absent maternal love. 

Surrogacy puts children at risk for the worst kinds of abuse. 

That became glaringly obvious last month when YouTubers Shane Dawson and partner Ryan Adams announced the birth of twin boys. Dawson’s long history of sexualizing children is well-known and well-documented. Evie magazine detailed concerning incidents including Dawson pretending to masturbate while watching 11-year-old Willow Smith’s music video, referring to a 6-year-old fan as “kind of sexy,” justifying pedophilia as a mere “fetish,” typing “naked baby” in a child pornography search and remarking that the returns were “sexy,” and proclaiming, “I would rape all of you” when viewing a series of photos featuring young girls wearing his merchandise.

In one show, he instructed a 12-year-old to eat a “cocktail weenie” with the recognition that child molesters comprise a significant portion of his audience. Dawson and Adam have another 10 embryos in frozen storage should they decide they want a few more children around the house.

We hope no harm comes to the boys to whom Dawson and Adams have been granted (via surrogacy contract) parental rights. But other surrogate-born children were not so fortunate.

Contrary to what you may think, surrogacy isn’t just about helping infertile couples have babies. When we look at how surrogacy is actually practiced and promoted, we see surrogacy isn’t about babies, it’s about on-demand, designer babies shipped worldwide. And sometimes, those babies are shipped directly to child abusers.

We don’t know the raw numbers because, unlike organ donation, the medical wing of #BigFertility requires no tracking or follow-up of those who avail themselves of their services. (Apparently, there’s more concern about the survival of a kidney than a child.) And unlike adoption, which heavily vets and screens prospective parents and monitors the child post-placement, surrogate-born children are not known to social workers and often disappear across international borders.

Even when safeguards are in place, predators often go to great lengths to acquire children to abuse. In 2022, the country was horrified by the story of a suburban pedophile ring set up by two married men who raped and pimped out their adopted sons. 

That children created by a fertility industry with no mechanism (and no desire) to scrutinize intended parents for things like mental fitness, criminal records, or predatory history end up in the homes of dangerous adults should surprise no one.

Absent any kind of record-keeping or follow-up on these children, those of us who reject surrogacy on the grounds that it violates the rights of children, must piece together the risks when stories of child victimization emerge. 

These 5 Pedophiles Mail-Ordered Babies

Psychiatrist Jo Erik Brøyn held a high position in Norwegian social services responsible for child protection and was involved in several high-profile cases of child removal. He also acquired two boys through an Indian surrogate. In 2018, police discovered 20 years’ worth of child pornography in his possession — more than 20,000 images and 4,000 hours of videos — depicting child sexual abuse including “boys masturbating each other, fixed/sexualized violence against children, anal sex by men with boys or oral sex of children (including toddlers) on grown men.” He was sentenced to less than two years in prison. Some sources report that the boys have been returned to his care.

An unnamed German pedophile hired a Russian surrogate for €60,000 who birthed the baby in Greece. He then flew the child back to Germany. In 2020, a regional court found him guilty of child abuse and producing and possessing child pornography. His child was a subject of 16 of those cases between the ages of 2 and 3, and the defendant was in possession of 175,000 images of child pornography. He was sentenced to five years in prison. The child was removed from his custody. 

In 2013, Mark Newton and Peter Truong were convicted of subjecting their surrogate-born son to “the worst [pedophile] rings … if not the worst ring I’ve ever heard of,” according to one investigator. After paying a Russian surrogate $8,000 to carry the child, the pair began to violate the boy as a newborn.

“The abuse began just days after his birth and over six years the couple traveled the world, offering him up for sex with at least eight men, recording the abuse and uploading the footage to an international syndicate known as the Boy Lovers Network.” Police believe the pair created the boy through surrogacy “for the sole purpose of exploitation.” The child was removed from their custody, and the men are serving decades-long sentences.

During the height of the Indian surrogacy boom, it was revealed that an Israeli sex offender had procured a little girl via surrogacy. Had #BigFertility had any kind of vetting in place or required fingerprinting or simply character references, it would likely have been discovered that the man had spent 18 months in jail for sexually abusing young children under his supervision. The discovery shocked authorities in both India and Israel, but because they couldn’t prove that abuse had yet taken place, there was no ground to remove the girl from his custody. It did however validate India’s decision to ban single men and gay couples, who composed 30-50 percent of intended parents, from the Indian surrogacy market.

In 2014, intended parents Wendy and David Farnell commissioned twin surrogate children in Thailand, then a global hotspot for surrogacy. The little girl, Pipah, was healthy, but the little boy, Gammy, had serious medical issues as well as Down Syndrome. A scandal erupted when the couple took the little girl back to Australia but abandoned Gammy to be raised by the Thai surrogate.

It was then discovered that David had been jailed in the late 1990s for sexually molesting two girls under the age of 10, and was charged, convicted, and sentenced again in 1998 on six counts of indecently dealing with a child under the age of 13. When his criminal record was revealed and investigated, a judge determined there was “a low risk of harm if Pipah stays in that home,” and she remained in the care of Wendy and David until his death in 2020. The “Baby Gammy” case was one of several scandals that prompted the Thai government to ban commercial surrogacy altogether. 

Many of the above cases are older, the results of contracts that were drawn up when surrogacy was less common. Since then, the surrogacy industry has grown exponentially with a projected 1,000 percent increase by 2032. In addition, there are entire organizations devoted to delivering custom-ordered babies to men, none of which will have to submit to background checks or fingerprinting. So expect more cases of surrogate-born child exploitation in the coming years. 

Whether or not the child ends up abused, whether it’s paid or altruistic, whether it’s traditional or gestational, and regardless of the intended parent’s household composition, surrogacy always violates the rights of the child. It is not a problem that can be solved through regulation. The only way to protect children is to ban surrogacy worldwide.

[usiel21]

The Trauma of Enid Sinclair.

After her fight with the Hyde, Enid can't forget that night, seeing Wednesday covered in blood, the knife wound that was going to kill Wednesday haunts her dreams. Every night. Her dreams filled with an image of Wednesday dead, slumped over, knife sticking out of her gut.

It fills Enid with a ruthless determination.

Every morning at home she wakes up and does 100 push ups. No exceptions and then goes for a run.

The six full moons over the two month period should be ones of joy, but she spends each one, alone, away from the pack, hunting. Honing her instincts. Each one culminating in a kill so bloody and so savage that even her mother can't bring herself to criticize it, the deers and a singular bear have been mauled beyond the point of reason. She leaves the carcasses on the back porch with the other kills.

Her brothers begin to fear the savagery that their little sister is now capable of.

The return to Nevermore is a quiet one, her heart sings in elation at seeing Wednesday again. Seeing that she is alive but still recovering.

But Wednesday is far from stupid, she notices the changes in Enid immediately but doesn't comment on it, she finds herself silently counting every push-up and every sit-up. The colour of her roommate is still there albeit jaded.

Enid takes an almost obsessive interest in the investigation revolving around her stalker. Enid studies outcast bestiary encyclopaedias. Making notes and annotations to them. Specifically notes on where the arteries run, where vital organs are located and how far she would have to cut in order to reach them.

Enid wakes up in the night, pads over to Wednesdays bed and carefully presses her fingers to her pulse and hovering her hand by her mouth, feeling the slow outtake of air. She would heave a sigh of relief before going back to sleep.

Thing tells Wednesday everything, the notes, the checking to see if she's still alive. But still she make no comment on it.

The first boy that tries to ask Wednesday out doesn't even get a chance to speak to her, Enid is already there.

"She's not interested, back off" the last two words come out as a growl as her fangs descend and her claws elongate. Once the boy runs away terrified she sheepishly turns to look at Wednesday who only gives her a curt nod in return, it makes Enid preen all the same.

