#setting our compass

[castingmysilver]

I... kinda realized this evening that I'm still giving extra weight on probability of accuracy to information given me by ex-cousin as far as like. Philosophical and psych-related things. And given how much they'd managed to mess themself up by the end of our acquaintance it's possible that isn't a wise area to assume they have any particular expertise?

I don't want to make a concentrated effort right now to list and hunt down and confirm or deny everything life-relevant they told me, mind, just... possibly wiser if I try to weigh it as the same level of accuracy as "potentially useful but unproven anecdote from internet stranger," rather than continuing to think in terms of "however I feel now they were someone I trusted, and this was an anecdote probably from the version of them who had reason to have my trust."

Especially since... I'm not sure exactly at what point things started to... go south for them. What version of them it *was* who I fully trusted, and which bits of how they ticked changed before they became the person who was starting to be scary for me, and who was bad to our mutual friend.

But I can't think too hard about that yet without going panic-mode I think. <.<

[redemptiionss]

I genuinely think that Felix is the only one with some backbone when it comes to Dimitri but it’s also sad that he just doesn’t know how to help him. All he can do is to insult him and call him a boar and other stuff BUT I guess at least he’s the only one who acknowledges that he is literally Not Well right now

[trans-xianxian]

NAWT to keep complaining abt the person I'm teaching w this summer but god she so clearly just does Not know how to work w kids who have learning disabilities/behavioral challenges/higher needs/etc or even have like any understanding or compassion for them. like I know it's rlly difficult to know how to act or what to do in those kinds of situations if you've never had any experience w it before but like. there's a basic level of empathy and understanding you can extend to other human beings and she's just SO fucking weird abt certain kids in our class and it's like okay well maybe you shouldn't be in a job working w kids if you're not willing to at least Attempt to understand and work with Every Kid. some of the kids need a lot of extra attention or a different type of interaction but I've never had a """problem""" with them like she says she does. like maybe if you treated them like people instead of "issues" that you have to deal with things would go better for everybody lmao

[honeyboyfelix]

"ah yes everything is going to plan" my friends about our dnd group thats all trying to become vampires cause we forced the dm to play more sessions than the planned one shot it was supposed to be

[hussyknee]

People seem to think this is fake because it's written in English. Apart from the racism in believing that Arab doctors and nurses aren't fluent in English (a second or official language for half of Asia), Palestinians have deliberately been addressing their audience in English on every social media, from journalists to children, because they know speaking English to Westerners immediately makes people more human in their eyes. Because language is one of the ways the imperial cultural hegemony conditions us (yes, everyone in the world) to see who qualifies as "people" and who are simply a mass of bodies who were always made to suffer and die. Gazans know this deeply, which is why they have been using English to beg and plead through social media, "We're not numbers! We're not numbers! We're people like you, we speak your language, we deserve to live!" all the while they're systematically slaughtered.

Israeli forces also encircled Al Shifa Hospital yesterday and bombed it for several hours while shooting dead anyone trying to flee including medical staff moving between buildings. Not sure whether it's still continuing because WHO lost all communications with its staff there a few hours after. The last new report said that thirty-nine babies had been removed from the incubators before the power went out. It's extremely unlikely they will survive.

Please understand that these atrocities depend on the war of attrition between governments and public attention. The momentum of public outcry is difficult to sustain through repeated stonewalling and bureaucratic intractability. When we're flooded with these reports and a sense of futility and despair replaces the anger, it allows compassion fatigue to set in and the violence to become normalized. Massacring hospitals, killing sick children and openly targeting humanitarian aid workers (Netanyahu just declared the UNRWA is in league with Hamas) will become simply more news articles that fade into the background, and open genocides will soon become part of the "lesser evil".

Take care of yourselves how you can, take distance where needed, but please never tune out and give up on the two million people for whom we are the only witness and hope. Never stop boosting and sharing the news and posts you find, never stop getting out there and joining every protest you can, however small. Anger burns out, which is why activism must depend on an immovable sense of justice and uncompromising value for human life. It's not just about Gaza, it's about the kind of evil our generation will be coerced into accepting as unchangeable and inevitable hereafter.

[sh1-n0bu]

WRITERS AND FUTURE WRITERS, PLEASE LISTEN UP

i saw a few tiktok videos that was very concerning to me and i decided to share some of the knowledge i got because as a community of people who freely write things about characters, we need to protect our work. i have just decided to edit this post and to put the whole videos here since a some reblogs were of how i was spreading misinformation.

GOOGLE DOCS IS NOT SAFE (full credit to woppydoesthings on tiktok for information)

thank you to @lighteez for suggesting “reedsy” as an alternative option

thank you to @braingoaaaaaah for suggesting “click up” as an alternative option

thank you to @koungacris for suggesting “LibreOffice” as an alternative option

thank you to @stellarnathy for suggesting “notion” as an alternative option

THEY GOT THE AO3 WRITERS AS WELL (full credit to tiktok user sakuradarling) (sadly i can only add one video in per post and the tiktok user had turned off saving videos but i have decided to link the original video https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFbq1PRA/)

apparently some thieves i am NOT calling them people because who with moral compass would do this shit? are copying, pasting and printing out popular fanfictions on AO3, binding them, turning them into actual books and selling them on places like Etsy WITHOUT crediting the original authors. which is why we can’t find some certain popular fics or authors on AO3

TUMBLR IS SELLING OUR WORK/PROMPTS TO THIRD PARTY WITHOUT CONSENT

i think i came across a post or two about it. i think my mutual @livelaughlovesubs has reblogged a post about it. check it out and turn on a switch on your blog settings that prevent this. stay safe and protect your works writers

spread the word everyone, because… genuinely what the fuck?

[purplealmonds]

This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.

The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.

