#please dont fight me about it

[bopeisdope]

Every time I listen to "Waving Through A Window" from Dear Evan Hansen I think about Lev from the Unwind Series. I feel like it fits his tithe-to-clapper-to-hero arc so well!!!! I want to make an animatic about it but I have no art skills :(

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

they should kill each other over ethan actually

[newttxt]

launching a rescue mission!

from utilities included, ch. 8

masterpost

[dullard]

I started this comic a while before christmas but happy new year i guess

this is a real outfit in-game in wakfu called "festive joris outfit"

[sea-jello]

@nyaskitten tumblr ate your fucking ask uhh ignore how this is months later BUT i finally watched dr s2 AND

I GET IT NOW. I UNDERSTAND.

[cosmicdorito]

"hozier my cottagecore lesbian bog man" shut the fuck up

[gooopy]

LOOK AT MY SELF INSERT BOY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cringe is dead i can do whatever i want FOREVER and that includes making a character to beat scout tf2 to death with my own two fists

[jacksprostate]

Treatise on why No, the doctor just giving the narrator of Fight Club (full name) his requested sleep medication or sending him to therapy would not have Fixed Him

Firstly, saying giving him the insomnia meds would’ve fixed him ignores the reason he has insomnia in the first place. He is so deeply upset by his place in society that he literally cannot sleep. Drugging him to sleep would not change that. That, of course, is the easy, quick response.

But with regard to therapy? The biggest flaw is that it ignores a central tenet of the book. Part of what tortures the narrator and drives him to invent Tyler is that his feelings about this collective, systemic issue are constantly reduced to a Just Him thing. His seatmates ask what his company is. He’s the only one upset at the office. He gets weird looks if he says the truth of what he does. People will do anything in their power to pretend he is the issue, as an individual, because it is far scarier to consider the full implications of the systemic issues implied by what he is saying. Everyone treats it as if the issue is him, so he goes insane. He does anything to get someone to say, holy shit, that’s fucked up, what you’re a part of is wrong. In an attempt to feel any sort of vague sympathy and catharsis, he goes to support groups to pretend to be dying, because then at least people don’t habitually blame him for his anguish. 

Saying therapy would fix him ignores that his problems are not individual. They are collective. It’s the reason the entire story resonates with people! Something deeply, unignorably wrong with society, where people would rather blame you for bringing it up than try and address it, because it feels impossible. I don’t blame people for this, really, because it IS scary. It’s terrifying to sit and feel like you’ve realized there’s something deeply, deeply wrong, but if you say something, people will get mad at you since it’s so baked into everything around you. Or, even if they agree, it’s easier to deal with the dissonance by pretending it’s individual.

And it’s not like that’s not the purpose therapy and medications largely serve, anyway. Getting into dangerous territory for this website, but ultimately, the reason the narrator was seeking medication was because it’s a bandaid. A very numbing bandaid. For these very large, dissonance causing problems, therapy does very little. Medications do what they always have, and distract you with numbness or side effects. It’s a false solution. He is seeking an individualized false solution because he has been browbeaten with the idea that this is an issue with him alone, when it's plainly clear it's not. 

Don't get me wrong. Obviously he has something wrong with him. But it's a product of his situation. It is a fictional exaggeration of a very real occurrence of mental illness provoked by deep unconscionable dissonance and anguish.  There is a clear correlation between what happens and his mental state and his job and how isolated he is. 

The thing is, even if he were chemically numbed, I do think he would’ve lost it regardless. Many people on meds find they don’t fix things. For reasons I’ll get into, but in this case because even if numbed or distracted, once you’ve learned about deep, far reaching corruption in society, it’s very hard to forget. Especially if, in his case, you literally serve as the acting hand of this particular variety. He’s crawling up the walls. 

So why do people say this?  Well, it's funny I guess. Maybe the first time or whatever. But also, often, they believe it, to a degree. Maybe they've just been told how effective therapy and meds are for mental illness, they believe wholeheartedly in The Disease Model of Mental Illness, maybe they themselves have engaged with either and have considered it successful. Maybe they or someone they know has been 'saved' by such treatments. 