People soon learn that Wednesday is off limits. Well almost all of them that is.

Xavier fucking Thorpe.

It happens on the third botany lesson of the year, with the new teacher, Miss Reeves. Enid watches with intensity and a boiling, bubbling anger as Xavier attempts to flirt with Wednesday, who shows no interest in return.

Yoko notices it first, the extended claws, the yellow eyes but has no time to stop it as Xavier makes a play to hold Wednesdays hand. The other girl flinches away, disgust evident on her face. And Enid sees red, every emotion, every bit of fear, every piece of anger coming to the forefront.

Xavier has no time to react as Enid bolts over her table and tackles Xavier to the floor. The boy screams 'What the fuck?!" as he hits the floor.

the half-transformed wolf snarls and growls above him.

"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" She screams down at him. "Miss Sinclair!" Miss Reeves roars but gulps and takes a step back as the wolf's eyes round on her, a genuine murderous intent gleam there. But Enid backs off but doesn't back down instead she turns until Wednesday is behind her, keeping the her precious raven safe, all eyes are trained on her, all of them now threats to Wednesday.

And all that runs through her head is a singular, terrifying thought.

Protect Mate

Until she feel's Wednesday's hand tentatively come up to brush her fingers.

"Enid, I'm okay, it is okay." Wednesday's soft whisper comes from behind. She whines and whimpers as Wednesday's touch is like a spark upon her skin, so gentle and so soft. Yet Enid doesn't back down, it just gives her an even more greater reason to protect and defend.

Wednesday's whisper is barely audible but regardless everyone hears it.

"My sweet and savage wolf" Wednesday whispers, taking her hand. "Stop...please." the last word is almost pleading. And it shakes Enid out of her kill rage, the claws retract and her face returns to that once sweet girl that everyone would describe as being like sunshine. She ducks her head away, ashamed and mortified. But their eyes meet conveying everything she can't say.

Wednesday's sharp eyes turn to Miss Reeves.

"Inform the rest of the teachers that Enid and I are returning to our room. I will handle this in what way I deem fit." She pauses "If the new principal does not approve then inform him that anyone that messes with Enid will incur the wrath of the Addams clan."

Wednesday pauses to look down at Xavier.

"Touch me again and I won't stop her next time."

Xavier incredulously looks at the girls joined hands and at Enid who is now clinging to Wednesday's arm like a koala bear. But wisely says nothing.

"Come, mi sol" Wednesday gently says, leading Enid from the room.

Miss Reeves rounded on Xavier "You foolish, idiotic boy!" Xavier nearly choked on the words that died in his throat in protest "You know better than to touch a werewolf's mate!"

The walk back to the dorm is a quick and silent one. Until Wednesday locks the door behind them as Enid retreats further into the room.

"You must hate me so much right now, Wends" Enid mutters tearfully.

Wednesday steps forward.

"Why would you think such a ridiculous notion Enid?" Wednesday questions.

"Because of what just happened, Because I'm a shitty friend... because i'm a failure." Enid says, all but breaking down. The tears come thick and fast, every bit of despair, every fear finally letting itself explode.

"If i could have wolfed out you wouldn't have been stabbed!" Enid wails. Wednesday can't say nothing other than watch Enid rip herself to pieces with guilt that isn't just.

"If I had beaten the Hyde faster, if I had been better!" Enid laments "If I had known Thornhill had taken you if I wasn't too busy sucking face with Ajax! I could have stopped it!"

Wednesday moved towards Enid until she was right in front of her, their eyes met.

"If you died I would have died with you." Enid confesses softly.

And Wednesday had never been told something so terrifying. Enid turned away and continued to sob. Wednesday moved until she was right in Enid's personal space.

"But i didn't die, I'm right here Enid. Look at me." Wednesday said. Shimmering Blue eyes met hers and Wednesday held out her hands. Enid's shook as she placed them into the ravens.

"Do you think i care for you so little that if you died against the Hyde i wouldn't have met him in battle knowing that i would come to you even in death?"

Enid's lip quivered at Wednesday's words. Wednesday stepped closer.

"Do you think i could ever hate you? Even when we first met I found I simply couldn't as much as i wanted to."

Enid whimpered.

"Do you think I love you so little..." Enid's eyes widen at the proclamation. "...that even death would have been able to keep me from you?"

"Wends..." Enid can't help but utter, hearing the most loving and romantic thing anyone has ever said to her.

"Your not the only one that lost a part of themselves that night Enid, I lost a part of myself to you and I never want it back"

"That is literally the most loving thing anyone has ever said to me..." Enid whined, bringing their clasped hands to her chest.

"This is not the way I wished to tell you..." Wednesday said, casting her eyes to the floor.

"It was perfect Wends." Enid said stepping closer as Wednesday looks at her again "I..." Enid begins, her words hitching in her throat. "...I..." Wednesday steps closer, they're both so close now that they can feel each other's breath.

"Yes Enid?" Wednesday prompts softly. Enid composes herself enough for the briefest of moments. "...I... I love you!"

And Wednesday is the one that takes the final leap of faith by pushing forwards, their hands clasped tightly together between them at chest level, capturing Enid's lips blissfully with her own, the spiderweb window directly behind them.

Enid cries during their first kiss. The wolf, exhausted half drags Wednesday to her bed, before collapsing upon it with Wednesday in tow, their bodies entwined. Her final thoughts as she drifts off a comfort as she tucks her face into the seers neck.

Mate safe.

Mate in nest.

Mate warm.

Mate happy.

Mate alive.

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E26

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 26th | thursday roleplays: tamer! x brat! WC: 0.8k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker x f!reader WARNINGS: f!reader | dom!anakin | pnp | coitus | kinks: size, degradation | impact play: tit slapping | implied: dumbification | mentioned: violence | cowgirl | doggy style | unprotected sex | brat taming | hate fucking | body image: “big tits.” | no y/n

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“Is that what you’ve got a fucking attitude for?” Anakin confirms your request with a crude question, unceremoniously shoving you into the room by his large hand on your back. You stumble as the door slams, and regain your footing only to glare daggers at him.

“Will you just listen to me?” you demand, tearing into your hair with frustrated hands and stamping your foot. A long finger is pointed in your face, which you stare at indignantly.

His brows furrow, his unwavering cold gaze on you has you wishing you could rip it up. You hate it. “Drop the fucking tone with me, I’m sick of your shit.” he warns.

You smack his hand out of your way, advancing on him in which he does not falter from. A heated look is exchanged between the two of you, breathing hard. “Well then, why don’t you do something about it?”

“You brats are so fucking annoying, you know that?” he seethes through his parted lips, hissing out hot air with each piston of his hips up into you. His large hands grip your torso, blunt fingernails digging into the soft skin as he pounds upwards, smacking against you. Shock waves travel up your spine like electricity. Riding him always grants a special angle, near painful in such a delicious way as he fills you up like he’s made for it.

“Yeah, but you’re still fucking me.” you breathe, your eyes squeeze tight as you can’t decide between tuning out the pleasure in order to remain coherent and last longer, or let it sweep you up. This is what you wanted. To get speared on a cock ‘til you’re a drooling mess.

“I’ve got half a mind to knock your head against the desk so you shut the fuck up. Fucking lobotomize you or some shit.” he talks trash, and bites onto the space past his lower lip. Sharp exhales through his nose as he increases the pace, juggling you on his cock so hard you whine. It’s when he notices you’re not paying attention to him. “Hey.” he chides, a curt swat to your swinging tit. “Eyes on me.” Unable to think for yourself more and more, you obey him. He doesn’t visibly soften, his unsatisfied glare still apparent on his handsome features. “That’s right. You’re feeling good, that’s why you’re listening. Is that it?”