I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!

DISCLAIMERS:

Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations! 

—

OVERVIEW:

There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically. 

The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.

Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.

Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.

All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.  

The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.

—

SET DRESSING:

Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations.  And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.

Foreground: 

In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again. 

I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life. 

White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”.  It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy. 

Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways?  I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later. 

The Flood:

Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.

White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.

Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light. 

Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel.  But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.

And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it? 

Furnishings from Home:

I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.

Gaming Setup:

The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing. 

That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy. 

Nostalgia Corner:

On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch.  If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines. 

This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by. 

The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.

The Hanging Mobile:

Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.

This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space. 

IV Stand:

Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.

Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence. 

Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:

“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”

As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover. 

Window:

Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below (the opacity was reduced so it looks less like bloodstains), this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.

Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together. 

Coincidentally, the window frame itself somewhat resembles the kitchen window featured in Technoblade and Technodad's cooking videos. Completely unintentional on my end, but fitting in a way since in both those videos they're pulling back the metaphorical curtains for the audience to peer into a small aspect of their private lives.

To the right of the window is a nondescript clock, forever stopped at the 6:30 as a nod to the date when the "So Long, Nerds" video was published. The minute hand is accidentally left out removed to signify that time will no longer move forward for Technoblade. In contrast, the rest of the world - represented by this space - continues to grow and change around his absence.

A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief. 

On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards. This idea came up rather organically during a VC session in the R/Technoblade Discord server. My handful of viewers and myself affectionately dubbed this doofy looking moth TechnoMoff!

Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story. 

Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside. 

Bed:

And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it. 

In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.

The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him. 

Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.

—

CONCLUSION:

There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die. 

[gubsbuubs]

It’s Mutual

(Throphy Wife Pt.2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Smut; Creampie; Choking; Dirty talk.

Summary: This is Part 2. of my first post Trophy Wife: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. After a figth that proceeded the misson Spencer and (Y/N) give in to the temptation.

Preview: He looked at me and said, "Please, we're not even friends," and then he laughed. "We're just coworkers who despise each other... and normally I can't stand being around you, but right now, I just want to be inside you." He grabbed my face and locked his eyes into mine. "So please, shut up and just let me do my thing." He forcefully kissed me again as we walked through the room.

A/N: Hi, my loves! I´m so grateful for the love my first ever fic got. As I said, this is the second part, but you can read it as a standalone. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated.🍒

My requests are open!

Previously:

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I said. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit. Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I pointed it out. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now?”.

And then, suddenly, his lips were on mine, my back pressed to the door with a thud. I felt the heat of his passion and the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant. He kissed me with so much force and passion that I got breathless and had to pull away.

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"Since I kissed you in the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A small whimper escaped my lips as he opened the door behind me, crashing his lips into mine again. I groaned, "This is so wrong," the words hanging in the air, acknowledging the forbidden nature of our connection.

He chuckled. "Yeah, this is so wrong." Yet he didn't stop, continuing down a path that felt undeniably right in its wrongness.

I hesitated, breaking the kiss. "Reid, I think we shouldn't be doing this."

His voice came muffled as he kissed my collarbone. " Why?"

"This will ruin our friendship." That made him stop in his tracks.

He looked at me and said, "Please, we're not even friends," and then he laughed.

"We're just coworkers who despise each other... and normally I can't stand being around you, but right now, I just want to be inside you." He grabbed my face and locked his eyes into mine. "So please, shut up and just let me do my thing." He forcefully kissed me again as we walked through the room.

We landed on the bed behind me, where he gently bunched up my dress and removed it from my body, leaving me in my matching black lace set. "You look delicious" He sighed. "Cant wait to ruin you."

He pressed his body onto mine, eliciting a throaty moan from my lips as I felt the friction of his clothed erection against my throbbing clit. Each deliberate thrust of his hips intensified the heat between us, the fervent kiss we shared becoming increasingly heated and impassioned.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you sound so pretty like this,” he said while his teeth grazed my neck.

I was surprised Spencer could talk like this, swearing and praising. His words were completely at odds with the Reid I thought I knew. I was a moaning mess under him, and he had barely touched me.

Needing to gain the upper hand in the situation, I decided to playfully tease him, “Who knew you had this in you, Doctor?” I whispered between the kisses.

As his right hand traversed the space between us, his middle finger delicately traced the contours of my clothed core, sending tingles of anticipation through my body.

"It's Spencer,” he replied nonchalantly.

“What?” I asked, confused, barely able to concentrate while his skillful touch continued its sensual dance.

He grabbed my chin, making me lock eyes with his. "You always address me as 'Doctor' or 'Reid,'" his other hand pulled my panties aside, coming into contact with my folds. "Tonight, I want you to scream my name so it's 'Spencer,' understood?" His demanding and authoritarian tone made me want him even more.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my parted lips as Spencer's long finger gently breached the warmth of my entrance. Our eyes locked, and within his intense gaze, I could sense his growing desire that mirrored my own. It was a shared recognition of the escalating tension between us. An in that moment, he simply smiled, fuck, he was so pretty.

His eyes flickered with a mix of challenge and desire as he responded, "Can't you just take a simple order?"

He teased me relentlessly, pushing the boundaries of my patience, and in response, a desire to further provoke him ignited within me.

"Why do you always have to be so complicated, Reid? Just fuck me already."

A teasing grin played on my lips. "I don't do very well with taking orders, Doctor, let's see if you can make me." With a swift motion I shifted him on the bed, guiding him to lie down and straddling his body

"Do you believe you can tame me just by straddling me?" His voice was laced amusement as his hand found my neck, fingers wrapping tightly, restricting my breath. “I´m still in control Angel, so you better behave, or I won't fuck you.”