But in all honesty.... What therapy can help with is mentality, it's how you approach problems. For issues on a smaller scale, not meaning they are easier to deal with my any degree, but ones that are not raw and direct from deep awareness of corruption; these are things that can be worked through if you get lucky and get an actually good therapist who helps build up your resiliency. But when your issue is concrete, something large and inescapable? It's useless. At best it can help you develop coping mechanisms, but there is a limit for that. There is a point where that fails. To develop the ability to handle something like this requires intense development of a comfort with ambiguity and dissonance and being isolated and a firm positioning of your purpose and values and and belief in wonder and all the other shit I ramble about. The things that the narrator lacks, which lead him to taking an ineffectual death knell anarchist self-destruction path. Therapy, where the narrator is, full of the knowledge of braces melted to seats and all the people that have to allow this to happen? It fails. 

And meds — meds are a fucking scam. We know the working mechanism of basically none of them, the serotonin receptor model was made up and paid its way into prominence. We have very little evidence they're any better than placebo, and they come with genuinely horrific side effects. Maybe you got lucky. I did, on some meds. On others? I don't remember 2018. The pharmaceutical industry is also known for rampant medical ghostwriting, and for creating 'off-label' uses for drugs that have gained too many protests in their original use, then creating a cult of use to then have 'grassroots' campaigns for it to be made a label use (ie, legitimize their ghostwritten articles with guided anecdotes). 

The DSM itself is basically a marketing segregation plot. It's an attempt to legitimize the disease model by isolating subgroups of symptoms to propose individualized treatments for subgroups that are not necessarily all that separate. But if the groups exist, you can prescribe more and different medications, no? Not to mention, if you use the disease model, you can propose that these diseases are permanent, or permanent until treated, considered more and more severe to offset and justify the horrific side effects of the medications. Do you know why male birth control doesn't really exist? Same reason. They can justify all the horrible side effects for women, because the other option is pregnancy. For men, it's nothing. 

And they're not bothering to invent new drugs without side effects. When they invent new drugs it's just because the last one got too bad of a name, or they can enter a new market. Modern drugs don't work any better than gen1 drugs. They still have horrific side effects. At best, the industry will shit out studies saying the old one was flawed (truth) so they can say this new gen will be better (lie). They're doing it with ssris right now. 

Fundamentally, the single proposed benefit of any of these drugs is that they numb you. To whatever is torturing you. It's harder to be depressed if you can't feel it, or if you just can't muster the same outrage. Of course, there is people who find that numbness to be helpful, or worth it. But often, it's stasis. For the people who have problems that can be worked on, it serves as a stopgap to not actually work on said problems. The natural outcome of the disease model is stagnation for those whose need is to develop skills and resiliency. It keeps them medicalized and dependent on the idea that they're diseased and incapable. Profitable. Stuck in the womb. 

I’ve been there. It’s easier, to wallow, and resist growth because it’s difficult and painful and unfair and cruel and you can think of five billion reasons to justify your languishing. But don’t listen to anyone who tells you you’re just permanently damaged, no matter how nicely they word it, no identity or novel pathologization, no matter how many benefits they promise, especially if they swear up and down some lovely expensive medications with little solid backing and plentiful off-label usage and side effects that’ll kill you. Some days it feels like they want us all stuck in pods, agoraphobic and addicted to the ads they feed us to isolate the markets for the drugs they’ve trained us to beg them to pump us with. Polarization making it as easy as flashing blue light for go, red like for stop, or vice versa. I worry about the kids, for fucks sake. That’s a bit dark and intense, and I apologize. But I want you (generic) to understand, there is a profit motive. Behind everything. And they do not mean well. They do not care about your mental health or your rights or your personhood or your growth. They care about how they can profit off of you.

For those struggling with immovable, society problems, like the narrator grappling with how his job fits into and is accepted by society while his rejection and horror in the face of it does not, it can work about as well as any other drug addiction. Your mileage may vary. From what I've seen, recovering from being on prozac for a long time can be worse than alcohol. They put kids on this shit. They keep campaigning for more. Off label, again. A pharmaceutical company’s favorite thing to do has to be to spread rumors of someone who knows someone who said an off label use of this drug helps with this little understood condition. Or, in the case of mental illness, questionably defined condition. And like, damn, I know I'm posting on the 'medicalization is my identity' website so no one will like all this and has probably stopped reading by now, but yall should be exposed to at least one person who doubts this stuff. Doesn't just trust it. Because I mean, that's the thing right?