Your nose scrunches in disgust, even though the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, you recoil from him anyway, shoving his chest. “You could do better. Are you even trying?”

A growl of exasperation leaves him, slamming you down onto him with the intent to hurt. It’s successful, making you howl in pain, yet the sting only aids your enjoyment. Your hole loosens.

“Fucking brats!” he curses you and your kind, apparently tired of dealing with his fair share. Yet you’re sure he’s never encountered someone with quite your unique capabilities in pissing him off. Practice makes perfect, you’re skilled in pushing his buttons. When he throws you to the side, you emit a noise of surprise, bracing the impact of the mattress against your side. Before you know it, he’s maneuvering your body for you. “Always acting like you can get away with what you want. Just ‘cause you’re loud enough when you say it. Guess what, I fucking hate that in a girl.” as he speaks he rudely repositions you, yanking you into place on all fours.

“I don’t care what you like in a girl.” you bite back, but your tone feathers out when he reintroduces his fat cock to your sex, thumbing your hole with his head until it accepts him. The arch in your spine weakens, collapsing your cheek onto the covers as he shoves himself inside you. Apparently brats like you don’t deserve accommodation. Regardless, you fight to stay strong. “I’m getting what I want right now, aren’t I?” With each word, with each of his cruel thrusts, your voice fails more and more. “All I had to do was get you mad… and you played right into my hands.”

“Oh, you’re fucking asking for it.” he muses, palming the globes of your ass to treat them like handles, tugging you back onto his cock only to shove you forward with the impact of his pelvis. Just to repeat. When you raise yourself on your elbows to object further, to keep the banter going, his hand plants onto the back of your head, forcing you into the sheets. “No.” It muffles your screams as he adds fervor to his movements; that coil inside you taut, that void inside you, the one that drove you to press him until he fucks you hard just like this, finally quiets. He takes note of your compliance. “Not so tough now.”

[moraysoiree]

heels

Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless.

characters: Rook Hunt x gn!reader tags: smut, dom!reader, reader is shorter than Rook, gn!reader ('reine' – french for 'queen' is used), clothed sex, heels, biting, mentions of blood, slight humiliation word count: 1354

Halloween is the busiest time of year, and most important in terms of boosting the prestige of your alma mater, too. All the more reason to spare no effort in preparation. And so you do, making sure to look your best in the vampire getup Pomefiore have chosen this year. The last touch to your look being the highest heels you could find in Vil’s wardrobe, the deadly and imposing creature of the night image is designed to inspire the basest of fears in the onlooker and pin them to the ground for the taking. And you get the chance to see it in action rather quickly, with your lover as lab rabbit, no less.

As you enter the still empty Hall of Mirrors, the first one to notice you is Rook. He freezes completely right in the midst of a conversation, staring at your form as you approach him, making it more and more obvious that your heels give the usually much shorter you a rare opportunity to tower over him. His conversation partner long gone (everybody knows how insufferable you two are together and prefers to avoid those displays to the best of their ability), Rook comes closer to you, admiration written all over his face as plain as black ink on white paper. ‘Mon amour,’ he takes your hand to his lips and presses a kiss, looking up at you in reverence, ‘Your radiance is most blinding today.’ His eyes travel up and down your body, soaking in this new position you two find yourselves in. ‘Had I known high heels would impress you so, I would’ve worn them much sooner,’ you giggle. ‘Nothing is ever to escape your attention, as expected of the possessor of my heart,’ he laments at being discovered so easily, but you stop him with a finger to his lips. ‘Meet me in the sideroom in an hour,’ and you’re gone with a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving him longing and yearning for your withdrawing presence.

Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless. ‘You are positively enchanting today, mon amour. I feel like I would do anything under this mesmeric gaze.’

You are stricken with a curious idea at that declaration. ‘Anything at all?’ you question, all but baring your teeth in a carnivorous smile. ‘Anything, ma reine’, he echoes and kisses a lock of your hair gently, as if to underscore his intent. It takes you a lot not to let out a chuckle of anticipation for what’s to come next.

‘Kneel,’ your voice is firm and leaves no room for debate. Not that there would be any, really, with the way Rook’s eyes widen a bit, laying his emotions to you out on a plate. He processes the order, his eyes crease in delight. Without a word, he complies, slowly descending before you as his hand finds the slit of your dress and slides up your leg. His gaze unfalteringly fixed on yours, Rook kisses your thigh time after time, leaving black lipstick marks all over. His eyes are deep and hungry, you’ve ever seen him look like that at you – as if you are the most fascinating and delicate songbird an archer could lay his gaze upon. And this archer, as of now, is caught in the headlights and at the edge of the arrow you are pointing at him.

With a smile, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, making him fall back a little in surprise. It’s painfully obvious how much this little game of cat and mouse is affecting him. Rook’s expression becomes a tiny bit frenzied in agitation, you know this look to emerge a short moment before he loses control. ‘Uh-huh,’ you chide. ‘Was it not you who said he would do anything for sa reine?’ His face falls theatrically and he throws his hands in the air in defeat, ‘I beg you to pardon my frivolities, but however am I expected to stay still when overwhelmed with such all-consuming beauty? Will you grace this lowly servant with your forgiveness, votre majesté?’ You giggle. ‘I will, for I am a kind ruler,’ you catch yourself thinking that that just now has sounded like a very poor impression of Crowley, but throw this annoying face (or mask, actually) out of your head immediately. ‘Now, how shall my chevalier repent, I wonder,’ you hum. Then your eyes sparkle, and you put your heel onto Rook’s chest, making him fall back even further as he caresses your calf and lowers his head to leave kisses there, too. The way he holds your shin is nothing short of a person holding the most exquisite of treasures, worshipping every inch of your skin with his lips.

His face is thoroughly flushed, and the hooded eyes, fixed on yours with an overflowing desire, leave little to imagination. ‘My, what a peculiar hunter! How he enjoys being driven into the corner,’ you drawl as you slide your leg down to a very telling bulge in his pants. ‘What an unusual display.’ His breath hitches when you press down, fingers tightening around your ankle. ‘Ma reine claims to be merciful, only to mock her poor servant so’, he sighs and shakes his head in fake dejection. You ignore his jests, silently lower onto his lap and push him down by the shoulders, still meeting no resistance whatsoever. You feel Rook grasp your waist with his hands desperately, but don’t break eye contact even for a moment, as you know that your prey will leap onto you the second you lose vigilance. You wrap your hand around his neck and close the distance between your faces, kissing his jawline. ‘Look at you, completely at my mercy now.’ ‘And wouldn’t have it any other way, mon amour,’ Rook whispers, not even trying to hide how he revels in this defeat. You tighten your hand on his neck, and snake the other one between you to cup his dick through the clothes. ‘Tell me?’, you urge him playfully. ‘You are the most fascinating creature to ever grace the lands of this world,’ he manages in a shaky voice as you continue stroking him through the velvety fabric of the fancy vampire costume. He looks the most breathtaking like this, elegant and strong yet still overpowered and bound to your will of his own volition. ‘Were you a wild savannah beast, I would gladly be devoured by your razor-sharp canines and torn by your knife-like claws, if only to surrender to your majestic beauty one last time and quench your bloodthirst,’ white-hot wave engulfs your mind and you clutch his dick harder, letting go of the neck just to yank his head back by the hair and clamp your teeth down on the tender skin so hard as if drawing blood is truly what you intend to do. He comes with a moan, and you keep stroking him through the aftershocks without unclenching your jaws. Only after you feel Rook still do you stop and raise your head to look at him.