"You know you want this as much as I do." I unclasped my bra, offering him a perfect view of my breasts. His hand reached out to caress them, fingers capturing my nipple between his index and middle fingers.

“Be a good girl and grind on yourself on my dick; I want to watch that pretty face of yours." His words were so filthy, igniting a fervent heat within my core.

His dominant demeanor revealed a side of him I wasn't accustomed to, yet I found myself following his orders without hesitation. A symphony of moans escaped my lips, each note drawing his focused gaze. His hands skillfully guided my hips, directing them in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, as I ground against his bulge.

"I always knew you wanted this; just look at you, enjoying yourself as you grind on my cock."

“Are you always this chatty?" I asked breathlessly, my heart pounding in my chest.

"You know you like when I'm chatty." His words came with a confident tone, his voice resonating deep and firm as he held my gaze. A blush crept across my cheeks, a surge of embarrassment confirming his accuracy.

He reveled in the dominance he held over me, relishing the way he held the upper hand in our interaction. As much as I resisted, there was an undeniable thrill that coursed through me, a mix of resistance and a strange kind of pleasure in surrendering to his control.

His hands abruptly halted my movements, securing my hips firmly. His innocent gaze held a promise of something far more provocative as he whispered urgently, "I really want to taste your pussy, (Y/N)." The depth and urgency in his voice heightened the tension. I could only manage a nod in response.

In a swift motion, he flipped me over, his lips starting an exploration of every inch of my stomach. The deliberate pace added to the building anticipation. His skillful hands slid my lace panties off, revealing the vulnerability beneath.

As he undressed, exposing his naked form, it was a mesmerizing sight. His lean, slightly muscular frame glowed with a sheer layer of sweat, and the glistening skin accentuated the erotic ambiance between us.

As he lowered his boxers, a gasp involuntarily escaped my lips. “Oh Spencer, your cock is so pretty.” I bit my bottom lip as my hand traveled to my core, fingers dancing for the man in front of me. “I need it inside me, please.”

My legs instinctively parted a bit wider as he repositioned himself, his head now nestled between my legs.

“Oh Angel, you´re so wet for me,” he said, placing an open-mouth kiss inside my left thigh. “I´ve barely toutched you.”.

I inhaled sharply as he traced a long lick up my slit. "Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined," he murmured, locking eyes with me from between my legs.

I struggled to control my breathing as the room filled with the echoes of my moans and the sweet hums of Spencer's lips against me. He devoured me as if starved, his hands gripping my thighs with force. "Spencer, please; I need you," I pleaded, unable to contain my desire.

"Are you begging?" He questioned me in a teasing tone, his lips brushing against my inner thigh. As my head fell back, I quietly said, "Yes, please, Spencer." He chuckled, the warm breath sending shivers through me. "You'll have to do better than that, Angel. Convince me."

"Spence, I'll do anything. Just don't make me wait any longer," I pleaded

My gaze was fixed on him as he descended, aligning himself perfectly with my entrance.The sight of him sinking into me was utterly pornographic. As he slid completely inside, a shared exhale escaped both of us, releasing a tension we hadn't realized we held. The movement began, It wasn't slow; it wasn't patient.

It was a rapid, fervent rhythm, each thrust driving me to the edge, and with each thrust, my teeth sank into his shoulder to keep me from screaming.

“Fuck Spencer, keep going,” I moaned in his ear.

"See how you crave more even with me already deep inside," he remarked, planting open-mouthed kisses on my lips, capturing the moans that escaped. "Who would've imagined you to be such a beggar for it?""

I struggled to muffle my moans, but each deep thrust hitting my cervix caused my walls to clench around him, drawing delightful whimpers from Spencer..

His thrusts became less controlled as his forehead found solace on my shoulder, the intensity and erratic nature of his movements increasing. "Is that all you got, doc?" With a mischievous smirk, I contributed, determined to play with his mind.

"Shut up," he grumbled, momentarily losing focus. "You just feel so, so good," he confessed, "This pussy is so tight, so wet for me, it's driving me crazy." As his explicit words sank in, I could feel my climax approaching.

"Fuck, it’s like you were made for me." His pace quickened, thrusts becoming more fervent and urgent as the intensity between us escalated. Each movement seemed calculated to elicit a reaction, the force of his movements sending waves of pleasure through my entire body.

The bed creaked in protest beneath us, a symphony of our shared desire filling the room. “You take me so well, baby.” A deep, throaty groan escaped him as his hands sought the curve of my hips, drawing me nearer to him. He watching in admiration as my face contorted in pleasure.

I let out a soft whimper, so overwhelmed by the sensation that I couldn't stop myself from giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. "Spencer, I´m going to cum.”

A soft “yeah?” Was all he said to me as he kept ponding deep into my core. The room was filled with the sounds of our shared desires. Soft moans and whispered words escaped our lips, creating an echo that seemed to linger in the air. Every touch, every gasp, reverberated through the space, intertwining with the raw passion that enveloped us.

His forehead rested against mine, eyes alternately opening and closing with every forceful thrust, our hands tightly intertwined.

"Fuck Spencer, I can't hold it anymore," I confessed breathlessly.

"Cum on my cock baby" I came, my walls squeezing him in the most delicious way. He responded, swiftly pulling out and releasing himself onto my stomach. A mix of exhaustion and satisfaction enveloped both of us.

He collapsed by my side, and we lay there together in a momentary silence. Eventually, he got up and went to the bathroom. Returning with a wet towel, he used it to delicately clean us up.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we just did that," I gasped out, breathless from the intensity of the moment.

"Shhh, just relax," he cautioned, pulling me into his embrace, the lingering tension still palpable.

"But we hate each other, remember?" I teased with an amused tone, locking eyes with him.

His facial expression softened. "I don't hate you; I just find you extremely annoying sometimes," he chuckled.