It's so big. What would it mean, for this all to be true? Yeah, everyone says pharmaceutical companies are evil and predatory and ghostwriting, but to think about what that really entails. Coming back to the book, everyone knows the car lobby is huge and puts dangerous vehicles through that kill people. What does it mean if the car companies all hire people to calculate the cost of a recall and the cost of lawsuits? No one wants to think about the scale that means for people allowing it or the systems that have to be geared towards money, not safety like they say. Hell, even Chuck misses the beat and has the narrator threaten his boss with the Department of Transportation. And shit, man, if every company is doing this, you think Transportation doesn't know? That they give a fuck? You're better off mailing all the evidence to the news outlets and hoping they only character assassinate you a little bit as they release the news in a way that says it's all the fault of little workers like you, not the whole system. Something something, David McBride, any whistleblower you feel like, etc. 

So I don't blame you, if your reaction is "but but but, that can't be right, people wouldn't do it, they wouldn't allow it" or just an overwhelming feeling of dread that pushes you to deny all of this and avoid thinking about it. Just know, that's in the book. That's all the seatmates on the flights. That's all his fellow officemates. It's easier to pretend, I know.

But think about, how the response fits in with the themes of the book. The story, as a movie too. What drives the narrator’s mental breakdown? How would you handle being in his position? How would you handle being his seatmate? It’s easy to say you’d listen. But have you? Have you had any soul wrenching betrayals of how you thought society worked? How about a betrayal by the thing that promised to be the fix of the first? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t follow that gut instinct, saying follow what everyone says, that person must just be crazy, evil, rude, cruel, whatever it is that means you can set what they said aside?

For a lot of people, they can do that, I guess. Set it aside. Reaching that aforementioned state of managing to cope with the dissonance and ambiguity and despair is very hard. The narrator made the Big Realization, but he couldn’t cope. He self-destructed. Even when people don’t make the big realization consciously, they’re already self-destructing. It’s hard to escape it when it feels easier than continuing anyway. When it feels like the only option,

Would therapy fix the narrator of Fight Club? Would meds fix the narrator of Fight Club? No. He knows too much. All meds will do, by the time he’s in the psych ward, is spiritually neuter him. A silly phrase, but really. Take the wind out of his sails. 

Is he fixed if he doesn’t try to blow up town? If he just shuts up and settles in and stops costing money? If he still can’t cope with the things he’s unearthed? Do you see how this is a commentary in a commentary in a commentary?

Fight Club is an absolutely fascinating story because of this. The fact that it addresses the fallout of knowing. The isolation. The hopelessness. The spiral that results from a lack of hope. This is, I think, what resonates most with people, even if not consciously. Going insane because you’ve discovered something you wish you could unknow. It’s a classic horror story. Should our society be lovecraftian evil? I don’t think so. 

Do I think changing it will be easy? No. Lord knows a lot exists to push people who make these sorts of Realizations towards feelings of individuality and individualized solutions and denial and other distractions and coping methods. And to prevent people who make One realization from expanding on it and considering further ramifications. Fight Club itself gets into this; the isolation of men being a strict part of the role society shapes for their sex leaves them very vulnerable to death fetishes, in a sense, and generally towards self destructive violence. It helps funnel them away from substantial change and towards ineffectual change. Many things, misogyny, racism, serve to keep people isolated from one another, individualized, angry, and impossible to work with. Market segregation; god knows even appealing on those fronts has become such a classic ploy that companies do it now, the US military frames its plundering that way, etc. 

I’ve wandered a bit but ultimately, my point is this: Fight Club is a love letter to the horrors of critical thinking, and the importance of not falling into the trap of self destruction and hopelessness in the face of it. The latter is why Tyler was an anarchoterrorist instead of anything useful. The latter is why it was a death cult. It’s important to work through the horrors of critical thinking so you can do it, and stand on the other side ready to believe in each other. It’s worth it.