The sight awaiting you is gratifying: ragged breaths escaping his chest, parted lips with smudged black lipstick, and, all the more thrilling, the delirious and disoriented look in his half-lidded eyes – it satisfies your hunger better than any hearty meal ever could. You leave a tender kiss on his forehead and get up, leaving Rook down on the floor beneath you, motionless and utterly ruined. You plant your heels on both sides of his head and look down, making sure to commit this sight to memory. ‘Come on, mon petit lapin, it’s high time we got back to work,’ your right shoe nudges his cheek softly and you leave, the clacking of your heels thinning out as you exit the room. Paralyzed, Rook moves no muscle in his body, his glassy eyes just boring the ceiling with a thousand-yard stare.

‘Beauté…’

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

Midnights is defined by duality: The story of an unreliable narrator and performance art (Part 1)

One year on, I think I've finally figured out what midnights is about. And it might surprise you.

The midnights album has just celebrated its first anniversary. And having listened to these songs for the last 12 months, staying up late to watch live streams of the Eras tour, and at times being unable to escape news about Taylor on every medium, I finally have an idea that makes all of this make sense: This is Taylor's duality era. And she wants us to notice. Join me on the ride if you want to know more :)

I made a post a few weeks ago about how the Midnights aesthetic has the ‘two Taylors’ duology: Private vs public, which is the lead theme that carries over into the music and most recently also into her public image. Midnights had a mismatched visual to it from the very beginning with the depressed 70s look (announcement photo and vinyl covers) and the glamourous midnight blue (cover image and public appearances).

The two Taylors in the Anti Hero mv really drove home the message for me that this album is about two versions of the same story, and Taylor is the writer and narrator. And while I'm sure that these two versions have existed for a lot longer than the midnights era, they have not previously been so prominently next to each other. In fact, the very point of having the public narrative, is to keep Taylor's private life out of the public eye. She has never shied away from providing the 'stories' that her fans want to see in order to relate to her music, and as the girl that made her fame with songs about heartbreak and fairytale princes, that usually meant being seen with a man that these songs could be attributed to. And she made sure people would make the connection, be it with scarves that change ownership, or foxes on shirts:

(Btw you can't deny how effective this was, with just a few photos she managed to hang an entire album on each of these men!)

So, acting is not new to Taylor. In addition to appearing in a few feature films and TV shows since 2010, she's done this public performance for well over a decade now. And she has been vocal in recent years about her intention to go into filmmaking, so we know she's able to tell stories in multiple ways. She's a storyteller first and foremost, maybe the best of our generation. But is she a reliable narrator?

What does 'unreliable narrator' mean?

A story told by a so-called unreliable narrator, is usually a first person narration, where it turns out that the person telling the story was either lying or in some other way unable to give a truthful account of events (e.g. hallucinating or dreaming). That usually means that the audience is left with having to interpret for themselves what really happened and what was real or not real. Famous examples of this kind of storytelling are the 2010 psycho thriller 'Black Swan' with Natalie Portman, or the YA novel 'We were liars' by E. Lockhart. If you like stories that leave you guessing, check those out ;)

So, why is Taylor an unreliable narrator? For those fans that have paid attention to her lyrics, it has long been evident that her songwriting and public narrative don't match up. The most obvious theme being her 17-year run of writing songs about secret relationships and hiding, while she was parading men around in public to be photographed with. But, as we know, most people ignore it because it's just easier than digging deeper into lyrics. But now with Midnights, I'm starting to think she wants people to notice the duality and start to question her narrative. The sheer number of songs on that album that have strong double meaning or draw attention to lying or distorting the truth is astonishing: Right out the gate with track 1 we have Lavender Haze, a pretty loud song about bearding using the very well established queer reference of lavender. (And maybe she leaned out of the window a little too far with that title, because we all know the gaylor uproar was so loud when the title was revealed, that she had to backpedal and hetsplain it.) Immediately followed by Maroon, the song that has probably singlehandedly turned the most swifties into gaylors since Bettygate of 2020... Then on to Anti Hero, the ultimate duality song that also makes mention of lying and scheming, same as Mastermind. High Infidelity and You're Losing Me join the ranks of songs that look like they are about romantic relationships on the surface, but could also be interpreted to be about Taylor's relationship with fame and her fans. High Infidelity is a play on words of the term High Fidelity or HIFI, which is a 90s sound technology that refers to truthful reproduction of sound. High INfidelity is therefore a genius way of referring to both cheating and unfaithful reproduction of sound, almost like someone who makes music that isn't quite truthful... We also know from Aaron Dessner that this song was written following the 2021 Grammys and in the light of the whole William Bowery grammygate situation... I think there is point to be made about this song drawing attention to lying in a big way.

The timing of the release of You're losing me right around the time that her breakup with Joe made the news also feeds the narrative of a breakup song. But in this very 'breakup song' she says You say, "I don't understand," and I say, "I know you don't" and talks about sending signals that fall on deaf ears. Doesn't that sound an awful lot like 'I gave so many signs'? What does she know the addressee won't understand? Is it that when she finally reveals all her lies 90% of her fans will be shocked to their very core? On the exclusive CD version that has this track on it, it also immediately follows Dear Reader which on the track list looks like this:

Dear Reader You're Losing me (Does that look like a message? I think it does...)

By the time we make it to Dear Reader, she's basically told us 'I'm a liar who hides behind fake lavender relationships who charms everyone like a sleezy congressman, I'm the narcissistic Anti Hero you can't trust who schemes like a criminal and plans out everything like the puppet master I am, just so you like me and therefore you shouldn't look up to me, but I know you still will.' If that doesn't scream 'I want you to question everything I say or do' I don't know what does. Which brings us to performance art.

What is performance art?

Performance art is any kind of visual art that involves a dramatic performance aspect. To explain how this relates to Taylor and who she may have taken inspiration from, I refer to the brilliant Kristina Parro on TikTok:

Ok, groundwork is laid, but this is getting too long. Part 2 will be relating this to upcoming music releases and media coverage but that will have to wait til tomorrow.

As always, thanks for humouring me guys!

[percheduphere]

Okay. First post trying to use gifs properly. I've switched out improper gifs for these type for my last 3-4 posts. Gonna work on some more corrections tomorrow when I have time. Please let me know if I'm misstepping anywhere. Thanks for your patience! That said...

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE💕, INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM (SYLVIE & LOKI)✊🏽, AND QUEER REPRESENTATION (LOKIUS)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️!

SYLVIE

I'm rooting for Lokius, AND I also love how much Sylvie has forged a life for herself in S2. A lot of her development is implied, so I think it's worth looking at her growth outside the context of Loki himself: She found a job, locals know her by name, she has friends and acquaintances, she has hobbies!

People call her by name in her timeline on 4 occasions:

1. When the McDonald's shift manager (John) checks in on her after work. See the kid with the tie in the image below. I couldn't find any gifs of him visiting Sylvie at her truck. She asked him if his mom was gonna pick him up to make sure he was gonna be okay late at night. 🥹

2. When a customer picks up their McDonald's order and thanks her (cheerfully). Also note how many employee stars she had on her badge! Queen.

3. Lyle at the record store. They seem like really good friends, and I got the "beginnings of an attraction" vibe between the two of them. Unfortunately, the gifs below are the only ones I could find of him and I'm still searching for the source. His interaction with Sylvie before spaghetti-trauma was so sincere. He could tell she was down and offered her Velvet Underground. Come on, that's a solid move.

4. Eric at the bar, who comments 2 shots of bourbon is a good choice. Let me tell you, finding a gif of Eric was like finding a needle in a haystack, but here he is leaning close to Sylvie. Thank you, @zehiiro!

I tried to find more gifs of all the people Sylvie has in her life but couldn't find any, which is a darn shame because there are so many subtle cues she's built a support system on her own and she's thriving.