"Well, the feeling's mutual." My laugh filled the room, causing a warm smile to form on his face, and he nodded in agreement.

Taglist: @translatemunson @unimportantweirdo @katscorner020 @queermaxwooo ❤️

—x—

If you enjoyed this here's my masterlist check it out

[headspace-hotel]

okay but like this is what deeply bothers me about the whole "tiktok is making people think every negative experience is a trauma!" thing

Trauma is common. Like really common. How do we accept statistics like "1 in 4 women has been sexually assaulted" or "1 in 3 people grew up in a home with domestic violence" or whatever number of people will fight cancer or be in a car crash or an abusive relationship, and at the same time doubt any suggestion that a lot of people may actually be traumatized?

It's in our cultural definition of trauma—that trauma is some extreme event outside "normal" life, and that the people that experience it are a sequestered group that is well outside the "average" person.

but like, even strictly Criterion A PTSD type "traumatic" events are...not rare. at all. You can be a hardass about it and say that you have to be raped or threatened with death or violence to have trauma, and that's still a lot of people that have experienced that. People around you. People that pass by you every day. People that appear and seem "normal" to you.

if you accept the idea that belonging to certain marginalized groups can have some traumatizing elements to it, "most people are traumatized in some way" is just the most blandly obvious statement ever.

but even if you're for some reason squicky about "watering down" the definition of trauma (lol), we can at least agree that most people are hurt, right? Deeply hurt. Most people have been mangled by their experiences in one way or another. People's behavior is guided by the fact that they are hurt.

One of my dad's sayings, which is earnest and not at all shameful or demeaning, is that People Are Broken. And in church settings (because he was a pastor and is still very devout) his measure of the quality of that church setting was always their ability to come to terms with the fact that People Are Broken, not just people Out There or hypothetical people but us, the people around us, the people we live alongside and befriend and love. And if a church thought of Broken People as an external category of people to be "reached," instead of a near-universal experience of being human in a cruel society, well that church was likely to be, ultimately, toxic. And hardly any church passes that test, because our brokenness is hard to talk about.

We can't admit that most people are traumatized because it means that the call is coming from inside the house, that the menace is contained within our society instead of being a freak accident/act of god/attack by a lone wolf outside of the normal confines of our world.

But this is the truth. That our world, the nice, "normal" world, the everyday world, hurts people. We are not gentle enough for other humans, our society is not kind enough for humans to thrive.

We have to try to be less cruel. We have to understand that almost everyone has endured something unspeakable and has not fully healed. This is why I don't care about watering down the definition of trauma. We have not even begun to fully define the wound. There is no virtue in conserving recognition for the most obvious and extreme human pain. Why would we need less compassion?

[castingmysilver]

Huh. I had considered the links between Toxic Productivity Bug in my head and my Mom's attitudes towards God's supposed work:play ratio before, but I just realized that it also came out in my childhood music taste.

For instance, little CCM blast from the past, the ever-present Steven Curtis Chapman?

"I'm livin' the next five minutes

Like they are my last five minutes

And after the next five minutes,

I'm starting all over again."

The attitude that - memento mori means *there is no room to waste time.* That if death and/or the Second Coming could come at any moment, you cannot under any circumstances be found malingering. Where is the room in that for rest, play, the things that bring joy?

Admittedly it could be SCC seen through the Mom filter rather than purely an SCC problem. (Busy Man might be seen as the balance to this.) Just... it occurs to me how many times I rocked out to that as a child and thought it was aspirational...

[shaylogic]

Queer Experience Watching Barbie - AFAB Masculinity

I started to go into this in tags on another post but I wanted to type this up separately and try to develop my thoughts a little more. . .

Ryan!Ken’s arc in Barbie (2023) has been buzzing in my head for days.

I got fixated on it for a couple of major reasons:

1) We rarely have seen a feminist movie take time to address men with compassion in how patriarchy harms them too.

2) As a trans masc person, I think it hits a specific part of my identity that I don’t consciously let myself think about for too long. Something about being raised in a female world with sisterhood and community. Then being isolated in adult manhood without the tools to prepare you for that. Conscientious of respecting women and being unbothered by feminimity around you, but not knowing your place in the world.

How do I put it?

I know it’s not the direct intention of the film itself, but I’ve seen other trans folks (especially transmasc), reacting similarly to the feeling we get from it.

Ken’s arc feels pretty reminicent of the struggle afab lgbt folks go through when considering masculinity in their identity (butch lesbians, afab nbs, trans men, etc.)

How to make peace with masculine aspects of yourself without losing the women in your life? (One can argue Kate McKinnon’s Weird Barbie has aspects of this as well.)

Of course, then Ken goes off on the adopting patriarchy ride, which IS the point of the movie, and may skew a bit from the transmasc read on it--though I have known a trans guy here and there who avoids being misgendered so hard that they can become somewhat sexist. To which I say: “You don’t need to have a dick to be a man, and you don’t need to BE a dick to be a man.” But I digress.

Something about Ken being comfortable in a woman’s world but not understanding why he’s being shut out from socially bonding with them (in any sense! Romantic, Familial, Platonic Friendship. . .)

The overall theme of the movie for both Barbie and Ken--in an allegory of heavy gender roles harming all--leading them each to have to figure out who they are in themselves, regardless of others. . . 

Trans masc folx can relate to both Barbie and Ken’s arcs.

I don’t want to detract from Barbie’s arc being the main point of the movie.

I think the reason why we get hung up on Ryan!Ken’s character is because. . . we’ve related to the Barbie plot in other movies and shows before, thinking back to our “girlhoods” as children.

I have never seen the arc Ken has in this in any other story!!!!