[funkbun]

you guys have no idea how glad i am that the whole "Wiggle Discourse" is basically nonexistent rn and ppl stopped trying to paint her as this Evil Awful Abusive Predator, im glad ppl are normal about her character now

[ittybittybumblebee]

i want to see exactly how many people actually have thought i am for research because ive gotten this quite a few times from different people i just wanna see how far it goes

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 739: The training camp's fourth day!!

Pag 1

1: Training camp of Sohoku High School's racing team...

2: fourth and last day, 10:18 in the morning

3: Here it comes, Rokudai!!

4: Yeah!! Teh, Kinaka-kun

Pag 2

1: The training camp fourth and last day!!

The total distance we've ran so far is....

Pag 3

2: Here we go!!

5: 800km!!

Pag 4

1: We still have 200km to go until we reach 1000km!!

2: Teeh.....!! We've ran so much, teh

3: That's right, we already went beyond what I said at first, the distance from “Aomori”

4: “Aomori”!

It's still 10:30 in the morning, so if we keep going like this we can run the remaining 200km that are required!!

We can!!

Yeah!!

Pag 5

1: My legs are all sore

2: I'm trembling all over, teh

3: The Aomori thing, when we first came here

4: 700km!!

I thought it would be impossible

5: When on the first day, the senpai created such a gap between us, I resigned myself and thought that it really was impossible

6: But then, on that day's evening, you had that idea, Kinaka-kun

8: We worked so hard starting from the morning, we closed the gap, and ran until here

Pag 6

1: Being “buddies” really was our “breakthorugh”, teh!!

2: Breakthrough...!!

3: ??

4: Right!!

Teh...!!

5: Somehow, when I think about seeing the “goal”

6: I feel a surge of power, teh!!

Ohh...

7: Yeah, nice Rokudai, that's good!!

8: We've survived so far, so let's run through the end!!

Pag 7

2: Pfui

Yeah....

Let's do... our best and.... run....

5: Huh, where's my bottle?

Teh

Pag 8

3: Rokudaiii!!

6: Oooooogh

Pag 9

3: Ah....

Kinaka....kun? Huh.... I... fell.... and my bo.... ttle?

4: Rokudaii!!

5: So-sorry

You- you saved me, because you're my “buddy”!!

Pag 10

1: Because I'm your friend

3: Because you're my precious and reliable friend!!

4: Don't fall

Pag 11

1: Don't fall yet!!

2: There's still a chance

3: A small one

4: We can't know until the end of this last day of this training camp

Our

5: target

Pag 12

1: is to go together to the Inter High!!

Yeah!!

Pag 13

2: Ohh, they got back up, those first years

They ran 800km, so I thought their pace would drop for 2 or 3 laps

3: and that they would lose momentum like that

5: There are two ways of winning a road race

Pag 14

1: The first way is enduring determinedly, following without giving up in any situation

2: So that you survive and become the last man standing

4: And the other way is attacking yourself, actively passing and leaving behind your opponents

5: showing your strength and taking the victory....!!

6: They're both “victories”, that doesn't change

But the one who brings you more praises and admiration

Pag 15

1: It's the latter, Issa!!

2: That's right, Danchiku!!

3: First year Omihata, my jersey

Yessir!!

4: The heat resistance training ends here!!

5: Kaburagi-san.... he took off his long-sleeved jersey....!!

That means he's gotten serious!!

6: Let's go with with Full Spec, Danchiku!!

Now that our bodies are ready, we'll definitely do our “human sacrifice”....

Pag 16

1: We'll defeat Sugimoto-san and go to the Inter High!!

Of course, Issa!!

Pag 17

3: Let's catch him, Danchiku!!

4: So you're here

Pag 18

1: You two!!

2: We've come to give back to you that “you allowed us to train with you”!! Sugimoto-san!!

Pag 19

2: Danchiku has already mastered the new bike he's riding, and he doesn't stagger anymore

Thanks to you, he's now in perfect condition!! Perfect!!

3: Yeah

Pag 20

1: I'm just next to you and yet I can feel your pressure enough!!

3: Sugimoto-san, sorry but I'm gonna defeat you in one blow

4: I won't let you beat me in one blow

Pag 21

1: Is that your “expectations”? Or your “hope”?