She's a regular at many places in her timeline, and when people greet her, they do so with a smile. She loves music, a hard drink, and punk fashion.

When she engages with Loki, she may come across as cold, but I honestly think she's being firm with her boundaries and true to her beliefs. The TVA threatened her life for centuries. I don't doubt setting foot in the building is traumatic for her, which may explain why she was more harsh than usually in S2E4. Her psychological defenses were all on overdrive. Yet when Sylvie's in her own timeline, far away from the TVA, she can be her real self. Turns out, her real self is pretty well-liked! (I'll talk about how this is mirrored in Loki soon).

INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM

Sylvie's an unapologetically "selfish" woman who knows what she wants, wants it on her own, is doing it on her own, and isn't afraid to put her foot down when it comes to her personal boundaries. We should be applauding all of that!

This is exactly the kind of female representation we need, but the show did Sylvie a disservice in S1 by coming at her character as a love interest first (look at all the media promos classifying her as such) instead of more thoughtfully showing how badly she has been affected by the TVA and planting what her desires are throughout. If they had done this with more intention and finesse, her position in S2 wouldn't come off as completely irresponsible.

As a result of this apparent marketing and pre-production development decision, her perception as a character (by both lokius and sylki shippers) is muddled by the question of her relationship status with Loki. This truly isn't fair, most especially to Sophia Di Martino.

Of course, Sylvie isn't perfect. No well-written character should be. I just think she's cooler than she gets credit for precisely because her character arc doesn't require the fulfillment of a romance. She will be fine whether or not she ends up with Loki. It's very feminist!

Loki, in turn, found safety, belonging, and love at the TVA. All the things that are the complete opposite of Sylvie's lived experience. I often see fans complaining about how Loki is ooc in his own series.

The thing is, and Loki admits this himself: it's all part of an illusion.

This illusion started far before the first Thor movie. He comes from a hyper-masculine (dare I say toxic-masculine) warrior society. His true nature doesn't conform with this, so he has to overcompensate with some (genuinely awesome) bad assery.

BUT he doesn't like it.

As a comparison to a far lesser but more relatable degree: imagine putting on a customer service persona 24/7. UGH. It's just not sustainable without becoming increasingly angry and bitter, which is what Sacred Timeline Loki becomes. Mobius gets ahead of this.

In the series, Loki can finally TURN OFF that persona, and TURN IT ON again when it's needed (and fun!).

He also now has the freedom to be silly, expressive, and magical (unapologetically queer!) without anyone making fun of him for it.

The end result is a much calmer, happier, likable person (like Sylvie in her timeline, his defenses are no longer on overdrive!). Who shows him this is possible?

Here's the receipt:

QUEER REPRESENTATION

Sociopoliticaly, Loki and Mobius come from a different angle. A lot of men (cis, fluid, trans, or otherwise) struggle with the social expectation of burying feelings and never ever showing vulnerability, especially to another men. Now, some might argue that shipping men together perpetuates this construct. There's some truth to this, but only through the lens that it is shameful to be gay. In order to get to a point in society where there's no shame in being mistaken as gay (or queer, generally) when being affectionate with another man, there must be continuous positive representation of homosexual relationships in which the characters are not stereotypes. Loki and Mobius are exactly this, especially Mobius.

Whereas Loki, on Asgard, represents the openly queer oppressed (i.e. magic and cunning, qualities historically tied to witches or "immoral women" instead of brute strength), Mobius can represent the closeted repressed.

In S1, Mobius was much more uptight, rule-abiding, and just shy of holier-than-thou. The power structure in which he existed perpetuated this, until Loki reveals to him it was all a lie (an illusion).

In S2, he becomes more flexible, more fun-loving, and more expressive in his affection. In S1, most of his support of Loki manifested as words of affirmation. In S2, his support extended to physical touch and bonding. Mobius, if seen through the lens of a closeted man allegory, finds the courage (and partner) to slowly come out.

[rev-wrath]

Sorry, Need You Back

Bruce Wayne x Batdad!Reader

Summary: Your second son has died. It’s taken a toll on the whole family but you need your husband to come back and be a person again.

Info: Hurt/comfort. Male Reader. 0.7k words

Notes: First image is art that can be found here.

Nothing’s really been the same. Not since he left. This isn’t something one really could get over. But it’s been over two months and things are dicey, so you’ve got to get your priorities in order.

You slam a hand down on to the desk. “Up.” Bruce grunts, looking over at you before his gaze goes back to his work. “Get. Up.”

“I have work to do.”

“You have a life to live. And you’re sure as hell not doing that down here. Or out there.” You jerk your head in the direction of the Batman suit.

“I’m living plenty.” Really, he’s just surviving in some odd way. Existing almost purely as Batman and hardly doing much outside of that, even including eating and sleeping. You’re not sure the last time you saw him eat something that wasn’t a granola bar, bits of fruit or part of a sandwich.

“Bruce, I know you’re hurt. I know you’re grieving. I am too. But this is not the way to do it.”

“I can’t make that mistake again.”

“It was not your fault, Bruce. If it’s your fault it’s mine too. He’s…” You hesitate, not sure if you even should use present tense anymore. But in the end Jason will always be your son. “he’s my son too. I should have paid more attention to him, never let him go, much less by himself. I should have gone with you.”

“You’re not like me.” He argues.

“I can fight too, I have. I will again.” You don’t say that you will again if you have to, just that you will. You’re smarter than that. You know how things work.

“I know, but you’re not doing it every night.”

“I’m not.” You would if you had to though. “But I know you can’t keep doing this. I feel like I’m losing you.” He’s not the same, you don’t blame him. There’s been little differences about you too. Like the way you keep Dick closer, in a way you haven’t in a long time. If someone asked him though, Dick would say this is way more than that. After all, it’s not every day you lose a son.

Bruce though? Bruce is angry and withdrawn in a way that you’ve never seen. It worries you. It’s part of the reason why you’ve been tightly holding every bit of you together. One of you has to. Bless Alfred but some things aren’t meant to fall on just him, or him at all.

“I’ve already buried one of my sons. I don’t want to have to bury my husband too.” The way Bruce is going, someone else is more likely to bury their husband than you. Still, your husband is wasting away in front of you, like he’s intent on burying himself in some way.

That must have hit him because it’s only then that he softens and looks at you. “You won’t. I won’t have another son buried, I won’t have me buried and I won’t have you buried. But that means I have to get better.” His gaze returns to his work.

“You’re not getting better. You’re destroying yourself” Grabbing his chair you spin him towards you before cupping his face. “You’re exhausted.” His eyes would look dead if not for the ever present fire in them. Dimly lit under the weight of his world. “This isn’t helping.”

“I just need to be better.” He places his hand on top of yours but doesn’t move it. Instead he curls his fingers around it. “Figure out how to maximize everything. Be more efficient. Get more eyes and ears in places.”

“Rest.” Though you say it softly the word is firm. As unmoving and unwavering as you are. Though when the silence stretches on for too long you say, “Please. You need it, and I need you.”

He exhales. “Okay.”

“Come on, get up. We’re going to sit out on the terrace, have a meal, and get some sun.”

Bruce’s hand falls into your own as you lead him upstairs. Later he will hold you and tell you how it was never your fault, that you did the best you could here, in Gotham, at home. How you continue to do the best you could and he was so very grateful for you then convince you to rest a little yourself. Perhaps Alfred would find the two of you tucked into each other in a sitting room in the evening and a little tension would leave him as you two were beginning to come back to yourselves, to each other.

[ultraericthered]

A tale of two evil Disney kings.

I put this out not to make any statement about how one villain compares to the other, but to compare how similar in the spirit and the details of their evilness these two are; the last straight up Big Bad of a Disney animated movie before the next decade and the first straight up Big Bad of a Disney animated movie we've gotten since.