There are some Man Movies that have attempted to discuss the struggle of Being a Man--but they often come off as too dismissive of feminine experiences, and are therefore as offputting to transmasc people as women.

Because of the nature of the two worlds exhibited in this movie, and Ken’s backround in his setting, personality, and purpose in relation to the Barbies, he’s a Man living with Female Socialization, in a Woman’s World; he’s a male character that inherently admires and respects women in his nature (until the real world influence distorts it).

This isn’t a perfect example of a transmasc experience either, but it’s a lot closer than most of us generally get to see! That’s why so many of us are getting caught up in this.

Please, other trans folx (transfems, too!), I really need us to have a discussion about this. What were your experiences and thoughts around this movie?

P.S. Yeah, we kinda get that nonbinary allegory from Allan (not a Ken, not a Barbie, siding with Feminism in the Gender War), but he wasn’t in significant focus of the plot the way Ryan!Ken was. If I try to read into Allan, I don’t have much to work with.

[atokirina-writings]

“Omatikayaru tìhawnu sivi”- Protect the people.

sully family x reader

shoutout to @eywas-heir for giving me the idea for this fic, i hope i did it justice :)

pairings: sully family x reader, neytiri x daughter!reader, jake sully x daughter! reader, neteyam x twinsister!reader etc.

notes: this is set during the events of avatar twow and I had sm fun writing this! this fic is 2k+ words so be prepared

synopsis: you’re the twin sister to neteyam. growing up you served as the families little bit of peace, even when quaritch threatens everything you know and love.

…Mìpa tìreyti, mìpa tìkanti. Lawnol a mì te’lan.

One of your earliest memories was your mother and father cradling you and your twin brother Neteyam, while your mother sings her songcord. Your mothers voice always had an affect on you from a young age.

“y/n, please stop fighting with your brother.” You always listened to what your mother had to say, even if it was a scolding. You loved your dad endlessly but you were a mama’s girl at heart, and everyone knew it.

She sees a lot of her late older sister in you. Your compassion for Pandora’s animal life, your strong will, and your love for the people.

“Ma' ite, she is beautiful.” Your grandmother constantly reminded your mother how happy she is that you’re her first grandchild. Your whole family adored you and that continued even into your teen years

“Ma sempul Lo’ak has done nothing wrong, let him be.” You never failed to stand up for your younger brother to your father, even when what he did was truly stupid. You never let your brother feel like he was not supported by you. Today however, was different.

When you got the message that Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, and Tuk were at the old shack with sky people present, you felt could not defend him. He had put himself and your siblings in a dangerous position.

After rescuing your siblings from Quaritch and his people, you couldn’t help but to let your anger with your brother dissipate. Your gratefulness for their safety was a stronger feeling than your anger for them being in that situation in the first place.

꧁꧂

Later that night after finishing a conversation with a few of your friends you make your way back to your families tent. You catch your siblings seated outside of your home seemingly listening to someone’s conversation. “Guys what are you do-” Kiri sushes you, gesturing for you to sit down with them.

“I can not, you can not ask this. I can not leave my people, I will not!” Your ears perk up at the mention of leaving the people. ‘What’s going on?’ You wonder. Your father says something about him targeting your family. You immediately know who he’s referring to. “You can not ask this! The children everything they’ve ever known, the forest, this is our home!” Your mom bites back. Tuk winces upon hearing your mom yell at your dad. Placing a hand on her shoulder you nod at her, giving her a faint smile attempting to keep her grounded.

“My father gave me this bow as he lay dying. And he said ‘protect the people’ you’re Toruk Makto!” At this point you and your siblings are all on edge, as you begin to understand what your dad is insisting. Tuk wraps herself in your embrace as you attempt to soothe her irregular breathing. Kiri has a hand over her mouth as she lets out quiet sobs. Your brothers have serious faces on with saddened eyes.

“But I know one thing, wherever we go this family is our fortress.” You and your siblings make eye contact sharing a knowing look. Your father has never given your family any reason not to trust him, this is no different.

꧁꧂

Turning back you’re met with the forest, your people, and your home getting smaller and smaller as you ride off with your family to a new region of Pandora.

You learned how to hunt there, you bonded with your Ikran there, you attended Tsahìk lessons with your grandmother there. The forest is your home and your life’s first love. Nowhere could ever replace it.

Although if this is truly the best choice for the safety of your family, you’re willing to go as far as it takes.

꧁꧂

Arriving at Awa'atlu, everything felt wrong. You felt outcast for the first time in your life. You and your siblings immediately being subject to the bullying of the Olo'eyktan’s son Ao’nung and his friends didn’t help the feeling either.

“Leave us alone!” Your ears perk up, your head swiftly turning to where you’re hearing the commotion. Your eyes land on the sight of Lo’ak and Kiri being harassed by Ao’nung and his friends. Making eye contact with Neteyam you both make your way over to your younger siblings.

Roughly shoving Ao’nung away from your brother and giving him a deadly stare, your eyes narrowing at him. “You heard what she said, leave them alone.” Neteyam demands. One of his friends attempts to talk back to him and before you can respond to him Ao’nung raises his hand infront of is body, silencing him. “Back off now!” You hiss tilting your head, daring him to say anything back. Ao’nung then raises his hands in surrender. “Smart choice, and from now on I need you to respect my siblings.” Checking to make sure all of you are ok you begin to retreat back to your marui pod.

Walking away they begin to talk more shit under their breaths about your family. Lo’ak stops walking with us and turns back. Neteyam warns him to stop but Lo’ak dismisses him and continues to walk over to the group. Neteyam makes eye contact with you, clearly confused as the two of you watch the scene unfold.