2: Yeah.... for now

3: I'll also take off my arms warmer!!

4: Sugimoto took off his arms warmer!!

5: If you come at me seriously....

Pag 22

1: It's only polite of me to get serious too!!

Pag 23

3: Sugimoto himself hit their handles!!

Even though usually his play-style is to avoid rough play and contact!!

4: You're in high spirits....!!

5: Not as much as you!! Danchiku!!

Pag 24

1: Honestly, I'm surprised that you're going all out like this.... you're worth defeating!!

2: I'll let you train with me one more time, Danchiku!!

Pag 25

2: Ah crap, they've started already!!

The last battle

3: of the fourth and last day of this training camp!!

4: Danchiku-kun!! Sugimoto-kun!!

Pag 26

1: I'll pull now, teh, Kinaka-kun

Yeah, thank you, Rokudai!!

2: Please....

3: No....

4: I'm beaten....

Even though I've finally... cut the 200km left point...

5: That moment.... I overdid it a little....

6: My legs hurt.....

[azrielfiend]

i may be having a moment rn but if you attack or bash others for shipping something harmless just because its popular its ok to dislike it but dont slander it in its ship tag or in front of the people that ship them. ok? thanks. love and peace on planet earth

(no discourse please im just tired)

[bittsandpieces]

Only one person asked but that's all I need, so: here's my little excerpt from one of my writing pet projects! Content warnings for: fictional depictions of incest between brothers, offscreen homophobia, and uhhhh silly names

Some info on the setting and characters! The Cobbler family, parents Lisa and Jeff Cobbler, and their nine kids, from age 7 to 26, all named after types of cobbler dessert (their mother is... an eccentric powerhouse). This excerpt centers on two of the older set of triplets, fraternal brothers Blackberry and Strawberry, who are 21 years old and in their junior year at the same local university. Rumors have been flying and things come to a head.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, breath rushing warm and humid across my cheek. I laughed, just a little bit.

“I’m okay, I promise. Are you?”

“Strawberry, I’m not the one who got in a fist fight ten minutes ago, I’m fine!”

I smiled at him, feeling my face protest loudly. “I did, didn’t I. I got into a fist fight, Bick!”

The anger in his eyes softened, and was replaced by a questioning look. “What they were saying, Berry, was it true?” Flashes of audio came through my mind. Queer, I think they had been saying. Like it was an insult. I might have said it the same way, once.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Though it seems like they might have figured it out before I did. Funny, how shit happens, huh bro?”

We were standing close to one another, still in the entry to Blueberry’s dorm room, dusk-blue light filtering through the curtains, just barely. I made a move to step back, to give him some space, but he grabbed my arm, searching my face for something.

I don’t know if he found it. I don’t even know what he was looking for. But I do know that the light coming into the room made him look like some kind of painting come to life, and that his eyes were shining, and I swear I’d never seen something so damn beautiful as he was in that moment.

“Yeah,” I repeated, dumbly, ”it’s true.”

And the moment that had stretched thin in the air snapped, just like that.

He pushed away from me, off of the entry wall, and began pacing across his room. He was mumbling, I realized, agitated in a way I had rarely seen him.

“Bick…” I started, but he didn’t let me finish.

“NO, Strawberry. No, no, no, no, don’t you even talk to me right now. I never should have- this is all my- UGH. If I had just kept my fucking mouth shut, none of this would have- fuck, who told you? Was it David? It has to have been David, there’s nobody- oh my god, I trusted him-”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me with something that I almost thought was, was fear, but that didn’t make any sense, why would he be afraid. Was he afraid of me?

And my brain caught up with his words, finally.

“Who told me what?”

I’d never seen my brother look so defeated.

“That I’m in love with you, Strawberry.” He laughed, a little, but it sounded a lot more like grief than joy. “I’m in love with you, and you’re going to hate me, and I’m going to be known as the guy who couldn’t maintain a goddamn relationship because he wanted to fuck his own brother. God. God, what have I done.”

Oh.

OH.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I saw him like I’d never seen him before, in that moment. Like I’d always seen him. Pacing again, pulling at his dark hair, a silhouette against the fading evening light through the windows.

My brother. My triplet. My favorite person. My life.