And I also want to touch upon something that confounds me.

King Magnifico, despite the film teasing at him being a nuanced and even sympathetic character at first, ended up becoming a villain vile and irredeemably heinous enough to be upvoted as a Complete Monster on TV Tropes. Majority vote approved, so that's fair. ...But Turbo, the dude with a similar rap sheet, is still not only ruled a non-example, he's in the "never to be discussed again" category for all the nixing of adding him to the trope ever since 2012. Because why, exactly? I am legitimately finding no good justification for this now.

Turbo locked away his subjects' memories within Sugar Rush's code without giving them any say on the matter (whereas with Magnifico it's at least a contractual arrangement between him and the people who give their wishes to him), and while the Sugar Rush characters don't appear to be acting all that off in any way besides not remembering Vanellope, no one in Rosas really seems to be suffering, depressed, dispirited, and poor off from having given up their wishes and forgotten about them either: it's a frequent criticism that they all seem to happy and prospering, and that the bad side of Magnifico's reign is more told to us than shown. The suffering only really visibly occurs on-screen when Magnifico takes and breaks the wishes (though even then it's written off as "making people feel sad" by a lot of watchers, so it's not easy to argue it's all that heinous). And sure, Turbo's manipulation of Ralph left Ralph with more of a choice to make regarding Vanellope's cart and her ability to race compared to Magnifico with Simon, but that could be argued to make Turbo that much more insidious and reprehensible in his approach.

And then we have Cy-Bug Turbo vocally making clear his intent to overtake all games in the arcade he chooses and forcing Ralph to watch the Cybugs attack Vanellope, comparable to Magnifico vocally making clear his intent to break all wishes in Rosas in order to enslave the despirited masses forever and forcing them all to watch him torture Asha. Yes, the latter might hit harder since it's such a betrayal of all the people he was supposed to be protecting and caring for, but that doesn't make Turbo's climactic villainy any less heinous. Turbo lacks magic powers, he's just a program who overrode that of a Cy-Bug and intends to make full use of the bug's capabilities to infect the lifeblood of other games and to physically harm others, namely Ralph, who he tells straight to his face that he wants to kill. And like Magnifico with the dark magic tome, Turbo's code merging with the Cy-Bug doesn't destroy his moral agency, it only makes him into a more unhinged, unfiltered and destructive version of the same cruel, egomaniacal asshole he already was. The fact that he uses the words "virus", "arcade", and "game" in the same sentence proves he's not merely another instinctive Cy-Bug; he knows exactly what he's doing, and sets out to hurt countless others knowing that he's hurting them not caring, and even relishing it.

Well at least we have other trope wikis to look to if we wish to find Turbo under his rightful classification. He is a Complete Monster, period. With the raw deal TV Tropes has given him for over a whole decade, he's the one who should sing "This Is The Thanks I Get?"

Yes, I am aware that the Complete Monster trope is not a badge of honor or trophy for whatever villain ends up on it,

No, I could not pass up this image.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - A House Is Not A Home Part 3/8

This damn chapter 😭😭

Ruben's wife dies during childbirth along with their son. Ruben hasn't been in a relationship since. Y/N is a single mother to a four year old boy. She buys a house in the small town that Ruben lives in. The house needs alot of fixing which Ruben helps with, resulting in him slowly falling in love with Y/N. However, falling in love with Y/N makes Ruben feel like he is betraying his dead wife.

Enjoy!

You and Ruben found a good rhythm. He helped you clear the ruins of your house, loading the waste onto his truck in order to take it to the local junkyard. Despite spending three days clearing the house it still felt like you were only scratching the surface.

"Once we've cleared the last of the wood, you'll be able to move back in." Ruben assured.

"Yes, that or I might have to move into the barn." Your attention was drawn to to the old shed out by the fields. To both yours and Ruben's suprise, it had been able to sustain the harsh winds from the storm.

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Ruben said.

"Why not?" The barn looked perfectly inhabitable to you.

He didn't answer, as there was no reason why you couldn't have access to somthing on your property.

"I'm serious Y/N."

He tried to stop you as you started crossing the field, making your way towards the barn. Ruben claimed that it belonged to him and he intended to keep it that way.

"I thought you were a real-estate agent?" You said, still marching on towards the barn, Ruben at your heals.

"What, no." He frowned. "I own a hardware store in town. What made you believe that I was a real-estate agent?"

"You sold me this house didn't you?" Including the barn.

"Yes, because I used to own it."

You stopped walking. Ruben's chest heaved up and down with his heavy breathing.

"You used to live here? In this house. My house?"

Ruben nodded. "Yes."

"Well, what's wrong with it?"

"Huh?"

"The house, what's wrong with it?"

He frowned.  "Nothing?"

"Then why did you sell it to me, a perfectly fine house?"

Ruben looked taken back by the question, searching for a good answer without finding one. You were shocked and frustrated by this revelation, as you had always assumed that the barn was part of the property, your property.

"Well then,  if there's nothing else."

Determined to assert your rights as the new owner, you decided to enter the barn anyway. Ruben made one last attempt to try and stop you, but you pushed past him and walked inside. As soon as you did, you gasped in surprise. The barn was filled with all sorts of treasures - old furniture, toys, and even a baby's crib. It looked like someone had left everything behind without any intention of ever coming back.

"Ruben what is all...." You turned to look at him. He stood by the barn door, holding it open.

"Are we done here?" He asked, the expression on his face startling you.

"Um I....sure."

You left the barn, Ruben shutting the door behind you. The walk back to the house was quiet, awkward even.

"I have to get back to town, run some errands." Ruben stood by his truck, looking at you impatiently.

You nodded. "Okay."

"Do you need me to take you back to Kat and David's or...?"

They were letting you stay with them as long as you needed to

"No. I'll manage." You said.

Ruben nodded. "I'll see you later then."

He hopped into his truck and drove away. Leaving you stranded with your many questions. Back at Katarina and David's you told them what happened over dinner.

"Poor Ruben." Katarina sighed.

David wiped his mouth with a napkin. "We've tried to get Ruben to sell that house for years now. It's been very difficult for him."

"Why?" You asked.

Katarina reached for her husband's hand as the two of them bowed their heads in sorrow. David then rose from the table to retrieve something out of a cabinet. It was a picture of two young girls not older than ten years old.

"These are our daughters, Emily and Gina." David said, pointing to the image of the two girls. You never knew that the two of them had children. Where were they?

"Emily is our oldest."

"And brightest." Katarina smiled.

"But Gina, she had a spirit like no other, always running around, dreaming of being a firefighter..."

"Or an astronaut."

Katarina and David seemed to complement each other as the two of them spoke joyfully about their two daughters.

"But Gina she was special in many ways. You see she was born with a heart condition, genetically passed onto her. We knew her life would be different from her sisters, shorter that is. That's why Gina always lived her life to the fullest, always in a rush against time. She married young..."

"To the most handsome man she had ever seen." Katarina qouted her daughter, tears of joy streaming down her face.

"That man was Ruben." David confirmed. "They met as Emily and Gina were getting their degrees at the University of Manchester. Gina and Ruben were so in love, head over heels. And as Gina confirmed her pregnancy she told us about her and Ruben's plans to by a house, to move back home and raise their family here, where we could be with our grandchild all the time. But as her pregnancy enveloped there were a few complications..."

"Caused by her heart." Katarina took the turn to speak as David was unable to, struggling to hold back the tears. "She died giving birth to our grandson. The doctors says her heart simply couldn't take it."

Silence fell around the dinner table. You wanted to say something, anything, but there were no words to mend the pain that Katarina and David had to endure following their daughters death.