Suddenly Lo’ak punches Ao’nung in the face twice, and he’s sent back by the blow into the sand. “It’s called a punch bitch!” They immediately gang up on your brother, he starts losing the fight and fast. “Teyam do something!” You whisper yell to your brother. He looks at you scratching his head contemplating getting into a fight for his little brother, ultimately deciding to jump in to help him.

꧁꧂

After all the fighting Lo’ak and Neteyam returned home all bruised up. Your father was not having it, ordering you all to go make peace with Ao’nung. Once your brothers left with defeated faces you stick behind to talk with your dad.

“Lo’ak was only defending Kiri, Sully’s stick together and that’s what he was doing. The execution wasn’t the best sure but he still stood up for her, don’t be so harsh.” He sends you a sympathetic smile and pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in his strong arms, and kissing the top of your head. “Alright babygirl.”

꧁꧂

The peace that was made between the two families was soon destroyed when Teyam comes in dragging Ao’nung by his arm “Tell them what you told me” Looking at your parents in confession you listen to what Aonung has to say.

The color drains from your face he reveals what has happened with your brother. Throughout the night you wondered where he had gone off to, figuring he was out doing his own thing with his new friend Tsireya you brushed it off.

When your little brother returned home you ran to him trapping him in a tight embrace, thanking Eywa for his safety. He relaxes in your embrace but quickly tenses back up at the sight of your enraged mother.

꧁꧂

The following weeks at Awa'atlu were rather peaceful for you. Lo’ak told you all about Payakan, the clan shamed him for it but you found it interesting and agreed with him that Payakan is a hero. So did little Tuk, she constantly asked him about his new found friend.

The Tulkun returned home, and you swear to Eywa it was the most beautiful sight. You got better and better at riding your ilu and holding you breath thanks to Tsireya’s lessons. Things for your family were starting to look up.

꧁꧂

You were cooking dinner with your parents when you got the news that started the spiral that sent everything downhill.

You and your mother were laughing at your father’s corny jokes, simply enjoying one another’s company when Tonowari walked past your marui pod, causing you all to fall silent. Your mom gave your dad a questioning look as he makes his way to Tonowari.

꧁꧂

Ronal’s spirit sister and her baby were killed by Quaritch. Noticing how your mom’s heart clinches at Ronal’s cries reminding her of when her own sister was taken by the sky people, you place a hand on her shoulder trying to soothe your mother.

When the clan gets word on what has happened, all hell breaks loose. Your father attempts to reason with them that attacking the sky people will end in defeat but they persist. “Please, listen to my father!” You beg the people to hear him out but their war cries only grow louder.

Your father shows off the tracker to clan, silencing them all. It is decided that the clan will warn the tulkun and tell them to leave. The clan thinks this is about the Tulkun but your family knows it’s really you being hunted.

Lo’ak runs off to the docks, Neteyam and you following after him knowing he’s going to warn Payakan. Lo’ak argues with Neteyam about him being the perfect son he’ll never be and it hurts your heart. He jumps into the water and takes off on his ilu. Neteyam and you yell his name in unison as you jump in after him, commanding your ilus to follow him.

꧁꧂

When you find Payakan, he has a tracker lodged in his arm. Using the strength of You, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Rotxo, Ao’nung, and Tsireya you manage to pull the tracker out. Successfully rescuing him.

In the process Kiri, Tuk, Lo’ak, and Tsireya are captured and bound the the ship. Your parents along with the metkiyna warriors arrive aiding in the fight, Payakan does too.

Dodging every bullet from underwater effortlessly, you make your way to the ship. Emerging from the water you run to Lo’ak cutting him loose while Neteyam frees Tuk and Tsireya.

“Did ya miss me little bro?” You tease. Rolling his eyes and shaking his bound wrist “Just hurry up!”

Cutting him loose “Cmon bro lets go.” Neteyam and you begin to exit the ship but Lo’ak turns back, taking a gun from a dead sky person.

“They have spider” Lo’ak begs you and Neteyam to save him. You know how much Spider means to him, they grew up together after all. Sharing a look with Neteyam he groans and reluctantly agrees.

Together You and your brothers take out every last human in the area seamlessly. Using your knife to puncture one of its oxygen mask while kicking the back side of their knee bringing them to the floor, slitting their throat. Successfully retrieving Spider you rest your hands on your knees trying to calm your uneven breathing, “Nice kill sis!” Lo’ak praises, hitting the back of his head in response annoyed by his joking in a serious situation.

“Guys go! go!” Neteyam shouts,redirecting your attention to the avatar shooting at the three of you. Once the four of you reach cover you take the gun out of Lo’ak’s possession, firing back at your attackers.

“Lo’ak jump go!” You order and be wastes no time jumping off of the ship into the water below, the other two boys following right behind him. You stay behind continuing to fire bullets at the group shooting at you, you’re out numbered now. Quickly reciting a prayer to Eywa you dive into the water.

When you emerge from under the water you gasp at the stinging sensation in your shoulder.

“Oh shit y/n.” Spider gasps and everyone’s attention is on you in an instant. You feel yourself being pulled onto an ilu as your eyes start to feel heavy. “Y/n hey, hey, stay awake ok?” Lo’ak pleads as he cradles you in his arms.

꧁꧂

“Watch her head! Watch her head” You hear someone frantically yell. You gather that you’re being pulled onto some form of land. Feeling strong hands grasp your shoulders examining your body, your eyes flutter open. “Babygirl? Hey sweetie keep your eyes open for me yeah?”

You feel heavy, your eyes are clouded with tears, everything hurts. As you blink in and out of consciousness you notice everyone is hovering around you in a circle, and a new figure emerges.

“Oh my sweet girl, Eywa please.” She begs “Momma i’m scared, I want- I want to go home.” You choke out, through the pain getting worse and worse by the second. “We’re going home baby, we’re going home.”