I stepped towards him, stopping his pacing with just one touch. He whirled towards me, tears in his panicked eyes, his mouth open just a bit, breathing heavily from his panic.

I took his face in my palms, feeling the beginnings of stubble catch on my skin. I stared into his eyes, seeing his hands hovering in my periphery, halting in mid-air, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t know if he could.

“Blackberry Mint Cobbler.” 

He flinched, just the tiniest bit, and I almost lost my nerve in the face of his fear of my reaction. I pushed on.

“I have never hated you, not one second of my life, not even in sixth grade when I said I did because you gave my lunch to Rebecca Simmons. I don’t hate you now, and nothing you could ever do would make me love you any less than I already do.”

His face screwed up on a shaky inhale, and I was helpless as I leaned my forehead in to meet his. 

“I’m not good at words, Bick, you know I’m not, but for you, I’m gonna try. I love you. I have a list in my head of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and three quarters of it are mental pictures of you.”

His knees began to buckle, and I pressed him to the wall with just my body, refusing to let go of his face or let him fall. He made some kind of sound when I did, some mewling exhale, eyes sliding closed, and I decided in that moment that I would do anything to hear it again, for the rest of my life.

“I know I’m slow on the uptake sometimes, and I think maybe I’ve made you wait for me to get it for far longer than you deserve, but if what you said is true, if you love me. If you want me. Then… then I’m here. I’m here Bick.”

I felt tears running down my cheeks, felt my brother’s tears on my fingertips.

We always did match each other in the ways that counted.

He exhaled, that sound that he made when we were nine and he fell off of his bike down the street from our house slipping out from his lips. When I had gone to him, limping over, restricted by my knee brace from when I had torn a ligament a few months earlier. “Hey Bick, don’t cry,” I had said, pointing to my knee, “we match now!” He had made that sound, like I was being ridiculous or maybe incredible. I never found out which.

He spoke, and I came back to myself.

“What are you doing, Shortcake?” he asked me sadly, like he had resigned himself to his fate without ever asking me, using my oldest nickname, like he was trying to remind me who I was talking to. He pulled back, making me meet his eyes again, though our bodies were still pressed tightly to one another against the wall. I didn’t think he could stand right now, and I wasn’t about to risk him falling.

I thought about his question, moving one hand to trace over his brow, pressing out the tension, though it returned immediately. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head, displacing my hands momentarily, tensing up again.

“No, no, Strawberry, you’ll hate me,” he said, tears in his voice.

I pressed against him just a bit more, an idea forming in my mind. He inhaled sharply.

“You already told me so much, Blackberry, what’s one more thing?” My tone was cajoling, almost demanding. “I’ll even help you.” He looked at me, like he had never seen me before. To be honest, I hadn’t ever seen this side of me either. It felt dangerous, almost, but right. Like right now, in this moment, this was who I needed to be. Who he needed me to be.

“It’s okay, brother. Just repeat after me.”

I saw a flush begin on his cheeks, different than the one he got from crying. One I hadn’t seen before. In that moment, I felt him twitch against me, and knew that what I saw was arousal.

“I,” I began.

“.....I-I,” he echoed me.

“Want you to.”

“W-want you to.”

I smiled, feeling a new edge to it. Predatory, I thought.

“It’s your turn, Bick. Tell me what you want.”

He closed his eyes, clearly fighting himself.

And I saw the exact moment he gave in.

He opened his eyes once more, meeting mine, scared and fierce, beautiful and messy. He spoke.

“Kiss me.”

----

I pressed against him, burning hot, pressing my lips to his, remembering everything he had ever told me he liked. I kissed him, and felt him shake, and knew that I would do anything for him, that I would take on the fucking universe for the man against me, kissing me like he thought I might disappear at any second.

I pulled away, panting, and got to watch his eyes flutter open, dark with want in the rapidly fading light.

“Tell me, big brother,” I said, rolling my hips into his, “does this feel like hate to you?”

His eyes rolled back, and then suddenly, he pushed me. I stumbled back a step, ready to catch him if he ran, ready to ask what the hell he was doing, but he was dropping.

To his knees.