"And your grandson?" You dared ask, but by then Katarina and David seemed to have collected themselves.

"He passed away along side his mother." David said.

How tragic. You felt so sorry for them, for Ruben.

"As you can imagine it really took a toll on Ruben. Gina had been very upfront about her condition, but as stubborn as Ruben is his feelings for her never changed. A real good man he is."

"But..." Katarina said. "None of us expected her death to come when it did, let alone Ruben. The house he and Gina had built....he has never been able step foot in it again, let alone sell it. Well...until he sold it to you, of course."

Why was that? You wanted to ask. Why were you the exception? Just then your phone vibrated in your pocket. You looked to the display and excused yourself to take the call, slipping out onto the back proch for some privacy.

"Yes?"

"Mommy?"

"Hello baby, how are you?" Your heart swelled at the sound of your son's voice.

"Mommy, when are you coming home?"

"Did grandma tell you to ask me that?"

A chuckle. "Yes."

You smiled. "Well tell grandma that this is my home now, exactly where I'm at. It's your home too, you know?"

"When are you coming to get me?"

"Do you still mark the days on the calendar I bought you?"

"Yes!" Your son cheered. "Grandma helps me."

"She does, that's good. Ask grandma how many days are left until the train comes to pick you and grandma up to come and see me."

There was a muffled sounds on the other end of the line. Your son running with your mother's cell phone in his hands. You left the porch and puttered around in Katarina and David's backyard, careful not to step on any of the planted flowers.

"Mommy."

Your son returned to the line.

"Yes Johnny?"

"Grandma says there's ten days left until the train leave."

"Ten days. Well then, I'll see you in ten days baby."

"I'll see you Mommy."

"Love you, bye."

"Bye."

You hung up the phone, a large smile on your lips. That smile faltered however, seeing Ruben standing on the porch, arms crossed, fingers drumming his biceps.

"Ruben." You exhaled. You didn't think you'd see him for a while after your little disagreement at the house this morning.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked, somthing very distant in the way he adressed you.

"I was on the phone, I was just about to head inside." You said.

"With your husband?"

You frowned.

"On the phone." Ruben uncrossed his arms,  stepping down from the proch. "Was that your husband, Johnny?"

"Right, yeah." Ruben must have overhead your conversation. "I was on the phone with my husband...Johnny. "

"How is he doing...in the military?" He asked.

"Oh, you know..."

Ruben raised a brow. "I do?"

"He's doing military stuff, taking his time to check in on me." You said, trying not to shiver as the nights cold hit you. "What about you, what are you doing here?"

"Oh." Ruben perked up, fixing his posture. "I...I actually came here to apologize...to you."

"Me?"

He nodded. "This morning. In the barn. I overreacted. You're right, it's your property and you should be allowed to whatever you want with it."

You shook your head. "No Ruben, I understand. The stuff, if you want to keep them there you could. It's alot, and if you're just gonna leave hem there to rot...." You shook your. "Never mind. The barn is yours if you want it."

Ruben stood quiet, his eyes regarding you with slight suspicion. "They told you didn't,  didn't they?"

"What?" Heat rose to your frozen cheeks. "Kate and David...they told you about their daughter, Gina, didn't they."

You held your tounge but nodded.

Ruben sighed, his legs folding as he took a seat on the steps of the porch. You joined him, scooting close as his body generated more heat than yours.

"I should have told you about the house, who it belonged to before I sold it to you." Ruben ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Nothing required you to, unless..."

"Unless?" He turned to you, a wrinkle dented in his forhead.

"You know." You shrugged. "Unless the house is haunted or somthing."

Somthing changed in his face, laughter followed his newfound expression. Ruben laughed, to your suprise. It was lovely as you never heard it before. Ruben really didn't look like a person to laughed but it was lovely, as well as his smile.

"It's not funny." You said, playfully nudging his side.

"Haunted." He chuckled. "You truly believe that I could sell you a haunted house?"

"Well did you?"

Ruben's expression changed again, a look of terror."

"Did you?" You asked, scared as to why he hesitated to answer your question.

"No, Y/N. I didn't sell you a haunted house, although I admit that that house has been haunting me for years."

"I'm sorry about your wife." You said after a time spent in silence.

Ruben looked to you, tilting his head down to meet your eyes as your height difference was ridiculous. "Thank you, but it's been a few years."

"How old would he be, your son?"

You realized that the question had startled him as you felt Ruben's muscles tense beside you. Perhaps he hadn't thought of his son, nor his wife in years.

"Four." He said, nothing more, nothing less.

Four, that's how old , Johnny, your son was. You kept that to yourself though, as it was not the time to tell Ruben about your own family, especially since you had been lying to him about a part of it.

"Your cold." He said.

Ruben must have felt your body leaning closer to him, stealing his heat. Or he had just heard the sound of your teeth, rattling like bones.

Let's get you inside."

"I actually want to stay for a bit longer. They don't look like that in the city." You said.

Ruben frowned, but followed your gaze as your head tilted upwards, admiring the ray of stars in the sky.

He sat back down, but not without removing his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

"It's a beautiful view, no?" He said. "Moving out here, Gina and I used to spend hours in the fields just watching them, the stars."

"How was she, Gina?"

You looked to Ruben, his eyes mesmerized by the stars. His profile was captivating, rough but sculptured, he was handsome.

"She was like no one I've ever met." Evaporating smoke left Ruben's mouth as his eyes shifted to look at you. "I miss her so much." He said.

It was implusive, yet not terrifying. Although you were practically strangers you felt comfortable with Ruben, connected somehow. And so you grabbed his hand, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. You felt his palm twitch beneath yours, nevertheless he did not pull away. And so you stayed like that, sitting close, holding hands, with the stars watching over your heads.

[sirfrogsworth]

Some of you may remember me mentioning my quest to get black cherry soda and several shipments ending in tragic bottle breakage. I have been seriously craving this soda for nearly a month now.

I contacted Boylan and accused them of shoddy shipping.

They very politely informed me it was not their shoddy shipping store on Amazon.

After some additional Amazon analysis, I felt foolish about my inaccurate accusations.

They informed me there were no local distributors of Boylan brand bottled black cherry beverages. They said they had no control over Amazon shipments and recommended I order directly from them. That would make this already pretty pricey pop about $15 more expensive after shipping and tax.

I had nearly given up.

After the $220 pizza and the $250 battery replacement and an almost assured account overdraw in my future, I'd have to wait at least until next month to satisfy my soda craving.

But when I went to my local Schnucks grocery store last night I decided to check the soda aisle to see if there were any alternatives.

My first find was Schnucks' own generic brand black cherry soda.

I have to say, that is a cute label for a generic store brand product.

After some research, I discovered this is a rebrand of a classic Vess soda. I like Vess soda! They make a wonderful cream soda concoction that my grandma used to buy whenever I would visit on the weekends. And I specifically told my mom never to buy cream soda for home because then it wouldn't be special when I had it at my grandma's house.

Sadly, I was unaware it was Vess-in-disguise and I was not trusting of a generic store-branded soda. Sometimes these low-cost rebranded items can be good, but it is always a crapshoot. I mean, their generic peas are 70 cents cheaper than Green Giant, but they are also mushy as heck. So based on my previous peas experience, there was a good chance it would taste more like black cherry cough syrup than soda.

I didn't know it was Vess, okay?

REMEMBER THE PEAS, PLEASE!

I fell into a soda research rabbit hole. Vess was acquired by a company called Cott Beverages in 1994. And Cott was then acquired by a company called Refresco in 2018. And Refresco partnered with Coca-Cola and is now their main manufacturer in the United States.

So I guess it is actually a Refresco Cott Vess Schnucks brand black cherry soda in partnership with Coca-Cola.