Your eyes unfocus from the world around you.

You can hear cries from over you but you no longer have the energy to inspect it.

꧁꧂

Your eyes open to Tsireya and Ronal kneeling over you. You groan at the light beaming painfully into your eyes. “She is awake, everyone she is awake!” Tsireya calls out and in an instant your family rushes in.

Your mother walks up to you falling to her knees at the sight of your hurting figure. “Thank you great mother, thank you.” Hot tears fall from her face onto your chest as she litters kisses on your forehead.

Looking to your other side you see your dad staring at you with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. “Dad it’s ok, i’m ok now.” You reassure. Your voice is hoarse and dry, from the lack of talking you’ve been doing.

“I’m just happy so you’re safe baby.” Your dad says sending you a close lipped smile. Using all the strength in your body you extend your arms out to your family, inviting them into all into a hug.

Your parents place their foreheads on yours, your brothers hold each of your hands, and your sisters rest their heads on each of your legs.

Melting into your family’s embrace, burning this moment into your memory.

Sully’s stick together.

tysm for reading! a like and reblog is deeply appreciated <3

Taglist: @multifandomgirllol @23victoria @avatar4eva @simp-erformarvelwomen @themysteriousslenderman @hannahboobanna @uglymammoth @onlytays @bvbblepopp @lets-candice @mrs-sullys-blog @ssc7514 @neteyamforlife @iloveavatar

[moonstruckme]

omg omg omg i can see it now, reader in the hospital hooked up to an ekg and emt!maurauders after dropping someone off sees her in the room and they go in to check on her and her pulse just skyrockets and sirius is like "oh are you still in shock?" and rem is like "...i don't think so" and then they all get so flustered and reader gets flustered and fluffffffff

Thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2

cw: hospital, head injury, broken ribs

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 979 words

Some of the whiplash you’d been warned about is setting in now. It’s been a few hours since the trio of unreasonably attractive paramedics had dropped you off at the hospital, and you’re stiff and sore all over. Even your knees have developed dark bruises, apparently from hitting the dashboard when you’d stopped suddenly. You don’t remember getting them. 

The other doctors and nurses who’d been assigned to your care have been nice and of course highly competent, but no one has been as kind or warm as the men who’d picked you up at the scene. Ridiculous as it is, you almost miss them. There’s nothing comforting about this place, and if you can’t have the familiarity of a loved one with you, you’d happily settle for the strangers’ compassion. 

The parade of hospital workers and concerned loved ones going past your room is endless, but you look up from your phone when someone stops abruptly in the doorway. 

Sirius lets out a quiet oof when he crashes into James from behind, Rem simply sidestepping the both of them before coming to a stop in front of your room. 

“Hey.” James grins at you. “It’s you, from the car crash.” 

“Hi.” You return his smile bashfully, and Rem gives James an exasperated look. 

“I’m sure she’d rather not be referred to as the girl from the car crash, James.” 

“Right.” James' smile goes somewhat sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “Thanks for…uh, everything. Earlier.” 

“You’re very welcome,” Sirius drawls, recovering from his collision and sauntering into the room. He gives you a not-so-subtle look over. “Just doing our job, dollface.” 

The monitor connected to your finger starts beeping more rapidly, and the suave confidence saps from his expression. 

“Shit, are you still in shock?” 

It starts going faster. You’re pretty sure your face is getting red too. How much trouble would you be in if you just disconnected the thing? 

“I don’t…” Rem’s eyes narrow, a second before his eyebrows raise an inch. “I don’t think so.” 

Your gulp has to be audible. 

“Oh,” Sirius says, his brow unfurrowing. He looks at you, and a smile curves his lips. “Oh.” 

“Okay, the both of you fuck off.” James comes to your defense, striding over as if to forcibly remove Sirius from your beside. “Look what you’re doing to the poor girl! Remus, you didn’t have to give her away like that.” 

“Better than her still being in shock,” Rem—or Remus, apparently—points out. 

“It’s fine, darling,” James goes on with forced breeziness. He’s looking at you with such sweetness you’d almost believe his nonchalance if not for the quick way he blabbers on. “Honestly, it’s an unfair advantage for us that you’re the only one with a heart monitor on. Though I suppose I’m lucky I don’t have one on too, or we’d be making a pretty terrible symphony in here right now.” 

It takes you a second to catch his meaning, but by the time you do he’s blushing nearly as badly as you. 

He’s tossed himself under the bus just so you wouldn’t be down there by yourself. 

You don’t know what to say to that, but a quiet thanks slips past your lips unchecked, and for reasons you cannot figure James’ smile softens in response. 

“Anytime, love. So, what’re you still doing here?” He changes the subject hastily. “They keeping you for observation or something?” 

“No, I’m just waiting for my ride to get off work,” you explain. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius grins, leaning against the wall near your bed. “We work here, babe.” 

“No, I—I know that,” you laugh. It hurts your chest, and all three boys’ expressions tense with sympathy when something in your face must reveal it. “I meant, don’t you usually work in the ambulance?”

“We just dropped off another patient,” he says, so preparedly that you suspect he knew what you were really asking the first time. “Older guy, complaining of a stomach ache.” He winks. “No competition for you, sweetness.” 

Christ. You’d thought they were bad when they’d picked you up, but it’s worse when you can actually process what they’re saying and doing. 

“Is he okay?” you ask, ignoring Sirius’ last comment. 

James gives you another one of his soft smiles. “Yeah, he’s alright. We see him like three times a week, he’s always fretting about something. But how are you, sweetheart? They treating you alright in here?”

You shrug. “I’m fine. I have some broken ribs and a concussion, like you said earlier, but I’m just glad it wasn’t worse. And of course everyone has been very nice.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Remus’ voice seems soft compared to the other two, though he more matches your volume. He perches next to you on the bed, eyebrows scrunching just a little as he looks at the stitches on your forehead. “Mmm, that’s probably going to scar.” 