I looked down, and I saw my brother press his mouth against my jeans. My hand went to his hair, his hands to my thighs, and when my hand tightened on accident, he fucking made  this sound- like a whine, and pulled harder against my fingers. 

And my vision blacked out.

When I came back, ears ringing, I had pushed his head against the wall, and my cock to his mouth, harder than I had ever been, painfully constricted in my jeans. I made to pull back, worried I had hurt him, but the moment I moved he reeled me back in by my thighs, trying to get a hand between us to open my jeans without moving his mouth.

I was helpless to stop him, to help him, to do anything but stand there, shaking, my triplet whining on his knees, struggling with my zipper before giving up and yanking my pants down, my underwear going with them.

He crowed a wordless victory, and cut himself off by shoving my cock in his mouth, down his throat, gagging and pushing through it, and my mind shut off, and I pushed further in, and he moaned on my cock, and I came.

My hand yanked him onto my cock by his hair, as heat tore me apart from the inside out, and as I began to come down, I realized what I had done, and I pulled back, out of his mouth, afraid I had hurt him.

I dropped, wincing as my knees hit the floor in front of him, cock out, still half hard, hands in his hair, and I met his teary eyes as I said his name.

“Blackberry…” I said, and my voice was deeper than it had ever been, and he keened wordlessly at me, jerked his hips forward, and came, without a single touch. He shuddered, his body tensing, shaking, never looking away from me. I could have cried with how beautiful, how fucking hot it was. Maybe I did.

He collapsed forward into me, and I twisted to get my back against the bed frame, and dragged my exhausted brother into my lap, curling us into each other in a strange mirror of how we had been in out mother’s womb, so long ago.

----

We didn’t talk, that night. Eventually, when we had both stopped shuddering, I pressed a kiss to his hair, and scooted him off of me, helping him up. We made our way to the bathrooms, co-opting the one private shower, uncaring if anyone were to see us entering or leaving.

The halls were empty, but still, we didn’t speak. We just got there, locked the door, and began peeling each other’s clothes off, slowly and carefully. I turned on the shower, and when I turned back, he was there.

I mean, obviously he was there, we went in together and there was no one else around, but. He was there. My brother was there and he was naked and his cock was beautiful and smeared with come, with his come, and I did that, I made him come, and before I even knew I was moving I had stepped to him and kissed him, reverently, softly, trying to say everything in one kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, I took his hand, and led him into the shower, which definitely wasn’t made for two people, much less two 6’4” athletes. It was perfect.

[edenleicester]

your "headcanon" about akari being in her 20s is straight up wrong, it's stated within the first ten minutes of the game that she's around 15. if you want her to be an adult for shipping reasons or something you can just make a self insert instead of saying "i think this teen is an adult actually"

Ok this is the only time I'm going to answer anything about this because i dont enjoy people seeing my work and instantly assuming its in bad faith.

Akari reads as an adult to me because I don't think its a good idea to put children in deathmatches against wild animals.

Cyllene says she 'looks 15' and there are no other comments (as far as I'm aware) that imply shes a child (unlike, for example, platinum where all the npcs refer to you as a kid and treat you as a child). Akari being an adult is my headcanon because I enjoy the playing the game more that way, it creates a fun storyline in my head of her being the protagonist of platinum as a child, then the protagonist of arceus as an adult.

If you don't share my headcanon, thats fine! You don't need to engage with my art if you dont like it!

[epicfirestormer]

[queenofthearchipelago]

The bad actor allegations truly baffle me because do people not remember when Stranger Things first came out and everyone down to STEPHEN SPEILBERG was praising the show for how good the child actors were. This show was largely successful because of how skilled the kids were. I remember a quote from Speilberg where he said that never in his life had he seen such talent from actors so young and that it really raised the bar on what acting could expect from young actors and the new generation.

Like, uh huh, yeah, totally Finn Wolfhard somehow became the worst actor on the planet rather than building his skill more and going on to deliver a performance so nuanced that it successfully delivered a solid and understandable miscommunication between multiple characters AND confused the audience because it was delivered SO SKILLFULLY that we can't even tell what exactly is going on through his head.

I don't know how to convince people that Finn Wolfhard is one of the best actors of his generation and he has been from the start, but I'm not wrong