Capitalism is fucking weird, dude.

So the possible cough syrup RefresCoVesScnhucks was in my cart. I was considering taking the risk.

But then I noticed... the Fitz's section.

A locally owned and operated boutique soda bottler.

*heavenly music*

And do you know who owns Fitz's?

Mr. Alfred J. Fitz! (I don't actually know his first name or middle initial.)

Who founded Fitz's in 1947 as a drive-in restaurant based around his popular secret root beer recipe.

That's right. Fitz's was not enveloped by an incestuous line of conglomerates successively eating each other.

And because of that, they went out of business in 1976. The soda biz is rough if you don't have a multinational manufacturing and distribution network.

But then Fitz's was revived in 1993 by two plucky entrepreneurs who were determined to rebuild the brand using the original secret root beer recipe from Mr. Alfred J. Fitz.

Small business wins the day!

And then they sold out to The Westgate Group in late 1999.

Which then sold it again to Clayton Capital Partners in 2003.

Will capitalism please stop fucking with soda?

But then one of those plucky entrepreneurs thought the brand was being damaged by soulless investment firms and bought back Fitz's. He restored it to glory and I'm sure he will never sell it again*. He is intent on maintaining the Fitz's tradition and image as a beloved St. Louis small business that culturally enriches our famed Delmar Loop with vintage soda bottling techniques customers can watch when they visit the Fitz's restaurant. Neat!

*Unless RefresCoVesScnhucks offers him a bunch of money.

I can't believe I forgot about Fitz's. I used their root beer as a subject for one of my favorite product photos.

To make a long story as long as humanly possible my god why are you even still reading this...

...wouldn't you know it, Fitz's makes black cherry soda!

It is delicious.

Craving accomplished.

[aethericfist]

Avatar fits perfectly into the Cosmere, in this essay I will--

SPOILER WARNING: Alright so, this theory contains the heaviest spoilers in the world for Stormlight Archive Rhythm of War, Warbreaker, Elantris, Tress of the Emerald Sea, and I might have to borrow from Mistborn Era 2

It also spoilers ALL of Avatar the last airbender and Legend of Korra.

The world of Avatar almost perfectly fits into the cosmere, here me out.

I'll be using cosmere words like Bond, Connection, Investiture, Spren, Shards, cognitive realm, Intent, and the like, so if you don't know any of those, read the cosmere books before reading on in this theory. I'll to capitalize those words in order to make them stand out.

I will call the Avatar-World the Avatar-World in order to avoid confusion.

---

Let's get started, first of all, of course there are not really fitting shards left over for this planet, but to put it simply, something similar to Roshar is going on.

Spren-like splinters called Spirits inhabit the Cognitive Realm known as the Spirit-world of the planet Avatar-World, and two perpendicularities known as Spirit Portals in the North and South pole of the planet exist. This is a fact that points towards two Shards of Adonalsium having been shattered on that world.

The Spirit World, Spirits, and the Perpendicularities

Judging from the original humans having been in the Cognitive Realm first, they might've migrated over from another planet, before having been changed by Cosmereological Intent (see Pure Lakers on Roshar) to let the ever present but Mist-like (see Scadrial) invisible form of Investiture known as Chi, flow through their bodies.

The Spren/spirits/splinters of those Shards known as the lion turtles could thus grant the humans a special form of Bond to allow them to use the power of an element.

In the Avatar-World there must be two new types of Bonds: one that lion turtles use to grant the ability to use investiture to control and element, and one bond that Spirits use to possess a human.

Bending and Investiture - an End-Positive System

Forming a Connection to the power of the Splintered shards (see what happened on Sel), this Bond is not very similar to the Nahel Bond (Roshar & Spren) and a Luhel Bond (Lumar), but instead only requires an initial bond that unlcoks the power in a human and can then be passed on genetically.

Investiture in the Avater-World in the physical realm is an invisible gas, or at least humans have evolved to not see it, and is ever-present, seeping into the humans where it is called Chi.

The unlocking of bending and chi-gates might form cracks in the soul that are passed on genetically, seemingly even the more powerful Splinters or rather Cognitive Shadows can hold such powers, as evident by Raava and Vaatu.

Bending itself is a way of Accessing Investiture, requiring intent and specific physical movements that look almost like a martial art. This is similar to Aons drawn by Elantrians using AonDor or the martial arts on Sel.

The Avatar

Both bonds were used by Raava and Wan to create the first avatar: A cognitive shadow that holds memories of all prior avatars, held together within a human body by the Spirit Raava.

Whenever an Avatar dies, the memories are added to the cognitive shadow known as the Avatar, and the spirit Raava carries it on to a newborn human from another nation to use the possession Bond with.

Similar to a Bondsmith, the Avatar can create and sever connection, such as completely taking someone's ability to bend, or temporarily elsecalling into the Spirit World (Cognitive Realm).

Chi-Blocking 

Chi-blocking blocks spiritual pathways for the Soul which investiture would need to take.

Healing

Healing works well in the Avatar-World since due to the physical movements through which investiture is accessed, the humans of the Avatar-World have developed a stronger image of self and their cultures, even associating them directly with how they can use investiture.

Savantism

Savantism in bending might require something more than just a lot of investiture and using their power, but these are known as specialized bending types.

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Tell me what you think. Did I make any mistakes? Any way you can fix my mistakes and still make it fit?

Also @felagund-fiollaigean yo you wanted to be tagged

[flamingphoenixfox]

So… I’m obsessed with Warframe. Especially the Solaris. Back in early 2022, I was wandering around Fortuna with the goal of finding and translating text that wasn’t on the wiki yet. That's when I noticed what appears to be hidden text on some of the posters!

If you look closely, you can see it. It’s almost like there are letter indentations in the paper (I've traced some of the indents so they are a little more visible—unsure of accuracy).

Transcription Key: (Printed Text) [Indented/hidden Text] Transcription: Image One: (The Orb Vallis: Fortuna) [Solaris United: Unite ??] Honestly I couldn't figure out all of what was on the same line as Fortuna on the posters. It might just be "United" again or "Unite" and some diamond symbols they use for binary - it's just too difficult to see to say with any certainty. Image Two: The black/dark blue poster at the top of Image Two is the same poster as in Image One. The pink/red poster says (Fortuna) [All workers must log extra time with formsmen/forms.] I don't really know what the last word is. It could be formsmen or forms with a mistaken "n" or something else. There might even be something hidden on the same line as Fortuna with this poster as well. I see hints of stuff, but that could just be my mind playing tricks on me after I've been staring at these for hours. Image Three: (Fortuna: For Sale Tools Weapons Food Supplies) [Solaris United: For Sale Tools Weapons Food Supplies]

These specific words and phrases don’t seem to exist anywhere else, so instead of being a glitch (insert joke about Warframe glitches here), it’s probably intentional - both from a game design perspective and a lore perspective! It's fascinating to consider, given the social environment in which the Solaris are forced to live. Under the control of Nef Anyo and the Corpus, they would have to be very careful with how they pass around information, and secret text would be a great way to do this! I think this is a good example of subtle world-building by DE, and I really appreciate them for that!

Speaking of more world-building—they also have additional signage that hints at other stalls available somewhere in Fortuna:

Transcription: (Kinoko) (Hanaset's Bar) (Aphrodite's Tavern)

I really wish these were places we could visit! Wouldn’t it be nice to order food that offers a temporary buff or rewards standing? You could visit the bar or the tavern and listen to different Solaris pub songs or eavesdrop on new conversations about SU! Access to additional vendors in general would just be great! Like, y’know, a clothing shop for example! (I’m actually working on that particular concept myself, but that’s a topic for a future post lol)