“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, a second before remembering his own scars. They tug a bit as his eyebrows flick upward again, and then his lips pull into a boyish, lopsided grin. 

The monitor goes off again, and you cover your face with your hands as Sirius cackles. 

“Sorry, lovely.” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat amused too as his hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing delicately. “We’ll get out of your hair so you can rest.” 

“Thank you,” you say into your hands, removing them only once his weight lifts from the bed. 

Sirius won’t stop laughing, not looking abashed even when Remus grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him along on his trajectory out of the room. 

“Get well,” James says, walking backwards to follow them and giving you a smile that seems to contain, impossibly, equal parts mirth and earnestness. “I’d say I hope to see you around here again, but best not, huh?”

[wileycap]

Hi! I really want to hear your opinion about Agni Kai in Atla LA and why it's bad thematically. Thank you!

Hi! I've never been asked anything before!

Alright, so - spoilers. Also, sorry that this is so long.

In the original, Zuko does not fight back, and that's so important. It's clear that the Fire Nation has great respect for hierarchy, whether it be elders, leaders or superior officers. Ozai is the ultimate hierarchical superior to Zuko: his father, his superior as a royal, and - of course - the leader of the entire nation.

In the Agni Kai, Ozai repeatedly orders Zuko to fight for his honor, and Zuko refuses. He remains prostrate, and reaffirms his respect for his father. In the context of this hierarchical culture, he is doing everything right in the face of an order that, to him, is the ultimate paradox. And that's what earns him his scar. A disfiguring, dishonoring brand.

He gets burned because he wants so badly to do everything right. He gets burned because he wants to show respect. He gets burned because, in a cultural context, he is behaving as he should. Because his father is cruel.

But it's not just that: it also serves as a shorthand to the audience that the Fire Nation under Ozai and his forefathers is wrong, to the point that Zuko, the dutiful son, literally cannot do right under that system. And you don't need to do a deep dive into what the culture is presented as to get that - it immediately strikes the audience with a profound sense of unfairness. It efficiently communicates that the Fire Nation is rotten, that the system itself has become corrupted and distorted.

And this sets up Zuko's entire arc. He did right, and he got punished. At the end of S2, he does wrong, and he gets rewarded, but the reward isn't fulfilling to him, because everything he could ever earn under that system is tainted and his experiences outside the system have shown him that, even if he can't accept it at first. And it's so narratively satisfying to watch him then defy his father, who tries to punish him again with lightning, only for him to now be able to literally turn it back (with Iroh's technique, Iroh being one of the few sources of unconditional love in his life!). He then redefines his relationship with Firebending itself, going back to the original source of it. He literally rids himself of the corruption of his nation.

It forms such a tight narrative arc, and it sets up so much about the Fire Nation with no need for explanation. Even his interactions with Iroh also tske on a new light: he's intentionally disrespecting his uncle - another elder and superior, as well as a father figure - and Iroh never punishes him for it. Ultimately, that unconditional love and support leads him to reform his nation.

In the Live Action, Ozai orders him to fight back, and he does. He even has a chance to strike Ozai, but doesn't, prompting Ozai to remark that "compassion is a weakness" before he burns Zuko. Which was never the point of Zuko's arc. It waters down his entire primary character conflict, because if his takeaway is that he lost a fight because he was too kind, then the only thing that needs to happen is for him to get some kind of narrative payoff by being kind. Wow, arc over. It becomes this surface level morality tale about how compassion isn't weakness.

In the LA, he also gets multiple chances to speak out at the war meeting. He questions the plan, the general and Ozai lay out actual, sensible reasons for why the plan has to proceed as it is, and then Zuko says that it's a terrible plan anyways. In the original, he speaks out once, and his words even make it clear that he's speaking out because the soldiers "love and defend our nation." His objection is the mildest possible form of objection: he isn't questioning the system, in fact, he's reinforcing it by appealing to the virtue of these soldiers. And he still gets punished.

With all that and Iroh explicitly calling out Ozai multiple times in the LA, we don't get the sense that the Fire Nation culture itself has been warped by imperialism. We just get the sense that the leader is a bad dude. And that's a far less powerful setup, and it will lead to a far less satisfying resolution.

It's an incredibly watered down version of the original, and lacks so much thematic weight.

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

[probablyasocialecologist]

Bushnell did not give up in despair. He made a deliberate choice, one calculated to maximize the impact of his protest, to give appropriate weight to the atrocities being perpetrated in his name as an American and as a servicemember. He explained his thinking, chose his last words, set up a dead man’s link to ensure his sacrifice would not be censored or lost. To deny this is to deny him his agency and his humanity in his very last act. Letting the world move you is dangerous when your world is built like Omelas, perched on top of intentional suffering. Compassion for the world, for nature, for others, and for yourself means that you disturb the balance. Your weighty self shifts things as you step in to help others, making it easier for people to see behind the curtain. Once you learn about the suffering at the core of the world—and I mean really learn, have it lodged in your soul so deeply that every time your heart beats it hurts—you have only one choice to make: abandon the system and the cruelty that makes your world run, or choose it.  This is the choice Bushnell has asked us to make. Do we finally acknowledge that this system is untenable? Or do we close our eyes to the agony it creates?  Those mocking or denying Bushnell’s self-immolation have already allowed their fear to consume them. In attempting to shred his reputation and cast aspersions on his motives, they reveal that they are unable to recognize the best parts of ourselves—courage, honor, self-sacrifice, and compassion. It is impossible for them. To acknowledge the conviction and agony of this person is to realize that their own lives are a lie, built on pain and empty of meaning.